#folklorefic

࿐

“Keep your helmet. Keep your life, son. Just a flesh wound. Here’s your rifle.”

Joel remembers the first time he saw someone drown.

Wasn’t even a year after the outbreak. He’d been traveling with Tommy and some strangers they met on an abandoned interstate. The way of life had yet to become something of an instinct for them. During this time, they were more prey than predator, and they had little to no knowledge of life outside the south.

The Miller boys had only seen snow once or twice in their lives. No one in their family had ever moved outside of Texas being as big as it was. Tommy had gone into the service, but Iraq had a climate similar to the desert back home. Snow and ice were something of mythical elements they read about in stories and saw in films.

This is why they didn’t see it coming.

“Crawlin’ up the beaches now. ‘Sir, I think he’s bleeding out.’ And some things you just can’t speak about.”

One of the men they’d been trekking across the midwestern landscape with (Joel can’t remember his name even if he tried his damndest) miscalculated the snowfall. It’d been only seconds before the lake he stepped across crumbled beneath him and claimed his life. Ever since then he’s been cautious of frozen bodies of water — even a little frightened of them — but it didn’t stop him from taking the risk every time.

Joel knew for a fact you weren’t a hunter even if he’d only known you for a few months. It didn’t take a damn genius to come to the conclusion that you were far better off as a farmer or…anything other than this. You know how to handle a gun (you had to in order to survive this long) but it wasn’t your strong suit. You were a little off-kilter and fuckin’ jumpy.

How you were still alive he hasn’t the slightest.

Joel had been staring at the back of your head for hours. Tommy led this patrol so he hung back for stalkers. The infected weren’t as active in the winter, especially in such wilderness. The climate causes them to shut down or somethin’ — he didn’t know the science. Just knew that they weren’t around as often when the snow fell.

But while the infected were occasional, winter brought upon other challenges.

Like the freezing temperatures that chilled his bones and bit at his appendages; the snow that clouded his vision and made it difficult to start fires or walk the miles he needed to; and the ice that made fools out of men.

Tommy had crossed it fine, the lake. It wasn’t very big but underneath Joel knew of a bitter current that had little to no forgiveness. The patrol goes in this direction once in awhile, though not often in the wintertime for this very reason. Joel, being as skeptical of lakes as he was, made sure to note its raging waters in the summer. As a survivalist (cynic), he was already prepared for disaster.

For this reason, he waits until Tommy gives the two of you the go-ahead to make a decision.

“It’s good to cross!” Tommy shouts from the other side. He waves a hand to usher you forward.

Joel can see it plain on your face that you’re terrified. You’d only patrolled once before now, but he was certain you were used to the unforgiving climate after so many years of survival before Jackson. He also recalls you mentioning being from the midwest, so he assumed you had enough knowledge of these conditions to accept Tommy’s decision.

You take a deep breath, something changing in your face. He realizes then that you’re good at faking bravery — you just chose not to.

They say fear is an evolutionary response to potential danger.

Joel wishes you had listened to that gut instinct.

“With you, I serve. With you, I fall down.”

You’re barely two feet across the sheet of ice before it crackles beneath your weight. Joel barely has time to register your expression of terror before he’s falling to his knees to crawl upon the lake’s mirror.

“Shit - Joel!” Tommy yells.

Joel doesn’t answer, focusing on shifting his weight just right so that he doesn’t plunge into the depths himself. He can see your shadow beneath the ice, a struggling form that pounds furiously at the frozen sheet above you. He can’t even imagine the panic you must be experiencing now but he attempts to settle his nerves because…

He’d get you out of this. He had to.

It was because of Ellie. She had taken a liking to you in the past year. You were kind to her — showed her how to bake lavender cookies this summer. You welcomed her into your home like you would any member of your family, tutoring her on all kinds of subjects that Joel couldn’t — nor shouldn’t. Ellie needed a woman in her life. You’d become that woman.

It took Joel too long to meet you. He found that he liked you quite a bit himself.

But it was because of Ellie, right?

Yes. Ellie.

He didn’t ever think about the way your eyes shone during golden hour — how they twinkled with a natural aesthetic he didn’t even find in nature. He rarely thought about the length of your hair — how you preferred to keep it braided during the warmer months and down in the cooler opposites. He wasn’t at all distracted by the snowflakes that landed upon your nose while they saddled the horses before going out this morning or how the frigid air blushed the apples of your cheeks.

While he hadn’t known much about you (he’s wanted to — yearned to, but he’s a goddamned pansy) he knew you were something special. Something sweet in a world riddled with rotting flesh and melting tar.

Besides, you were far too young to die.

Yes. Too young to die.

He convinces himself this is why he immediately jumps into action. He’s careful in his ministrations to rescue you, every ounce of strength he has to be clever rather than urgent. Joel figured his decades of fighting would get the job done quickly and with level-headedness. But when he finally manages to grab you from an open pocket within the ice — forty feet from where you initially fell — his hands are trembling.

“Joel! Is she breathin’?!” Tommy yells frantically.

“Watch you breathe in. Watch you breathing out.”

Joel grunts with exertion, dragging your limp and sopping body across the ice and onto the snow covered banks. Once the two of you are out of danger, he finds with horror that…

No. You’re not breathing.

This is when he starts to panic.

“Something med school did not cover. Someone’s daughter. Someone’s mother.”

He thinks of Sarah. It’s an inopportun time to be doing so but he can’t help but see her lifeless body when he looks at yours. The same thing had happened when Ellie drowned before they found the Fireflies in Salt Lake City. Youth quickly deteriorates before him, the Grim’s mangled hand on his shoulder.

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head. “No.”

Joel is a stubborn man and this might be why he’s lived as long as he has. He’s lost too many people. He won’t loose you — not before he had you.

With fumbling hands, he rips away at your drenched clothing which already stiffens from the extreme temperature to check your pulse. He discovers in horror that you have none.

“Fuck. Fuck!”

“Joel! What’s goin’ on, dammit?!” Tommy screams from across the river. It sounds muffled, like he’s underwater himself.

“Holds your hand through plastic now. ‘Doc, I think she’s crashing out.’ And some things you just can’t speak about.”

He begins CPR after unzipping your coat with frantic hands, the heel of his palm inching into your chest the way he’s done so many times before. After a few minutes, he starts mouth to mouth.

It’s not the way he first wanted to touch you.

Instead of a kiss, it’s the attempt at a breath of life.

Your body jostles beneath his endurance, of his precarious attempt at saving your life. Your mouth hangs open like a fish, lips already turning blue, and skin blanching. Images of Sarah — and of Ellie — plague his vision. He thinks of Tess’s body sponging her own blood as she lie dead in the courthouse.

After about five minutes — it felt like hours — he feels the muscles in your legs twitch. You garble, ice water expelling from your lips and onto your chest before gasping for air.

Precious air.

“Jesus,” he whispers in relief, tugging your body close to his chest.

You continue to pant in his arms, body still rigid in shock, before two of you sag in one another’s embrace. Your arms lie limp at your sides from lack of strength. You’re not even shivering — not even crying.

Joel pets your hair, his palm cradling the back of your head. “You’re alright, darlin’. You’re fine…” he whispers.

You nod weakly, eyes slipping shut.

You’re alright.

࿐

Tommy sees something defeated in Joel when the medics take you.

Fortunately, they hadn’t been too far away so it was only an hour before they reached Jackson. Joel had instructed you to take off your clothing and wrap yourself in the wool blankets they’d brought along. The patrol was intended to be much longer than this so they were well prepared for any inconveniences.

Even death.

“Only twenty minutes of sleep but you dream of some epiphany.”

This was what you’d been the verge on when they galloped to the gates with thundering hooves. Accounting for the weather, it should’ve taken them three hours to get back - it usually took two during the summer when rain was their only concern. But Joel rode Old Beardy hard; Tommy was concerned the damn thing would fall over from exhaustion.

But they made it in the knick of time. Joel shouted for help while you slump against his back, your horse Bucephalus galloping alongside of his like the loyal steed he was. You were mumbling something incoherent against him and he shushed you as he slid you off into his arms.

“Help!” Joel’s tone broke something down in Tommy’s chest cavity. “I need a goddamn medic!”

They’d been quick to take you. Joel’s fingers lingered against your shivering form as he passed you along to Kevin, one of the younger boys in town. They exchanged a few words before Joel urged him with a stern growl to get going.

“Just one single glimpse of relief to make some sense of what you’ve seen.”

When she’s gone, he rubs his hands down his face and sags against the horse barn. His chest heaves with heavy breath, eyes shut tightly as though he’s seeing ghosts long gone.

Tommy didn’t have to imagine.

Sarah. Ellie.

“With you, I serve. With you, I fall down.”

Tess was more likely to be the answer. After all, Tommy knew his brother had feelings for the woman. She was rough around the edges, but Joel usually liked them that. He did back then, anyway. His first wife — a spider in every sense — was difficult to say the very least. Joel liked a challenge.

“Watch you breathe in. Watch you breathing out.”

You weren’t anything like them. This is why Tommy finds it so strange when Joel takes a moment to collect himself, clears his throat, and turns towards the horses like it never even happened.

“Almost lost her,” he mutters.

Yes. Tommy knew then. This wasn’t about Ellie. This wasn’t even about Sarah. He was no father figure to you.