#rushkawrites

The ride up was familiar terrain, and with the promised payment of around 200 cans (two hundred!) sitting safely in a storage unit, you considered the whole thing a win-win. The only con? You’d been forced to leave Ellie at home, a conversation you’d mistakenly left to Joel. You tried to explain that the bridge crossing was safely abandoned, and assured her you’d be back the day after tomorrow, but she wasn’t having it. 

“I miss you when you’re gone! You can’t just leave me behind again!” 

“It sucks, I know… what if I bring you back something cool to make up for it?”

“Fine, but you better make it good.” 

“I will, I promise.” 

Having smoothed things over, you’d started out optimistic; Joel allowing the brush of your hand against his own as you passed folks shoveling snow and raking leaves, cheeks rosy as summer faded and made way for the fresh, icy winter air. You delighted at Joel’s unexpected patience and humor for Johanna, and as the three of you rode, your laughter hung between the dense firs like streamers. 

Then a FEDRA unit caught your unsuspecting trio by surprise up near the river bank, a mere two hours after setting out. Things had spun out of control quickly, and in the scuffle to escape Johanna had suffered a fall. You’d found the only cover you could in this shithole of a shepherd’s shack, fending off gunfire while you and Joel tried to figure out how you’d get back to Jackson with no horses and dwindling ammo. In your effort to push the little girl under a solid table for cover, you’d been careless and exposed yourself to the aim of one remaining officer.  

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“Fuck!” You stumble, back thudding against rotting wooden panels. “Fuck i’m stupid. fuck. fuck. fuck!”  

 “Shit.” Joel kneels over you, wild eyes reflecting your own. The steel of his shotgun  gleams in the blistering sunset. Flustered concern etched in his forehead. “He’s down. How bad is it?.”

Wheezing in the dust and dripping sweat from your furrowed brow, you move your unsteady fingers over dirt-scuffed denim to get a better look at the sizable hole entrenched in the muscle of your inner thigh. 

“Ahhh..I- I don’t know. Pretty deep.” 

You shoot a dirty look to the bloodied bullet sitting just to your left. What a piece of shit. How could something so small cause so much fucking damage?  

Warm, velvet red ripples steadily from the split skin. 

“Bullet still in there?” He’s breathless. 

“No.” You bite out.  “Clean shot.” 

You lift your hand, blood sticky and gross on your palm. He clicks his tongue as if it isn’t that serious, but the way his face whitens betrays him. This was all wrong. He should never have let you take this job. He should’ve convinced Maria to pick someone else. 

“Okay. Okay. That’s alright. Scooch up now, I'll grab the kit.” 

“No, no i’ll do it. Just…keep watch. I’ll be alright.”  You rebuff his hovering anxiety, with more certainty than you feel. Mostly for his benefit.

Waving his hesitant form away with marginal annoyance, you grumble out a half-serious “s’fine.”  

You will be, right? Fine? You’ve been through worse injuries than this. It’s not like you’re infected.  Reaching up to rifle through the drawer beside you one-handed, you note that you can no longer feel the sting of your fingers, pinched over the wound to keep it closed.

Joel still hasn’t moved an inch, so you wave him off once more, needle and thread secured in hand. “Need you to keep your eye on the driveway, Joel.” 

 Christ, It’s only your lives at stake here. The last thing you need is him losing focus when he’s the only one with a gun, and you need him to actually use it if you want to make it out of this alive. 

He reluctantly concedes, mumbling to himself. Anger and adrenaline still burn bright and hot in his chest at the sight of your wound, so while you pull on the edge of the thread with your teeth to free it, he turns away to focus on something else that isn’t covered in your blood, eyes landing on the corpse of the last soldier outside. 

He knows he should feel bad that he’d gunned down that young boy without hesitation, should feel guilty. Some of these “officers” were still just kids, shoved out in front of threats as fodder. 

But he doesn’t feel bad. He’ll do it again.

FEDRA radio static crackles from beneath the rest of the bodies splattered in the overgrown grass.

“Second unit ten minutes away, over.” 

Okay. No reason to panic. You have ten minutes. This is fine. 

You try hard not to focus on the mess as you thread the rusty needle with far more force than is required, slippery hands pressing the tip into the top section of flesh that’s split open. You push, wincing. 

And the stupid thing breaks. 

Snaps in two. Like it’s nothing. 

No. no. no no no no. 

Joel’s back is turned, and he misses the horror splashed across your features. Your heart beats out of your chest.

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 “I broke it.”

 He whips around, reaching for you immediately. “What? Broke what?” He spots the split metal beside you, red thread hanging limp, and picks the two ends up with an unreadable expression. 

 Forcing your eyes down purposefully into your mangled, pulsing leg, you barely see the fat lining through the ripples of blood and muscle. Fuck, that’s disgusting. Swallowing back a wave of nausea, you tear your sweat-soaked flannel over your head, pulling it as tight as you can stand. You can’t stitch it up, so this will have to do for now. 

You shiver. Then two hands are firmly gripping your shoulders as you wither beneath Joel as he looms over you, dizzy and disorientated in panic. You grip his wrists to stop from losing face. 

“Fuck. Okay…s’fine…just keep it wrapped. Won’t be long til’ the last of those dirty fuckers show up.” The timbre of his voice is deep, trembling. “I’ll take care of them ‘n then we get the hell out of here. We’ll head straight to Tommy’s..” He pauses. “You just gotta hold out for a bit longer, okay?” 

You nod but can’t bring yourself to look at him as he brushes his large palm against your cheek in reassurance, standing to take his position against the wall by the door. You chew on your lip, tasting blood. How long can you really last like this? Night is closing in. The temperature is dropping fast. Your flannel is already wet. The reduced circulation will slow it down, give you maybe fifteen minutes of grace to figure something out. 

But then what? 

The faint rumble of engines sends electric shocks zip-zapping up and down your spine and Joel stands up straighter, index finger hovered over the slope of the trigger. He’s itching to pull it, to kill them all,  end this horror of a day. Bury it in the past where it belongs. He’ll take you back home where it’s safe and run you a bath and forget this ever happened, banish it to the recesses of his nightmares. 

Glossy with cold sweat, your pulse flutters. The ominous creep of a slippery puddle has begun to form between your inner thigh and the mottled floorboards. You count the seconds. And breathe. In and out. In and out. Think. think. think.  

The silence is suffocating as you mull over your possible options. You could look around for another med kit, but what would be the chances? Plus, you can barely move and it would be a waste of energy. What about something to plug the hole? Tampons, pads…anything? Sweeping the barren room, you can’t see shit in the shadows except Johanna’s small frame, lying flat against the mattress.  She’s been eerily still and quiet throughout the standoff, and you wonder if she’s afraid. Tear tracks stain her little cheeks. You chide yourself at forgetting to check on her. 

“You alright, honey?” 

She nods, but you notice the odd angle of her leg, and how she quivers. You had forgotten how dependent young children were, because Ellie was older and fairly self-sufficient now. An adult could potentially manage with a broken leg on foot for a while on regular terrain, but not a 6 year old. She needs a doctor, antibiotics. Joel will need to carry her back to Jackson. 

The thing is, the numbness in your thigh that’s creeping steadily toward your hip tells you that the bullet has almost certainly nicked your main artery. Logic suggests you’d never make it to Jackson in time to stop bleeding out. Not even if you could run, let alone being unable to walk by yourself. 

You watch the blood pool and spread, sinking into bug-bitten damp planks. Soaking the soil beneath. There shouldn’t be this much of it. 

You turn back to Joel warily, angling yourself so that only your good leg is facing toward Johanna. She’s already seen far too much today. 

“How many rounds you got left?” You ask. 

“Enough.” He lies.

“Even if you manage the whole unit, I can’t run like this.”  You gesture to your leg, but he doesn’t look. 

“I’ll carry you. S’fine.” He swears, wavering. Convincing himself. 

“Look at me, Joel.” You hiss. 

You’re glaring at him as he methodically checks every part of the gun and frustration bubbles up inside you. You do not have time for his denial. 

“Joel!”  

He looks up at the sound of your growing desperation and you shift, grimacing as your thigh pulses with blistering pain. His eyes lower as you gingerly lift the shirt so he can see how bad it really is, plastered and dripping in the evidence of your failure. The uselessness and futility of it all. He starts toward you. “Don’t fuckin’ take it off! Jesus christ.” 

“Hand me the gun, Miller.” 

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” 

You try to push back the tears that are brimming in your eyes. How can you convince him?

“Cop on, for christ’s sake. You only have two hands. If you give me the gun you can get the hell out of here and ta-”

You don’t get to finish your explanation as he slams the shotgun down on the table. The walls shake with the impact of it. “What kind of man do you fuckin’ think I am? Huh? You really think i’d leave you here? Abandon you?”

You exhale gratuitously, trying to get ahold of yourself so you don’t ruin this more than you already have. “It’s not about me Joel.” You plead,  “I know what kind of a man you are. But look at that kid, she can’t fucking run!” 

“ Don’t make this difficult for me” You whisper, biting back a wave of grief at how beautiful he looks in this light, even in his anger. 

His eyes bore holes into yours. Silent. Unwavering. He won’t let you do this, there has to be another way. He’ll find it. 

You look him dead on, mustering all the courage you have left in you. 

“Could you live with yourself? if you let her die, just because you’re too much of a coward to let me go?” You almost regret the weight and severity of your words, but you’re pulling your last card here. Somebody has to survive this mess and you’ll do what you have to do, though it breaks your fucking heart to know you’ll never get the future you were imagining this morning - that you’ll  never feel the warmth of the sun again or be able to see Ellie grow up, never have the garden you wanted so badly, or feel the rush of exhilaration when you ride out with Joel for a job.  You’ll die right here when he leaves you behind and you have to make him do it.

Because if he doesn’t take the girl and get the fuck out out, all three of you are done for. 

“You’re a dad, Miller.” You change tack, voice softer now, lilted. “You know what you have to do.” Your heavy, tired eyes flit to the left. 

He’s silenced by that, pained gaze turned to where the youngster is sat. He knows her leg hurts and he can see the bone is resting at an odd angle. You’re right, she can’t run. But there has to be something he can do.

Joel looks at her like he has to double check several times before turning back to you - words twisted and caught in his throat.  A large, soft hand rests on your thigh. “I-I’ll find another needle and thread and we’ll patch you up right here, okay? You…you can run if it’s stitched. We’ll make it.”  

Tears burn your eyes as you see the devastation mirrored in his own. The longing. You turn your head down, snaking your hand through his curls and pressing a lingering kiss to the top of his head. Savouring every part of him as much as you can. 

“I’m dying, Joel.” You release the words in one breath, but you surprisingly find you accept them easily. Naturally. You’d thought it’d be difficult to actually acknowledge it, but there’s no apprehension or venom in your voice. 

“Don’t. Don’t you fuckin’ dare say that.”

You open your eyes and take him in, heartbroken. All orange and red and purple, soft and dream-like.  A smile touches your cheeks and Joel marvels at that, how beautiful and angelic you are, even while you’re bleeding out in front of him. It’s too much for him and his chest constricts painfully. How could he have let this happen? You can’t be dying. He won’t let you.

“You have to let me go, Miller”  

His head ducks down and he swallows thickly. Joel has felt helplessness before, more times than he cared to remember. This time it’s also denial that crushes him as he scrambles, trying to find a solution he knows already doesn’t exist. This is all happening too fast, his whole life falling down around him. What would he say to Ellie? She would hate him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Not if he did this. 

 “I won’t. I won’t fail again.” 

Panic rises in you at his reluctance and you grip his hand as tight as you can. “You’ll fail me if you don’t get that girl to a doctor! I’ll never forgive myself if she doesn’t make it home to her mama, Joel.” 

“It’s not your fault.” You add, softly, though he shakes his head ever so slightly. 

You hear the disruptive crackle again. “Unit dropping in five, over.”

He stands abruptly and you do too, taking his outstretched hand and letting him support your weight as you both peer across the lawn, searching for the vehicles, but unable to see much beyond the winding driveway and thicket of trees. 

The engines are a little louder now. Shouts and orders echoing distantly from empty streets and the valley edges. There’s nothing else alive here to make noise, save for a few infected wandering the edges of town. 

Joel’s arm slides comfortably around you and you lean into it. So warm and good. Always there for you. Looking after you. Supporting the weight of your whole world. And as much as your exhausted body is begging for his touch, screaming for the comfort of his arms, dying for him to pick you up and carry you home and wrap you up to lie lazily in his bed, it would be real fuckin’ selfish of you to give in. 

Your heart pangs as you think of Ellie. She’ll never forgive you. 

Tears are streaming down your cheeks now, but you don’t care anymore and you look at Joel, really look, trying to etch every detail of this man’s face into your memory. God, he was beautiful. Every gentle line and every hair, the tug of his soft mouth and the glint of his eyes. 

Your left hand grips his over the cold metal and you steel your resolve. This time you have to be the strong one. For him. For her. 

“Give me the fucking gun, Joel.” 

There’s a moment of silence where you think he might fight, might try to convince you there’s another way, try to make you run with him even though you can’t even stand up properly. But  his grip relaxes and a huge wave of relief washes over you. Adjusting your position, you struggle unceremoniously with his help to a spot underneath the window that’ll give you the cover you need while you do this last thing. Your muscles relax against the floor, eager to rest. He reluctantly lets you slide down. 

At the kickback of a truck that’s too close, he moves over to Johanna and crouches, motioning for her to climb onto his broad back. “Come on now, sweetheart” 

“What about her?” The girl’s voice is quiet, resigned. 

“Don’t you worry honey, I’ll be right behind you.” The lie is smooth and sweet in your mouth. Too easy, too sure. Parental. Joel’s been rubbing off on you. You reassure her even as you begin to tremble. 

Joel’s expression is unreadable and he takes a shaky step toward you, holding his cargo carefully. She clings to him and you try to steel yourself.

Doors shut and slam in the near distance, and you realize they must be equipping and briefing down at the turnoff because they don’t know you know they’re coming. You give Joel a pointed look at the open back door, a silent directive. Go. They’ve parked up. You need the time.  Instead, he advances til he’s right in front of you.  

“What are you doing?” You croak, not wanting to prolong this, for his sake as well as your own. Aren’t you suffering enough? “You gotta go, Joel. You got like, five minutes to put as much ground as you can between us.” 

“Let me look at you, for christ’s sake.” one last time. Committing to his own memory your sure grip of the shotgun he taught you how to use, searing into his brain the way your hair is curling in the humidity and the pretty silhouette of your nose. The inky brush of your eyelashes. When he’d picked you up two years ago in Arizona, you couldn’t even set a trap. Now here you are, willing to do the unthinkable for a child you don’t even know. 

Would he still have stopped to throw you in the back of his truck, all that time ago,  knowing now that going with him would end this way? That you’d never even make it to 30? That being with him was a death sentence? 

He’s not strong enough to say that he wouldn’t have done everything exactly the same, and he thinks that’s fucking selfish. But what was his life without you? Knowing your warmth and your life and your joy, could he have ever consciously chosen to live without it? He’d never meant for this to happen. He had promised to protect you, not to leave you behind to die in some dirty shack. After all you’d been through and all the cards you’d been dealt, he’d sworn to make sure he’d take care of you for the rest of your life. That pain and death would be kept at bay. That you wouldn’t have to worry anymore. 

 Anger and despair and frustration all battled for dominance inside him, leaving him raw and broken  in front of you. He’d coped with so much death, lost Sarah’s mom, then Sarah. Nearly lost Ellie. How could he give you up like this? Even when there was no other choice, no other way?. 

In that moment he feels completely pathetic in the light of your bravery. Guilt crawls up his spine, twisting and pulling. He’s failed you. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You, frustrated,  sniff back the sob that’s trying to break out of you. “No, Joel, it’s-”

“I’ll come back. Tonight.”  He interrupts, tormented. His own sorrow crashing over you both. You shake your head. He can’t. Plus, you don’t want him to see whatever sorry state you’re sure your body will be in by that time. 

“You gotta stay with Ellie, Joel.” 

 Reminded suddenly of the book in your bag and not wanting to forget your promise, you use your good leg to boot it over towards Joel. “Here,” Worn canvas slides along the floor and he retrieves it with his free arm, pulling the strap over and looking inside, realizing he’s looking at the book you’d been yarning your mouth off about.

“Promised her i’d pick something up. She was so mad at me for leaving her behind.” You offer, laughter mute and subdued. 

He pulls it out. 

“Give it to her yourself.” He returns, pleading. 

Your gaze softens. “You’ll tell her I’m sorry?”

He curses and runs a hand over his face and his pain in tandem with your own is unbearable. So you close your eyes. The smell of him is still so intoxicating and you breathe deeply, willing it to linger, to comfort you.

The truth is, you’re only being brave for his sake. You know that if you let him see how afraid you really are, he’ll never be able to leave. You lean back against the wall, hoping it will ground you.

All of a sudden, his warm mouth is on your forehead pressing a kiss into you, and the intensity behind it blinds you despite the fact you can’t see anything anyway. The kind of kiss that’s supposed to stay with you. The only way he can. You’re dizzy, suddenly. You defy the urge to reach up and keep him held tight against you forever. 

“I’ll bring you home, I promise.”  The hope in his voice almost breaks you. If you do your job right, there won’t be enough of you left for that.  

“I’ll be here.” You let the sobs tear through your body, gripping the shotgun as if it’s the only thing grounding you. Your heart squeezes painfully. Sounds become louder. Boots on gravel, metal clicking. You were out of time five minutes ago. 

“Go.” You cry, unable to hold it back. You are fatigued now, everything hurts, every cell in your body is aching for rest and comfort and he has to leave now. 

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He has to force his legs to move, every bone in his body, every instinct denying the act. The weight of the little girl in his arms barely registering. She’s passed out from the shock, breathing steadily against him.  He can’t tear his eyes away from your shaking hands as he backs towards the door. 

 I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry. Please forgive me.  Please be alive. I’ll come for you. 

The thud of his boots grows quieter, and you wait several minutes (trying not to fall into the clutches of a greedy sleep) until there’s nothing but the encroaching sound of your killers and the hum of their vehicles. Blinking away your tears, you realize with mid-sob that a warm weight is over your lap, stifling the chill that ripples away from you like waves in a pond. Eyes adjusting back to the light, you  discover the culprit is his tattered, worn leather jacket. Of course. It’s been placed over you so carefully, so quietly, that you didn’t even notice. 

Clutching it against you, you allow yourself to let go now. You cry and cry and cry until you’re empty, choking, throat hoarse. You don’t care if the FEDRA boys hear you, you don’t care if anyone hears you. Joel’s gone now, he won’t have to listen to this pathetic demonstration of your fear. 

Please, God, let her live. Let her live, let her live. I’ll do anything you want. Keep her alive for me. 

Joel’s not a believer in higher power, but you are, so he prays to your god anyway, as the scent of fir smothers the air, and the cacophony of the forest sounds too much like you. Reminds him of your sweet smile and the honey in your brown eyes as the sun dipped into them. How many afternoons passed by, lazily drenched in summer heat, like two cats gorged on life? How many moments has he spent, mapping and memorizing you? He’s walked away, but everything inside him is still there, in the shack with you. He hopes that you won’t be cold now. That his jacket will keep you warm enough and that maybe, maybe, you can slip away before FEDRA even gets to you. Maybe you can hide. 

It’s logically close to impossible.  

He feels like a hypocrite, muttering promises under his breath as he stumbles through the night, and wonders how could he pray now? Offer words up to a God who had condemned you both here? And who was God to choose? To turn the wheel, throw the dice on who’s life to give and who’s to take away? How was that fair at all? To take away your future like that? His future, too? 

He also makes different kinds of promises. Ones he’ll keep to himself that involve his baser self. An eye for an eye. They took you from him? He’d take everything. Destroy the whole organisation from the inside out. 

FEDRA and the whole damn world could go blind for all he fucking cared. He wasn’t fighting for justice. You deserved more than that. You deserved to have somebody avenge you. You deserved to know that you meant enough to somebody, were loved enough, that they’d tear apart the world for you.

 He doesn’t think he’s ever run so fast in his life. 

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You hiccup,  wiping your blurry eyes on the back of your hand with your shirt. His shirt. Sniffing and hoping Joel won’t find your face covered in tear stains and snot after you die, (despite the absurdity of it, you’d be so embarassed) you cock his shotgun and take a preliminary aim out of the corner of the hole in the glass window pane. By your own calculations, It’ll take the six men at the bottom of the winding driveway about a minute to get up the lawn, and you need to give Joel as big of a head start as you possibly can, although he’s likely already far enough away. You spot three more younger boys bringing up the rear.  They walk slowly and using your other hand, you pull the leather jacket over you, settling against the window frame further because you’re tired and you’re  done moving. 

“Come out with your hands up, Miller!” 

You bite your lip and stay silent. You wanted to wait as long as possible before engaging them and having them realize Joel isn’t with you, but one of the older officers with a “commander” badge fastened to his lapel slipped your eyeline and has come far too close to your position near the door.  You decide quickly that you’ll pick him off before he can spot you. With a twitch of your index and a bang that’s absorbed into the hungry night sky, the man’s dead in the dirt with a splatter the size of Texas covering his front. 

Unexpected chaos erupts. The younger officers are not as well trained as you had assumed they would be. To your dismay, they immediately panic,  breaking formation and begin firing.  Your own shots only take down two more. 

The planks of the door blister and break and shrapnel and dust fills the air. You instinctively turn away from the window.  “Shit!” 

You have seconds left to reload and you’re too slow. But you’d known it was coming to this. Every moment of your life, every choice you made, leading you to this moment. You know you must look pathetic like this, crouched under the frame, bleeding out, cowering. In pain. But you’d do it all again for him.  Joel was safe now, he’d make sure Johanna got back. That was all that mattered. 

Your life in exchange for theirs. You, for two futures. More than fair. Jackson wouldn’t suffer through the winter. Ellie would still get her book. Joel still had time, he could find someone else, maybe even love again. 

Boots thud and voices yell and a piercing pain suddenly blooms from your chest. Vermillion unraveling over your chest like an unfurling flower in spring. The door collapses into the frame and soldiers spill into the shack. Everything is hazy and distorted, shapes dissolving this way and that, voices shrill and every noise and sensation amplified. Faceless men. Toy soldiers. The overstimulation is painful, and you feel someone shaking you - hard. Another is clicking his fingers in front of your eyes, trying to keep you conscious. 

“Hey, look at me! Miller. Where’s Miller?!” 

“Don’t worry boys.” You cough out, laughing.  It’s strange in your ears. Everything is ringing.  When Joel finds your shot-up corpse, he’ll lose his mind, and as much as you hate that he’ll have to see it, you get a kind of sick satisfaction knowing they’ll have to suffer at his hands for what they’ve done. That your pain won’t go unpunished.

“He’ll…he’ll be back for-” You can’t manage to finish  because blood has backed up in your throat, but you’re sure they get the picture.  The iron taste is  final in your mouth, filling up your lungs.  You stop trying to hold yourself up, there’s no point. The soldiers are yelling, still trying to communicate with you. You’re done now. 

As you hit the floor with an exhausted thud, you close your eyes against the sensory overload and it’s as if your subconscious knows you must be on the way out, because as FEDRA hands pull and grab at your shivering body and slick liquid pools on your stomach and waist, you’re enveloped  by the arrest of your own memories, soaked in endorphins, dripping in affection. Your favourites flash before your eyes. The afternoon in the wheat field, your poems, the first time you’d met Ellie. His hands on your body for the first time, delicious currents rippling through your skin at his touch. His kisses, soft and luxurious, every touch for you so contradictive to everything else he had to handle in his life. The fire in your veins a result of his devotion to your pleasure - a way for him to reconcile the other things he’d had to do before you came along. 

You know it isn’t real, know it’s that thing that happens to your brain when you die, but in your delirium you can swear that you hear Ellie’s tinkling laugh, feel the tender relief of Joel’s hands hot over your skin, melting away the bitter pain of the cold. You know you feel his breath on your neck and his kiss on your temple. You take it all, and you reach out - knowing he’s there. Whatever happens now, wherever you go, he’ll hold you. He’ll keep you safe. 

“It’s cold here. It hurts, Joel.” 

“‘S okay baby. I’m here now….no more pain. No more cryin’.” 

He’s mouth-wateringly warm. 

“I’m so afraid…so…so tired” You try to remember how you got here and what you were doing, but everything is so heavy around you, suppressing you.  

“I know y’are. I know. You did well, sweetheart, we’re so proud of you. You’re so brave. My brave girl. But I need y’to let go and rest now, can you do that for me? ”  

Of course. You’ll do anything he asks. You acquiesce easily, curling into him. So, so sleepy… 

“Okay. Will you stay with me?” 

“ I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”