Raven

“No!”

Joel called your name in agony, rushing over and prying the runner off of you. There, deep in your shoulder, were dark bite marks, dripping crimson. His hazel eyes were wide as he stared at you, shock and a hopeless feeling washing over him.

“God, no…” he whispered, slowly taking steps toward you. “You’re gonna be fine, we can—”

“No,” you croaked, eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry, Joel…but this is the end of the line for me…”

Your eyes found his, trying to hold back the utter helplessness you felt. This was it. This was the end of the road for you. You wouldn’t get to curl up against Joel in a warm Jackson bed anymore. You wouldn’t get to watch him carve into wood masterfully in awe, or talk to him about how tiring patrol was without you.

He couldn’t say a word, the thought of you turning into one of them refusing to register. After a moment, he sat down against the wall beside you, dropping his gun. Like you, he was holding back tears, like he was grieving you already. It made your heart ache.

You winced, feeling the bite burn fiercely, your other hand grabbing your bloody shoulder. A tear slipped down Joel’s cheek, getting caught in his beard as he turned to look at you.

“You’ve always had such pretty eyes, Joel…” you gave a weak smile. “One of the things I love most about you…”

“Stop,” he said, his jaw clenching. “Just…stop. Please.”

“Well, I’m dying, so why should I?” you mumbled, as he took your bloody hand in his. Your bite flared again, the throb worsening. Maybe the two of you would wake up, and it would be all a dream. You both waited and waited, but nothing changed about the room. You were both still on the cold floor, backs against the wall.

“Joel…” you whispered, breaking the silence after a moment,

“Yeah…?”

“I’m scared…”

“Don’t be, baby…” he said, his voice soft like the warmth of the sun. “I got you…I ain’t lettin’ go…”

Joel gave your hand a gentle squeeze, then brought it to his lips in assurance. His beard tickled your skin and you couldn’t hold back your sob. He pulled you into his arms, holding you to his chest tightly like it was your final night alive.

It was.

And when the first groan slipped past your lips, he raised his gun. But he couldn’t pull the trigger.

Because it was still you.