Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1.Ellie 

Ironically, Joel was the first person to explain what a soulmate was to me.

The guy was by far one of the deadliest humans I've ever met. Moulded by endless years of fighting and surviving. Joel Miller was a force to be reckoned with. So obviously hearing him talk about soulmates of all things as a reality, was utterly ridiculous.

I, of course, did not believe him, at least not at the start.

I still remember to this day how that conversation went. One night on our travels to Wyoming, Joel had let it slip. Huddled in the woods, eating cans of cold peaches for dinner, Joel grew irritated at the birthmark on his shoulder. 

“This stupid mark, I swear, if it moves one more time, I'll burn it off!” He’d growled, rubbing at the birthmark under his sleeve. 

I startled up from my own can, lost in thoughts of the last chapter in my newest Starlight Savage, and only caught half of what he said. 

“What mark?” I’d asked him.

His obvious confusion at my question made me pause more than usual, my younger self instantly knowing this was a topic to pay attention to. 

“My mark? The same mark everyone has. The one on your shoulder, kiddo. “The bond mark,” he’d answered. 

“Bond mark?” I parroted at him, highly incredulous. I knew everyone held similar birthmarks, but I never imagined they had a purpose.

My answer convinced Joel of my lack of knowledge on said topic. It was plain as day I had no idea what he was talking about, so he then proceeded to explain it to me. 

Basic birthmarks, by appearance, bond marks, or soulmate marks, as they were generally known, were something all people carried on their bodies from birth. Everyone had one. Appearing anywhere on the body, the marks moved after the age of 16. Travelling from skin to skin, like a live snake once someone reached maturity. I remember being very freaked out by this. Joel said it had something to do with the mark searching for its ‘other half.’ I had laughed at him. Eyebrows raised sceptically. Joel had laughed at me, a sound he didn't make often, and had left the explanation there. 

But my adolescent curiosity made me ask. sceptically.

“Other half?” 

The rarity in a soulmate mark wasn't the fact everyone had one but finding its pair on another. Only one percent of the population ever met their bonded person, or soulmate, and this, he stressed to me, was a statistic before the end of the world. Now it was more a myth. Joel said there was no point in ever imagining I would meet my match. It was such an impossibility. 

“It's best not to dwell on a maybe, kid.” He’d huffed.

Stunned by all the new information at the time, I’d asked him how you would even know if you’ve met your supposed pair. 

“You’d know. The marks would move to a point of the body, almost as if reaching out to another in desperation. I've seen it once. Happened back in Boston to two strangers. They collapsed in pain from the marks' harsh movements across their skin and had to crawl the last couple of metres to each other. I can still remember their screams, girl. The marks were hurting them. But once they touched, they were both silent, clutching each other in relief. Their bond didn't do them any good, Ellie. It seemed to hurt like a bitch. Not something I'd wish on you. Okay? So don't go chasing a maybe like I know you will. You can still love someone without a mark to bind you.” He had concluded his explanations after that. 

I still didn't quite believe him, and if I hadn't asked for clarity from Dina and Jesse after a couple of weeks of our friendship or felt my own mark start to move the day I turned 16, I'd probably still have the same thoughts on soulmates as Joel. Now my thoughts were more or less the same as everyone else's. It was an impossibility. A nice thought, but best not to dwell too hard on it. 

Apart from the telltale pull of movement under my skin, I didn't let my soulmark phase me.

Jackson was a lively community, and when Joel and I had returned after Salt Lake to live here with the rest of Joel's family, his brother Tommy and wife Maria, both of whom were leaders of the community, I'd met Dina and Jesse. I was thankful for their friendship over the years. Especially after my fallout with Joel. 

Once Joel told me what really happened at Salt Lake with the fireflies while I was unconscious, I felt so lost. Betrayed by the truth, I'd distanced myself from my caretaker. 

Dina and Jesse made me feel normal and safe. My closest friends. They didn't press on Joel and me and knew to leave the issues be, as it wasn't their problem to bear. Jackson, despite the betrayal of the man I arrived with, grew on me, and I started to think of it as my home. With its mostly friendly community and easy lifestyle, I'd found my confidence here. Grew here.

A couple of months after settling into the refurbished garage of Joel's house, an act set in motion by me in hopes of creating more distance between us, I had met Kat. My first girlfriend. She had offered to do a tattoo for me, and I knew exactly where I wanted it. Over the burn concealing my healed bite. 

We hit it off, and after getting over the first-time awkwardness, we had a relatively easy relationship. It didn't last long though, a year at most if I recall. Our relationship ended peacefully enough. We were better off as friends. She had a new crush, and I was, to my own mortification at the cliche, pining for my straight best friend.

Who turned out to not be so straight. 

Dina was my second relationship; a complicated whirlwind of secret pining and unsure sexualities and ping-ponging between me and Jesse had made the whole thing confusing, to say the least. 

I wasn't sure if the relationship was worth it sometimes.

I knew I was fascinated by Dina in all her confident glory. She was the life of the party after all. 

A beacon to a moth like me. 

Together we were a match of chaos and cockiness, and it felt right. But her inability to commit longer than a couple of months with either Jesse or me had left us both hurt and saddened. We didn't blame her, nor did we blame each other. We knew Dina was a free spirit, Dina being Dina after all, but we also knew it wouldn't last, and I was way too gay to ever make a thruple work like we suspected Dina really wanted. A suspicion we never voiced aloud. 

So she swung between us. On again, off again. It was exhausting. 

I knew I had to eventually let Dina down. She was starting to tear it all apart, and Jesse was more distant lately than ever. So, I planned to let her know after the winter dance. couldn't keep up with the casualness of our relationship anymore, and I hoped we could go back to being solely friends. 

No intimacy. 

I knew she would understand; Dina wasn't one to pressure unless necessary. She would give me the benefit of the doubt even if she would be sad and mopey about it for a while. I hoped in setting this boundary we could rebuild our friendships. 

Dina had to kiss me, though. Right in the middle of the fucking winter dance. 

Right in the eyeline of the town's bigot.

It was a confrontation I didn't need, leaving me so sour and vicious at the foul man. An anger I redirected at Joel as he stepped in to defend us. 

I felt bad about it, my anger, and decided to talk to him that night on his porch, for the first time in two years. I had been thinking about forgiving him for a while now, and it was as good an opportunity as any. I made it very clear I was still so mad at him. Murdering all those people, going against my wishes to use my immunity for a cure. But I also was tired of being mad. I'm so tired. I wanted to try to forgive him properly. We left the night on a good note. 

It was a start. 

Hopefully it continued. 

This all happened yesterday, and after being woken up by Jesse for patrol, I was now seated on Shimmer, my horse, riding alongside Dina, securing a route outside of Jackson. Jesse had taken another checkpoint and gone south, the atmosphere obviously still too awkward for him to be around us at the moment. I didn't blame the guy. 

“I'm sorry about last night, El.” Dina started to speak; our easy and casual avoidance of the topic now voided the deeper into patrol we were.

I sighed into the cold midmorning air, breath fogging in front of me. She wanted to talk about the kiss. 

It seemed like we were doing this then.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It was just a kiss. Seth's an ass and always has been.” I grumbled at her, hand bouncing on my thigh, not really wanting to talk about this but knowing I had to rip the bandaid off at some point. 

Might as well be now. 

I thought back to Jesse's dejected face last night when Dina pulled away from my lips.

Fuck it. 

“Look, Dina, I can't do this again.” I start, anxiety crawling up my spine. “ Jesse and I haven't spoken properly in months. We dodge you as a topic when we do speak because we don't know what to make of this awkwardness anymore. We both know what you really want. But you have to know by now we aren't comfortable with even thinking about…something like that. I really hope we can go back to being just friends from now on. I think it's best for everyone if we do.” I feel instant relief from getting this weight off my chest. 

My words hint at her desire for a threesome. Just the idea makes me shudder. 

I looked over at her, and her eyes were flushed with tears, her cheeks pink not just from the winter winds but also from her emotions. She looked resigned, and I knew from her face she was shattered but also accepting. 

Because it was the truth. One we cannot keep avoiding. She's taken this indecision too far. 

“I could see it was affecting both you and Jesse to some extent. I didn't mean to put you both in such a difficult spot. I just don't know what I want. And I let that get in the way of our friendship and fuck it up. I hope you can forgive me. And of course we are still going to be best friends, you idiot. I'd never abandon our friendship for anything. You know that, right?” She sniffled out. 

“I know.” I softly said to her, happy she accepted my decision. 

“Good,” she weakly smiled, and we kept trotting along the winding snow path to the checkpoint, more at ease with each other’s presence. 

“C’mon, dork, I know a place where we can relax a bit after check-in. This route is usually pretty chill.” She waved me onward, trotting ahead. My smile tugged at my lips as I followed her. others’

We came upon an old library, half buried in the snow, and after tying the horses and checking for no infected, we went down to the basement.

I discovered heaven. It was a weed farm. 

“Holy fuck.” I gasped in awe. 

Dina chuckled behind me. “I know, it's Eugene’s. We came here once on patrol; the old man wanted to make a pit stop. You won't believe how fresh this stuff used to be.” 

After taking in all the glory, we got to work, lighting a blunt from a sealed jar, and relaxed back onto the old sofa, satisfied and happy. We chatted and flirted like we usually did, but there was no sexual tension, at least not as obvious as it used to be between us. Dina was really making an effort to respect my wishes. It made me happy. 

We spent a while like that, in our easy haze, giggling every now and then like the morons we are. We swapped stories with each pass of the bud. It felt like home. 

After a while, the long blunt burned out; we rose from the couch and put on our jackets, only to pause as we heard the creak of the basement steps above us. We turned to see Jesse coming down them. He looks embarrassed and tries to turn his face away, obviously thinking we were post-fuckout; his uncomfortableness was at the forefront. 

“Jeez, relax, dude! You didn't interrupt anything, okay?” Dina scowled at him, now seeing how distant he really was around us. 

“Yeah, man, that's all done now. Dina and I are just friends. I've thrown my hat out of the ring. I just want our friendships back.” I assured him, slapping his shoulder to get him to look at me. 

“Really?” He breathed, excitement underlining his tone as he finally looked at me. Damn, dude was whipped. 

“Yep.” I snorted at him. He's too much like a puppy, I swear.

He sighed, relieved. “Okay then. That's good because I don't want to walk in on you having sex anymore. Once was enough.” He grinned even as he fake shuddered, but his teasing quickly faded, replaced by clear worry.

“That's not why I'm here, actually. It's been hours, and nobody's heard from Joel and Tommy since this morning. I got a radio call from Maria that they haven't returned to base, and then I went to check their sign-in like she asked before we left. They haven't marked the route, so I've been looking for them since.” He rushed, eyes darting worriedly between us. 

“Shit!” I swore, worry creeping into my bones. “Something bad must have happened.” 

“It could just be their radio was broken.” Dina tried to reassure. 

“Either way we have to find them to be sure.” I grunted, gathering my stuff hastily. Dina does the same. Tommy and Joel went out early this morning at sunrise. It’s far too late in the day for there to be no sign of them. “How much of their region have you covered?” 

“Not much.” He said.

“Then we split up. Go at it from different sides, and we can cover the whole thing in a few hours.” I looked between the two.

“I don't like you riding solo. We don't know what's out there.” Jesse spoke against the idea.

“Exactly! What if they need help?!” I raised my voice, desperate to get a move on. 

“Okay.” Jesse agreed. “I'll head west, Dina can take south, and you come about it from the east, okay? But be smart about it, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” I agreed, already moving ahead of them.

Mounting our horses, we dashed off in our directions. My mind is on finding Joel and Tommy. The pit of my stomach is dropping more and more as I look out around the blizzard weather. 

Please, please let me find them.

Chapter Text

2.Abby 

The hallway is always where I find myself in my sleep. Alarms blaring, red sirens flashing against the dark hospital walls. No movement to be seen. 

I know this image all too well. It was the same one I saw five years ago. The same one that never leaves me despite my growth, my circumstances, my sadness, or my rage. It's a continuous plague on my mind. The day my father was killed is a day I can never escape from. 

The dream is moving forward, my young self reaching her hand out at the end of the hallway opening he door of the surgical wing. Dad's wing. In my half-present haze, I know I could wake up, stop the dream, and shudder into reality. But I don't. I need to see it. See him at his end, crumpled on the floor, blood a river underneath him. I need to remember my dad in his death. So I can deliver the same to his killer. It's a torture I relive for a reason.

The operating room is cold, with blood splattered on the walls beneath the slumped nurses. I know what comes next. I round the gurney and see his legs first. The image is followed by the unnatural angle of his body, the twist of his torso, and the doctor's coat stained red. His face is always the worst. Eyes that held such love and joy for his daughter, for me, empty orbs of decay. Frozen in the fear he felt during his last moments. 

It sends me over the edge.

I jolt up from my sleeping bag, gasping into the early morning Wyoming air. Hands running over my braid, I calm myself as I sigh tiredly into the quiet room. 

Light breathing and snores surround me as I look at my group spread out in their chosen spots. Everyone else is asleep. Nora and Mel snuggling deeper into their sleeping bags, Nick next to Jordan and Leah’s shared area, and Manny spread out like a starfish, mumbling a vaguely female name in his sleep.

I'm so thankful for these guys every day.

After my silent assessment of my crew, I turn to look around the mansion we are using as a base of operations. The building is a fancy place of log decor furnishings, running water, and electricity. A rare gem as far as post-apocalyptic finds go.

When Issac, our leader in the WLF, informed me of new information coming to light from a group of traders passing through Seattle, I had been sceptical. But as soon as I heard the name Tommy Miller, a man whose brother conveniently went by Joel, I could barely believe my ears. Five years of dead ends and lost causes all deemed redundant as a simple trader gave me the lead I needed to find my fathers killer. It felt like a stroke of luck had finally graced me after years of ineffective searching. 

Issac, keeping his end of the deal him and I made the day the Salt Lake crew joined his war, let my group and I leave with enough supplies and a convoy for our trip. Setting it up on the books as a long-distance scouting mission, to give me my privacy. Luxuries I knew I'd have to pay back once we returned to Seattle, but I didn't care about the cost to Issac anymore. I was so close to that bastard I could taste it. The debt was an easy exchange. 

When I told the group of the lead, their instant desire to come with me and be here as I fulfilled this revenge warmed my heart. Despite the years and the new group, the disagreements and separation by assignments, we all still stood as one, the Salt Lake crew. My people. 

It didn't take us long to reach Wyoming, even as the ground froze over and the air chilled. The mansion was a welcome find, offering shelter from the winds.

My eyes find Owen’s figure over by the bay windows. He's dressed in his gear, casually leaning against the glass as he watches the sprawling mountain terrain. I rise from the ground, groaning at the tension in my neck. It's been a while since I've slept on the floor. Rubbing the muscle, I approached him and stand beside him, looking out the window. It's still a snowy winter wonderland, but I can't deny the view is spectacular. So different from our usual scene of dreary Seattle. My mark moves from my shoulder to my forearm, the phantom pull of the separate entity making me scratch the spot subconsciously.  I faintly realise it's been doing that a lot lately.

“Hey.” I breathe out, voice still thick from sleep.

“Hey.” Owen says, turning to me, his face tight and weary from travel. He's been different lately since we have set out on this journey. Quieter and more assessing of me and of the situation. His distance has made me question if he was okay with what we were doing, but I knew I wasn't the person anymore to ask. Owen may be my ex, but Mel was his girlfriend now, and despite how weird it was to me, I tried to respect their relationship. I wasn't the one who should comfort him or ask about his woes. Years of tense fighting have made it clear to us that despite how much we loved each other for a time, romantically we were a bad fit. Five years of familiarity had turned us sour, something I can admit I mostly contributed to. Now Mel was his rock, his solace. So his continued assessment of me made me feel broken and damaged, and I didn't like it. 

“What were you dreaming about?” He asks.

“Was I talking?” I respond, hugging myself for some warmth. My long sleeve is not doing much in this weather to keep me warm.

“You were doing your teeth-grinding thing.” He says softly, eyes returning to the window.

“Where have you been?” I question, eyeing the snow on his jacket. 

“Grab your gear. I want to show you something.”

“What?” I wonder. 

“Trust me.”

I dress, put my beanie in place on my head, and follow him out of the mansion into the morning cold. We walk for a bit through the snow, boots heavy with each step, and eventually I have to ask when the silence becomes too long.

“Man, it's cold. Couldn't this have waited until the sun's out and it's warmer?” I joke, trying to lighten the tense mood. 

“No. Can't wait. You need to see it.” His tone is serious and curt. 

Blowing air out of my mouth in annoyance, I move closer, following Owen as he speeds up. We climb over rocky ledges and take a winding path between the fern trees. Eventually we come to a snow cliff hanging high above the mountain. Fear sets into my belly as I take in the drop. I fucking hate heights, which Owen clearly knows. He better have a good reason for dragging me up here. 

His unusualness is starting to set me on edge. After skirting around a tight curve pf the cliff, me breathing heavily from the obvious drop, we continue through some trees.

I see it instantly, my eyes taking in the view of what I assume is Jackson, Wyoming. Home of Joel Miller.

“Holy shit. It’s a fucking city.”

"Yeah, I haven't told anyone else yet; I wanted you to see it first." Owen says uneasily, "Saw an armed patrol move from the town to the outpost over there. A few more outposts in between. They have electricity, guns… It's a lot of people.” He sighs, pointing out the outpost to the right, illuminated by the morning sunrise glow.

I nod, taking it all in.

“We’ll figure it out. Corner a patrol, get confirmation he's here, and draw him out.” I say, my mind is already thinking up multiple possibilities. 

“Yeah. Okay. Sure, they’ll be happy to offer up that information.” Owen huffs at me.

My eyebrows draw together at his tone, “Well then we make them.” 

“Do you hear yourself?” 

I shake my head, my mouth opening for a second in confusion before I clamp it shut. 

“Okay? Well then, what do you want to do?”

He's silent again. 

Exasperated, I ask, “What is going on with you?”

“Mel’s pregnant.”

I scoff, anger rising at his omission. Of fucking course. That's why he's been so distant lately. Why he's been watching me as if I'm a ticking time bomb. He wants to leave. Because of Mel. He wants me to stop this and let it go. 

“Should I say congrats?” I spit sarcastically. 

“It’s not just Mel. Once everyone sees this, they will want to turn back.” He gestures to the city.

I'm desperate now as I say, “We can convince them. Right?” It's more a plea than a question, my tone begging him to reconsider. 

He shakes his head, taking a step back. 

My anger reaches a boiling point. He always does this. Says he's there for me, then fucking makes me feel like a criminal for my revenge. Like he wouldn't do the same thing if it was his family. 

“I fucking knew I couldn’t count on you.” I snap at him, movements echoing my agitation. 

Owen tries on his soothing voice and placating tone, something he perfected during our relationship, and tries to make me feel like I'm the issue in this situation. Fuck him. He had every chance to let me know beforehand about his doubts. Heck, they didn't even need to come; they offered too, and now he's going to make me feel like the asshole in this situation. He raises his hand to softly hold me still. 

“No!” I growl, tearing my arm out of his grasp.

Owen steps back, raising his arms in surrender, pursing his lips at me. He sees his attempt at soothing is a lost cause, and treating me continuously like a problem isn't going to save him any face. So he does what Owen does best. He drops the act. 

“Fine. I'll see you back at the lodge.”

He's gone before I can get a word in, back down the path we came, leaving me standing there alone on the cliff's edge. Rage and frustration pour off me as I stare at the twinkling lights of the city below. 

I don't even need to think; I already know what to do. 

“Fuck it.” I huff into the air, turning to head towards the illuminated outpost.

I'll find Miller myself. 

I scale down the side of the mountain, letting my frustration guide me recklessly towards the glowing building Owen said a patrol was stationed in. I pass frozen bodies in the snow. Twisted in the telltale signs of death, decay, and fungus. 

Obviously Infected.

But I don't stop. Not as I scale down the mountain, not when I reach the old town, and not when I have to fight off a small group rising from the snow, which later turns into a full-on horde. Before I know it, I'm bolting from them as they chase me through the town. 

I don't remember how many infected I kill or how far I run. All I know is I find myself pinned between a building and a chain-link fence, its wire plating holding the horde inches from my face. An infected manages to sneak through a gap behind me as I crawl across the snow and lunges. Its decayed hands tear at my face, trying to viciously claw me to pieces. I'm fighting it with everything I have, keeping its snapping maw away from me, but the strength of the others on its back makes the task harder with each second. 

I swear I'm done for when a gunshot goes off, straight through the head of the infected trying to eat me. My ears ring as I shove the carcas off. Arms grab my shoulders and haul me to my feet.

I take the precious second to breathe. A hand thumps me on the shoulder, breaking me out of my reverie, and I finally look at my saviours. It's two men, older in age. One has long dark hair tied at the base of his neck; the other is slightly older with a full beard and short hair. I can tell right away they have had a long day. Weariness alongside tiredness sits heavily on their faces, but even so, it doesn't stop them from firing at the horde on the fence. A fence breaking more and more with each passing second. 

“We’re going to have to run!” The older of the two shouts at me. “I’m going to cover you; get going!”

“There are too many of them! C’mon this way.” Urges ponytail.

We race into an old warehouse and get blocked by the horde at the main entrance doors. Luckily we are able to slip into a side door and barricade it shut behind us. The luck doesn't last long as a new wave of infected charges at us in the hallways. The three of us fight them off, the men using their guns, and me, who is long out of bullets, using a rusted pipe I ripped off the wall to smash as many skulls in as I can. We don't stop as we move deeper into the building. Eventually we come to some sort of wide storage area, with forgotten glass gondolas scattered across the expanse. We barricade as many doors as possible and look around the room for another exit.

“Up there! The window! That's our way out!” Ponytail catches my attention, and I turn to see him pointing up at a window well above boost level.

“Do you see a way up there?” The other man questions, knowing full well we won't be able to reach it by ourselves. 

“Here we'll use this! Hey girl! Give us a hand!” Ponytail barks at me.

“I’ll get the gondola to the window; you two keep them off me!” Ponytail decides quickly, and I give him a nod, already moving.

I swing, smash, and stab my way through the onslaught. It feels never-ending. Despite how hard I swing, infected keep coming. It's like we woke up the whole town. The older man helps me, and together we create carnage protecting the other man. Eventually, Ponytail gets the gondola to the window, and we climb up and over the small ledge. I drop into the snow and stumble, my exhaustion creeping up on me. 

I think I've been fighting infected for hours now.

The older man helps me to my feet, and they take the lead through the snow. I follow close behind, instinctively knowing these two are my best chance at survival. We run through the road and barricade ourselves in what looks to be a bar. It's empty of infected, but we can hear the horde desperately banging against the sealed door. We all know it won't hold long. Ponytail takes my mind off the door and puts his hand on my shoulder. 

“I'm Tommy. That’s Joel,” he introduces, and all I hear for a split second is Saint Marys hospital alarms.

“What’s your name?” Tommy asks. 

“Ah… Abby. Abby.” I say, eyes darting between the two, quickly reminding myself to school my features. 

I feel the rapid panic and dread rise in my chest at being in front of my father's killer, but a logical part of me knows this is my only chance. Now is not the time to give myself away, so I carefully blank my expressions.

They both start arguing about where to go next. I take this as my opportunity to speak.

“My friends! My friends are at a mansion just north of here. It's fenced in. We have the whole perimeter secure.” I insert myself into their argument. 

“It’s the Baldwin place. That could work.” Joel surprisingly agrees with me. I try not to stare at him as he walks around me and starts to head to their horses idling on the upper level, animals I didn't even notice before. “You ride with me. C’mon,” he points to me.

I rush forward, mounting the horse behind him, trying not to display my disgust as I hold his waist for support. We ride off, and I swallow the feeling of wanting to vomit.

The horde follows too close for comfort. 

A grunt tears through my lips as I feel my mark move rapidly across my shoulder again. It's agitated, and I clutch the spot internally begging it to stop interfering as we gallop away.

Soon we will be at the mansion. Soon I will have my revenge.

I've finally found you, fucker.

Chapter Text

3.Ellie 

Shimmer races through the trees as I push her harder. My desire to find them intensifying with each hoof thud against the snow. 

“JOEL! TOMMY!” I bellow into the snowy landscape but nobody answers. 

Luckily lights draw my attention from the skyline and I look below from the ridge I'm on, and I see it's a mansion. Light up like a Christmas tree. The lights shouldn't be on. Patrols are required to turn them off when they leave. Someone has to be there.

“Shit!” I hiss at the disturbance, knowing I have to find a way down and check it out. I pull Shimmer aside and dismount, leaving her on the ridge. It's safer than pulling her down the rocky terrain to the mansion. Finding a break in the fence, I crawl through and enter the mansion via the backyard. The door to the back is unlocked, and I enter the bedroom. An eerie feeling settles in my gut. No lights are on at this side of the house. I'll have to keep moving until I find the source

The further into the old home I go, the more worried I get. My mark moves harshly against my body, creating a fire in its path. I lowly growl at it, pissed it chooses now to act up. I start to hear sounds. They are shouts of pain are faint, and I can hear they are coming from below, realising I'm on the 2nd floor. I follow a hallway out to the staircase, my gun tight in my hands, ready as I sneak. Going down the staircase, past a living room with various sleeping bags and items, too many for just Joel or Tommy, I pass through a kitchen and find a narrow staircase. It leads down into the basement. The shouts of pain are clear now. It is the deep timber of Joel's voice. Dread slams into me full force as I rush down the steps, hesitating on the door handle. I twist it, and it opens inwards, a scene I could never have imagined before me. 

In front of me stands a blonde Amazonian. Her back is to me, braided hair swinging against her long sleeve. She's heaving as she clutches a bloody golf club in her hands. I look beyond her and see him. 

Joel.

Beaten and barely breathing. 

A scream tears through my lips as I rush towards him. I don't make it far. I'm tackled to the ground, and I twist, my switchblade already in my hand, and swipe at the person. I catch the man's cheek, and he howls, rearing back. I try to get up, but more hands hold me still on the floor. My captors grunt as I struggle with all my might against them, frustrations coming out of my mouth in the form of shouts. My eyes catch a figure slumped slightly off to the side, and I see it's Tommy, unconscious against a dresser. I howl at them all as the man I sliced comes charging towards me. He raises his leg, kicking my ribs, once, twice, before he's pushed off me by one of the men in the room. 

“Get the fuck off me!” I roar at them all. “JOEL! Get fucking OFF!”

I twist my head and face the blonde still standing over Joel. My body is screaming at me for the pain in my ribs. Tears leak from my eyes as I watch her. "Don't touch him!" 

The girl is stone still, not looking at me. Her focus solely on Joel. But she's different. The golf club hangs limp in her left hand. The other is clutching her chest, and she seems to be heaving silently. None of the others have noticed her change. 

A tall man and a short woman come bursting into the room at the commotion.

“What the fuck’s going on?” He darts into the room, having spotted me on the floor. Pinned beneath three people. I heave at him, teeth bared in a feral ‘fuck you.’ “Who is that?” 

“She snuck in.” One of my captors replies.

“Why aren't you posted outside?” He says to the girl.

“We didn't think anyone was going to show up!” The girl shouts at him.

“What the hell did you expect? We have to get out of here before the whole town is on top of us.” The man shouts to the room, his expression serious. Some nod, others huff at him. The man who kicked me tries to go at me again but is held back. I choose to ignore them all, my eyes focusing on Joel. He's breathing despite being covered in blood. His eyes locked with mine. 

“Joel.” I cry to him. He only blinks at me. 

My eyes drift upward to the girl. She hasn't taken a hit since I've entered. Her breathing is heavier than before. She looks in agony. But not at the situation, not at what crime she's committing. I feel it then. My own agony. It's a red-hot iron on my skin, ripping through my body, twisting my guts this way and that. Like something trying to burst free from my skin. A scream tears through my lips before I can stop it. The hands on me tighten at the sound. Another scream follows through my lips. It hurts so much. 

“What's wrong with her?!” The man commanding the room asks, all of them having turned to me at my screams. Except her, of course. They can tell the sounds are different from my angry shouts moments ago. This is pure pain. 

“Nothing, man! We are just holding her!” A male capture says. 

“Take her gun!” He demands.

They search me as I wither on the ground and remove all my weapons. The pain is unbearable, like a hot blade burning my whole body. My eyes catch Joel's, and he's already watching me, concern on his face. Not for himself, for me. 

“Ellie.” He rasps. 

The main man's attention drifts to Joel. He seems done with the whole situation. He stalks the blonde and looks at her harshly. “End this.” He spits at her. 

But the blonde doesn't hear him as a cry of pain leaves her mouth. She drops the golf club and cocoons into herself, slumping to the floor, her breathing turning into groans. 

“Abs?!” “Abby?” “Shit, what’s happening?!” 

The tall man crouches besides her. His voice is too caring for basic friendly concern. It makes bile rise in my throat. "Abby, what's wrong?!" 

“It hurts!” She gasps out, her voice beautifully soothing to me. What the fuck! No! Joel's torturer is not fucking soothing. Gosh, what's happening to me?

“What hurts?” He stresses to her. 

She shakes her head at him now. Arms frantic as she goes to remove her shirt. She pulls it over her head, leaving herself in her bra. The rest of the group, apart from those holding me, shuffle on their feet, obviously distressed about not knowing what the hell is going on. I groan on the floor, another wave of heat slamming into me.

Muscles cord the girls' backs; those strong, powerful arms tense. Her braid rests low between her shoulder blades, slightly shaking with each shudder of her body. I catch Joel's expression. He's still in front of her, unmoving but hanging on. I can't directly see if he's still bleeding. His eyes are laser-focused on something on the girl's stomach, and his eyes dart from her to me, seemingly connecting our withering agony. 

“NO!” He howls at the situation.

This catches another man's attention, hair tied into a man bun, and he comes over the other side of the blonde girl, gun aimed at Joel's head. 

“NO! Don't shoot!” I scream, but they all ignore me. 

“Pendejo! You know what's happening to her, huh? Speak up!” He yells at Joel. Joel meets his eyes, face hard. He's furious. He doesn't say anything. His eyes find mine. Man bun shoves his gun harder into Joel's temple. “SPEAK!” He roars.

“Joel.” I gasp out through the pain. He looks at my face, sadness and concern wrinkling his features. Joel looks like he wants to cry. He looks back at the girl, the man bun, and the rest of them and settles back onto the blonde's stomach. He seems to have come to a resolution. 

“Her mark. It's her mark.” He nods his head to the blonde's stomach. Dread is setting into my own at the omission. No. No no no. Fucking no! Is this what it is?! This pain? No. Not her. Not this girl. I don't want it. Not fucking her. 

I start to cry, grieving sobs escaping me, a gut-wrenching combination of grief and sadness. And Joel's watching me. His face was resolute, as if saying, “I'm so, so sorry, baby girl.” 

“Her mark? What?” Manbun straightens up, gaping at Joel and then the rest of the room. Their expressions match. Dumbfounded and sceptical at the room. The other man crouched besides the blonde starts to help her to her feet, and ManBun rushes to assist. They have her up now; she's swaying on her feet, face tight, eyes closed in pain, tears leaking down her pale cheeks. They turn her around, back facing Joel, and the whole group gasps as they catch sight of her mark. It's there on her abs. The once probably brown birthmark isangry red and black as it pulses visibly against her skin. 

It starts to move from her lower stomach, up past her bra onto her neck. She screams as it does so. The sounds matched my own. 

“Fuck!” “Shit!”

It's only now I realise I've been released from my hold. Everyone is focused on the girl, and I try to move towards Joel. All I manage is to settle back onto my legs and press my forehead to the ground. Shuddering at the pain. 

“What do we do?” One asks. 

Joel's voice drifts through the air. 

“The marks are killing them,” he spits at the group, not wanting to help them at all, but doing it for me. I know he is. They all watch him, the disgust obvious on their faces. Joel managed to sit up against the glass window, leaning against it for support. “They need to touch each other for the pain to stop; otherwise, they will keep screaming until they faint.”

“No.” Manbun growls at him.

“Yes! If they don't, they will die. You kids think you know what you're doing? You fucking don't. The mark will kill them. It's as simple as that. There is no other option.” He shouts at them, teeth clenching from the strain it causes to speak in his state. 

Arms grab me from the floor and hoist me up. I scream at the movement, “No! I don't want to. Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Ellie! You need to! Do it!” Joel growls at me, voice parental. 

I eye him through my pain. He nods. 

They drag me over to the blonde, and I see her face clearly for the first time. Face porcelain, lips pouty. She has faint freckles scattered on her shoulders. Her eyebrows are scrunched in pain, and her eyes open to see my face in front of her. Deep ocean blue stares back at me. She grunts at my appearance but doesn't say anything. Her eyes study me too. The pain is horrifying this close, and we are both shaking like leaves in the hands of those holding us up. 

Breathing like we both ran a marathon. 

The lead man grabs her arm and raises it towards me. I try to jerk away from her touch, but I'm held still by my captors. He raises her hand to my cheek, and I see it's still covered in Joel's blood. I weep as it's placed on my cheek, the only area I'm showing skin. I want to recoil at the touch. Push her away, grab Tommy and Joel, and get the fuck out of here. Never see them again. But I don't. I sink into it. It feels euphoric. The pain vanishes, and we both slump to the floor, bodies releasing all tension. We land besides each other, eyes still watching the other as our breathing settles. Our faces soften in bliss, and I get the first real look at her face, not twisted in fury, not in agony, but her. She's so fucking beautiful; it's the only thing that hurts anymore. 

My eyes are heavy; the stress on my body is wearing me out. I can feel myself fading fast. All I manage to see before I fall into unconscious bliss are hands lifting Abby away from me.

Abby. 

My soulmate. 

Chapter Text

4.Abby

Owen and Manny lift me from the ground, Nick helping to steady me from the back. I'm deliriously relieved as they bring me up. I barely managed to get my legs beneath me. My head drops onto my chest, and I look down at my stomach. At my mark. I steady myself and take my arm out of Owen's. I lean back a bit to get a better look. Settled under my right breast, it now sits. It's different. No longer the blob of a birthmark. It's formed into a tattoo of sorts. It's a moth, its wings spread; the pattern is dark against my skin. I run my hand over it and shiver at the pure bliss it brings. 

One moment I'm enacting my revenge on the man who killed my father, the next I'm crumpled to the floor, pain my only thought as I try to hold myself together. Then the girl. I had heard her come in and heard the commotion, but it wasn't until she was right in front of me that I actually saw her. She was breathtaking, despite the tears and the grief on her face and the sneer on her lip. Her dark hair fell around her like a halo, her eyes so green they reminded me of a forest. I couldn't look away. Not as Owen and Manny held me, not as Nora held her steady, or when my arm was raised to her cheek. Nor when we crumpled onto the ground. 

The ground. 

I look down towards her now. She's out. Fainted from the relief of her pain. She looks so peaceful now. Innocent. My fucking soulmate of all things.

“Shit, Abs! You gave us a scare.” Manny hugs me tightly, and I look around the room at everyone. They are equally relieved andsurprised by what just happened. So am I. 

I slump on Manny, so very tired. “Sorry.” I croak at him. 

He pulls back enough to slip off his coat and drape it over me. He then slings my arm over his shoulder, his other holding my waist. Helping me stay upright. I nod at him and look at the rest. Owen is visibly sad as he asks me, “Are you okay?”

All I can manage is another nod. I'm so very tired I just want to sleep. Preferably besides the green-eyed woman. 

Whoa, where did that thought come from? I groan at myself for my thoughts. 

Owen takes that as a sign that it's time to get out of here. 

“Let's get going. We’ve spent too much time here; there have to be more groups looking by now. Start packing up as fast as you can. Nick warms the truck. Nora helps Mel with the main supplies. Leah and Jordan, start packing up the sleeping area. Manny, you got her?” He nods to me.

“Yeah, man.” Manny replies. 

“What about them?” Nora asks, gesturing to the three on the floor. Panic rises in my chest. It's raw and unfiltered at the thought of them hurting the girl. 

“Leave them alive. We're done here. Let's just go.” I gasp out. Owen looks at me for a solid moment and nods.

“You heard her. Leave them as is.” With that, he turns out of the room. 

The rest follow except Nora and Manny. 

“You sure?” he asked me. Nora's face is searching mine. 

“Yes. Leave them be. Even him.” I say. 

We start to move out of the room when a voice stops us. It still sends shivers down my spine, and I turn my head over Manny's shoulder to face the man. 

“Girl.” Joel growls, his hatred for me vicious on his face, "Don't ever come back." 

All I can manage is a glare of my own before the doors shut behind us. 

I don't ever plan to. Jackson was supposed to be a place for revenge and redemption; now it hasn't been anything but a burden. One I now carry on my stomach. 

We head up into the house, the others rushing around. Manny sits me softly on a couch and starts to help me dress in my own clothes as he takes his coat back. I grunt at him, fading fast in exhaustion. 

He calls for Mel to check up on me. She tells him I'm not injured, just exhausted; it's best to let me rest. As for the mark, she has no idea what will happen now. All they can do is keep a close eye on me. 

That's all I hear as I fade into a peaceful sleep. The nightmares don't get me this time. It's so quiet, and I don't dream. 

A heaven I don't know could exist. 

When I wake up again, I'm in the back of one of the patrol trucks. I'm bundled in blankets, warm despite the open cab and the wind. 

“Looks like sleeping beauties awake.” Nora chuckles besides me. 

“How are you feeling?” Mel asks, sitting in front of me.

“Like I just woke up from a cloud,” I say. 

“That's not what she meant.” Manny chuckles from my other side. 

“I know.” I snort. “I'm fine, guys. I feel good. Really?” 

I look at them all. Manny and Nora are visibly relieved. Leah and Jordan were smiling at me from their spot. Owens is in the cab with Nick. Mel's still not convinced. 

“How does the mark feel?” She asks me. 

I pause at her question. Considering. The others lean in, their interest evident. I don't blame them; none of us have ever met someone who found their soulmate before. It's a whole new territory. One, I'm not sure of myself, especially since the girl I was now marked to despise me. 

“It feels warm. Like a little heater on my ribs. But not sore. It hasn't moved since. No longer alive on my skin, but more a solitary presence. I feel lighter, and my neck pain is gone for once. Other than that I don't think much has changed.” I answer Mel. 

I know she will be taking points on this like it's a new medical discovery. Because it is. Much isn't known except the basics on soulmates. 

“We’ll have to monitor you to see how you go. See if anything changes. After all, you left the girl behind. We don't know how that may affect you.” She reasons. 

Great. Supervision. 

I frown at her and grumble. Not at all pleased with the prospect of being a science experiment, but now she means well. They all do. I groan out in resounding annoyance. “Okay. But nobody can know about this. Especially Issac.” 

They all nod, knowing that if we told the leader of the WLF what happened in Jackson, what happened to me, Issac would find a way to leverage it to his advantage. We all knew what we were to him. Soldiers in his war are pawns on his chessboard. It was better not to stand out or have any weaknesses. 

I knew none of them would share what happened here. My crew was loyal. We looked out for each other; despite any disagreements or relationship problems we all had, we were family. 

“Good.” I say to them. “Where are we?” 

“Just past Bozeman.” Leah says. “Nearly halfway back” 

“We haven't really stopped.” Jordan adds. 

I take that information into account. The sun was setting on the horizon. We would have to camp soon. They must be tired. 

“When we stop, I'll take the first and second watch, okay? You guys get some sleep.” I offer. 

It's the least I can do after my sleeping beauty act. 

They agree, and the cab falls silent for a while. My head for once is surprisingly empty. I don't think about the hospital. I don't think about Joel Miller. Or Dad. I don't even think about the girl. At least not in the way I should be. Not asking mgzdlf the needed question. 

All I can think about is her green eyes and the split in her eyebrow. Her dark tied hair. My mark tingles at the thought of her. Too pleasant for the unknown of it all. I didn't even know her name. 

A part of me feels sorry for coming into her life. And another feels sorry for not finishing off Joel. Not avenging my father. I'm torn between the fate of vengeance and the fate of my soul. ate bond, in its twisted misery. 

Dad always had certain views on soulmates. He used to talk about the marks as if they were gifts from a long-forgotten world, a sign of hope in all the misery. Sometimes a sign was all people needed to know everything would be okay. He was always such an optimist. I could never quite see it like that. 

Especially now. It was a brand. A reminder. And I wasn't sure I wanted to remember. Remember Jackson. Remember Joel. Remember that hospital. 

It was all so conflicting. The revenge was sweet to start, my mind solely focused on the monster in front of me, but with each swing I saw Dad. Jim is disappointed in me; he is so tired of trying to save the world, and he doesn't know who I would be anymore. Him crying alone in his office when he thought nobody was around. And then I saw how the two men had saved me. Saw how they had bled to protect me from the horde. They could have left me, but they didn't. In becoming this weapon, did I lose myself so much that even the monster seems better than me in my own mind? My swings got sluggish and tired. So very tired. I don't regret hitting Joel Miller or the torture I chose. I even have doubts about leaving him alive. Was that the right choice? It was supposed to be. 

Sweet revenge. 

So why did it feel so wrong? 

I'd spent years of my life forging my body to be strong as steel. Mind sharper than a knife, rage more fierce than a wolf. All for what? Guilt, unimaginable pain, and forest green eyes ripped it all away? 

That damn girl. 

She was close to Joel. That much I could tell. And now she had witnessed her soulmate try to kill him. She hates me. Despise me to the end of the world. I knew she did. And I didn't blame her. I wanted her to hate me. It was easier than acknowledging we were now stuck together by something neither could control. The reminder would always be there. Such a bitter twist of fate. 

So I left her. Left him. Gave it all up. All I could think about on that floor as I withered in pain was Dad. Not how disappointed he was in me, but how happy he would be if I met her. 

It didn't matter now. I'd never see her again.

—-----------------------------------

Days passed.

The trip to Seattle was slightly longer than the trip there due to the snowfall, but, even with the occasional group of raiders, we all made it in one piece. 

Travelling through the city, we were alert, knowing the dangers that lurk beyond the crumbling building and the abandoned trees. Automatic rifles tight in our grips, gazes sweeping, we use the WLF entrances specifically cleared for easy access. The Scars, the vicious cult that fights us for Seattle's landscape, have been spreading out in their territories more than usual lately. The peace treaty is now a thing of the past. The last thing we need after the weary two weeks we have had is an ambush. 

Luckily we make it to the FOB with no interference. Manny waves us in at the gate. I'm dressed in my usual tactical gear, my jacket covering my arms, and my braid redone tight. The last of Joel's blood has been wiped off. No reminder present of how things went in Jackson. 

Owen, now driving, parks the cab besides the others, and we start to unload. We grab the bags and head to sign in. 

“Hey guys. Welcome back. Most of your assignments haven't been posted yet, pending your return, but Abby, Issac wants to see you upon arrival. Asap.” The guard says as I sign in. 

I nod to him. “Is he in his office?” 

“Yeah.” 

I sigh and head off, nodding to my team as I go. Stalking through the outside barracks, I greet as I go. Passing the medical tents, I come out the other side to the entrance of the FOB. A large glass office building that is now our tactical headquarters. Isaac and his top serjeants live here; the rest of us live in the refurbished stadium, both self-sufficient areas of their own. Life's pretty good if you don't count a cult trying to kill us at every turn. 

A nod to a group of higher-ups playing cards, and head for the elevator. Isaac's guard lets me up. 

The lift rises to Isaac's office. The wall-to-ceiling glass lets natural light in, and eyes take a second to adjust from the otherwise dark building.

He's standing by the window when I enter, looking out at the landscape. He's a bear of a man, body slightly slumped from the weight it holds. At first glance Issac appears to me a kind older man in his late 50s. But looks can be deceiving. He's anything but kind. A viper lies under his facade. The man who can smile when he tortures child soldiers is the same one who appears friendly to traders offering information. I've known for a long time not to trust the viper. I'm one of his best soldiers, loyal to a fault, but even Issac’s mind games make me weary. 

“Ah, Abigail. Back at last. How was the scouting mission? Everyone accounted for?” He questions, his voice a deep cadence, back still facing me. 

“Yes, sir. The mission was a success. No losses.” I reply, standing firm, muscles taut, arms behind my back. My expression is a carefully crafted blank. Like the good little soldier I am. 

“And I take it the information proved correct?” He slyly asks, but he knows the answer. He's goading me. This is his way of sealing the collar around my neck. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good.” He grins as he turns to face me. His face relaxed like it was a Sunday barbeque. My stomach sinks at his expression. 

“Report back to the stadium. You have the rest of the day to square yourself away. Then for the next week you're my shadow in interrogation detail. Followed by three escort missions to the hospital. We have had to seal off the basement due to infection, so I'm moving my researchers to the weather centre. You'll be their guide. The rest of your team will get their assignments soon enough.” He bombs on me, face in a chilling exhilaration. 

Shit.

These next two weeks are going to be hell. I don't give away my annoyance, though. This is the cost for the information on Joel. I need to pay it back. That's the deal. 

“Yes, sir,” I say. 

He nods. His face showed that gruff satisfaction despite no smile on it. “Dismissed. Oh, and Abigail, welcome home.” He waves me off.

I nod to him, my stomach in knots but my mind set. The cost won't break me. Bring it on, viper. 

Chapter Text

5. Ellie

I don't know how many times I came on the wooden floor. It's all so hazy. I remember Dina's face as she shook me. Remembered Jessie crouched near Tommy. Remembered Joel's wet coughs. The feel of a horse beneath me, soft arms holding me to a softer chest. 

I remember the darkness of sleep. 

Ocean blue eyes. Blonde braid. 

Blood. 

Joel's blood. 

I gasp awake, violently flinging myself up from where I lay. Hands are there, shushing me, holding me down. A sharp pain in my ribs makes me groan. I hunch as I heave into the soft white sheets. My ribs are killing me. 

“-l, El!” I manage to hear, and my head turns to the left. 

It's Dina. Eyes red from crying, her face pale in the clinic room. She's trying to calm me. Wait…clinic? 

It comes flooding back. The blizzard. The mansion. The group. Joel. Abby. 

I look up at the room. Jessie's leaning against the wall, eyes tired and concerned. His eyes are also red. Dinas is at my bedside. Maria is on my right. No sign of Tommy. No sign of Joel. 

“Joel? Tommy?” I cry out, desperately looking at Maria. 

“They’re alive, kid. Barely.” She soothes, her hand on my shoulder, it slightly shaking.

I shudder in relief. Dry sobs leave your mouth. 

“I thought I—” Is all I manage before Dina hugs me. 

I lean into the hug, taking a moment to breathe, letting it soothe me enough before I start asking the hard questions.

“How bad?”

“You have a couple broken ribs, a black eye—” Jessie starts. 

“No. Not me. How bad is Joel?” I stop him, insisting on knowing what I really want to know. They look weary to tell me but decide against stalling. 

“A couple of broken bones, a lot of bruises. Some internal bleeding that's being monitored. He has a hairline fracture behind his ear. His leg is pretty bad; it looks like a buckshot to the knee. Doc was able to stabilise it for now, but it may need to be amputated. We only have enough medical supplies to put him in a coma for the next 4 days. Then he’ll have only painkillers.” Maria explains, her face haggard from all the stress. 

The information makes me gulp.

“And Tommy?” I ask her. 

“He had a concussion and a nasty bruise on his head where he was hit.” She sighs. 

I can only nod to her, words escaping me. Anger is what I focus on. How dare they? How dare she! 

“Ellie, what happened?” Jesse questions, “When we got there the place was empty. Joel was awake, barely, but you and Tommy were unconscious. Who did this?”

I try to think of the right words to say, suppressing my rage to a deadly simmer. 

“I don't know who they were. A group of 8, if I remember correctly. They seemed to be camping in the mansion.” I answer, my mind running a million miles an hour. 

"So it was just some trespassers." Maria nods to Jesse. He nods back to her. 

“No.” I say, gaining their attention again. “She was trying to kill him. The rest just stood there, holding me down. Made me watch.”

“She?” Dina asks. 

“The one who hurt Joel.” I answer. 

“A girl did that?” Jesse looks sceptical. 

“More machine than girl.” I grunt at him, trying to steer my mind away from pouty lips and thick eyelashes. I feel disgusted with myself for even thinking of that beast with an ounce of attraction. I despise her and want to see her at the same time. My mind is a whirlwind. 

“Wait, so you're saying it wasn't simply something Tommy and Joel stumbled upon but a planned thing?” Maria tries to confirm, shaking her head at it all. 

“Yes. They did this on purpose.” I hiss. 

She did this on purpose. 

And I was going to find out why. 

—-----------------------------

Days pass, and I'm eventually released from the clinic. My sole focus has been on Joel and his recovery. I've been barely sleeping, and I haven't told anyone anything more about the mansion. Maria had pressed me for more details, but I shook her off, telling her I don't think I can handle bringing it up until Joel's better. It's cowardice, a half-truth. h. A shield to hold off the inevitable, the questions about what happened, really happened, and to block out thoughts and memories of her. I don't want to acknowledge anything yet. Not until I speak with Joel. A part of me hopes he can offer some words of wisdom with this whole situation. 

So I've been avoiding it. it. Avoiding sleep because I know I'll see either bloody Joel or her in my dreams. Avoiding talking, because all I want to do is speak with the one whose input really matters, and avoiding the mansion altogether. 

Maria is oddly supportive of my silence, probably thinking it too traumatic for me to talk about what happened. She's half right. Her only action as our community's leader in response to what happened to us has been to withdraw patrols for the time being and have the city's patrolmen on gate duty. It's both to protect against any more threats and to reassure the patrolmen they are safe here. At least until the weather lets up a bit and it's safer to send people out again. Her words. 

Either way, with patrols suspended until further notice, Dina and Jesse have had a lot more time to spend with me as I recover. They know I'm hiding something. I can tell by the silent conversations they have with their eyes. 

But until I speak to Joel, nobody's getting any truths. 

Tommy, once he's released from his 24-hour observation, hugs the life out of me when I go to see him. He's weak on his feet, but his head is healing nicely. And his anger is there, reflecting my own simmering rage. Tommy has always been more vocal about his opinions, though. 

We were playing cards at his gurney, something I had to coax him into so he wouldn't leave his bedside and start pacing outside of the room where Joel's still in a coma. We aren't allowed in. Docs orders, Maria's too. Too traumatic or whatever. 

Tommy's grunting at his hand when he decides to throw caution to the wind and push. 

“It was the blonde, wasn’t it?” He growls lowly, eyes darting up to my face and down to the table. 

“Tommy.” I warn him, face in a scowl. He better shut the fuck up.

He huffs at me. “I know, I know. You told Maria you didn't want to talk about it. I get that, kiddo, I really do, but you can't keep the rest of us in the dark about this. It doesn't just affect you, Ellie. I don't know what happened to my brother, and I really, really want to need to know.” 

“No.” I seethe at him, face twisted in my rage. Rage I can feel slipping through. 

“No? NO?! You seriously think I don't have a right to know what happened to my brother. Seriously?!” He yells at me. 

I match his tone of voice, yelling at him with the same fury, unable to stop my frustration from spilling over any longer. “You’ll fucking go after them, Tommy, if I tell you!? Don't you get that?!”

“Of course I fucking will, Ellie! You can't seriously tell me you don't think they deserve the same pain they gave Joel?!” He counters, spit flying. 

The door to the room opens, but neither of us pays attention to the intruder. 

“OF COURSE THEY FUCKING DO!” I scream at the top of my lungs, throat raw with emotion, “They deserve worse! They deserve agony! They deserve a slow, tortured death! I know that, Tommy! God, I fucking want that so much! BUT I CAN'T!! There are things that happened in that mansion, things you have no idea about. More than just Joel being tortured. More than just us lying unconscious. And I have no idea about any of it. I can't wrap my fucking head around it, Tommy. And the only person I can ask about it, the only one who has any sort of clue of what the actual fuck went on there, is lying across the hall, HALF FUCKING DEAD!” I'm hyperventilating now, and I can feel two sets of arms wrapping around me, rocking me gently. Trying their hardest to help. Jesse's and Dina's scents wrap around me, and I clutch at them as I heave. 

Tommy has the gall to look guilty across from me, his face sunken in a sad realisation. Like only now he's taken note of how much this also has affected anyone other than him. He's the selfish one. 

Maria's standing by the door. Her arms crossed, taking it all in. She looks disappointedly at Tommy. She can see how much he's changed from his own guilt. Because that is what his anger is. He's so guilty for being unconscious. So guilty for introducing Joel to them. Joel really needs to wake up and tell him it's not his fault. 

I run my hands haggardly over my face and let out a long, grieving sigh. 

No words are spoken after that. We just all stay there in our guilt, in our worry, in our pain. 

—-----------------------------------

Two days later Joel is taken out of his coma. He’s in his own room now. Free from ventilators and machines. I'm finally allowed to sit at his bedside. It's a painful sight to see. 

Bruises are visible on most of his skin, and his head is wrapped with a bandage. His face looks aged by 10 years. Doc says at least his internal bleeding subsided. Bruises organ. His leg is still a problem. It's wrapped but slightly bleeding. It has blood flow, but the doc wants to ask Joel himself what he wants to do with it. In this world he needs to be the one to make the choice. A severe limp for the rest of his life. Or a wheelchair. Eventually, if he does go down the amputation route, we could fashion a prosthetic, but for now, it's wait and see. 

Wait and see. 

I've been so tired these past couple of days. Barely able to keep my head up. I'm afraid to sleep, to let my mind bring forth the memories and nightmares. 

I'm trying my hardest not to remember Abby. Something that is so difficult when her marks keep fluttering on my skin. 

The first time I caught a glimpse of it was in the bathroom mirror the next day. I have been staying in the house rather than my own garage, sleeping in Joel's bed. It's my way of not going insane waiting for him to wake up. I had just finished scrubbing the dirt and blood off me, desperately erasing the reminder, when I caught my reflection in the mirror. 

There it sat, the chain around my soul. I had hoped it wasn't there. That in me not feeling the mark move, it was all a hoax. But it sits on my ribs plain as day. Gone is the birthmark I used to have. In its place is a tattoo. A tattoo of three coins. I have no idea what it means. I don't want to know. Looking at it disgusts me. Touching it and feeling the visceral thrill it gives me disgusts me. In my rage, I broke Joel's mirror. The pieces are still left on the floor. Just like she left me. 

The urge to know why hasn't dulled though; it's only grown with each day. Why did she do this? Is there a proper reason, or is she just some sick, twisted killer? Why did she choose Joel? Why did she come here? 

Why did she leave me? 

I will find out, Abby. And when I do, it will determine your fate. 

A cough draws me from my thoughts, and I look up startled. 

Joel's eyes are opening, his mouth releasing more coughs. I feel the air leave my lungs in shock. He's finally awake! 

“Joel!” I rush to him, hands grabbing his arms and making sure this is real. Tears line the side of my eyes. He's really still here. 

He squints around the room before his eyes land on me. He seems to relax instantly upon seeing me. Relief on his features. 

“Ellie.” He croaks, taking a moment to swallow and breathe simultaneously, “Are you okay, kiddo?” 

“Am I okay?! I should be asking you that, old man.” I chuckle at him, the fear and the pain retreating with the presence of the person I needed, alive and talking. 

He's alive. He's here. And he didn't leave me.

He huffs a laugh but ends up flinching from the pain. 

“Shit, sorry!” I say, stressing over him.

He weakly waves me off and looks hard at me. His eyes are assessing, ensuring I am okay. 

“Kiddo” is all he says, and I know he wants to talk about it. About the mark. About her. 

“Not here.” I replied. I don't want the other to know, and I have things I want to ask him that would be best in the privacy of our home.

He nods, accepting my response. He was there; he saw my sobs. He saw me in pain. He saw Abby's mark. 

We take the time to be happy that the other is alive. 

—--------‐—-----------------------

Two weeks pass before Joel's released from the hospital. He decides to keep his leg, even if the cost is constant pain and a limp. He says it's better than being a burden. I despise that he even had to make the choice in the first place. 

We settle into an easy routine at home. I've moved back into my old room for the time being, hovering and helping him when I can. He lets me despite his pride. We both appreciate the other's presence as much as we can after nearly having it ripped away. 

One night after dinner we were sitting on the porch swing, the cold January air our companion. 

“We need to talk about it, Ellie. I can see the toll it's taking on you. You're struggling, kiddo. Talk to me.” He soothes, face tired but attention solely on me.

I know I can't keep avoiding this conversation anymore. 

“I feel like my head and my heart are ripping each other apart. The relief I felt touching her, Joel, the pure happiness. I can't wrap my mind around it. A soulmate has always been a nice idea. But that's all it was ever supposed to be. An idea. And now it's a reality with someone who could go to such lengths. Could do something so horrible. How can I feel like I'm finally whole for the first time in my life when the one who made it so nearly killed you?” I stressed to him, hands clasped in front of me. 

“The mark doesn't have to define you.” He says.

“But it does. Joel, it does. I'm bound to a stranger, a one in a million. I'm supposed to have another half, and I've met them.” I stress again.

“Ellie—” he starts, but I don't give him the chance. 

“You lied.” I start getting to the real questions I want to ask. “You lied about the mark. You lied to me again. Why?” I ask.

He knows what I'm talking about. He said I'd die if I didn't touch her. What more does he know?

“Tell me the truth, Joel, for once. Tell me what you really know.” I demand. 

He scowls at me. 

“I know the marks are more a death sentence than fate. I know no good has ever come out of having one. Those people I told you about in Boston. They rejected their mark. Apparently they were already married to others. The damn things killed them. Ripped them into pieces, left their carcasses on the floor! That's the truth, Ellie! It's not a good sign. It's not a miracle! It's a fucking death sentence. One my own kid has just walked into. Because I had to be the hero. I had to save that damn girl!” He growls out, guilt pouring off him in waves, his eyes desperate for me to understand. 

I'm gaping at the sheer knowledge of it all, and all I can manage is a gulp before I speak. “That’s why you told them what to do. That's why you helped them make it stop?” I say aloud. 

He nods, his face so tired. 

“I’ve seen it once before; I’m not going to watch it happen again to the most important person in my life. My torturer or not be damned.” He grunts. 

I sit there processing. Hand smacking against a closed fist in thought. 

“I’m sorry” is all I can manage. 

He shakes his head and draws me into a side hug. I sink into the scent of Joel. Leather and wood. 

“Why did she come?” I whisper into the wind. 

“I don't know, kiddo. All I know is she's gone and won't be coming back.” He says. 

“How do you know?” 

“Call it a killer's intuition.” 

I shake my head and bury it into his shoulder. We finally let ourselves breathe. We let ourselves grieve. For the first time since the mansion, I feel safe. 

It's best I let it go. Joel here, alive and safe. And she won't come back. 

I want to know why. But I don't want to see her again. 

I have everything I need here. 

Despite the hatred I feel, I need to forget about Abby. 

Chapter Text

3 months later

(3 and a half weeks before the reunion) 

(Note: I just want to mention that Abby's pain tolerance is extremely high. It always has been in the game. She took on the Rat King and walked away like it was nothing. She feels the same pain as Ellie does with the mark but doesn't show it. It's a part of her character.) 

4. Abby

The slam of our room door wakes me up with a jolt. I squint around the room and glance at the time. 5:42am. I groan as I try to turn over onto my other side. Damn Manny and his need to hook up with everyone in the stadium. After finally completing a grocery list of tasks for Issac over the past 3 months, I finally have a day off. I can finally relax, read, and sleep in my own bed. Manny was kind enough to take his date somewhere else, probably one of his many sex dens he brags about, but of course he forgot a change of clothes before his training session. Classic Manny. 

I shift from my right side to my left and wince at the pain in my ribs. It's been happening lately. My mark has been flaring up. It's starting to redden around the mouth, the skin growing angrier with each day.

 I've told no one about it. 

After a couple of private checkups with Mel, and she got nothing new about the marks, we decided I didn't need to be supervised. That was two months ago. Nobody knows about the pain. About the redness. I don't want to tell them. 

I'm sure it will heal on its own. 

I find myself thinking more about the girl lately. How her green eyes stared into mine. 

She's small compared to me. Her frame is compact with lean, wiry muscles. She's not soft, though. Not innocent; there was a hunger in her eyes that reflected my own. My thoughts on her have spiralled. I find myself thinking about her over the words on my page or waking in a flush of heat and desire. It's mind-reeling. I've never been attracted to a woman before. It's only ever been men. This is all new to me. 

I sit up in bed. I know I won't be able to get back to sleep. Reaching for my discarded book, I find the next chapter to read. 

My nightmares have decreased since Jackson. But instead of one body on the floor, I see two. I know Joel's alive. My mind just likes to torture me with it. My failure. I'm coming to terms, though. My choice was the right one. Not for me, not for him, but for her. 

I've thought about what I know. He must be either family or her dad. 

I'm happy I didn't rip him away from her like he did to me. 

I need to get over this crush. 

I won't ever see her again anyway.

—----------------------------------

The WLF dining hall is full when I enter for lunch, rows and rows of tables filled with our members chatting and laughing. Some are even playing cards. The atmosphere brings an easy smile to my face, something I do more now, and I head for the burrito line. A wolf whistle to my right redirects my attention.

It's my crew all seated together for the first time since Jackson. We have only been able to have some meals together but not all of us in one place since we returned. Isaacs has been keeping his promise of running us ragged. 

Manny's facing me, arms raised with two burritos. I head towards them, relieved I don't have to wait in line. 

“Thanks, amigo.” I smirk at Manny as I take the offering, taking a seat next to him. He chuckles at my obvious excitement. They know I love burrito day. 

“It's good to see you, Abs.” Manny chuckles. 

“Aw, don’t tell me you miss all this?” I gesture to myself, taking a savage bite of my burrito, and grin at him.

The table laughs. I missed these guys so much. 

“How have you all been?” I wonder. 

They tell me about their assignments. It's exactly as Issac promised. We are all tired, exhausted, and ready for a rest. The scar's movements lately have made Issac desperate. They are getting cockier and bolder. More and more bodies keep returning to the stadium each week. Everything's reaching a boiling point. 

I listen to them attentively, taking note of all new developing areas. Never know when the information might be useful. 

We chat after that about anything. Nora asks me about a book I read last week. Manny talks to me about a new weight he's reached in the gym. Mel tells me about how her pregnancy's going, and Owen mentions a possible card night. It's a much-needed normalcy. 

After our meals we head off in different directions. 

Owen manages to catch up to me in a hallway. 

“Abby, hey.” Owen says, jogging his last steps to me. 

“Hey,” I reply as I face him, eyes searching his. 

He seems tired. Like life is wearing him down. I have a slight guilt knowing I added to his stress in recent months. 

“How are you? I haven't seen you since we got back.” He asks, his eyes soft. A look I've seen on him a hundred times when he wants to chat about feelings. Usually I bristle under this look. But lately I don't; I accept it. I know I'm a bad person, and I'm tired of lying to myself about it. 

“I'm good, Owen. I really am okay.” I assure him, face relaxed, my hand on his arm in solidarity. 

He looks down at it and then back into my eyes. His expression smoothes out, and he licks his lips, his eyes on mine. I know this look too. It's the one he used to give before a night together. I pull away, my mind instantly going to Mel, and release a cough, breaking the tension. 

“I, uh, have to go. Laundry day. I'll see you around, okay?” I say, but I'm already moving down the hallway. 

What is he thinking, looking at me with those eyes? Nope. Not my problem, Abigail. I said I'd stay out of Owen and Mel's relationship. Don't go there. 

Green eyes flash in my mind. I sigh as I stalk off. 

I'll hit the gym. 

I move through my weight workout like a force of nature. Grunting under the weight but never succumbing. Sweat pours off me onto the bench. My braid lying over my shoulder. I keep going, adding weight after weight. I feel the strain in my muscles, then pull the delirious relief I needed. I finish my set and wipe my face with a towel. 

I feel high on adrenaline, my body singing with thrill when I reach my room. Manny is still out, teaching a shooting class with the rookies, so I have the place all to myself. I stalk to the shower, grabbing a fresh towel as I go.

Once inside I strip with fever, practically moaning when the water hits my heated skin. It soothes the aches and settles the beast. My hands drift over my body, leaving tingles in their wake. My hands raise up to untangle my braid, and the golden strands fall around me. 

A different fire ignites when I gloss over my mark. It's a hot ache of pure need. The pain was replaced for once after the past week by pleasure. I lean into it. My hands massage the mark, then move up over my nipples, tugging the beads as they go. They travel from my breasts up to my neck, massaging once, twice, then travelling down over my sides onto my hips. I brace one hand on the wall, the other sliding between my legs. The first touch of my clit makes me cry out into the shower. 

Fuck. I'm so sensitive. It has been too long. 

I work the tight bundle the way I like it, sliding my fingers back and forth until I'm moaning into the wall. My movements grow faster, my body chasing the release. It feels so good. I can hear my shameless whines bouncing off the walls. I lean my forehead on the shower, my bracing hand now tugging tightly on my nipple. I sway my hips with the movement at my clit and close my eyes. Green eyes, a pretty scowl, and a cut on an eyebrow fill my head. I jerk, careening at the peak, the image sending me over. 

“Shit.” I hiss into the air, whiny gasps leaving my mouth as I cum. It's glorious. So much so that I sink against the tile afterwards, too weak to lift myself up.

Fuck. 

I just came to my soulmate's face. 

Chapter Text

(3 months later)

7. Ellie

I grunt as I draw my thoughts in my diary, pain flaring on my mark as I try to sit still. My pencil continues on the page, sketching with a renewed fire. The braid is all wrong. Not long enough. I go to erase it and feel another hot flare on my ribs. 

I groan as I throw the pencil down in frustration. This fucking mark. The area is red raw, something I've been observing the last couple of weeks, and I know the skin is starting to flake. It's like an infection. Red. Angry. Painful. I growl as I slap a hand over it in frustration, instantly regretting my actions as I flinch back into my sheets.

The garage is warm. The fire went out in the early morning sunrise, warming the place up to an acceptable temperature. I haven't slept. Sleep evaded me with every toss and turn. 

So instead I journal. It's how I process my thoughts. And I have a lot of them. This morning alone I've filled three pages. One with words, one with Joel's hands fixing a guitar, and one with her face. 

Abby's face. I can't get her out of my head. Despite my promise to myself that I'd forget about her and let her go, she plagues me every day. Some days I imagine I'm killing her. My hands wrapping around her neck and squeezing the life out of her face as she gasps under me. Others I dream of snuggled against her, lightly tracing her face as she sleeps. The strong bridge of her nose, her cheekbones, and long pale eyelashes. 

The juxtaposition of it always sends me into a spiral, pages of my diary being ripped out and thrown in rolled-up bundles by the can at the end of my bed. 

I've learned in the last three months a mark is anything but a mark. Joel was wrong. It's a deadly siren call. One that keeps drawing me in deep. Captivating me. I'm spellbound. The urge to know why has grown with the urge to kill. It's also now accompanied by the urge to fuck. I'm a mess of high-strung tension. All because of a woman whose name I don't know. 

It's eating me up. I haven't told anyone about the mark. I'm still on suspended duties until I'm cleared by the Jackson council. They watch me like I'm a wounded animal. I guess I still am. 

Joels and Tommy are both healed up as much as they can be, integrating back into Jackson life like nothing happened. I'm not so lucky as to just move on. My head holds me captive. My mark as well. 

A knock at my door draws my attention from where I've been staring at the ceiling for the last 5 minutes. I sit up and call out a soft "come in." 

Dina’s the one who enters, closing the door behind her. She's been extra clingy lately. I get it. Finding me in that lodge had to have been scary for her. 

“Hey,” she calls softly, walking over to sit beside me in bed. “How have you been?” 

“Good,” I grunt, slamming my diary closed. The last thing I need is for her to see the drawing. 

She raises an eyebrow at me, her face not convinced. 

“Bullshit,” she calls me out. “C’mon, El, you’ve been holed up in this room for who knows how long, obviously deep in your feelings.” She gestures to the crumpled paper on the floor. 

My fists clench under the blanket, muscles tightening with my jaw at her words. He hand glides up my forearm, movements soft and caring.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right? You don't have to keep it bottled up like you usually do. Not with me. Never with me.” She soothes her worried face. 

I nod to her, my throat in knots. My mark punches me in the gut, muscles tightening in pain. I grunt, one of my hands slowly moving to cover it before realising I'm not alone. Shit.

“El? Are you sure you're okay? What are you hiding from me?” Dina demands, her eyes on my hand-covered ribs. “And no bullshit. I'm done with you lying to me. You're telling me the truth right now, or God help me, I'm going to go to Joel. I’m sick of your hiding,” she scolds me, and I manage a light chuckle at her. 

I breathe in and out and nod to her silently. She's right; this is eating me alive. I need to tell her. 

I need to tell someone.

“I only gave the half-truth about the mansion. About what happened there.” I start. Dina's face is serious, quietly listening to what I have to say. She gestures for me to continue. “The girl did hurt Joel. When I found the place, I could hear his shouts of pain coming from the basement, so I followed them, and when I opened the door, she was standing over him, hurting Joel with a fucking golf club.”

“Jesus.” Dina hisses softly.

“All I saw was red. I rushed in without thinking and didn't even realise there were seven others in the room, plus an unconscious Tommy. All I saw was this blonde swinging into him. I was taken down instantly. It was pathetic. They pinned me down, and it took three of them to hold me with how much I fought. I wasn't completely useless; I was able to swipe my knife through some dick's cheek. His retaliation got me the black eye and the broken ribs, though.” I pause, grounding myself for a second. 

“Joel was still awake. Barely. He was scared when I entered; I could see it on his face. I thought we were all going to die, Dina, and in my pain and fury I didn't feel it.” I turn to Dina, face pinched.

“Feel it?” She asks.

“She did, though. The blonde. She hadn't taken a swing since I entered. Like her focus was on something else. Like she forgot all about who she was torturing. I noticed before anyone else did. The change in her. Despite the fact there was a room full of enemies, she was the one I needed to watch. The one capable of doing those horrible things to Joel. I saw her hunch into herself and felt her pain. Because I was feeling her pain, Dina.” I stress the words to her. 

“You're not making any sense, Ellie! It sounds like you're saying you empathised with Joel's torturer, for God's sake!” Dina huffs, frustrated with my explanation. Frustrated with what happened. 

“She’s my soulmate, Dina.” I whisper, the words sealing a truth I never wanted to admit out loud. 

She splutters for a moment, shock taking over her, and settles into a heavy silence. I continue telling her.

“Joel recognised the signs. He's seen it before, how soulmates meet. The marks burn in agony and pain until the pair has skin-to-skin contact. I didn't want to. Gosh, I wanted to kill her. But under Joel's instructions, the group made her touch me.” I tell her, tears building on my lashes. 

“Why?” Dina gasps.

“Because if we didn't, the marks would have killed us.”

Dinas is shaking besides me, her own anger mirroring my own. The twist of fate is cruel. One I've been dealing with alone for the past three months. I'm soulbound to a woman who tortured my only family. My safety. It's cruel. 

“El, I don't, I'm—” Dina tries, but she doesn't know what to say. Neither do I. 

We sit in silence. Letting the words sink. Letting the truth stain our hearts. 

It isn't until the sun peaks over the couch, having risen with the morning, that she speaks again. 

“Can I see it?” She asks.

I turn to her, eyes assessing. She meets my stare head-on. I nod to her and lift my shirt up over my ribs. Her eyes find the mark instantly. Three coins. One for Boston. One for Washington, the other blank. The mark is inflamed still, with red ringing around the inky lines. Dina's hand hovers over it. 

“Jeez, El, is it supposed to look like that?” She wonders. 

“I don't know, to be honest. The mark looked like this at the mansion. On her. The day after, it looked like a normal tattoo.” I answer her.

“El.” She is concerned as her hand pushes lightly against the mark. I hiss in pain. Dina's worry grows. 

“I’m fine.” I grunt at her.

“Sure you are.” She sasses. “Ellie, if the mark is hurting you the same as it did before you touched the girl, chances are it's for a reason.” She lectures.

“I'm aware.” I grunt, standing up and pushing my shirt back down. 

“This is why you have been avoiding everyone, isn’t it? You don't want them to know, not just about the mark, but that it's making you sick?” She guesses correctly.

I turn my back to her, eyes focused on my couch. 

“What are you going to do?” Dina rises and stands in front of me. “You can't stay here and let it kill or infect you. You can't hide this, Ellie! Let yourself rot like you mean nothing. You mean something. To me, to Jessie, Joel, Tommy, and Maria! You are our family. I’m not going to tell you to kill yourself because of some self-pity!” She screams at me. Her voice bounces off the walls. 

I react. I grab her by her shoulder and shove her harshly into the garage wall. My hands are steel on her shoulders, nails digging into her flesh. I feel her jerk in pain as my breathing comes out ragged. 

“Pity?” I spit at Dina. “I don't need your pity!”

“No. You need our help.” Dina’s words set fate in motion. The inevitable I’ve been fighting now is a reality. I sink to the floor, letting her go. Dina follows me, her arms a band of comfort around my shoulders. I'm defeated. Scared. And resolute. There is no avoiding this anymore. 

“Washington Liberation Front,” I say. “WLF. The words written on their clothes, the patches on their jackets. That's where we will find them. Find her. Tommy recognised it. Says their main base is in Seattle.” 

“So we are going?” Dina confirms.

“We have no choice. I don't plan on dying before I get to see Joel grow old and grey.” I dryly chuckle, but there's no humour behind it. 

“Old and grey.” Dina whispers. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We plan our next move. Dina sneaks in maps from the library. I secretly gather the supplies we need for travel, food, and basic bandages, stealing them from the med bay and communal kitchens at night. Weapons are trickier. We have our knives and our pistols, but ammo and rifles are something we have to get from the blacksmiths before patrols. They were usually signed out to us. We decide to sneak a rifle out when we sneak the horses. Hopefully, we can also take some ammo.

We plan to move at night, slipping out a damaged portion of the fenceline set to be repaired in the next two days. Maps to Washington outlined, our journey prepared for, we set an early morning to leave. 

“Do you want to tell the others? Joel?” Dina asks me as we huddle over the papered mountains of Washington. 

“No. He will only want to come with, and I can't trust him not to choose violence over talking when it comes to her. Don't get me wrong. A part of me still wants to kill her, but I need answers first. Joel would just shoot first and ask later. And Tommy will probably try to kill everyone because he's still so mad. And Jesse cannot leave because he's practically Maria 2.0.” I finished. 

She reluctantly agrees, not entirely comfortable with leaving and telling no one, but she also agrees with my words.

“You don't have to come with me.” I say to Dina.

“Yes, I do, you moron. Who else is going to save your ass when you're being shot at?” She chuckles, arms on her hips. I smile at her, touched by her loyalty. Touched by her care.

“Okay then.” I agree, gathering the maps and securing my pack on my shoulders. “We all set?” I question, my hand on the door handle.

“What’s her name?” Dina asks, and I freeze for a moment. “You haven't told me her name yet.” She explains. 

I turn to look at her over my shoulder. The word comes out soft, caring. It's a whisper in the cabin's glow. 

“Abby.”

Chapter Text

8. Ellie

The trip to Seattle is long. 

Dina and I take frequent stops along the way to rest the horses, eat, and sleep. Luckily we don't encounter raiders during our travels, as we specifically chose a quiet path into the wilderness to avoid the main roads, areas where raiders tend to camp in drones. We face many infected, though. Our main choices of weapons are our knives, melee weapons we can salvage, or escaping on our horses. We know we cannot waste bullets this early in the journey; the dangers of being left without the use of the added ammo make it too deadly a decision. We have no idea what awaits us in Seattle. Abby's group held themselves like soldiers, well trained and disciplined. Chances are finding Abby or her group won't be as straightforward as we expect. 

Despite the dangers of travelling outside in this apocalyptic world, we make it to the outskirts of Seattle without much hassle. I've cut my hair along the journey; the strands are now tickling my neck in its half-up, half-down hold. It's much more manageable than the hazardously tied bun at the base of my neck I used to keep.

Seattle is instantly different from Jackson.

Cars litter the forest, overgrown with green moss and weeds. As we gallop, Dina tries to guess WLF’s intention for coming to Jackson. Abby's intentions for attacking Joel. I remind her it's best not to guess until we have more information. 

We come out of the trees along a highway and follow the old road into the city. On the outskirts of Seattle are some old Fedra buildings. We dismount from our horses and take the opportunity to scour for supplies. I find an old kids' holiday map of Seattle, marked with attractions the city used to boast about. It's a beneficial find. 

We move onward. The surroundings are eerily quiet. There are no signs of WLF, infected, or even birds. Dina and I are tense as we scour the area. Quietness is never an encouraging sign.

The Fedra outpost is gated with electrical locks on all sides and enormous linked fences surrounding the perimeter. The gate's main entrance is scribbled with a warning, which sets my stomach on edge as soon as I read it. The words read “WLF.” Trespassers will be killed on sight.” Dina And I exchange a weary glance before Dina boosts me up onto some scaffolding. I scale around the other side of the fence, looking for the way to get the gate to open. Since it's electricity generated, maybe I can jump-start a current. I manage to find a generator, and after some fiddling, I manage to start it up. It runs after some pulls on the lever, and electricity hums to life around the outpost. I find the second electrical port and pull the lever in the control room. I silently cheer as the gate rises, and Dina drags the horses through just before the power cuts and the steel crashes back into the earth, barely missing them. We both look at each other in panic, knowing the echo of the crashing gate just announced our presence in the area, and we rush to leave, fearing what we may have alerted. 

“I found a note in the control tower. Said something about a dome and a courthouse. Power and fuel. It could be useful.” I shrug as we trot away from the entrance gate.

Dina agrees, and we ride around the area, finding one place from the note. It turns out useful, as we are able to gather some fuel and find a shotgun inside. So far we have seen no WLFS along the way, but plenty of infected linger in buildings and chained-off areas. Dina and I make quick work of the walking diseases that threaten our way. Finding the courthouse next, we explore the area, looking for anything of use both for our packs and knowledge of the city and its groups, and as we learn the WLF was able to beat the FEDRA army, Dina's weariness grows. 

Entering a hotel, we see fresh kills. The WLF patches on the jackets the bodies are wearing connect them to our target. Their remains are bloodied, with infected bites all over visible skin. A horde must have taken out this patrol. Upstairs I find a familiar face. One of Abby’s crew members.

“That’s one of Abby’s. I remember him; he's one of the three that held me down.” I whisper, eyes frozen on his bloodied body. Infected tore his torso apart. Dina's hand squeezes my shoulder in comfort. 

“Hey. It doesn't mean we won't find her.” She soothes. I nod, worry in my gut. I have no personal feelings for the guy, just cold detachment. He might have meant something to her, but he was also there at the mansion. It's a conflict I don't want to analyse. So I don't. I move on. 

We ride out. Our location is more in the city now, with buildings closer together in the streets. Dina and I gallop along, trying to find another clue. Another location. We glide over a barbed wire barrier, unaware until the last second of the explosion we set off. It throws us off our horses, Dina rolling further away from me. Shimmer and Japan were whining behind us, injured. A group runs up to us, cargos swishing against their legs. Guns drawn. WLF. I see one shoot the horses before I get slammed unconscious by the butt of a shotgun. 

The last thought I have is so much for sneaking.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Coming too is slow. My head is killing me. My arms are tied behind my back. I tug at the binds before my eyes open, struggling to free myself. A voice makes me look up to see the scared face of the man who kicked my ribs in.

The dick. 

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he sneers at me, and I flinch back, teeth bared at him. Out of all the people in Abby's group to find, it's this jackass. The irony makes me roll my eyes. 

He squats besides me, drawing his switchblade to my neck, resting it against the skin in warning. “How’d you find us? How many came with you, huh? Just you two?” He questions.

His interrogations need work. I can't help myself. My stubbornness makes me reckless.” I asked about a dude with a bitch-ass scar across his face.” I taunted.

“Funny.” He growls, pressing the blade enough to draw blood. I grit my teeth. 

“You can't stop this.” I warn. 

“Jordan.” Another man walks into the room. Not one I recognise. He stops Jordan before he can go any further and questions him about why he isn't out looking for. So she got away. Good.

They argue about whether to kill me, Jordan letting slip he thinks I'm responsible for the other guy's death, the one in the hotel. I look around the room for a way out, twisting my bound wrists behind me against the wooden leg of the table I'm tied to. A gunshot goes off from above on the skylight. It's Dina. She falls through, though, her bullet taking away the stability of the roof. Dina is sobbing on the floor, the fall hurting her, and Jordan takes this as his chance to strangle her. I swipe a glass shard on the floor near me and use it to furiously saw away the ropes as I watch him killing her. I rise fast, swiping his discarded blade and swinging it into his neck. I take the fucker down fast, his hands slipping away from Dina. He gurgles on his own blood before slumping down, dead. 

“Are you okay?” I scan Dina.

“Mostly.” She croaks. I lunge at the bleeding body, furiously swiping through his pockets until I find a Polaroid and a note.

“Ellie, we have to get out of here! Ellie! C’mon.” Dina urges me, having grabbed my pack. 

My eyes furiously swipe over the note. “Is there a TV station on the map?” I sidetrack.

“Ellie! Fuck, let’s go.” She grabs my arm, and we bolt off, torches flashing behind us in the hallways. WLF soldiers on our tail. We head out, sneaking when needed, and take down as many soldiers as we can. The less that follows us, the better. We take out dozens. Seattle is a supply haven. We find more than usual at stops the deeper in we go. I can see why they fight so hard for it. The soldiers talked about a group called the Scars. I guess they are now their main enemy. Dina keeps up as we try to find our next clue. The TV station. After two hours of searching, we find the building. The sun is starting to go down, and our daylight will soon run out. The TV station is empty. No WLF patrol, no infected, no sign of the scars. Only some bodies littered with bullet holes and arrows remain. One of the bodies catches my attention.

“That’s her. Leah.’ I point at the arrow-riddled girl.

“I guess the universe really wanted her dead, huh?” Dina sasses, happy the girlfriend of her nearly killer suffered a horrible fate. I can't blame her. How Leah even dated Dickhead, I don't know. She searches Leah's body. “She’s clean.”

I spot a duffle under a bunk and slide it out. Dina checked the rest of the room. A radio goes off around us. It still works. I search the bag and pull out a bundle. It's Polaroids.

“Dina.” I call as I rise to show her. She turns from the radio and looks at me. “It's them. It's all of them,” I say, standing next to her. 

Dina identifies a sign in the one that says Manny. It's a sign near Jackson. I'm pissed off by their smiles. The next Polaroid makes me freeze. It's a man and a woman. A woman I see in my dreams. 

“It’s her.” I whisper. Finger lightly tracing the image. Her hair is tied back, her shirt is snug on her chest, and her face is smiling, but it seems sarcastic. I can barely breathe. The ache in my mark fades just a little. 

Dina whistles besides me, eyes also on the Polaroid. She takes it from my hands softly and tucks the bundle into her pack. The radio takes this moment to go off, alerting us of an incoming WLF squad to the TV station. It's time to go.

The rest of the day is spent escaping. We get chased down into the subways, the cart long abandoned. The tunnels are dark, weary, and infected; we get drawn to the noise the soldiers make trying to find us. I'm lucky to remember to wear my mask. Joel's many warnings about my carelessness repeat in my head like a mantra as we come across spores. I don't need Dina knowing about my immunity. 

We barely scrape through the glass doors to the subway entrance, gasping and holding each other from our exhaustion. That was too close, way too close. The infected and the soldier nearly had us alike. We spot a theatre across the street and make our way to it. This will be our base for a couple of days. We desperately need somewhere to sleep and reset.

Dina collapses on the couch inside while I barricade the door. She was born heaving and tired. She looks sick. I've noticed during our journey she had been struggling. Vomiting when she sees lots of blood, slower in climbing and fighting. 

I question her about it. She tells me the truth. 

“I'm pregnant, Ellie.” She shakes her head at me, then snorts, “Don't worry, it's not yours.” 

I stand there gaping, mouth open like a fish. My brain is blank. I can't help it when I go off on her. I call her a burden. She lied about her pregnancy; she lied about her health. It's the truth, a harsh one. But the truth. She is now a burden in a city  with people that would not hesitate to kill us. 

I leave her on the couch, angry as I go to explore the theatre. I manage to hook up the electricity, get the generator running, and find a radio. It doesn't work, and I huff at it in frustration. I find the keys to the stage area last. The musical instruments sit abandoned on stage, the red seats a dome around the raised wood. The guitar is in pristine condition. I shrug off my pack, grab the neck, and settle into a seat with the familiar wood and strings in my hands. The first chord instantly reminds me of Joel. He is probably so mad at me. Going off, not noticing. I can hear the lecture from here. 

I chuckle as I continue on the strings. My mind drifts from Joel to the day I've had. My hand is still on the guitar, and I thud onto it. Three of Abby's team are dead, with no information. What a waste. 

All I have are some polaroids. I won't stop.

I'm here in her city. I'm close. I can feel the success on the tip of my tongue. 

I'll be seeing you soon, Abby.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I wake the next day to the sounds of the radio. I'm still slumped in a red theatre chair, items scattered around me. I get dressed and head up to the radio room. When I enter, Dina is vomiting in a bucket, with maps spread on the floor with the Polaroids. The radio has been fixed. I let out an impressive noise at the map. She's added new information. Zones over it. Dina rises from her bucket, looking green. She smiles when she sees me and gestures to the map. I squat next to her, hand rubbing her back in comfort. She thanks me for the action. She points to Abby's Polaroid. “Word on the street is that Owen is AWOL. They are looking for him.” She starts.

I pick up the Polaroid, eyeing the man in the frame. Memorising his face. The main man. I remember him. My eyes automatically drift to Abby, a finger smoothing over her smile. “And her?” I ask.

“No info.” Dina sighs. “However, this one has been assigned here.” She says, picking up a Polaroid of a woman, It says "Nora" underneath it. Dina points to the hospital on the map. “Apparently they are clearing it out. Infected in the basement. No longer safe, she's a part of the team meant to clear it.” Dina smiles, proud of her detective work. I mirror her expression, happy we have a lead. Somewhere to go forward from. 

“Okay. Hospital it is.” I rise up on my legs, and Dina struggles to follow me. She's slow, barely slept, and in no shape to go out there again. I decide it's best she doesn't come. “Can you stay here, man the radios, and see what else you can get?” I ask her, but it's more of a plea. She looks at me for a solid moment before nodding defeatedly. I'm glad she didn't fight me. 

“Thanks.” I breathe, heading for the door to the theatre, taking the map with me. I rip some pages out of my journal and pass her a pencil. She nods as she takes it. 

“Be careful. They know about the mess we left behind. If they find you, Ellie, they will kill you.” She warns. 

I nod to her. We hug, and then I'm gone. I had my first encounter with the group they call scars on the way here. Faces twisted in mangled cuts, brown leather cloaks swapping around them. Their wooden bows and axes tell me it's a cult. Remembering Leah’s body is enough for me to fight them with everything I’ve got. It didn't take long for me to find the hospital. I have to sneak in from the water. Luckily Joel taught me how to swim. I sneak up on a guard, playing video games—what a pathetic lookout—and draw my switchblade to her neck. She gasps as she feels the steel. 

“Where’s Nora?” I growl at her; she points a shaky hand to the hospital. 

“Inside, second floor.” She stutters. 

I don't hesitate as I slice her throat and fling the body into the water behind me. I'm here for Nora, and the WLF are on orders to kill all trespassers. Abby’s group's fate will be decided on what they offer and what path they choose. I'm going to find her. No matter. 

I'm careful in the hospital. There are WLFS everywhere, and I have to use closets and vents to find Nora. I track her down to a room, and she's alone. I raise my gun at her.

“Don’t scream. Turn around. Don't move.” I'm laser-focused on her. “You remember me?” I ask.

Her hands raise in a peaceful gesture. “What do you want?” She questions, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. 

“Where’s Abby?”

She huffs at me. The sounds make me grasp my gun tighter. “That’s why you’re here? Don't tell me the old man kicked the bucket.” She sneers at me.

Her taunting crosses a line, and I charge at her without thinking. She takes that chance to slam a tray into my head, giving her enough time to slip out a side door.

“Nora!” I roar after her, taking chase, “You can't escape this!” 

She alerts others as she runs, winding through the hospital. I follow close on her heels, dodging bullets and broken glass as I go. When I catch her, she's standing over a glowing red hole in the ground, looking frightened. I use her as a shield, Nora struggling against me as I point my gun at the WLF, having finally caught up.

My only option is the hole. I throw us both over the edge, and we land in a heap on the ground. Spores are everywhere. Nora covers her mouth desperately. I think quickly on my feet. I grab my mask from my pack and hand it to her. 

She snatches it out of my hand and puts it on. Her first breaths are relief. Before her eyes find mine, hard. 

“Why?” She asks, voice muffled by the glass on her face,

“I wouldn't want my soulmate to kill me now, would I?” I sass at her. Rising to my feet, hands on my hips. Nora stares at me, mouth agape. “You remember? Is that why you're here?” She guesses.

“Where’s Abby?” I ask her again.

“I'm not going to give my friend up if you're just going to kill her.” She grunts, also rising. 

“I’m not going to kill her.” I growl. ” I want answers. That's all.”

Nora's face is sceptical. “Answers, huh? You're dumber than you look. Like a match made in heaven.” She rolls her eyes, heading towards a bolted hospital door.

“Fuck you.” I hiss, pistol twitching in my hand. 

“No thanks.” Nora says in disgust as she opens the door. It leads outside of the hospital. We step outside into the alleyway, the stone shielding us for the moment. She hands me the mask back, and I take it. “If I tell you where she is, then my debt is paid. I don’t owe you anything.” She grumbles.

I nod, eyes serious. 

“She’s at the aquarium.” Nora spits. My heart jumps in joy at the information. Finally, I know where to look.

I pause before I move off. “You didn't ask.” I question her.

“I had a long time to think about Jackson. His care for you was unsettling. I guessed. You're the one who confirmed it.” She shrugs.

“Salt Lake.” I breathe at her, eyes wide in realisation.

Nora's watching me. Her face was pained. 

“Took you long enough.” She spits, turning back to the hospital.

My eyes follow her until she disappears, a puzzle piece fitting into place.

“Shit.”

Chapter Text

9. Abby 

I jolt awake on the lumpy couch, my neck cramped, book still lying on my stomach. 

“Easy.” A voice soothes, and I look up to see Manny standing above me. 

“Jesus.” I whisper at him as I shift to the edge of the couch. My book slides, and I catch it, placing it besides me. My braid slides over my shoulder as I grunt sitting up. 

I groan out, the muscles in my neck tight with tension. “Fuck my neck.” I ignore the pain in my ribs, by now used to it. “What's up?” I ask Manny. 

“Been looking for you everywhere.” He shrugs at me. “We’ve been called up. Isaac wants us at the front.” He continues. 

I squint at him, annoyed. 

“What? Are you serious?” I huff. 

“Afraid so. We should hustle.” He hits my knee as he says this.

"We're leaving now?" I raise my eyebrow. 

“Yes. Vamanos.” He chuckles, amused at my attitude. 

I gesture for him to lead the way, and he turns with a laugh. I groan as I stand. Never again am I sleeping in the library. 

Manny thanks me as we walk for lending him the room last night. As my roommate and I agreed, nightly partners are okay as long as he covers my training sessions with the new recruits, and I do the same for him. I should have known, though, when I made that deal I'd spend more time in the makeshift library than in my own bed. 

He's always been a ladies' man. So much so it's starting to kill my back. He tells me how he scored with Isaac's weather researcher.

We rush through the stadium, grabbing breakfast along the way, and head to our room. Manny informs me Mel will be joining us for our journey to the FOB. 

I clench my teeth and look away from Manny. He sees my expression over his shoulder. 

“Don’t freak out. I care about you both, and I'm tired of all the bullshit.” Mamny explains.

“Does she know I'm on this drive?” 

I ask him.

“Yeah.” 

“And she's cool with it?” 

“Yeah. C’mon, stop being paranoid. It's an opportunity for you two to get along. You’ve barely said a word to each other since Jackson, apart from your private visits.”

“She wanted Joel dead as much as the rest of us.” I spit, tired of talking about Jackson. 

“She’s not like the rest of us.” He soothes, knowing he's hit a sore spot. 

Ain't that the truth? Mel's opinions of me have well and truly soured since Jackson. She hates the choices I made. She hates that I left Ellie behind and especially hates how I hurt Joel. She called it cruel and spiteful. Unnecessary torture. I call it payback. The man wasn't kind when he slaughtered hundreds, slaughtered my only family, so, no Mel, I wouldn't offer him a kind death. That's not how revenge works.

“She’s a medic. Her job is to save people. Abby…she’s family.” Manny begs me.

I groan out my frustration. “Urgh, fine, I’ll make an effort.” 

“Good. Get your gear. I'll grab Mel.” He grins as we reach our door. I pull out my keys. “Oh, and be nice.” He waves his finger in my face, a smirk present. 

“Bite me.” I snap as I enter the room. His laughs fill the hallway. 

I jog down the steps to my gear, not before examining a very pink bra on a chair, way too girly for someone like me. I chuck it on Manny's bed. Weather girl, huh? 

I grab my gear, packing my jacket and water bottle when the two come in.Mel's pregnant belly stretches against her shirt, her hand resting upon the bulge as she greets me. It's awkward as fuck.

“Hi,” I sigh.

“Hi,” she replies. 

“They cleared you for active duty?” I ask her.

“Barely,” she says, face tight. 

The words come out bitchier than I mean to. “And Owens is okay with this?” 

“Why would I need Owen's permission?” She grumbles to me and turns to head out of the room via the outdoor door. “Come on. We need to grab Alice.” 

“Do better.” Manny whispers to me, slapping me on the arm and turning to follow her out of the room.

I loudly exhale, my hands slapping together as I eye the ceiling. It's not too late for me to stay, right? 

I'm up and moving after them, and we wind down the stadium ring levels to the kennels. WLF dogs are specially trained to attack their enemies. They are a great addition to a squad. I've helped train some during my days off. I love dogs. We grab Alice, a girl that has attached protectively to Mel since her pregnancy started to grow. Mel also is attached to Alice. They trained together, so we know at least Mel has an extra level of protection with Alice around. Less for me to worry about. 

We weapon up. Loading our assault rifles, clipping our pistols to our thighs and our knives to our hips, and setting off in a patrol truck. The cab is open air, and Manny, being sly like he is, decides he's driving, leaving Mel and me to awkwardly sit across from each other. We manage some miscellaneous chatting for about 20 minutes before it all goes to shit. Scars flank us on horseback, on both sides of the underside of an overpass. Their arrows speed past our heads as I take position on the roof of the truck and return fire. It's absolute carnage, with Manny trying desperately to keep us on the road despite the clear disadvantage. He loses control, and we crash into an old delivery truck near an abandoned warehouse. We scurry off the truck, me boosting Mel down from the back by her hips, and scramble into the warehouse. 

What feels like hours later, after fighting off a shit tonne of infected and scars, we get picked up by a patrol that saves our asses from another ambush, and by the time we reach the FOB, it's well into the afternoon. There are squads from all over packed inside like sardines, all wondering what's happening. Many have been called back from their patrol regions and outposts, all huddled here into the FOB. My worry grows at the sight of the hundreds of antsy soldiers. 

Mel heads to the medical tents, and Manny and I follow her, knowing we have to go through to reach the granted access into Isaac's office. 

We meet up with Nora, who is sewing someone's arm together, and she finishes and greets us. 

“Speak of the devil and she may appear.” Nora greets me, sly smirk in place. 

“The one and only.” I chuckle back. 

Nora laughs before she gestures for Manny and me to follow her. “Glad you guys are here. I need some muscle. Can you two give me a hand with something?” Nora asks. 

“Sure.” 

Once we are clear of the other doctors, Nora grows serious. “I’m shipping out to the hospital in a few. Orders are to get everything.” 

Mannya and I exchange a look at the information and continue following her. We round the medical tents to a storage area, and Nora opens the door. “I want to show you guys something.” 

We both enter, and the smell is instantaneous. Bodies in rucksacks line the shelving, the walls, and the floors. It's the mortuary, and the number of dead soldiers is gruesome. 

“Oh my god, are these all ours?” I gasp at her. 

“Yeah, and more coming in the hours.” She sighs, looking tired as she leads us to a body on the end. “You can’t tell Mell, at least not yet.” 

“Nora. Who is in the body bag?” I ask, stomach sinking. 

She squats down, pulls the zipper open, and we see the body is Danny. The same Danny was assigned to work with Owen. I clench my eyes shut and turn my back to them, my mind working a million miles an hour in worry. 

“Where’s Owen?” I ask her. 

Nora looks defeated. “I don’t know. A few days back there were some scar sightings out by the marina. Danny and Owen were sent on a sweep. And this morning the guards found Danny collapsed by the perimeter fence. He walked back with a bullet in his stomach. Issac talked with him till he passed, but as far as I can tell there are no patrols going that way. I tried to ask, but Issac gave me that look. He didn't know I was talking. You two can't say shit.” 

“¡Pinches scars! ¡Hijos de puta!” Manny spits in Spanish. 

I clench my brows together, worried for Owen.

“Owens, a big boy Abs, I'm sure he's fine.” He tries to help. 

I made my decision. “Where's Issac? I’ll be discreet.” I nod to Nora. 

She looks uneasy. “Last I heard he was in the apartments.” 

She opens the door, and we head off. “Why the hell hasn’t Issac sent a unit for Owen?” I ask Manny, frustrated.

“Maybe he has, and we don’t know it.” He guesses. 

“I fucking hope so.” 

We enter the apartments, getting waved through by Issac's personal guards, and head towards the elevator. The apartments are not only home to Isaac's office on the upper floor, but also where we keep and torture Scar prisoners. The bottom levels smell of death, decay, and blood. When we reach the elevator, another guard stops us. 

“Hey Abby. He's in there.” He nods to a door besides us. Torture room.

“Do you know if he’ll be long?” I ask.

“Said to get him when you arrive.” He chuckles and knocks on the door. Manny and I tense at the view we get. Isaacs squatted over a bloody scar, no more than a teenager when he turned to us. 

He nods to me, hands his blade to the guards, and orders him. To keep the kid awake. 

I decide to focus on Isaac instead of the kid. Nobody can save him now. We follow Issac into the elevator and enter his office. It's been three months since I was last here, but it hasn't changed. Issac seems more tired than usual, and he avoids his mind games for once. Mannya asks him about the number of troops back at base, trying to guess their means for return. I stay quiet for now. 

“These small skirmishes. We can't keep going like this. We can try another truce, but how long before some asshole on their side or some asshole on ours unravels the whole thing? No. It has to be all of them. With everyone. There's a big storm a few days out. We will use it to mask our approach. You two will lead the first waves. Pick your squads, start prepping." Isaac dismisses. 

It's now or never, and I take my chance. “I want Owen. When are he and Danny getting back?” I try to be subtle. 

It doesn't work.

“Who talked? Nora?” Isaac guesses instantly. “No secrets between the Salt Lake crew, huh?” He taunts. 

Manny stays quiet as I press on. “Is Owen okay?” 

“As far as I know.” Isaac growls. 

“Then why haven't you sent a search party after him?” I rush.

“He shot Danny. Apparently to protect some scar.” He cuts me off. 

“Bullshit.” I say before thinking, instantly regretting it by the glare I get. 

“Excuse me?” Issac hisses. 

“Let me go after him. I’ll walk him back in—” 

“No.” Isaac cuts me off.

“You said yourself the storms a few days—” 

“No!” He barks. “We’ve only got one shot at this, and it's bigger than any of us. Definitely bigger than Owen.” 

I cross my arms, face tight in stress. Isaac watches me for a moment. He sighs. “If he turns up, then fine, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, and then we’ll get to the bottom of it.” He relents. His arms raise to grab my shoulder. “I need you, Abby, yeah?” He assesses. 

I nod to him, my face relaxing a bit. “Yeah. I get it.” "I confirm," voice soft. He pats me. “Good. Pick your squads.” And with that, he heads off back down to his teenage scar. Manny and I are alone in the office. 

“No way Owen killed Danny over some scar, right?” He questions me. 

I give him a look over my shoulder. He stops when he sees it. “What? No, Abby. Don’t.” He guesses correctly. 

“I’ll be back by morning; you just have to cover me till then.” I plead. 

“Isaac will kick your ass.” He grumbles. 

“Not before the assault. You heard him; he needs me.” I say. 

“If Owens is out there, how the hell are you going to find him?” He questions. 

“I know where he'll go.” I answer by turning to face the aquarium through the glass.

—-----------------------------------

Manny helps me sneak out through a discarded house in the area. He tries to go with me, worried about how dangerous it is alone, but I convince him to stay. Aquariums are due west, so all I need to do is follow the sun. The same sun that is starting to set. I better get a move on if I want to find him. 

“Alright, wish me luck.” I say to Manny. 

“When you find him, don’t hit him too hard.” He smirks, raising his fist for a bump.

I meet it with my own. 

“Seriously, watch yourself out there.” He stresses. 

My smile is soft as I look at Manny. “See ya.”

—--------------------------------

I move quickly through the city following the sun. I'm alert and ready, taking out infected along the way. I know the closer I head to the aquarium, the more likely the chance I run into scars. They have claimed the areas near the docks in the most recent months. I know I've fucked up when I hop the fence of a building and run smack dab into some type of prayer area. Notes hang on a wooden fence, and an altar is set up above a drawing of the scars prophet.

“Fuck.” I softly hiss as I move to the only possible escape. Into the building. It's a three-level concrete monstrosity, barely standing after the Qz bombings. Moss covers the wall, and I can hear the talking of cars in the distance. My only way out is down. I sneak through the first two levels, silently killing any scabs in my way. My presence doesn't stay unnoticed when I get into a struggle with an axe-wielding beast of a woman. She's taller than me, heavier. Like a bloater with an axe. We struggle as we try to kill each other, her pinning me down into the muddy ground. I grab her hair and bite her ear off, and she rears back with a scream. It's enough for me to push her off and start to run. I don't see the two male scars until they tackle me, each holding an arm into the dirt. I'm a seething menace of rage as I twist and turn on them. I manage to shrug one off, and just as I'm about to strangle the other, a blow lands to my head, and I fade into darkness. 

When I awake again, I see the muddy ground slipping beneath me and feel the pull of my arms at an unnatural angle. I'm being dragged somewhere, my hands tied together behind my back. My head is killing me as I blink to clear away the confusion. 

My face smacks into the earth, and it's enough to shake me out of my pain. I squint at the ground and turn to face the light above me. What I see makes me gasp in fear. Above me, hanging from a rope around their necks, are fellow WLFs. Their stomachs are sliced open, guts hanging out of the incision. Faces twisted in an agonising death. 

I let adrenaline guide me up onto my knees, muscles straining to push me up. To get out of here. 

A scar grabs my shoulder, and as I jerk away, he takes the opportunity to slip a noose around my neck. I shriek like a madwoman as it tightens and suddenly I am off my feet, swinging by my neck above the ground. The rope cuts into my flesh, and black spots dot my vision. I'm trying desperately to gather air into my lungs, but every breath makes the rope tighten, so instead I grit my teeth. My muscles strain desperately as I swing and gasp. Two cars grab my legs and stop my momentum, practically throwing me onto a bucket. It's a makeshift platform, and as I catch my breath for a moment, my eyes scan the surroundings. 

A female scar approaches me, her wickedly curved blade glinting in the firelight. I shudder when I see the weapon. I look frantically at my surroundings as she approaches. She's in front of me now, scars gleaming in the light, her hair twisted in a braid on top of her head. She's spewing some religious crap, her eyes gazing at me but not actually seeing me, like she's in a daze. My eyes dart down to the blade as she starts to lift my tee, my body instinctively moving back to the very edge of the bucket, hoping I can escape what comes next. I'm panicking, gulping air like it's my lifeline as the cold steel rests against my abs. An argument reaches the forest clearing, and a follower pulls her away before she can slice me open. She eyes me with a warning, my own eyes open wide as I watch her retreat. I sweep my gaze over to the side to see two scars holding a younger teenager, her own scars pale against her wide eyes. She's a fighter, though, this girl, as she struggles against her holders.

The weapon woman comes forward and asks her a question: “Where’s the other apostate?” She hisses at the girl.

Her answer is a spit to the face. I have a sick sense of satisfaction seeing the girls' grit. 

The woman stares at the girl for a moment in disgust. “Clip her wings.” She orders the others. 

They wrestle the girl to the ground and hold her arms outward. The scar on the right pulls out a hammer and slams into the girl's arm four times, the girl screaming in pain, well and truly breaking bone before passing the hammer to the scar on the left. He raises it above his head, but before he can bring the weapon down, an arrow shoots through his mouth. This gives the girl a chance to raise the hammer and slam it into her attacker's neck, killing him instantly. The scarred woman stands, draws her gun at the girl, and barely dodges as another arrow flies past her head from the trees. She shoots wildly into the greenery as I struggle to try to undo my bindings. The scarred woman stumbles back, eyes weary on the treeline. Her attention is drawn by the girl who has risen to her feet holding the hammer. The scar, stupid in not watching her surroundings, stumbles back towards me, and I take the opportunity to strangle her to death with my thighs. My legs wrap around her, and I squeeze with all my might. The new position pulls the rope tight around my neck as I focus on killing my enemy. She drops her gun, fingers clawing into my thighs. I try to snap her neck, but the angle is awkward; luckily, the girl charges with her hammer and slams it over the scarred head, killing her. The girl falls to the floor in pain from the movement, the scarred woman slipping from my hold, and with her goes my leverage. I swing again, knocking over the bucket with my legs, and dangle there from my neck. I try my hardest to breathe, to escape. I can feel the blood rushing to my head, my vision darkens, and my face flushes in the lack of oxygen. My hands won't budge from the ropes. 

This is it. 

This is how I die. 

I faintly hear the girl talking with another in the background. My teeth grit in pain. My mark flares violently against my ribs. 

The next moment I'm face down on the ground gasping desperately for some sweet air and wondering why I'm not dead. I feel my hands are released from their binds and hurriedly raise them to my neck, tugging the rough rope away from sensitive skin. I rub as I rise, scrambling over to the only weapon nearby. The hammer. 

I'm on my feet when I hear them. Infected in the forest. 

I stand besides the boy who saved me as we watch the forest. He was the one shooting the arrows into the field. These two must be related or something.

“Watch your backs.” I tell them as the screeches grow. 

The first infected that comes into the clearing is a clicker. I swing without hesitation, cutting it down relentlessly. More swarm us, and the girl clutching a lighted torch in her only good hand turns to lead us through the wood. 

“We’ve got to run! Out of these woods. The coast is this way.” She shouts to us. 

She leads the way, I follow in the middle, and the boy takes the rear as we race away from the infected. 

We have to fight off another group of runners, me losing the hammer, before we make it to the edge of the forest. We go through a hole in a concrete wall and come out to a chain-link fence. 

The girl tells her brother, Lev, to tear the chain away. He struggles. “Move.” I say as I squat where he was and grip the metal, wrenching it away from the iron. “Go.” They scoot in, and I follow, slower, having to squeeze through the small hole. 

 While I'm going through, the kids get barrelled into by a car, and I rush to them, tackling the person off them. As I rear back to look at the scar, I see it's the same scar whose ear I bit off. 

“Are you wearing my backpack?” I yell at her, annoyed at her audacity for stealing it, and charge at her with my fists. She clashes against me, and I relentlessly beat her face with my fists until I'm able to get the upper hand and she stumbles back into the grass. I take my chance, ripping her malformed axe out of her hands and swinging it into her skull, killing her. 

“Got it.” I huff as I take my backpack off her. Asshole. 

The kids stand off to the side staring, and I worry I was too violent in front of them. Did I scare them? 

But they blink and look away, trying to see a way out of this courtyard we've entered.

I spot a garage door and go to lift it. “This way, grab what you need.” 

“We can't touch any of this. It's the old world.” The boy protests instantly. 

“What the f—? You need supplies; we aren't out of the woods yet. Pun fucking intended.” 

“What a pun?” Lev wonders. 

I keep looking around; the two kids finally do so as well. “I’ve never seen scars killing scars before.” 

“Seraphites.” Lev corrects. 

“What the hell did you do?” I ask. 

“I shaved my head.” He answers. Okay this kid is proabably fucking with me. I'm too tired for this. 

“Fine. Don't tell me. I really don't care," I grumble.

“How is the arm?” I ask the girl, Yara.

“I have it under control.” She answers. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.” 

We exit the building and follow the steps up to the coastline. The infected are everywhere, but with my pack and rifle back, I make quick work of them. We navigate through a crumbled building swarmed with infected, trying to find our way out. There's a door, bolted shut with a broken glass pane above it small enough to fit the kids through. I won't fit. I'll have to trust them. 

“I get you though, you open that gate, right?” I ask. 

“We’ll open it.” Yara agrees. 

I hoist them up, using my leg as a stepping stool, and they both crawl through the window. 

The infected are coming closer, their screeches bouncing off the cement walls. 

“The gate is stuck!” Yara yells through the glass.

“Fuck. Hurry up!” I barked, weapon raised towards the many openings infected can come in. Two runners rush me, and I quickly kill them before turning back to the gate only to see the kids gone. I'm furious I trusted them.

 “Fucking scars!” I yell, banging on the glass. They fucking left me. 

I turn to the sounds of the infected, growing closer, and bolt right, hoping I'll find another way out. 

I shoot and stab as many as I can while searching the building. A call distracts me from a clicker. “Hey Wolf! Over here!” Lev crouches ontop of the hood of an old ambulance which is barely holding the rubble above it. I run to him, jumping up besides him and slipping through the cab out the swinging doors. The clicker follows, and before it can grab me, Yara pins it with an ambulance door, and Lev shoots it with his arrow. I look at the two who have saved me again. Yara slumps down to the ground. Her arm is weakening her. 

“Just give me a minute.” She whimpers. I crouch besides her and pick her up. I'll carry her the rest of the way. It's the least I can do for them after they saved my ass and came back for me. 

We jog up the wooden stairs leading to the beach and come out to a clearing with scattered cabins. Lev runs ahead to check the doors. I can see how bad Yara is in my arms. She's crying out with each step, her arm an angry red. 

I never thought I'd ever feel such concern for scars before, but these kids have done the impossible. 

I tell Lev to lock the door of the cabin he found unlocked behind me as I carry Yara to a couch inside. I set her down softly, trying not to jostle her arm too much. 

Lev helps her out of her long sleeve as I peek through the closed blinds, looking for potential threats. 

It's clear for now. 

Lev looks like he's about to cry as he stares at his sister's arm. Yara reassures him it only needs to be set before asking if I can do it for her. I agree and tell Lev to cut her long sleeve into strips before I help Yara lean back on the couch. 

“Are you ready?” I ask as I bring her arm flat against the cushions. She nods, and I waste no time setting the bone back into place. Her grunt of pain made me wince. I split a stool across the room whose leg I can use as a brace and snap one off. I bring it back and create a makeshift brace for her with the strips Lev passes to me. Yara is exhausted as she watches me work.

“What’s your name?” She softly asks me. 

I watch her for a moment, eyes taking in how young she really is. She's only a teenager. “Abby.” I say just as softly. 

I need to go. I know I have to. The sun has well and truly set, and I'm no closer to finding Owen. It's time for me to leave. 

“Thanks for cutting me down.” I grunt as I grab my pack and practically run out of there. The boy follows me to the door, going to close it behind me without a word. His face is angry. My hand stops him from slamming the wood in my face. 

“This area gets a lot of traffic.” I stress leaning in towards him. “Whatever shape she's in, you need to get out of here by tomorrow.” 

He fixes me with some attitude. “Well, I'll be fine.” 

He slams the door shut, and I stare at it for a moment. “Yeah.” I say a silent goodbye. 

I look out at the area around me and spot the Ferris wheel close by. Time to find Owen. 

Chapter Text

10. Abby

By the time I get to the aquarium, it is well and truly nighttime. I'm tired, drenched in rain and seawater and ready to crash. I have to break a skylight to get in and find his pack inside. I go looking for him and eventually see the light on in his yacht parked in the aquarium's marina. 

I go to the door and open it. “Owen?” I call, peering into the boat. 

What I see makes me sigh. He's sitting on the floor near the bed, old alcohol cans scattered besides him. Great, he's drunk. 

He's chuckling now as he sees me. “That’s fucking cruel. “Did Isaacs send you after me?” He laughs at the irony. 

“He didn’t.” I say as I enter, my eyes finding an old exhaust pipe on the table. I pick it up. “What is all this?” I can clearly see more tools scattered around now inside. 

“Gotta take her apart if I'm going to fix her back up.” He drawls. 

“I see.” I say exasperatedly. 

“Want some?” He offers his cup. 

“Pass.” 

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs. 

I take my pack off and sit down on the couch. “Danny’s dead.” 

He pauses. “I figured.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Its more a demand than an ask. 

He watches me for a moment before speaking. “We were cleaning out a small camp. Just a couple of scars, and, uh, I hit this one on the head. Hard. And he goes down, and his weapon is right there. And he doesn't go for it.” His voice breaks as he speaks, “Instead, he turns to me, and he’s old and tired. He was just…ready. I've killed a lot of scars and, uh. This fucking guy. I couldn't do it. Of course Danny gets in my fucking face about it. I told him I'm done. He can do it himself if he wants. Then he points his fucking gun at me. So then I grab it, and then…” He stops. 

I stare at the ceiling defeated, knowing what he's going to say. 

“At first I didn’t know which one of us was shot.” He finishes. 

I stand up, my mind going over what he's told me. I shrug my arms out. “You defended yourself.” 

“Stop—” he hisses.

“I can fix this. I can talk to Issac.” I stress to him. 

"I'm tired, Abby." He interrupts. “I don’t want to fight over land I don’t give a fuck about anymore. I’m going to Santa Barbara.” 

I shake my head. “To chase a rumour?” I said to him, "Santa Barbara is said to have the last of the fireflies." Owen likes to believe it's true. I don't think it is. Joel Miller killed the last of the fireflies. End of story. 

“I’ve heard it more than once.” He sasses.

"The fireflies aren't regrouping. They're gone.” I say brutally. 

"It's a lead. I have to see it through.” He whispers. 

He stands up to fill his cup again, and I watch him. This isn't the Owen I know. 

“What about Mel?” I ask.

“She’ll be safe here.” He drinks. 

I'm done with this conversation. “Okay. Well, talk about this in the morning when you're sober.” 

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” I grunt.

“Treat me like I'm insane. You feel the same way.” He grumbles. 

He's talking about my feelings for the fireflies. He doesn't know those have changed since Jackson. “If the fireflies were in Santa Barbara,fireflies I'd go the opposite fucking way.” I sarcastically snark at him. He doesn't get to tell me how I get to feel anymore. 

“Sorry I grew up. You should try it sometime.” I push at the childish smirk I receive. 

He's pissed now and rises to get in my face. I don't back down.”Santa Barbara,” Oh yeah? And how should I go about doing that,, Abby? Should I gofind the people who killed my family? Cut into them? I can torture them until they'rere crying in their own—” I don'tt give him the chanceto finish, slamming him against the cupboard. 

How dare he fucking talk about Jackson like that? How dare he taunt me for what I did? I'm so tired of people telling me what I did was wrong. They think I don't know that? They think I don't realise how low I had to stoop to be on his level? They think I don't understand the cost? Of course I fucking do. I was the one who did it. Me. Not Owen. Not Mel. 

He fights me, grabbing my.braid to halt my movements. I tense, eyeing him and pleading for him not to say anymore. My hands soften against his chest as he touches my cheek lightly. 

“Abby.” He whispers and slams his lips against mine. I gasp, instinctively kissing him back to feel anything good. Anything that isn't pain or regret. He goes to lift my shirt over my head and brushes his knuckles against my mark. Pain flares into my rear back, gasping. It wakes me from my haze, and he's staring at me confused. "I can't." I gasp before I grab my pack and dash out of the yacht. 

Fucking fuck! What the hell was that? 

I go into the aquarium and mindlessly find a couch to sleep on. I curl into myself as my hand moves over my mark. It flutters, but it's not painful. It's oddly comforting, and I find myself imagining green eyes. Sleep takes over me as I remember her freckles. I don't think about the yacht. I don't think about Owen as I doze off. I only see her. Exhaustion pulls me under. 

—-------------‐—------------------

The sirens are the same. The dream is coming back in full force. I'm near the surgical doors when I push them open. It is different. Dad is gone. Joel is gone. Instead, forests and burning cars surround a gurney, and rain drips down onto the floor. I see feet first before I look up. Yara and Lev hang from their necks, insides dripping out. Their eyes are hollow. 

I jolt up gasping for air, my hand going to my neck. Rubbing, reassuring. I know the pain I imagined them in. I know what the rope feels like. My own neck is angry red from its binds. I know what fate awaits those kids if I help them. 

“Those fucking kids.” I sigh as I rub the sleep from my eyes. 

I know what I have to do.

—---------‐—----------------------

I approach the old campground. It's their communication system for enemies. The kids don't have long before they will be found. I have to hurry before the scars get to them. 

I scale down to the camp from the rocks above, questioning myself as I go. What am I doing? They are scars? I just leave them? But despite my inner turmoil, I don't stop. I kill the scar patrol before moving to the cabin. Bodies lay out the front, one in the doorway. 

“Shit! Kid? You're still in there.” I call to him as I walk up the small steps. He fires at my head, and I duck. 

“Don’t come any closer.” He frets, sounding scared. 

“It’s me.” I tell him, standing to see him. He's tired and looks mentally worn out. He offers a weak apology. 

“How's she doing?” I ask him. 

His face falls, and I know it's not good. I move past him to the couch. Yaras bundled up in his coat, shivering in pain, and I take it off her to see her arm is blood red, the skin so inflamed it strains against her brace. Fuck. I touch her forehead. Definite fever. 

“I’m going to move your arm.” I tell her as she whimpers and does so. Her scream is heartbreaking. “Lean into me.” She does so, and I pick her up.

“What are you doing?” Lev stops me at the door. “Where are you taking her?” He stresses. 

“I’m giving her a chance.” I urge him out of the way with my head. He's unsure but moves aside, grabbing his bow and following me. 

We have to take the long way around to reach the aquarium. Swimming with Yara would be foolish. We make it by midday and Lev looks sceptical. I don't blame him. Poor kids had a shit time. They both have. “Are you sure about this?” He asks me as we reach the back door. I nod to him, and he opens it. 

Time to find Owen.