The emergency exit door groaned as Arthur pushed it open, revealing a narrow alley bathed in afternoon sunlight. He gestured for Ellie to go first, keeping his weapon trained on the basement behind them as they made their escape. The sounds of infected were growing louder—more had entered the music shop upstairs, drawn by whatever had caused that initial crash.
"Clear," Ellie whispered after checking the alley. They slipped outside, Arthur quietly closing the door behind them.
The alley was tight, dumpsters and debris creating a gauntlet they had to navigate carefully. Arthur took point, his movements precise despite his injury and the lingering effects of Tommy's cannabis. Ellie followed close behind, her limp more pronounced after their hasty retreat.
"Horses are still at the library," she murmured, checking her weapon. "Two blocks north."
Arthur nodded, peering around the corner to check the street. "Five, maybe six runners between us and there. We'll need to circle around."
They moved through the labyrinth of back alleys and service passages, the urban ruins providing both cover and danger. Every broken window, every doorway could conceal infected. The afternoon light cast long shadows, adding to the challenge of navigating safely.
As they approached what had once been a clothing store, Arthur held up his hand, signaling Ellie to stop. Through the broken display window, he could see a clicker moving erratically among mannequins, its fungal growths catching the sunlight in a grotesque display.
"One clicker," he whispered. "We can go around—"
The words had barely left his mouth when his injured side seized in pain, a sharp muscle spasm causing him to knock over a bottle that had been perched on a nearby crate. The glass shattered on the concrete, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet street.
The clicker responded immediately, its head snapping in their direction, emitting the distinctive clicking sounds that gave it its name. Behind it, other infected emerged from the shadows of the store—two runners, attracted by the commotion.
"Run!" Arthur hissed, shoving Ellie ahead of him as the infected burst through the storefront window.
They sprinted down the alley, Ellie's injured leg and Arthur's wounded side slowing them more than either would admit. The clicker was gaining, its unnatural speed closing the distance rapidly. Arthur made a split-second decision, pushing Ellie toward a fire escape ladder.
"Up! I'll hold them off!"
Ellie hesitated for only a moment before grabbing the ladder and starting to climb. Arthur turned to face the approaching infected, knife in one hand, pistol in the other. The close quarters made the gun risky—the noise would attract more—but they were out of options.
The first runner reached him, and Arthur dispatched it with a practiced slash across the throat. The second came right behind, forcing him to use his pistol—a clean headshot that dropped it instantly. But the clicker was the real threat, and it was nearly on him.
Arthur fired twice more, the bullets striking the creature's fungal plate but failing to penetrate deeply enough to kill it. The clicker lunged, its grotesque mouth open in a silent scream. Arthur dove to the side, pain flaring in his injured ribs as he rolled away.
From above, a shot rang out—Ellie, firing from the fire escape. Her bullet struck the clicker's exposed neck, staggering it. Arthur seized the opportunity, driving his knife up under its jaw into what remained of its brain. The creature collapsed, twitching, then still.
"Arthur!" Ellie called from above, her voice tight with worry.
"I'm okay," he assured her, retrieving his knife and wiping it clean. "But we need to move. That gunfire will bring more."
He climbed the ladder quickly, ignoring the protest from his side. Ellie helped pull him onto the landing, her hands checking him for injuries with urgent efficiency.
"I'm fine," he repeated, catching her wrists gently. "Really."
She exhaled, the relief in her face palpable before she schooled her features back to practicality. "We're going to have to go across the rooftops again. Too many in the streets now."
Arthur nodded, taking a moment to assess their surroundings. The fire escape led to the roof of what had once been an apartment building. From there, they could see the library two blocks away, where they'd left their horses.
"That way," he said, pointing to a path across adjacent rooftops. "Should be able to make it without dropping to street level again."
They moved carefully, mindful of rotted sections and unstable footing. Below, more infected were converging on the alley where they'd fought, drawn by the gunshots. By the time they reached the building adjacent to the library, the street below was crawling with runners.
"Shit," Ellie muttered, surveying the scene. "How are we supposed to get to the horses now?"
Arthur studied the situation, noting the infected patterns. "They're focused on the alley where we fought. If we create a distraction on the opposite side, we might be able to draw them away long enough to reach the horses."
"What kind of distraction?"
Arthur's eyes fell on a car parked beside the library, its windows intact. "That car alarm still might work. One well-placed shot should set it off."
Ellie grinned, a flash of appreciation in her eyes. "Worth a try."
They positioned themselves at the edge of the roof, overlooking the library entrance. The horses were still there, tethered and nervous but unharmed. The infected milled about in the area, too many to fight through directly.
"I'll take the shot," Ellie said, readying her rifle. "Better chance of hitting the sweet spot."
Arthur nodded, checking his own weapon. "Once that alarm goes off, we move fast. Down the fire escape, straight to the horses. No stopping, no matter what."
Ellie lined up her shot, her breathing slowing as she focused. The crack of the rifle echoed across the empty streets, and for a heart-stopping moment, nothing happened.
Then the car alarm blared to life, its wailing siren piercing the afternoon quiet. The effect was immediate—infected heads turned toward the sound, and as one, they began to move toward it.
"Now!" Arthur urged, already making for the fire escape.
They descended rapidly, ignoring caution in favor of speed. Arthur reached the ground first, covering Ellie as she made the final drop. Her leg buckled slightly upon landing, but she pushed through it, determination overriding pain.
Together they sprinted for the horses, which were now wild-eyed and stamping with fear at the infected and the blaring alarm. Arthur reached his first, untying it with quick, efficient movements before moving to free Ellie's.
"Go!" he shouted as the first of the infected began to turn back toward them, the car alarm's distraction already wearing thin.
They mounted hastily, spurring their horses into motion. The animals needed little encouragement, bolting away from the infected that were now converging on their position. Arthur and Ellie rode hard, weaving through abandoned cars and debris, putting distance between themselves and the city's dangers.
Only when the buildings had thinned, giving way to overgrown suburbs, did they slow their pace, allowing the winded horses to recover.
"That was too close," Ellie said, her voice shaky with adrenaline.
Arthur nodded, checking their surroundings out of habit. "Too many infected in one place. City's becoming a hotspot."
"Been getting worse," Ellie agreed. "Tommy says it's cyclical—they migrate, gather, then disperse again. We caught it at a bad time."
They rode in silence for a while, processing the narrow escape. Arthur found himself watching Ellie, noting the tension in her shoulders, the way she favored her injured leg even while riding. His own side throbbed with each motion of the horse, blood seeping slightly through his shirt where the wound had reopened.
"We need to rest," he said eventually, as they approached a small cluster of houses set back from the main road. "Horses are exhausted, and we're both bleeding."
Ellie looked like she might protest, then relented, nodding toward one of the houses. "That one. Dina and I cleared it last patrol. Has a secure basement if we need it."
The house was modest but solid, its windows boarded up from previous scavengers. They stabled the horses in the attached garage, where they'd be hidden from both infected and human threats. Inside, the house was dusty but largely intact—furniture covered with sheets, family photos still hanging on walls, a life interrupted and preserved like an insect in amber.
"First aid kit in the bathroom," Ellie said, limping toward a hallway. "I'll get it."
"I'll secure the perimeter," Arthur replied, doing a quick sweep of the ground floor before checking doors and windows.
When he returned to the living room, Ellie was seated on a dust-covered couch, the first aid kit open beside her. She'd removed her outer shirt, leaving just a tank top that revealed the bandage on her leg, now stained with fresh blood.
"Your turn," she said, gesturing for him to sit. "That side needs looking at."
Arthur hesitated, then complied, sitting beside her and carefully removing his jacket and shirt. The bandage on his ribs was indeed soaked through, the knife wound from the Firefly having reopened during their escape.
"Doc's going to kill us," Ellie muttered, gently removing the old bandage. She inhaled sharply at the sight of the wound. "Shit, Arthur. This needs stitches again."
"Just wrap it," he said. "We'll deal with it properly back at Jackson."
"Don't be stupid," Ellie countered, already threading a needle from the first aid kit. "Infection sets in fast with wounds like this. I'm not having you die of sepsis on my watch."
Arthur watched as she sterilized the needle with a lighter, her movements precise despite her own injury. There was something intimate about the moment—her focused expression, her careful hands preparing to tend his wound.
"This is going to hurt," she warned, positioning the needle.
"Not my first time," he replied, deliberately echoing her words from the forest days ago.
Ellie's lips quirked in a slight smile at the callback. She worked efficiently, cleaning the wound before starting to suture. Arthur remained still, only the tightening of his jaw betraying the pain.
"Sorry," she murmured each time he flinched, her touch growing even gentler.
"Been through worse," he assured her, watching her face as she concentrated on her task.
When she finished, she applied a fresh bandage, her fingers lingering slightly on his skin. Arthur caught her hand without thinking, holding it against his chest.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Ellie's eyes met his, something vulnerable and open in her gaze that had nothing to do with the cannabis still faintly affecting their system.
"Your turn," Arthur said, indicating her leg. "Let me help."
She nodded, shifting to give him better access to her wound. Arthur worked carefully, cleaning the reopened section before applying fresh bandages. Unlike his injury, hers hadn't torn completely—the stitches had held, just bleeding from the strain.
"We should stay here tonight," he said, finishing the bandaging. "It'll be dark soon, and we're both in no shape for night travel."
Ellie glanced out the window, noting the setting sun. "Joel will worry."
"Joel always worries," Arthur replied, a hint of shared understanding passing between them. "Better he worries than we die trying to make it back after dark."
"Fair point." Ellie leaned back against the couch, exhaustion evident in the slump of her shoulders. "Should probably radio Jackson, let them know we're okay."
Arthur retrieved the emergency radio from Ellie's backpack, tuning it to Jackson's frequency. After a brief exchange with the watch captain, assuring that they were intact but delayed, he signed off.
"They'll tell Joel," he confirmed, setting the radio aside.
Ellie nodded, relief in her expression. "Good. That's... good."
Silence fell between them, not uncomfortable but charged with unspoken thoughts. The events in Tommy's hideout—the kiss, the confessions, the moment of connection before they were interrupted—hung in the air like a physical presence.
"I should check the rest of the house," Arthur said finally, rising from the couch. "Find something for dinner."
"I'll help," Ellie offered, standing carefully.
"Rest," he countered firmly. "That leg needs it."
Surprisingly, she didn't argue, which told Arthur more about her pain level than any complaint would have. He explored the house methodically, finding it secure and relatively untouched by scavengers. The kitchen yielded some canned goods, and a rainwater collection system on the roof provided fresh water.
When he returned to the living room with their makeshift dinner, Ellie had dozed off, her head resting against the arm of the couch. Arthur paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of her. In sleep, the hard edges of survival softened from her face, revealing the youth she rarely allowed herself to show.
He set the food down quietly, not wanting to wake her. The day's exertions, combined with her injury and the lingering effects of the cannabis, had clearly caught up with her. Instead, he busied himself preparing a more comfortable space, gathering blankets from upstairs and clearing dust from surfaces.
As twilight deepened outside, Arthur secured the house for the night, setting simple alarms near vulnerable entry points before returning to the living room. Ellie was awake now, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.
"How long was I out?" she asked, voice thick with sleep.
"Not long. Hour maybe," Arthur replied, bringing over the food he'd prepared. "Dinner. Not exactly gourmet."
Ellie accepted the canned peaches and beans with a grateful smile. "Beats nothing."
They ate in companionable silence, the day's tension gradually easing from their bodies. Outside, darkness had fallen completely, the world beyond their temporary sanctuary receding into shadow.
"Should get some real sleep," Arthur said eventually, collecting their empty cans. "We'll head back at first light."
Ellie nodded, but made no move to stand. Instead, her eyes remained fixed on Arthur, a question in them that she seemed hesitant to voice.
"What?" he asked, setting the cans aside.
"Earlier, in Tommy's hideout," she began, her voice quiet but steady. "Before the infected showed up. That was..."
"Yeah," Arthur agreed, understanding what she was struggling to articulate.
"Is it weird?" Ellie continued, fidgeting with the edge of her bandage. "With everything—Joel, Jackson, us barely knowing each other?"
Arthur considered this, taking his time to find the right words. "Probably."
A small laugh escaped her, not entirely humorous. "Great."
"But," Arthur continued, meeting her gaze directly, "I don't care. Do you?"
The directness of the question seemed to catch Ellie off guard. She studied him for a long moment before shaking her head. "No. I don't."
Something shifted between them, the uncertainty that had lingered since their interrupted moment in the hideout resolving into something clearer. Arthur moved closer, sitting beside her on the couch again.
"When I came to Jackson," he said quietly, "I didn't expect... this. You."
"Is that good or bad?" Ellie asked, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.
"Good," Arthur replied without hesitation. "Unexpected, but good."
Ellie's hand found his, fingers intertwining in a gesture that was becoming familiar. The simple contact sent warmth through him, a feeling that had nothing to do with physical desire and everything to do with connection.
"I'm not good at this," she admitted, echoing his earlier words from the hideout. "Being... close to someone."
"Neither am I," Arthur assured her. "Twenty years of keeping everyone at arm's length—it becomes a habit."
"But you don't want to keep me at arm's length," Ellie observed, a question in her statement.
"No," he confirmed. "I don't."
Ellie shifted closer, her green eyes searching his face. "Good. Because I don't want that either."
This time, the kiss was different—slower, more deliberate, without the urgency of their first encounter. Arthur's hand came up to cup her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone with a gentleness that surprised even him. Ellie pressed closer, her arms slipping around his neck as the kiss deepened.
When they separated, her breathing was uneven, a flush spreading across her freckled cheeks. Arthur's own heart hammered against his ribs, the feeling both terrifying and exhilarating.
"Stay," Ellie whispered, her fingers lightly gripping his shirt. "Here. Tonight. With me."
The implication was clear in her eyes, in the slight tremor of her voice. Arthur hesitated, not out of reluctance but concern.
"Your leg," he reminded her gently. "My side. We're both injured."
"I don't care," Ellie replied, the stubborn determination he'd come to admire flashing in her eyes. "We almost died today. Again. Tomorrow might be worse. I'm tired of waiting for the right time when there never is one."
Arthur couldn't argue with her logic. In this world, safety was an illusion, security temporary at best. Every day survived was a victory; every connection made, precious.
"Are you sure?" he asked, needing her certainty.
In response, Ellie kissed him again, more insistently this time, her hands sliding beneath his shirt to touch bare skin. Arthur's restraint wavered, then broke. His arms went around her, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened into something hungry and honest.
"Upstairs," Ellie murmured against his lips. "There's a bedroom that's still intact."
They made their way up the stairs slowly, mindful of their injuries but unwilling to separate. The master bedroom was as Ellie had described—largely untouched, the queen-sized bed still made with dust-covered linens. Arthur stripped these away, replacing them with the cleaner blankets he'd found earlier.
In the dim moonlight filtering through the boarded windows, they came together again, clothing gradually discarded as hands explored with increasing boldness. Arthur helped Ellie with her shirt, pulling it carefully over her head, revealing pale skin marked by freckles that continued beyond her face and down to her shoulders. She shivered slightly under his gaze, not from cold but from the intensity she found there.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, words he'd never said to anyone before.
A flush spread across her chest as she reached for him, pulling him closer. Her fingers worked at his shirt buttons with surprising dexterity, pushing the fabric from his shoulders to reveal the muscled torso beneath, marked by scars and the fresh bandage she'd applied hours earlier.
"So are you," she murmured back, hands exploring the hard planes of his chest, tracing each scar with reverent fingers.
Arthur lowered her gently onto the bed, mindful of her injured leg. His lips found her neck, trailing kisses down her throat to her collarbone as she arched beneath him, soft sounds of pleasure escaping her lips. His hand slid up her side, cupping her breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak until she gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Arthur," she breathed, pulling him up to capture his mouth again.
Their remaining clothes were shed with growing urgency, hands fumbling with buttons and zippers, both of them laughing softly when Arthur struggled with her jeans, careful not to disturb her bandaged leg.
"Need help?" she teased, eyes bright with desire and mischief.
"I think I can manage," he replied, voice rough as he finally succeeded, slowly sliding the denim down her legs.
When they were both naked, Arthur paused, looking down at Ellie with a mixture of desire and vulnerability that made her breath catch. His fingers gently traced the scars that mapped her body—the healed bullet wound on her sh