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Chapter Text

There was one undeniable truth about Charlotte's household—it was always loud.

The walls echoed with life: playful banter between her mother and father, Ray's loud voice competing with the constant drone of sports broadcasts on the television, the clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen as dinner came together. There was rarely silence, only layers of overlapping sounds that created a kind of musical chaos unique to her home.

It wasn't unpleasant—quite the opposite. The noise had become a kind of comfort, a reassurance that life was being lived fully. Compared to the kind of cold, quiet homes where people only spoke when something was broken on wrong, the cacophony of Charlotte's family life was a blessing.

Ray was often at the center of that joyful chaos. At fourteen years old, he had more energy than the rest of the house combined. His excitement radiated from him the second the sun peaked over the horizon and he seemed physically incapable of containing it.

Ray was Charlotte's younger brother, though he was already taller than her and their mother. At 5'8, he wore his height like a medal, holding it over them playfully. His olive-toned skin and large, expressive brown eyes came from their mother. His close-cropped brown hair made him look like a pint-sized soldier, and he often puffed his chest out with mock pride to match the look.

Their father, however, was a stark contrast from Ray's infectious enthusiasm. He was a tall, paler figure with a shaved head and a presence that silenced rooms. He had at one time been a marine, and though he'd long since traded his uniform for civilian clothes, the discipline and structure of military life still shaped his entire being.

He rarely raised his voice—but he didn't have to. His deep, dark set eyes conveyed every thought before he spoke. To most, he seemed cold, maybe intimidating. But to those who knew him, he lead with a quiet strength. Charlotte respected him immensely, even if their relationship lacked the softness she shared with her mother.

Charlotte's mother was warmth in human form. Standing a small 5'2–or 5'4 if you asked her—she was no doubt the heart of the home. Her laughter filled every corner of the house, and her hands were never still. She was always cooking, comforting, or fixing something. The woman truly never knew how to sit still.

She had the same dark beauty that Ray had: dark hair, rich skin, and eyes that danced with emotion. Despite Charlotte's own lighter features—her blonde curls and striking green eyes—she highly resembled her mother. They shared the same vibrant personalities; same broad, toothy grins; and the same laughter that turned heads in crowded rooms.

Despite this though, it was clear to everyone who knew the family that Charlotte was her father's daughter. Like him, her wit could cut glass, and she had little patience for false niceties. They shared the same sarcastic tone and expressive face—neither of them could lie if they tried.

But none of that mattered anymore.

Not the noise, not the laughter, not the witty exchanges, or the shared meals.

They were all gone.

Charlotte's world—the chaotic, beautiful world she had grown up in—had fallen silent.

It all began just months before her high school graduation.

She had already secured her place at college, planning to major in Animal Sciences. Becoming a veterinarian had been her dream for as long as she could remember. The path ahead was clear, even predictable, until September 26th.

That morning, there had been no warning signs. She and Ray talked over breakfast, trading jokes and predictions about a new video game he was eagerly awaiting. She stopped for gas on the way to school, cursing under her breath as she realized she'd be late to first period. It was just another Friday—until sixth period.

Roughly ten minutes into the period, the school went into lockdown. The intercom buzzed with a flat toned announcement: police activity in the area. Charlotte and her best friend Isa had exchanged puzzled glances as they slid into the back of the darkened classroom.

"What do you think it is?" Isa whispered, keeping her voice low.

"Probably a robbery or something," Charlotte responded, brushing off the creeping unease.

Isa eyed her suspiciously, clearly not believing her nonchalance about the situation. Isa was no fool. Her instincts were razor-sharp, somehow always catching Charlotte two steps ahead. She was effortlessly cool—curvy, ethnic, and full of snark and confidence. Charlotte has never quite understood why someone like Isa had chosen her as a best friend, but she chose not to dwell on it.

Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty, and finally the lockdown lifted. But the tension didn't.

Then came the next announcement, all students were to go home. Immediately.

Isa raised an eyebrow as they gathered their things."This is weird, right?"

"Definitely weird," Charlotte agreed, "But also, kinda great. Early release!"

They walked to their cars in the parking lot, exchanging laughs and theories. "Some bum commits a minor crime and we get a free afternoon? I'll take it," Isa said. Charlotte was already fantasizing about the nap she was going to take when she got home—until her phone buzzed.

She glanced at the screen and an unsettling headline stared back at her:

"Outbreak in the Midwest: What to Know, What to Do, and How to Prepare"

She frowned, tapping on the article as Isa glanced over her shoulder at the screen. A fungus, it said. Cordyceps. Mutated strain. It infected the brain, altering behavior. Victims were described as aggressive and erratic. Transmission occurred through contact with an infected individuals bodily fluids such as saliva or blood.

Her stomach turned as she faced Isa. "You think this has something to do with us being let out?" She asked. Isa didn't answer right away. She unlocked her car, her expression unreadable. "Yeah, I do. Go home. Call me later, okay? Something feels off."

Charlotte nodded and climbed into her own car, as she shut the door, a heavy silence settled over her.

The streets were unusually empty as she drove. An occasional plane or helicopter would pass overhead, which was abnormal, but that was the only sound filling the silence. Her mind raced, replaying the article over and over again. A fungal virus? Mind control? It sounded insane.

She was so wrapped in her own thoughts that she barely noticed the figure until it was almost too late. A woman was standing in the middle of the road. Charlotte slammed on her breaks, skidding to a stop right in front of the woman with screeching tires. "What the hell?!" She gasped, her heart hammering. Rolling down the window, she leaned out. "Are you okay? You almost got yourself killed!"

The woman didn't move, her posture was slack. Her arms dangled by her sides as she stared ahead at Charlotte with wide, empty eyes. And then, without a word, she lunged. She slammed onto the hood of the car shrieking—moaning in a low, guttural tone—and began clawing at the windshield with terrifying force. Charlotte screamed, heart leaping into her throat. She threw the car into drive and floored it.

The woman tumbled off the hood with a sickening thud, her head striking the pavement hard. Charlotte stared in horror into her rearview mirror as the woman stood back up. Blood poured from her head, but she moved as if nothing had happened. This was the first time Charlotte saw the change.

The first time she understood that the world was no longer the one she had known.

Chapter Text

20 Years Later.
The morning breeze would have been sharp enough to wake most people, but Charlotte hadn't been sleeping deeply—not for a long time. Her nights were shallow puddles of half-rest, broken by the haunting echoes of dreams that never quite faded when she opened her eyes. As she sat up in her sleeping bag, stiff limbs protesting the movement, a wave of soreness rolled through her—residue from days of endless wandering. Her body ached with the burden of survival, worn down by sleepless nights, half-rations, and the heavy weight of solitude.

Charlotte knew she lacked certain skills. She hadn't grown up hunting or fighting or knowing how to purify water. Everything she did now, she learned through failure. Pain had been her teacher, and exhaustion her only consistent companion.

Well—almost her only companion.

As she dragged her thoughts out of her self-pity, her eyes shifted to the form lying beside her. Vito.

He was curled up beside her bedroll, his massive body half-covered in dew from the damp morning air. His black coat shimmered where the light touched it, catching the sun through the gaps of the trees above. Charlotte reached out, laying a gentle hand on his muscular shoulder. At once, his head jerked upright with a guttural growl, lips peeling back to reveal long, dangerous teeth.

But the second his amber eyes met hers, recognition softened him. His growl faded into a yawn, and his pink tongue lolled out of his mouth in greeting. He stood with a stretch and a shake, his tall frame shedding moisture like a dog-shaped raincloud.

"Good morning to you too," Charlotte muttered with a small smile, pushing her tangled hair from her face. "Sleep better than I did last night?"

Vito gave a loud sneeze in response, followed by a short, whiny grumble as he pressed his body into hers.

"I'm hungry too, bossy," she chuckled, climbing to her feet and patting the dust from her pants. "Come on. Let's find something to eat."

They'd been traveling together for two years now. Vito wasn't just a dog—he was a force. A massive German Shepherd mix, likely with some wolf lineage, his shoulders reached the top of Charlottes hip. He was all long limbs and lean muscle, built for endurance rather than brute strength, though the power in his jaws was nothing to underestimate.

Charlotte didn't quite see him as a pet. Their relationship was rather a mutual agreement: he needed food, and she needed protection. But over time, it had grown into something deeper. Vito was smart, smarter than most people Charlotte had known even before The Outbreak. He could follow complex commands, respond to her expressions, and read danger far before it showed its face.

She'd named him Vito because it meant 'life' in Italian. A fitting name for the creature that had saved hers more times than she could count.

They followed the winding path of a small stream, Charlotte's boots splashing lightly in the wet earth as they walked. After about a mile, Charlotte paused and crouched near a patch of fresh deer droppings. Still warm, still moist. Recent.

She inspected the area briefly before pointing at the spot and glancing at Vito. "Vi, trovalo."

Vito sniffed the droppings, then lowered his head to the earth and began to track. His snout hovered just above the ground, weaving back and forth like a metal detector, every step methodical. Within minutes he let out a soft huff and sat down. His signal.

Charlotte knelt beside him and scanned the forest floor. There—through the brush—stood a lone stag, its antlers sweeping elegantly as it grazed, unaware of the threat nearby.

She gave Vito a silent pat of acknowledgment and moved slowly, careful not to disturb a twig or rustle a leaf. From her pack, she retrieved her bow and a single arrow, securing it quietly against the string. Lining up her shot, she exhaled a long, controlled breath. The arrow loosened with a soft twang, slicing the air before embedding itself deep into the stag's chest. The animal bleated, leapt a few steps into the underbrush, and collapsed mid stride into the underbrush with a final gasp.

"Vai a prenderlo," Charlotte whispered to Vito, who took off like a shadow, his paws silent against the forest floor. She followed at a jog, weaving through the trees until she caught sight of Vito standing proudly beside the fallen animal. The stag laid sprawled in the ferns, the arrow buried deep in its heart—an instant kill. She stepped forward and knelt beside it, removing the arrow with a grunt and wiping the blood off of its tip on the hem of her shirt.

Then, as she always did, she leaned down and gently placed her fingers over the animals eyes, pressing them closed. "Thank you for your sacrifice," she murmured. The ritual had become a part of her—something sacred in a world where death was common. She refused to let anything die unacknowledged. If she had to take life to survive, she would do so with reference, not detachment.

Vito nosed at the stags side, tail thumping in the dirt. Charlotte grinned and ruffled his ear, "Nice job, bud. This is breakfast for the next couple weeks."

Chapter Text

After a long, grueling day spent hauling the heavy carcass of a two-hundred-pound stag through the thick forest, Charlotte began to question if she had bitten off more than she could chew—quite literally. The cabin she had scouted months ago during the cold winter still lay ahead, just about a mile away. A warm bed awaited her there.

The weight of the stag pressed heavily on her shoulders, but it was her restless mind that truly wore her down. Thoughts churned in her head—frustration, exhaustion, and an underlying desperation. She barely noticed Vito's sudden, uneasy behavior at first. Then, mid-stride, the large dog abruptly froze and cowered behind a thick bush, snarling quietly. The change was so stark it pulled her attention immediately.

Without hesitation, she dropped the stag's massive body to the ground, the heavy thud muffled by the carpet of moss and leaves. Her hand went instinctively to the bow slung across her back, sliding an arrow from the quiver and nocking it silently, aiming it low but ready. There was only one thing that ever made Vito cower like that—men. Not the shambling chatters' or the erratic runners that lurked in the abandoned properties nearby, but living, breathing men. And that was never a good sign.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the forest ahead grew cloaked in shadows, making it difficult to see clearly. Twisted branches and jagged rocks cast eerie shapes that, at first glance, seemed almost human—causing her to jump before she realized they were nothing more than the forest's natural forms. Then, cutting through the quiet, came the unmistakable sound of laughter. Men's laughter.

She inhaled sharply and slipped behind the nearest tree, pressing herself against the rough bark. "Vito, al mio fianco," she hissed quietly. Within seconds, the large dog appeared at her side, low growl rumbling as he bared his teeth towards the source of the noise. She cautiously peeked around the corner and spotted two figures—thankfully no more—standing just yards away.

One was younger, thin and wiry, like a snake on stilts, while the other was broader and muscular, both carrying assault rifles. Dog tags glinted faintly in the fading light. FEDRA soldiers, most likely. But why were they all the way out here? Abandoned their base, maybe. On the run.

She had only heard rumors about men like these—through whispers and scraps of conversation—but from what she'd gathered, crossing paths with them was never ideal. She eventually decided to retreat silently into the woods before they could spot her. She kept her eyes fixed on them, carefully stepping backwards through the forest. But just a few steps in, her foot caught on a hidden branch, and she stumbled, crashing loudly into the wood with a sharp crack.

The men immediately perked up at the noise, their gazes locking onto her position. She tried to stand and steady herself but her snagged boot left her vulnerable and powerless against the dirt. When she looked up, both men were already closing in. Vito stood protectively over her, snarling and barking fiercely. The men simply chuckled at the dog's aggressive display.

The broader of the two let out a gruff laugh. "Nice puppy. What're you doing out here all alone, archer?"

She glanced over at her bow, lying a few feet out of reach, the arrow still lodged nearby.

"Hey! Eyes on us when we're talking to you," the second man snapped.

She whipped her gaze back to them, narrowing her eyes in defiance. "Quiet one, aren't you? Well, I'm sure we can find a way to get you making some noise," the broader man sneered suggestively, his hand reaching down to grab her shoulder and pull her up. Before his fingers could even make contact, Vito's jaws clamped down around his wrist.

The man let out a high pitched cry as Vito's teeth dug deeper into his flesh, casting out a loud snap of bone and tissue as he tore into the man's hand. The second man fumbled with his gun, attempting to release the safety lock and aim it at Vito. Without thinking, Charlotte tore a hunting knife from her boot and shoved it down into the second man's shoulder. He too let out a loud scream of pain as he dropped his gun and grasped at his wound, "You.. fucking bitch!" He shouted menacingly as he lunged towards Charlotte.

She swung the knife sporadically at him, hitting him over and over wherever the blade could make contact. Finally, with the amount of blood he had lost and the over exertion of the attack, he collapsed to the ground. Vito, still tearing away at the larger man, had blood covering his snout and head. The man punched at him with balled fists, unaware to Charlotte's approaching presence. As soon as she'd gotten close enough, she slipped the knife around his throat, slashing him. Digging the knife as deeply into his neck as possible, she allowed him to fall at her feet.

Her breath came in weary, ragged gasps as she took stock of herself. A few shallow cuts dotted her arms and legs, with one deeper gash from the scuffle with the smaller man, but beyond the pain, she was mostly just shaken. The forest around her was sickeningly silent, broken only by the heavy rhythm of her own breathing and Vito's soft, plaintive whines. She glanced down at the dog, the fur around his ears matted with blood from their attackers.

Gently, she reached out and patted him on the head. "Good dog. You're such a good dog, bud," she said, her voice trembling slightly. Vito responded with a soft chuff and a lick of his lips before casting one last curious sniff towards the fallen men. Then, with a calm certainty, he sauntered back towards the stag.

Swallowing hard, she bent down to look more closely at the men. Their dog tags glinted against the dark pools of blood around them. She sighed and bent down, quickly gathering one of their weapons and ammo. She rifled through their belongings, searching for food or anything else of value, but found nothing worth the effort. Finally, she knelt by each man and gently closed their eyes.

"Rest easy.. Assholes."

After what felt like hours on the trail, she finally arrived, settling onto the cabins front steps. Carefully, she lowered the heavy stag onto the porch, then lifted a small hatch set into the wood and pried it open. Peering into the dark cellar below, she tossed the stag inside before slamming the trapdoor shut, kicking it firmly to make sure it was sealed tight. Vito scratched impatiently at the front door, whining softly as she clambered towards the entrance. She paused momentarily to pat him behind the ears, then swung the cabin door open.

The dog rushed inside, nose to the floor, sniffing thoroughly before turning back to her with a small, reassuring yip—a sign that the coast was clear. Though it had been months since she'd been here, the cabin remained the same. The scent of dust and mothballs hung in the air, giving the space a musky smell that was quickly replaced with the fresh pine air that wafted through the cracked windows. The cabin was modest—a single bedroom, a connected kitchen and living area, and a large wrap around deck—but it felt homey. The quilts and goose feather pillows left behind made it difficult not to find comfort here.

She immediately shuffled towards the bedroom, tossed her pack in the corner, and collapsed onto the bed. Her body sank into the mattress, and for the first time in weeks, the tension in her shoulders began to dissolve. She sighed softly, then rose to retrieve her pistol from her pack, tucking it securely under the pillow. She changed out of her worn jeans, slipping into her only soft pair of pants that were reserved only for nights when she could sleep in a proper bed. Her feet tingled with the weariness of the day, a subtle reminder of the endless miles and weight she had carried.

She let out a low grumble at the discomfort but quickly dismissed it, it wasn't worth the energy. After all, she had what she needed now: a bed, a roof, a full cellar, and enough safety measures in place to finally get some sleep. Vito leapt onto the bed with a quiet burst of excitement, circling once before curling up at the foot of the mattress. He didn't sleep deeply most nights, always alert, always ready—but Charlotte could already tell tonight would be different.

He'd be snoring soon, in that soft, rhythmic way he did when he truly felt safe. She figured she might do the same. Easing herself between the covers, she moved carefully to avoid disturbing him. Her hand settled instinctively on the pistol tucked beneath her pillow. Outside, the familiar chorus of toads drifted through the woods. Their nostalgic sound wrapped around her like a lullaby, and within moments, her eyes slipped shut, surrendering to the kind of sleep she'd almost forgotten was possible.

Chapter Text

The sunrise etched its golden hues across the cabin's wooden floor, casting long shadows that stretched towards the bed. Charlotte lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the warmth of the morning seep into her bones. With a sigh, she sat up. Reaching for the bedside table, she opened the top drawer and rummaged through its contents. Her fingers brushed against familiar items—old receipts, a pen, some coins—then closed around a pack of Marlboro Reds. A small chuckle escaped her lips as she pulled it out, along with a small brown lighter. Right where she had left them last winter.

She had stashed her cigarettes here months ago, a final attempt to quit the habit. But with the world unraveling around her, she had come to terms with the fact that some comforts were worth holding onto. Lighting one, she inhaled deeply, the smoke curling around her like a fleeting memory. Dressing quickly into her worn brown leather jacket—a relic from Denver, stolen off of a mannequin during the early days of the outbreak—she walked out onto the porch. The cool morning air greeted her, and she paused, taking in the silence of the morning. Vito lay curled up on the bed still, his soft snores filling the cabin. She left the door cracked, just in case he decided to join her.

Approaching the trap door, she lifted it carefully. Expecting to find the stag in the same condition as last night, when she peered inside, her stomach churned.

Cordyceps.

The entire carcass was overtaken by the fungus. It had spread rapidly overnight, the stag must have been infected when she killed it. A grim reminder of the state of the world. Frustrated, she slammed the door shut and punched the nearest wall, the impact reverberating through her knuckles. After a moment to collect herself, she stomped out the butt of her cigarette and sat down on the porch, her mind racing through options. Only one path was clear: a supply run.

She stood up and walked back inside, gathering her gear. Waking Vito gently, she apologized for the early start. "I'm sorry, bud," she murmured, rubbing between his eyes. He responded with a lazy yawn and a wag of his tail, clearly accepting of the apology. With a plan in mind, they set off towards the river. She needed to fill her canteen before venturing further. "Alright," she muttered to herself, "Gas station's at the end of the road. Follow the river, find the road. First clearing to the left will be the main street." The familiar path felt grounding, and within the hour they reached the clearing.

Climbing the small hill to the main road, she took a moment to catch her breath. Once on the pavement, she lit another cigarette, the smoke mingling with the crisp air. She finishes it off quickly and crushes the butt under her boot. Last time she'd passed through this town, she'd hidden a box of tampons inside of the gas station—on top of a shelf in an underground nook—an oddly valuable find these days. If luck held, they'd still be there, untouched by scavengers.

As she approached the gas station, she narrowed her eyes, scanning the store's perimeter. No visible signs of infected—nothing shambling or twitching nearby—but she knew she was better off not letting her guard down. She pulled her bow from the strap across her back and selected a few arrows, slipping them securely into a one of her belt loops. One arrow remained notched, ready, her fingers brushing against the taut string with practiced familiarity. The quiet was a coin toss, after all: safety, or something lying and waiting.

She reached for the rusted metal handle and pulled the door open, the bell above giving a cheerful ding, a jarringly normal sound in eerie stillness. Her boots met the faded linoleum floor as the door creaked shut behind her.

Then—click.

The unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked sliced through the silence.

She turned fast, bow raised in a breath, arrow aimed with deadly precision. Vito barked sharply, the low, warning tone vibrating through the small store like a gunshot. Her gaze locked onto the man across from her. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and rough around the edges. Streaks of silver ran through his short beard, and his eyes held that same tired, feral look she'd seen in others before him. The pistol in his hand was steady, but only just.

"Lower the gun," she said coldly, her voice hard and without tremor. "Unless you'd like to find out whether my dog goes for the legs or the throat first."

Vito began slowly circling the man, hackles up and teeth bared with silent promise. The man glanced at the dog, then back at her, mild concern flashing behind the steel of his gaze. "Easy," he muttered, his voice solid, "Just looking for some stuff I stashed here a bit ago." Though his gun remained raised, the tension in his arm betrayed him. He was nervous, and Vito knew it.

"Yeah?" Charlotte chuckled casually, lowering her bow slightly, "Looks like you haven't had much luck."

The man's grip tightened over his pistol but he didn't respond.

"Keep your gun on me, that's fine." Charlottes voice was steady, unwavering. "He don't take too kindly to weapons in my face though. One wrong move and he'll tear you apart." Vito growled louder, his stance shifting as he took a step forward. The man flinched slightly, but kept his gun raised.

"You alone?" Charlotte asked, her eyebrows raised with suspicion, "Or you got some friends I'm gonna have to deal with?" The man hesitated, his eyes flicking to the back of the store. "Just me." His voice was flat, but there was something in his tone to suggest he wasn't being entirely truthful. Vito snarled again, louder even so, his eyes never leaving the man.

"He don't believe you," Charlotte said, raising her bow again, "and neither do I. Don't lie to me now."

The man scowled, his patience wearing thin. "Well, maybe your mutt is just as dumb as you."

Vito slowly backed off, nose in the air as he moves towards the back of the store. "What's back there?" Charlotte asked, her voice low. The man stiffened, his eyes avoiding hers, "Nothing." He said quickly, but the hesitation in his voice was unmistakable.

A child's shriek echoed from the back of the store, followed by the sound of barks. The man's face drained of color as he heard the commotion. Moments later, Vito emerged from the shadows, dragging a young girl by her pant leg. She was wide eyed and tense, but unharmed. Charlotte softened slightly when she saw the girl, lowering her bow. "Vito, lasciala andare." She mumbled, her voice tinged with concern.

Vito released his grip on the girls pant leg and sauntered over to Charlotte, allowing the girl to scramble to her feet. "I'm not interested in involving a kid in this," Charlotte said, turning back to the man, "She yours?" The man huffed.

"She's cargo."

Chapter Text

The place was dead—just as Joel had expected. Shelves were gutted, broken glass crunched beneath his boots, and a stale, sour smell clung to the air. He should've been more careful. Should've known something would go sideways the minute things felt too easy. But he wasn't.

It was the ring of the door and the sound of her boots that gave her away. Not loud, but deliberate—too calculated to be random, too soft to be anything but intentional. Still, not quite enough to avoid notice. She emerged from the doorway of the store, a figure half in shadow, flanked by a massive black dog.

That dog.

Its growl was low and sharp. Not a warning, but a promise. The bark that followed was just a precise—controlled, practiced. This wasn't a mutt; it was something else entirely. Too large, too commanding, to be any average domestic breed. Joel's grip tightened around his pistol. He didn't lift it yet, but every part of his body tensed, coiled with years of instinct.

Then she spoke.

Her voice was confident, cool. No hesitation. This wasn't her first time confronting someone like him. Joel didn't fire, not interested in starting a shootout over scraps that probably didn't even exist. Her bow wasn't fully drawn, but the way she held it—with familiarity, with ease—told him everything he needed to know. She could use it. Probably had.

The dog crept closer, stalking more than guarding. Joel found himself backing more into a corner as it advanced, its eyes fixed on him like it knew his sins. The woman studied him like he was something she might scrape off her boot.

She asked if he was alone.

Of course he lied.

"No one else," he muttered, jaw tight. No way was he bringing Ellie into this—unless he had no choice. But the girl didn't buy it. Neither did the dog. The animal turned away from Joel and began sniffing its way around the back of the store. Moments later, it returned—dragging Ellie by the cuff of her jeans. She looked more irritated than afraid, but clearly confused. The woman's entire demeanor shifted when she saw Ellie. Her bow lowered, and she called the dog back to her side. But the tension didn't ease for Joel. He'd seen enough in her eyes to know she was still assessing the threat.

He decided to cut through the silence. "I'm getting what I came here for," He said, his voice low and controlled, "And you're not going to get in our way. Understand?"

The woman blinked, surprised only for a second, before her face settled into something unreadable. Then, without warning, she pulled a revolver from her waistband and leveled it at Ellie. "Cool," she said coldly, "now it's my turn to make some calls. Understand?"

Joel's heart climbed into his throat, "I thought you weren't interested in involving the kid." He snapped.

"I won't," she said with a scoff, "unless you give me a reason to. Now—what are your names, what supplies do you need, and why?"

He tensed. That was information she didn't need. Information she couldn't have. "None of that is any of your concern." She flicked the safety off with a click. "You want me to blow her brains out or what?"

"Wait!" Ellie's voice burst out, "I'm Ellie. That's Joel. We're just.. trying to get to some of Joel's people. We need a car, food, ammo. You know.. basic stuff."

Joel let out a sharp breath and rubbed his face, silently cursing. Slowly, he holstered his gun. "There. No need for this to get messy, a'right?" The woman nodded, then finally eased her revolver back into its holster. Ellie let out an audible sigh of relief. "You're scary," she said to the woman, "your dog is too. What's his name?" There was a flicker of something—humor, maybe reluctance—that flashed across the woman's face.

She hesitated, before replying, "Vito. His name's Vito." Ellie grinned. "That's sick, has he ever eaten anyone?" The woman gave a small, genuine laugh, "only people who deserve it. You can pet him if you'd like. He likes girls." Ellie knelt, her hand outstretched. Vito approached cautiously, sniffed her fingers, and then—unexpectedly—leapt forward, licking her face with enthusiasm. Ellie giggled, burying her face in his thick fur.

Joel, still unsure, watched the scene unfold. He didn't lower his guard, not completely. But he also didn't stop the strange flicker of curiosity that rose in him. Whoever this woman was, she was unlike anyone he had ever met before.

"So, what's your name?" Ellie asked, her voice muffled through dog fur as Vito's tail thumped eagerly on the floor. "Charlotte," the woman replied simply, her voice soft but edged with the same quiet confidence she carried from the moment she walked in. It was only now that Joel got a proper look at her.

At first glance, she could have passed for a girl—her frame was lean, almost skinny, not unlike Ellie's. But a closer inspection told a different story. Her arms were toned, and her shoulders carried the kind of tension that only came from having to watch your back. She had a certain sharpness about her, not just in the way she moved, but in the way she looked at people—like she was always evaluating, calculating.

Her curly blonde hair was tossed back loosely, the strands wild and sun bleached. She clearly spent most of her time outdoors. It fell just below the middle of her back, a contrast to the battered leather jacket she wore. Her eyes—a startling green—were wide but never still. They flicked between faces and exits like she didn't trust easily. She looked young, maybe thirty at most, but far too hardened to be inexperienced. And far too alone for someone that age.

Almost as if she'd picked up on his thoughts, Ellie looked up. "Where are you going, Charlotte?"

Charlotte didn't answer right away. Her gaze lingered out the window, where the road stretched empty and uncertain into the woods beyond.

Chapter Text

The question echoed in Charlotte's mind: Where was she going? The truth was, she wasn't headed anywhere in particular. She was merely drifting through life, waiting for death to catch up to her. But there was something in Ellie's tone—a sincerity, a hopefulness—that made Charlotte want to follow her wherever she was going. To be part of something again.

"Nowhere, really," Charlotte finally replied after a long silence, "I go wherever there's food and shelter."

She noticed Ellie perk up at her response. Before she could say anything more though, Joel interrupted. "No," he said firmly. Ellie scowled at him but turned back to Charlotte. "Do you need people to travel with? I mean we're not exactly great companions but..." Her voice trailed off, leaving the question hanging in the air. Charlotte exchanged a glance with Joel, who clearly disapproved of the idea.

She shook her head. "Thanks for the offer, but I work alone. Never been one for group bonding," she said awkwardly. Joel gave Ellie a small nod. "You heard her." Ellie huffed in disappointment. "Joel, we could really use her. She's only saying no because you're so grumpy about it." Joel shot her a quick glare, "Ellie. Enough. You have your answer." Ellie grumbled again. "We can't do this alone. She's clearly got some skills and now without Tess—."

"Hey!" Joel snapped, his voice sharp and angry. "Keep Tess' name out of your damn mouth."

His quick retort was mildly frightening. He practically stomped at Ellie as he shouted. Ellie crossed her arms, clearly holding back another frustrated retort, and shot Charlotte a look of desperation. Charlotte swallowed hard and glanced around the store. Realizing it had been entirely picked clean, she scratched the back of her neck and took a step towards the door. "Well, I wish y'all luck in whatever it is that you're looking for," she said.

Ellie smiled and Joel nodded gruffly in response. "Vito, come," Charlotte said, tilting her head towards the door. But something unexpected happened. Vito refused. Charlotte stopped in her tracks and turned back towards him, "Vito. Andiamo, adesso," she commanded. Still nothing. He simply stared at her blankly and licked his lips.

Ellie looked between Vito and Charlotte, then back to Joel. "Seems like he wants to stay with us." Charlotte furrowed her eyebrows. "I'm not leaving without him." Ellie cocked her head. "Looks like you guys are coming with us, then." Charlotte clenched her hands into fists, looking down at the floor. "Joel? Please?" Ellie begged.

Rubbing his eyes, Joel relented. "Fine. Just until we get to Wyoming."

Joel retrieved what ammo and supplies he had left, leaving a large FEDRA automatic gun on the floor, covering it with cardboard. Due to the lack of ammo for the gun, Charlotte tossed hers alongside it. "Where'd you get it?" She inquired curiously. "No matter," Joel replied, "You?" Charlotte shrugged. "No matter."

She leaned against the nearest wall as Ellie approached Joel from the side. "Well, if you're just going to leave them here.." Ellie began. Joel stood straight, walking towards the door. "No."

They walked in silence for a few miles. Well, silence was relative. Joel and Charlotte didn't speak, but Ellie had hundreds of questions. Questions like: "Where are you from?" and "Where's your family?" and "How old are you?" At first, Charlotte told her that none of it was her business, but after seeing the disappointment on Ellie's face, and the hundreds more 'please,' she was eventually worn down.

"Fine. If I tell you will you stop asking so many questions?" Charlotte sighed.

Ellie nodded excitedly.

Charlotte stuck out her pinky finger, "swear on it?" Ellie hooked her pinky in Charlotte's, and Charlotte planted a small kiss on the tip of her own thumb. "What's the kiss for?" Ellie asked with a raised eyebrow. "Locks in the swear," Charlotte explained. Ellie let out a short hum of understanding and pecked her own thumb in return.

"Alright. I'm originally from Colorado, my family is all gone, and.. well, how old do you think I am?"

"Colorado? I've never been there. How did you get to Massachusetts? I'm sorry about your family. And, I dunno, are you like twenty-something?" Ellie rambled.

Charlotte chuckled. "You're a chatty one. I got to Massachusetts mainly by walking. I had a few cars in the early days that got me most of the way to the East Coast but those never last long. As for my age, I'm flattered you think I'm in my twenties. I'm thirty eight."

Ellie's mouth dropped open. "Wow, you're almost forty! You're old." Joel scoffs behind them. "If forty is old then what am I?" He mutters. "Ancient!" Ellie smirks before turning back to Charlotte. "I hope I look like you when I'm thirty eight." Charlotte laughed quietly. "You're sweet. Trust me, I'm sure you'll look a lot better than me."

Ellie smiled at that.

Suddenly, she quipped her head towards a nearby field. An old plane rested in it, crashed. Likely happened the day of, or right after the initial outbreak.

"Holy shit. You ever fly in one of those?" Ellie whispered to Joel. "A few times, sure," he replied. "So lucky," Ellie mumbled under her breath. "Didn't feel like it at the time. Get shoved into a middle seat, pay twelve bucks for a sandwich," Joel grumbled passively. "Dude, you got to go up in the sky," Ellie exclaimed. "Yeah well, so did they," Joel smirked, pointing at the remains surrounding the aircraft.

"Grim." Ellie muttered.

As they continued, so did Ellie's questions, despite the promise she had made to Charlotte. It made Charlotte wonder how much of the outside world this girl had even seen. Plus, outside of the QZ's and dilapidated cities, how many people were really out there?

Her train of thought was interrupted when Joel stopped suddenly in the middle of the road. "We'll cut across the woods here," he ordered. "Bad idea. Road is more direct and it's pretty thick around here." Charlotte replied. Joel shot her an irritated look and turned away. "Just saying. You might know the cities, but you don't know the woods. Not like I do, anyways."

Joel scowled at her. Sensing the tension, Ellie spoke up. "Isn't the road easier anyways?" Joel huffed, "yeah, it's just... there's stuff up there you shouldn't see." Ellie smiled. "Well, now I have to see."

Chapter Text

Charlotte let her pace slow just enough to fall in line with Joel, allowing Ellie and Vito to move ahead on the dirt road. The air was cool and heavy underneath the canopy of the afternoon clouds, a sharp contrast to the heated tension between her and the man beside her.

"What's up there?" She asked quietly, her voice low enough not to carry to the others. Joel didn't look at her. His eyes stayed locked on the path ahead, dark and unreadable. "You'll see soon enough," he muttered. Charlotte nodded, trying to break the awkwardness with a bit of humor. "Not much of a conversationalist, are you?" She said with a half-chuckle, her tone light and teasing.

But Joel didn't take the bait. His face remained stone, carved with exhaustion and irritation. The only sign he'd even heard her was a small twitch at the corner of his eye—quick and involuntary. Sighing, Charlotte gave up on small talk and picked up her pace again, intent on rejoining Ellie and Vito, who was trotting faithfully at the girls side. But just as she moved ahead, a sudden force closed around her wrist. Joel's hand, rough and calloused, clamped down with firm authority.

She froze, her body tensing. Instinct took over quickly, her free hand dropped casually towards the hunting knife tucked inside of her jacket, her fingers brushing the hilt with practiced familiarity. She quickly turned to face him, her eyes narrowing as they locked with his.

He didn't flinch.

Joel's voice was low, nearly a growl, but unmistakably clear. "Listen to me," he said. "I don't know who you really are or what your deal is. But don't think for one second that if you put us at risk, I won't leave your ass behind."

Charlotte didn't move, but her jaw clenched.

"You're not my responsibility," Joel continued, his grip like iron. "And if you make one move that makes me question your place with us—one twitch that I don't like—I'll put you down. Fast. Right between the eyes. You understand?"

The tension between them hummed like a live wire. Charlotte yanked her wrist free, stepping back with slow defiance.

"Well," she muttered, her voice clipped. "Aren't you just a ray of fucking sunshine?"

Joel's expression didn't change.

"You don't have to worry about me," she added sharply. "As soon as my damn dog decides to stop playing house with your girl, I'm gone."

Joel gave a simple nod. "Good."

He brushed past her, but not before adding over his shoulder, "For now, just pull your weight and leave the decisions to me." Charlotte scoffed, loud enough for him to hear. "I don't take orders. And like you said—I'm not your responsibility. You handle yourself. I'll do the same."

Joel's jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. He simply pushed ahead, footsteps heavy as he rejoined Ellie up the path. Charlotte stood still for a moment, watching him go. Then, with a muttered, "asshole," she stalked after them, the knife still warm under her fingers.

By the time Charlotte caught up to them, Ellie and Joel were stopped at the edge of a small overlook just off the road. Vito stood beside the girl, tail still but ears pricked, sensing the shift in the atmosphere before Charlotte could even take it in.

She followed their gaze downward. At first, she wasn't sure what she was seeing—but then the shapes registered. A few—no, dozens—of human skeletons lay scattered in a pile. Tattered clothing still clung to some of the bones, sun bleached and wind-shredded. Rusted personal belongings glinted faintly in the weeds. A child's doll. A metal lunch box. A boot with no foot inside.

Charlotte's heart swelled, a feeling she had been immune to for quite some time. But this scene embedded itself in her stomach.

Joel stood stiff beside Ellie, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He didn't speak right away, but the weight of the scene did enough on its own.

"I didn't want you to see this," he said quietly, his voice like gravel scraping against stone. Ellie stared, her expression blank, but her silence spoke volumes. "FEDRA used to evacuate towns," Joel explained, eyes locked on the carnage. "About a week after Outbreak Day, soldiers went through the countryside... Evacuated the small towns. Told you, you were going to a QZ, and you were, if there was room. If there wasn't..."

"They'd kill them off." Charlotte finished flatly, her voice riddled with bitterness.

Ellie's voice came out cracked and strained. "These people weren't sick?" Joel shifted uncomfortably. "No. Probably not." Ellie looked up from the site. "Why kill them? Why not just let them be?"

"Dead people can't be infected." Charlotte responded, her voice brittle.

Charlotte had seen this before. Not this site, specifically, but ones just like it—rural highways littered with bones, makeshift graves in collapsed barns, entire neighborhoods gone silent overnight. But something about this one—this quiet massacre tucked into a single patch of grass like it was a secret—made her feel hollow. Ellie said nothing more. She just stood there, brow furrowed, jaw set tight.

After a long silence, she quietly turned away and began walking again. Vito followed, brushing up against her side protectively. Charlotte swallowed down the feeling of dread and fell into step beside her. Joel was the last to move, lingering for a moment longer before turning his back on the gravesite.

They walked the next few miles in near silence, the sound of boots against gravel and birdsong overhead the only reminders that the world hadn't stopped entirely. Eventually though, Ellie's questions returned. She began to ask about how The Outbreak had started. Joel explained the history—that it was likely a mutation of the Cordyceps fungus that was spread through mass produced food products that, after eating enough of, turned people. That's when the biting started. Ellie nodded in understanding.

The woods thickened slightly before thinning out again into the remains of what must've once been a perimeter road. And then, up ahead, a towering chain-link fence came into view.

"Is that where we're headed?" Charlotte asked, brushing a stray curl from her face.

Joel gave a grunt of acknowledgment, stepping ahead towards a section of the fence that was gated. "Yep. Don't get any ideas about touching it."

Charlotte raised an eyebrow, "Why not?"

He gestured at the structure. "Electric. You touch it, you're cooked alive. Besides, it's got a code to get in."

She smirked. "Let me guess—you don't know the code."

Joel shot her a look, already inputting numbers into a worn keypad. "Of course I know the damn code."

The gate creaked and groaned before slowly sliding open with a sharp mechanical whine.

"Full of surprises, aren't you?"

Joel ignored the comment and stepped through.

On the other side, the landscape changed entirely. Houses lined empty streets, windows dark and broken. A small post office sat on the corner, its flagpole rusted and bent. Storefronts with faded signs peeked out through ivy-covered walls. Everything was still—eerily so, like a town had been frozen mid-breath.

"It's like a ghost town," Charlotte whispered to Ellie. The girl giggled softly, eyes wide as she took it in. "Let's just hope ghosts are the only things in here." Charlotte gave a short laugh, but her hand stayed close to the handle of her bow, and Vito's guarded posture told her he was thinking the same thing.

Chapter Text

Joel took the lead, his posture tense, while Charlotte, Ellie, and Vito followed a few paces behind, their expressions marked by unease. The air was thick with uncertainty, and Joel's face mirrored the confusion and concern swirling in his mind. His ears strained for any sound—any familiar tone in the quiet—hoping to catch the voices of Bill and Frank. But there was only silence.

When the trio reached the doorstep of Bill and Frank's home, Joel paused. The grass in the yard was overgrown, the porch unswept, and the windows were covered in dust. This was unusual for Bill and Frank, as Frank preferred to maintain a home of order and cleanliness. The only thing he could control in an uncontrollable world.

Even Vito hesitated walking up the porch steps. The dog's ears were pinned back, his body tense, and he let out a quiet whine as they approached the front door. Charlotte stopped and looked back. "C'mon Vito," she called softly, patting her leg.

But Vito didn't budge. He stood rooted to the spot just beyond the steps, staring at the house with wide, alert eyes. Something about the place clearly unsettled him—something Joel didn't like either. He exchanged a quick glance with Charlotte, then turned his attention forward again, saying nothing.

Joel knocked softly at first, unwilling to disturb the stillness.

When no answer came, a pang of worry rattled through him. "What the fuck," he muttered under his breath. Then louder, "Bill? Frank?" His voice echoed in the quiet as he slowly pushed the door open. He stepped inside, his boots echoing slightly against the hardwood floor.

He scanned the nearby rooms on instinct—first the dining room, then the living room, and the hallway beyond. All appeared in order, and still unsettlingly quiet. He glanced up the staircase warily before turning back towards Charlotte and Ellie, who stood in the entryway, but only just.

"Stay here," he said firmly, "You hear anything, you yell."

Charlotte gave a stiff nod, while Ellie frowned, her voice breaking the silence. "And what if they're gone?" She asked bluntly, giving voice to the concern all three of them had felt but hadn't dared to say aloud. Joel didn't respond. He held her gaze for only a moment before turning away, ascending the stairs without another word.

The creak of each step marked his retreat into the quiet. Outside, Vito lay on the porch, his eyes still locked on the open doorway, ears twitching at every sound. He refused to go in—and somehow, that said more than any words could.

As Joel made his way through the upstairs hallway, he deliberately avoided opening any closed doors. The subconsciously ingrained etiquette of his Southern upbringing still held firm—entering someone's private space without invitation was out of the question. Even in the strange quiet of the house, his manners anchored him. Downstairs, he could hear the low murmur of Charlotte's and Ellie's voices. Their casual conversation floated upwards in indistinct snippets, a soft, familiar hum that calmed him more than he expected.

But the comfort was fleeting.

At the top of the stairs, he paused. A strange unease crept over him—not just the tension of Bill and Frank's unexplained absence, but something more subtle. Something about Charlotte. The longer he was around her, the more she seemed to take root in his thoughts. There was no pinpointing a single moment when it started, only the slow accumulation of details: the slight Southern lilt in her speech, the way her curls caught the light, the scent of cigarette smoke that clung to her clothes. Most haunting of all though, her eyes.

They were green, a vivid, unnatural kind of green that struck him every time their gaze met. But the left one—there was something peculiar about it. A faint, almost unnoticeable split ran through the iris—half green, half blue. It was the kind of detail most would never catch unless they were really looking. And Joel had been looking. Too much for his own liking. He wasn't even sure if Charlotte herself had noticed it.

He shoved the feelings back where they belonged, buried beneath layers of practiced detachment. Whatever this thing was—this creeping fascination—he refused to give it room to grow. Charlotte was becoming a problem already, invading his mind like an illness. She was consuming him, and he had no idea why. All he knew was that the more comfortable she got, the less he did.

Shaking his head as if to dislodge the thoughts, Joel turned from the hallway and made his way back downstairs. His boots thudded quietly against the wood as he descended, calling out to the girls as he went.

He found Ellie and Charlotte in the dining room, Ellie sitting comfortably in one of the chairs and Charlotte standing at her side in the far end of the space. Ellie clutched a piece of paper in her hand, the edges slightly curled. As Joel's gaze met the item, she glanced up and held it aloft, her tone almost casual as she quoted the writing on the front: 'To whomever, but probably Joel.'

His stomach sank.

He didn't need to read it to know the message wouldn't be good. He could feel it—something was wrong. But, it was Charlotte who surprised him most.

She stepped forward slowly, all the easy confidence and sharp-witted bravado she usually carried was stripped away. For once, she looked hesitant, her posture unsure. She mumbled something under her breath—"This came with it,"—and extended her hand toward him. Nestled in her palm was a car key.

Joel raised his hand, palm open, and let her drop it into his. Her fingers brushed his skin as she did, trembling faintly. It startled him. She looked almost frightened. There was something in her manner—delicate, retreating, as if she feared touching him might break something. She moved like a creature used to hiding in plain sight, her breath shallow, her frame light.

But her hand—it was soft. Softer than he expected, anyways. Though not without its callouses—years of drawing her bow's string had left their mark. He stared at her, really stared. Searching her face, trying to parse out what it was about her that tied him into knots. Why did she affect him like this? Why could he never quite see through her, the way he did everyone else?

And more importantly, why did he care?

Chapter Text

The stillness pressed in around them, thick and unnatural. It unnerved Charlotte more than she cared to admit—and from the subtle tension in Joel's posture, it seemed to unsettle him too. The house ahead sat quiet against a dull, grey sky. Its yard was overgrown with untamed grass, and the windows were darkened with dust and grime. And yet, despite the neglect, the structure remained intact, too intact. It felt wrong—like a stage set left untouched after the final act.

Her unease deepened when Vito refused to approach the front door. His whine was low, ears pinned back as he slunk behind the group, his tail stiff and tucked. Charlotte gave a soft pat to her leg, her voice tight. "C'mon, Vito." But he didn't budge. He simply looked at her with wide, anxious eyes and lay down heavily at the last step, as though he knew something the rest of them didn't.

Charlotte looked up—Joel was already watching her. His expression, usually cold as stone, flickered with something else. With the dart of an eye, though, the emotion was gone before Charlotte could place it.

Joel knocked first, which surprised her. It was quiet, hesitant—unlike him. He muttered a few curses under his breath, his voice taut with something Charlotte couldn't name. Then, he called out, "Bill? Frank?" and slowly pushed the unlocked door open.

Charlotte and Ellie stepped in behind him, barely crossing the doorway. They paused in the entryway while Joel glanced into the nearby rooms with precision. The place—to Charlotte—felt untouched by time. Pristine in a way that was almost eerie to her, except the dining room table.

There, two plates of decaying food sat, long since picked over by flies. The lazy hum of their wings filled the silence.

Somehow, the presence of the insects comforted Charlotte. If something worse had happened here—if something or someone else was rotting—they wouldn't be circling dinner plates. Her fragile sense of safety cracked as Joel's voice rang out coldly. "Stay here." She nodded quickly, every muscle stiff with uncertainty. Her body moved with an unnatural sharpness, a defense against the tension that was coiling inside of her.

Ellie shifted, arms crossed and face lowered, "What if they're gone?" she asked, voice light but eyes genuine. Charlotte wanted to ask the same. Joel, however, didn't answer. His only response was to trudge upstairs, boots thudding against the old wood, the sound echoing through the deathly quiet house. Ellie let out a huff and plopped down into a chair at the head of the table. Her eyes darted to a small envelope resting by the nearest plate.

Charlotte followed her gaze. Slowly, she approached, peering over Ellie's shoulder as the girl grabbed the envelope. The handwriting on the front of it was rough, but legible: To whomever, but probably Joel.

Ellie's fingers went to tear it open. "Maybe we shouldn't," Charlotte said, her hand gently halting Ellie's. "I mean, Joel should—."

Ellie cut her off. "It says 'to whomever.' Shouldn't we count?"

Charlotte sighed, knowing resistance was useless. She let her hand drop away, watching as Ellie ripped open the envelope and unfolded the paper left inside. Something else caught her eye—a key, sitting right where the envelope had been. A car key. She picked it up slowly, turning it over in her fingers.

She could leave. She could take Vito, find the car, and disappear. She wouldn't have to put up with Joel's nonsense and his barely veiled resentment of her. She wouldn't have to get dragged any deeper into danger. But Ellie sat there, shoulders hunched, reading the letter in silence. Unaware of Charlotte's internal struggle.

And suddenly something tugged at Charlotte. Not guilt—something deeper. A tether.

Maybe it was Ellie's age. Maybe it was an optimism in her voice that reminded her so much of Ray. Or maybe it was something unfamiliar, some deep, unexpected instinct to protect her. Whatever it was, it was enough. Charlotte tucked the key into her jacket pocket without a word.

She leaned in, reading over Ellie's shoulder. Searching for answers. Clues. It didn't take long before she found them.

Joel's voice returned from the stairwell. "Ellie? Charlotte?"

They both turned to him as he entered the doorway. Ellie held the note between her fingers like it weighed more than paper should. She lifted it toward Joel, her voice tentative. "It's from Bill. Says, 'To whomever... but probably Joel.'" A weak attempt at levity lingered on her lips as she added, "I figured we fell under 'whomever.'"

Charlotte had been quietly fidgeting with the car key in her jacket pocket. She hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. The metal felt hot and foreign in her hand now. She walked slowly to Joel, as if approaching something unpredictable—or dangerous. "This came with it," she murmured, holding out the key.

Joel extended his hand, palm open, steady. She placed the key in it, and her fingers brushed his—lingered, just slightly longer than they should have. The contact sent a jolt up her arm. His skin was warm, rough. Alive. For a fleeting second, they stood in a quiet charge of something unspoken.

She could feel his eyes on her, heavy and unbreakable, like he was trying to burn a hole through his defenses. She nearly flinched. Was he angry? The thought slipped over her like an unwelcome chill. She couldn't tell, and didn't want to ask. She quickly stepped back, returning to Ellie's side.

Joel turned back to Ellie, voice toneless. "So they're dead?"

His words were blunt, stripped of cushioning, and the sheer lack of emotion sent a shiver up Charlotte's neck. There was something about the way he said it—like the grief was being strangled somewhere behind his ribs. Ellie only nodded, her voice barely above a breath. "Mhm." She reached the letter out towards him. "You wanna?..."

Joel didn't even look at it. "Go ahead," he said, "you do it."

Ellie sighed, as if carrying a weight too big for her small frame, and began to read.

"August twenty-ninth, 2023," she began, her voice echoing faintly. "If you find this, please do not come in the bedroom. We left a window open so the house wouldn't smell, but it will probably be a sight."

Charlotte's jaw tensed. The image rose in her mind unbidden, macabre, and suffocating. The flies, she realized. They hadn't noticed the smell because the window had vented it. Her stomach turned.

Ellie pressed on.

"I'm guessing you found this, Joel, because anyone else would have been electrocuted or blown up by one of my traps. Hehehehehehehehe."

She paused and glanced at Joel, confused by the written laugh. He gave no explanation, no smile, just stood like stone. So Ellie read on.

"Take anything you need. The bunker code is the same as the gate code, but reversed. Anyway, I never liked you—but still. It's like we're friends... almost. And I respect you. So I'm gonna tell you something, because you're probably the only person who'll understand."

Charlotte's breath caught. This was the part. The line she'd skimmed earlier, the one that had snagged in her mind like a nail. Her eyes flicked briefly to Joel. His posture was rigid, but his expression was controlled and calm. Charlotte could feel the weight building in the room like a tide.

"I used to hate the world," Ellie continued, more slowly now. "And I was happy when everyone died. But I was wrong. Because there was one person worth saving. That's what I did. I saved him. Then I protected him. That's why men like you and me are here. We have a job to do. And God help any motherfuckers who stand in our way."

She paused to draw a breath, her brow furrowed. "I leave you all my weapons and equipment. Use them to keep..."

But she didn't finish. Her eyes locked on the words like they had suddenly turned to fire. Charlotte leaned in, drawn by Ellie's sudden stillness. Her gaze landed on the unread line.

"Use them to keep Tess safe."

Tess. The name echoed in Charlotte's mind like a bell toll. She searched for any memory, any mention of a Tess. She recalled their first time meeting. In the gas station—Ellie had mentioned a Tess, but Joel had cut her off quickly before she could say much more.

Joel snatched the note from Ellie's hands.

His eyes moved across the paper like flowing water. When he found the name, his body stilled completely. Charlotte watched, her own breath held. His eyes darkened—not with anger, but with something more devastating. Grief. Love. A kind of longing that made her throat tighten.

When he finally spoke, his voice cracked. "Stay here," he said sharply. Then he turned and walked out of the room—out of the house.

Charlotte silently crept behind him to the front door. From the threshold, she watched him step past Vito, still lying on the porch with his head in his paws, and into the overgrown yard. Joel stood there, his back to the home, motionless. However, his shoulders betrayed him—they trembled, barely perceptible, like the earth itself might shift if they moved any more.

Even from where she stood, Charlotte knew—he was crying. Quietly. Secretly. And somehow, that made it worse. She didn't call out. She didn't intrude. Instead, she returned to Ellie, who now sat with her elbows on the table, face buried in her hands.

"Who's Tess?" Charlotte asked. Her voice was softer than she intended, but sharp at the edges, like a knife dulled by wear. Ellie looked up slowly. "I'm not really supposed to talk about her." Charlotte said nothing, just met Ellie's eyes with a look that pleaded without words. With a tired huff, Ellie relented. "Tess was.. I dunno. They were smuggling partners for years. I think it was more than that though. They weren't just partners, but they weren't really... together either. It was weird."

Charlotte nodded, letting the information sink in. Whatever Tess had been to Joel—it mattered. And Charlotte now understood him more than she wanted to.

Chapter Text

When Joel returned to the house, something in him had changed. The weariness that had clung to him earlier was gone, replaced by a focused, steely resolve. His presence was no longer brittle—it was sharp, unwavering, and brimming with intent. He entered the room with purpose, his boots heavy against the floorboards, and immediately leveled a pointed finger at Charlotte.

“You. Out.”

Charlotte glanced up from where she sat at the table beside Ellie, her brow creasing in confusion. “Sorry—what?” she asked, her voice rising with defensive irritation.

Joel advanced toward the table, leaning in until he loomed over her, his eyes hard. “I need to talk to Ellie. Alone.”

Charlotte’s jaw tensed. “If we’re traveling together, you’re gonna have to learn to trust me.”

Joel let out a dry, bitter scoff. “Right. Because you’re such a trusting person yourself.”

Before either could say more, Ellie snapped.

“God! Enough! Both of you!” she shouted, standing abruptly. “This is getting ridiculous. Joel, it’s time we tell her.”

Joel’s head jerked toward Ellie, a flare of warning in his expression. “Quiet. This isn’t a conversation you need to be part of.”

Ellie stepped closer, her face flushed with anger. “Tell her, Joel. Or I will.”

Charlotte looked between them, her eyes narrowing. “Tell me what?”

Silence hung in the room like a weight. Joel and Ellie locked eyes, an unspoken standoff playing out in the space between them. Finally, Joel extended a hand toward her.

“Show me your arm.”

Without hesitation, Ellie placed her right wrist in Joel’s palm. He turned it over and tugged her sleeve upward, exposing a large, jagged scar that twisted along her forearm. It took Charlotte a moment to understand what she was seeing—then the realization struck.

Her chair scraped back as she jumped to her feet. “Holy shit! She’s infected! She’s infected and you let her near us? Are you trying to get us all killed—”

Joel stepped forward and clamped a rough hand over Charlotte’s mouth, cutting her off mid-sentence. His voice was low and firm. “Hey. Listen to me. This is more than just some infected kid. She’s immune.”

Ellie nodded calmly, as if she’d explained this a hundred times before. Joel removed his hand, and Charlotte stepped back, her breathing shallow, mind racing.

“Immune?” she repeated, disbelieving. “No—no, that’s not possible. There’s no cure, we all know that, I mean—” She trailed off, her eyes locked on the scar. “How haven’t you turned yet?”

Ellie offered a half-hearted shrug. “Told you. I’m immune.”

Charlotte took a long breath, trying to process what she was seeing—what she was being asked to believe. “I’m not sure what you are, or how the hell this is even possible,” she said slowly, turning her gaze to Joel, “but you believe this? That she’s really immune?”

Joel gave a single, solid nod.

Charlotte exhaled. “Alright. You’re immune. Anything else I should know?”

Ellie grinned, her tone turning sarcastic. “Yeah, I’m also half robot.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Not the time for jokes. So tell me,” she said, now directing her attention squarely at Joel, “what’s the real reason you’re doing all this? You’re not the kind of man who smuggles a kid across the country out of the goodness of his heart.”

Joel gave a tired huff. “I just finished buildin’ a truck battery. It’s charging right now.”

Charlotte looked puzzled. “Okay… and?”

Joel continued, his tone more even now. “I’ve got a brother out in Wyoming. He’s in some kind of trouble, and I need to find him. Used to be a Firefly. The Fireflies are the ones who discovered Ellie’s condition. They’re workin’ on a cure. Think she might be the key to it. My guess is, my brother knows where some of them are. Maybe they can get her to wherever this lab is.”

Charlotte nodded slowly, the pieces beginning to fit together.

Ellie took a step forward. “Uh, listen… about Tess—”

Joel cut her off sharply. “If I’m takin’ you with me, there are rules you’re gonna follow.” He looked at her directly. “Rule one: you don’t bring up Tess. Ever. In fact, let’s just keep our pasts to ourselves. Rule two: you don’t tell anyone about your condition. They see that bite, they won’t ask questions. They’ll shoot. Rule three: you do what I say, when I say it. Clear?”

Ellie folded her arms. “Yes.”

“Repeat it.”

She rolled her eyes. “What you say goes.”

Joel turned now to Charlotte. “As for you—you’re only here because you know your way through the woods. And that dog might actually come in handy. But don’t get comfortable. You’re followin’ rules too, understand?”

Charlotte gave a low chuckle. “Good luck with that.”

Joel stepped closer until the space between them was nearly gone. She held his gaze without flinching, unshaken by his proximity.

“I’m not arguing with you,” he said coldly. “So here are your rules: keep the dog in check—I don’t need him gettin’ us killed. Don’t get on my nerves, or I will leave you behind. And most important—do what I say. You might think you know how to handle yourself, but you don’t. Keep Ellie safe. That’s the only objective.”

Charlotte lifted her chin defiantly. “Whatever.”

Joel nodded. “Good.”

The room fell into a tense, uneasy silence. Then Ellie stepped between them, arms raised slightly. “Nice. Awkward tension. Love it. So… what now?”

Joel looked down at her. “We grab what we can.”

Ellie gave an exaggerated cheer and headed toward the kitchen, already rifling through cabinets. Joel lingered for a moment, watching Charlotte as she pulled a pack of cigarettes from her jacket and lit one with a flick of her lighter. She took a long drag, eyes distant.

Without warning, Joel snatched the cigarette from her mouth and tossed it to the ground, stamping it out with his boot.

“Hey—!” Charlotte started, but Joel cut her off once again.

“One last rule for you: no smoking indoors.”

Charlotte glared at him as he bent to pick up the crushed cigarette and shoved it back into her pack. As he walked toward the kitchen, she muttered under her breath:

“Fucking dick.”

In the kitchen, Ellie tore through the cabinets and pantry with barely contained excitement. Boxes of non-perishables, rows of canned goods, and stacks of frozen items were unearthed in a frenzy of rustling plastic and clinking tin.

“Ho-ly shit,” she breathed, her voice echoing slightly off the tile walls. A grin spread across her face as she began stuffing her pack with as much food and useful supplies as it could hold. “This guy was a genius.”

Joel stood nearby, watching her with a restrained sort of approval. He nodded once, then gestured toward a line of untouched cabinets on the far side of the room. “Grab some cans from over there,” he instructed, his voice firm. “Nothing dented or swollen. Check the labels.”

Charlotte obeyed without comment. She opened cabinet doors in swift succession, scanning for signs of damage or age. One by one, she pulled out what she could carry—cans, sealed dry goods, a few vacuum-packed meals—and stuffed them into her own pack and the large pockets of her jacket.

Once the kitchen had been thoroughly stripped of anything useful, Joel and Ellie turned and headed for the basement, disappearing down the narrow staircase at the back of the house. Charlotte lingered for a moment, alone now in the quiet space. As she moved to follow, something caught her eye—a flash of color peeking out from beneath a display case filled with delicate, dust-covered china.

Curious, she crouched down and reached beneath the case, her fingers brushing against the edge of a small package. She tugged it out and brought it into the light. For a second, she just stared.

It was candy.

A modest bag of hard caramels, individually wrapped in gold foil. The packaging was clean, untouched by time or rot. Charlotte sat down on the floor, momentarily stunned by the sight of something so mundane—so normal. Her lips curved into a rare smile. Quickly, she tore the bag open and began cramming handfuls of the candy into her pack before quietly making her way to the basement.

The temperature dropped as she descended. The basement was cool, industrial—its air heavy with dust and cold metal. Pipes ran along the low ceiling like skeletal limbs, and the center of the room was dominated by a table of large, outdated monitors flickering to life. Each screen displayed six different camera feeds, covering nearly every angle of the small town outside.

Charlotte blinked, impressed. Whoever lived here hadn’t just been paranoid—they’d been prepared. Extremely so.

“Dude,” Ellie whispered in awe, pointing toward the far wall.

Charlotte turned, following her gaze—and froze.

A massive pegboard stretched across the concrete, completely covered in weapons. Shotguns, rifles, handguns, crossbows. Ammunition was neatly arranged in boxes beneath them. The sheer quantity was staggering.

“No,” Joel and Charlotte said simultaneously, their voices flat with certainty.

Charlotte still moved toward the wall, pulling a few smaller firearms down and tucking them against her chest. Ellie groaned dramatically behind her.

“There’s a wall of them,” she argued, clearly unimpressed by their restraint.

Joel didn’t budge. His expression remained cold and unreadable. He wasn’t here to arm a small army—just to survive.

Eventually, the group moved on, pushing through a door that led into the garage. The smell of oil and old gasoline greeted them, and the concrete was cool beneath their feet. As the door creaked open, Vito trotted in from outside, tail wagging slightly before he flopped down in front of the car, stretching out with a satisfied sigh.

For the briefest moment, Charlotte thought she saw something unfamiliar flicker across Joel’s face. It might’ve been a smile—small, fleeting, barely there—but it vanished before she could be certain.

She leaned against a workbench across from him, arms folded, and watched as Joel knelt beside a large, rigged-together car battery, adjusting wires and checking voltage.

“Needs another hour,” he said, almost absentmindedly, even though she hadn’t asked.

At the other end of the garage, Ellie had found a small metal sink. She turned the tap and let out a surprised laugh.

“They’ve got hot water! Oh my god.” She looked back at them, her eyes bright with mock horror. “I’m taking a shower. And then you two are showering… because seriously.” She pinched her nose dramatically. “You smell like roadkill.”

With that, she turned and headed back toward the house, humming to herself. Charlotte let out a small chuckle, shaking her head.

But as soon as Ellie was gone, the air shifted again. The levity dissolved, leaving only silence and that familiar, awkward tension that always seemed to settle between Charlotte and Joel. He worked silently, never once glancing in her direction. She waited a beat, then two, before finally pushing herself off the bench.

She was halfway to the door when his voice stopped her.

“Frank was smaller than Bill,” Joel said suddenly, his tone low and unexpectedly gentle.

Charlotte turned, eyebrows raised. “What?”

Joel cleared his throat, not quite meeting her eyes. “Frank was smaller. He had too many clothes, though. Most of ’em are in the hall closet. Just… figured, if you wanted something clean.”

She stared at him for a moment, caught off guard by the subtle note of consideration in his voice. It didn’t sound like him—at least, not the version of him she thought she’d figured out.

“Oh. Right. Well… thanks,” she said awkwardly.

Joel gave a small nod and returned to the battery, the moment already fading as he refocused on the work.

Charlotte turned and stepped out of the garage, leaving behind the smell of metal, the hum of the battery, and the quiet company of Joel and the dog.

Chapter Text

Inside the house, the distant hum of running water signaled that Ellie was already in the shower. Charlotte stepped quietly through the hallway and opened the doors to the hall closet. Her eyes scanned the contents—Frank’s clothes, worn but neatly folded. She rifled through the options, pulling out a black tank top, a few long-sleeved cotton button-downs, several pairs of jeans, some thick socks, a winter coat, and a couple of flannels. Practical choices, if not particularly fashionable.

She settled on the tank top, a clean pair of jeans, and fresh socks, setting the rest aside to pack for later use. The clothes weren’t exactly flattering—boxy in places, a bit loose in others—but they were dry, warm, and surprisingly fragrant. The scent, faintly floral and clean, clung to the fabric like a memory. She knew it wouldn’t last long out in the world, but for now, it was a small luxury.

Clothing tucked under one arm, Charlotte climbed the stairs, the sound of water growing louder with each step. She found herself in a modest guest bedroom adjacent to the bathroom where Ellie showered. The bed creaked slightly beneath her as she sat and waited, the steam beginning to seep through the crack in the bathroom door.

After a few minutes, she stood and knocked gently. “Hurry up in there! You’ll use up all the hot water!”

Ellie groaned in protest, and shortly after, the sound of rushing water stopped. A moment later, the door creaked open and Ellie emerged, wrapped in one towel around her body and another piled high like a turban atop her damp hair.

Charlotte handed her a button-down, a pair of jeans, and a fresh set of socks. “Here. Clean clothes.”

Ellie gave her a grateful smile as Charlotte ducked into the bathroom, outfit in hand. The air inside was dense with steam, clinging to the walls and mirrors like fog. The warmth hit her immediately, soothing and enveloping. She closed the door behind her, feeling a small sense of peace settle into her chest.

It had been ages since she’d had a real shower—most of her recent attempts at bathing had involved icy rivers and quick scrubs under frigid water. The idea of a hot shower was almost foreign, but she welcomed it like an old friend.

She stripped quickly and stepped beneath the stream. The warm water cascaded over her face, shoulders, and down her spine, washing away more than just dirt. Her eyes closed and she sighed, the tension in her muscles beginning to loosen. The shower was stocked with a variety of toiletries—shampoo, conditioner, body wash—all untouched, waiting. She used all of them with unashamed indulgence.

After rinsing off, she caught sight of a razor and can of shaving cream on the counter. For a moment, she hesitated—feeling almost silly for considering it—but then shrugged and began to shave. Arms, legs, everything she could think of. When she finished, she dried off with a soft towel pulled from beneath the sink and wrapped it around herself.

She caught her reflection in the mirror and paused. The grime, the layers of road dust and exhaustion, were gone. What remained was a version of herself she hadn’t seen in years—skin smooth and clean, freckles dotted across her shoulders and cheeks, hair curling softly again now that it had been freed of tangles. She looked… like herself.

As she dried her hair with another towel, she began to hum quietly—then sing, just under her breath. It was an old song. Her song.

When she emerged, Ellie was sitting cross-legged on the bed, now dressed, eyes fixed expectantly on the bathroom door. She perked up at Charlotte’s return.

“You’ve got a really good voice,” she said with a grin.

Charlotte blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Oh,” she laughed, half-embarrassed, “thanks. It’s been a while.”

“Were you a singer? Before all this?”

Charlotte shook her head, amused. “No. I wanted to join my school’s choir, but I could never get past the stage fright.”

Ellie shrugged. “Shame. I bet you would’ve been famous. What song were you singing?”

Her cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. “Probably nothing you’d know. I wrote it a few years back.”

Ellie’s eyes lit up. “Really? That’s awesome. You should sing it for us sometime.”

Charlotte quickly waved her off. “No way. I don’t sing for an audience.”

“You just did.”

“I didn’t know you were still in here!”

Ellie smirked and leaned back. “Alright, fine. At least tell me what it’s called?”

“Ain’t Tied Down,” Charlotte replied softly. “Maybe I’ll give you the full version sometime—if you behave for Joel.”

Ellie snorted. “Yeah, right. Like that’ll ever happen. But I bet he’d love to hear you sing anyway.”

The two of them made their way downstairs, returning to their earlier seats at the dining table. Moments later, Joel stepped in from the garage, wiping sweat from his brow, hands stained with grease. Ellie wrinkled her nose.

“Shower. Now. You stink,” she ordered, pointing upstairs.

Joel rolled his eyes but looked briefly over at Charlotte—and then he paused. His gaze lingered, more than it should have.

She looked different. Cleaner, softer somehow. Her hair, now free of its usual mess, fell in tidy, springy curls that framed her face. Her skin, sun-warmed and freckled, looked smoother, healthier. Joel hadn’t realized how striking she was beneath all that grime.

He swallowed.

“Earth to Joel,” Ellie called, smirking at his silence.

He blinked and looked at her. “Yeah, yeah. I’m going.”

And with that, he disappeared up the stairs, leaving the girls behind, one grinning and the other trying not to look like she’d noticed his stare.