𝐀𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐦'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫² - the last of us.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱

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ஓ๑๑ஓ

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱

𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

ஓ๑๑ஓ

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Late Autumn, November 2033

Colorado Mountain Plaza

Five minutes. Three-hundred seconds.

The bone-chewing chill tampered with her warm blood, arms wrapped protectively around her abdomen, hood raised over her black tresses bounded away from her face. A trail of harsh wisps slipped from her lips. Three-hundred seconds, an eternal short lifetime pigmented with anticipation. What happened, Ellie? Addie intently watched the helicopter as she fluffed up her arms to obtain essences of warmth, decidedly to then peer over her left and right peripheral vision. The two corpses riddled with fungal infection, the repugnant and deadly stage of a Clicker, continue to soil the ground with dirty-diseased blood. She furrowed her brow from under her hood. Those Clickers were dead. Addie sighed heavily and returned her gaze to the looming helicopter. However, millions remain alive. Her concealed feet grew cold, toes wiggling underneath her boots. Damn it, she thought to herself. What is taking you so long? Anxiety mauled at her like a lion, stomach churning desperately.

Her father was now a fragile bird in the care of his daughter and younger female charge. Nothing but an incarnated fledgling, a tiny falcon with fractured wings. Bruises, some magenta and unhealed from over a decade, some black as lead and burdened to carry until death. Joel would be tossed away as though he was made of feathers and not flesh and bone. Addie cradled his memory in her heart, a ghost as she held her nightmares. I'm here, dad, her heart croaked.

And then . . . a gunshot rang out.

Ripping Addie to shreds. She stilled her breathing. For a moment, the woman was silent. For a second, she was unable to move, almost staggering as she whirled around, only to be rooted to the earth. A lump of motionless lead. A single pair of eyes drilling into the direction. Immobilized, watching in soundless horror as something crumpled, malevolent oozing and smoking. Frozen, lips agape, Addie was a steel rod until a thought blitz through her mind, a thought roaring in her ears. Keep fighting. Remember.

Her heart screamed, her ribs combusting, her nightmare stalking the woman; she wanted to wake up. Somehow, in an alternate universe, an eight-year-old somewhere still grasped the tenderness of a sweetened smile.

Thoughts hazy like a heatwave, Addie cursed under her breath and slipped her hand to the waistband of her jeans. A pale hand flew through air, empty, and hazel apertures widened. Realization tasted bitter with an aftertaste of worry. No ammo, no gun. She swiftly whipped back to the helicopter, another gunshot screeched into the ambiance, tailed by an agonized howl on the wind.

Oh, no.

Addie took a step closer. "Ellie?" Her voice was a terrified hiss. And it seemed her familiar octave was foreign.

Perhaps the chill refused to help her hurried baritone carry. There is a soft silence, pillowed with biting frost and uncertainty, and the scratchy, rippling groans of a machine long forgotten mirroring the bleak days since Outbreak, but Addie could barely rejoice at the distant commotion. The air around her seems to tighten as her fingers curl into the curves of her knife, a caged bird rising and flailing in her chest, yet the pressure in the air is nothing compared to the suffocating concern that's been long awaiting a release.