The Last Of Us (Fanfic)

Joel Lives Pt.17

Tommy had found his way to the TV station; climbing the walls, he could still hear the screaming and pleas to spare them. He snuck inside, trying to stay out of sight as he witnessed the barbarism of strangely dressed men and women painting symbols on the wall in blood. He wondered to himself if this was some cult, some other group the wolves had wronged. He made it to the floor above the set and watched as they hung up the survivors one at a time, preaching about how they were nested with sin before cutting them open and allowing their inside to fall to the floor while they were still alive, only to talk about how what they were doing was love. Some of those forced to kneel as they waited for their turn cried and pleaded with them to be spared, telling them that they'd help them or convert - anything to survive. One girl stuck out to him, a young girl the same age as Ellie, who trembled but tried to keep her composed regardless of her fear. She talked a lot while those by her told her to shut up, she pleaded for her people's lives, claiming she was the one they wanted because she raided one of their camps and took their people. Her name was Rue, and apart from the fact that these people were WLF, he wanted to help them - to help her - but he forced himself to turn away as they tied a noose around her neck and pulled her higher than the others after cutting her open.

He went upstairs and followed the trail of bodies leading to the top floor, a dozen people were left dead for the wolves to find, and for what? Who else did this group cross for them to react like this? It made him think about his time as a firefly, and how far they were willing to take it to get their point across. It just goes to show that no matter where you are, there's nothing new under the sun, and what these people were doing was nothing compared to what he was willing to do to find Joel.

He followed the sound of radio static to a partially opened back office, inside was a girl he recognized from the cabin back in Jackson. She lay there gasping for air from all the arrows shot into her torso, she was close to dying. When she saw Tommy, terror filled her eyes and everything in her wanted to get away from him, but she couldn't move as an arrow had gone straight through her stomach to her spine.
He crouched down beside her, a coldness around him that gave her no comfort - only fear.

"Do you remember me?" He asked.

She couldn't bring herself to speak, but the look in her eyes told Tommy that she did, and he was going to be the last thing she saw.

"You took my brother, and I need to know where he is. So, I'll make you a deal - tell me where he is and I'll make sure you go quick."

She started to cry, her lungs filling up with her own blood and she found it harder and harder to breathe.

Tommy took an arrow and started to push it in deeper, "What did you do with my brother?" He asked, his composure not wavering.

When she didn't answer, he repeated the process until she finally gasped out, 'Abby.'

"That your friend with the braid?" He asked.

She nodded, "Where did she take him?"

She shook her head; it was hard for her to speak while everything was blindingly painful; she just wanted it to end. He pushed in another arrow and she cried out.

"Tell me and I'll stop."

"Dead." She choked.

"You telling me she killed my brother?" He asked, getting in real close.

She wheezed, "Might as well have... She took...him to... Isaac."

He let go of the arrow and just sat there looking at her for a moment trying to decide whether or not he believed her. It didn't matter; one way or the other, he was going to find Joel, and he didn't need Leah to do it. He sat in a chair by the radio and ate the food laid out on the table while he watched Leah die and listened to the WLF question why no one was answering. He knew it wouldn't be long before they came looking and that he needed to be gone when that happened.
He'd found a laminated local map in a gas station at the edge of town and took a pen from the table to circle this area with the same symbol they drew on the wall. In a small notepad, he wrote down the limited information he knew about this new group: how they looked, the cuts on their face, possible cult relations, and how they'd whistle to locate each other. The whistling was how he knew they'd left, the further it was, the more comfortable he felt. Not even the wolves made him as uncomfortable as these people did, delusional religious nuts that mistake love for violence... Then again, was his crusade with the fireflies any different?

He looked through the logs by the radio and found a term for these people that was continuously repeated over and over: Scars. That encompassed them well, and he jotted it down in his notes before packing up and attempted to leave the same way he came, having a hard time not stopping to stare at the hanging bodies in the studio. The only problem was that there were still stragglers in the halls he could hear walking back and forth - their laughter echoed through the vents. He couldn't go out the front door this time; he needed to find an alternate route, or he'd be strung up like the rest of the wolves. He opted for the double doors behind him, which led into an open area that showed the landing of the floor above and the Scars that walked back and forth, looking through the rooms and offices there. Tommy hugged the wall, carefully stepping to not make a sound, knowing there were more of them and being in new territory with a new threat put him at a disadvantage. They wouldn't believe he wasn't a wolf; even if they did, he figured they wouldn't care.

He almost made it outside before he was sighted by a man who had trailed behind him unknowingly. Seeing Tommy in the doorway stunned the man, delaying his bow draw and giving Tommy enough time to duck out of the way and make a run for it. The whistle sent a chill up his spine, and the sound of horse hooves thundering closer almost gave him pause as he ran through what used to be the station's car park. Now a crumbled mess, he had to be careful not to stumble over the rubble. The tree line was in front of him while the scars trailed close behind, shooting their arrows and guns gearing the sounds of it whispering by his head, which made him involuntarily duck to avoid the shots. He ducked under the half-risen security shutter and turned back to pull it the rest of the way down so they'd have a harder time following.
The trees were thick with brush, tugging at his clothes, leaving behind a trail for them to track if he didn't slow down and take his time. Buildings were up ahead and he knew that if he could get to them, he could snipe them before they could even figure out which building it came from.