Chapter Text
You find a secluded clearing in the woods a couple of miles away from the house, and even though the location is not ideal, none of you can go any further in the dark. The forest presses in on all sides, the tall trees skeletal in the faint moonlight. The air is sharp and cold, thick with the scent of damp leaves. You listen, straining for any sign of infected nearby, but the only sounds are the occasional crackle of branches in the wind and the soft murmurs of your group settling in for the night.
Ellie is bundled tightly against your chest, wrapped in a second sweater you’d jerry-rigged into a crude baby sling. She’s barely more than a weight in your arms, so tiny it feels like you could break her just by holding her wrong. Her dark hair is sparse but soft, barely more than a fine fuzz brushing against her scalp. Her skin is pale and delicate, with the faintest hint of pink blooming in her cheeks from the warmth of your body. Every now and then, her little nose wrinkles as if she’s dreaming, and her lips—chapped and dry—move in small, unconscious suckling motions.
She stirs in her sleep, her breath a faint, uneven rhythm against your collarbone. You’re struck again by just how small she is. Fragile, breakable in a way that scares the hell out of you. But for now, she’s asleep. For now, she’s quiet, and you’ll take that as the closest thing to a victory you’re likely to get tonight.
You need to find her food soon. You don’t know much about babies, but you know they’re not supposed to go long without eating. The thought twists in your gut, a nauseating mix of panic and helplessness.
The moment you set down your pack, you start digging through it for something that can be given to the baby. Granola bars are out of the question, canned vegetables are a no go. Your hand lingers around a box of powdered mashed potato you’d manage to trade for in the QZ, mixed thin with some water, it might be sufficient to keep her alive.
“So…” Tommy’s voice breaks the silence as he watches you from a few feet away. He’s leaning against a tree, shifting uncomfortably as though the baby in your arms is an alien creature. “There’s a baby.”
“Can’t cross the country with a baby.” Joel says simply. He’s not looking at you, not even looking in your direction. Like maybe he can’t bear to see you with the baby in your arms. “She’s a liability,” Joel said flatly, his voice cold. “She cries. She eats. She slows us down. You want to make it to Wyoming? She’ll get us killed before we’re halfway there.”
“Ok, so …” Tommy trails off, “We…drop her off somewhere? QZ?”
“No,” you say firmly, sharper than you intended. The thought alone makes your chest tighten painfully. You glance down at Ellie’s tiny face, her scrunched-up features barely visible in the dim light. Her soft breaths are warm against your skin. “Not in a QZ. Anna—her mother—she left a QZ to… to get her out of there.” Your throat tightens, and suddenly you’re blinking back tears you didn’t feel coming. “Not a QZ,” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Not a QZ.” Joel agrees. He’s still keeping his head down, not looking in your direction. “Don’t want us getting close to another one either.”
“Ok, there’s not a lot of choices here.” Tommy says, he’s started pacing, and the sounds of his footsteps seems to wake Elllie, who’s started fussing and whining.
You try to rock her a bit as you continue to try and prepare the mashed potatoes with the water in your canteen. Sarah, bless her, comes close to you and takes over the food prep.
“Really thin, Sarah.” You mutter, trying in vain to sooth Ellie, “More like water than not.”
Sarah nods, focusing on the task at hand but once in a while sneaking a peak at Ellie in your arms.
“What about Bill and Frank?” Tommy asks suddenly, as if he’s had a revelation. “I mean, they’re in a good spot, right? Frank seems…nurturing?”
“Too long of a backtrack,” Joel growls. “We’d have to go around the QZ, and that adds three days. We don’t have the supplies for that. Don’t want to risk running into patrols, either.”
“Okay, okay, fine. But taking her with us out west?” Tommy shakes his head, his voice rising with frustration. “You’ve gotta see that’s not a good plan either.”
Ellie starts fussing then, her small body wriggling against you as soft whimpers escape her tiny lips. Her face scrunches up, and the first high-pitched wail tears through the stillness of the woods like a knife. You try to rock her gently, patting her back, but it doesn’t help. The cries only get louder, sharper, until they seem to fill every inch of the clearing, bouncing off the trees like a beacon for anyone—or anything—nearby.
“Jesus,” Joel mutters under his breath, running a hand down his face. “She’s gonna attract every infected in the damn area with those lungs.”
“She’s hungry, ” you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop them. Frustration tightens your chest like a vice. “If we feed her—”
“With what food?” Joel interrupts, his voice harsh. His eyes finally lock on yours, his face carved with exhaustion and something that looks suspiciously like guilt. “We barely have enough for the four of us, and she can’t eat granola bars, can she?”
“I’m getting food ready, dad.” Sarah says sharply, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. She’s crouched beside you, stirring the powdered potatoes with jerky, determined movements. Her hands are shaking, but she doesn’t stop. “Which you’d know if you bothered to look up. ”
You’ve never heard Sarah speak to Joel in that way. You and Joel both freeze, Tommy whips his head towards Sarah, looking at her like he’s never seen her before.
“Sarah -” Joel starts, he’s looking at her, his expression pained, “I’m -”
“No,” Sarah snaps again, her eyes blazing as she turns to face her father fully. “You’re being really mean. It’s a baby, Dad. Not a sack of potatoes you can just drop off somewhere. You—” Her voice wavers for a moment before she pushes on, tears glistening in her eyes. “You’re talking like you want us to—” She swallows hard. “To just… leave her.”
Ellie’s wails get louder, her face scrunched up and red. There are no tears coming out of her, just loud protests at the lack of food. You try to talk to her, murmuring useless reassurances, until Joel takes two steps and stand next to you.
“Here.” He reaches out for Ellie, and you give her to him because you are at a complete loss of what to do. You watch, eyes wide, as he takes her into his hands, and she’s so small that he could hold her with one hand if he wanted to. He doesn’t, he cradles her in the crook of his arm and stares at her, his expression shuttered.
Then, just when you think he’s not ever going to move, he shifts and sticks his pinky in her mouth, nail pressed against her tongue. Ellie stops crying almost immediately and starts sucking.
“Not gonna last long.” Joel looks up, resigned, “Sarah, how’s the food coming?”
“It’s… it’s nearly ready.” Sarah says, blinking like she also can’t believe what she just saw. “Uh -”
You have your hands free, so you wipe away the tears lingering on your face. Joel looks at you, finally, finally, and in the moment you realize why he’s not looked at you the whole time, not looked at Ellie.
Because it’s love, it’s love in his eyes, unmistakable.
He’s not going to give her up . You think. You’re sure of this. He’s got her now and he’s not going to give her up.
Shit.
Joel blinks, noticing you noticing him, and sighs, long and deep.
“We can… we can try and find some baby cloths, maybe a … maybe a pacifier to keep her quiet?” You say. You’re not ready for this, not ready for this kind of responsibility, not ready for the new level of vulnerability.
Joel’s still cradling her in the crook of his arm, his face unreadable as he watches her suckle at your finger with tiny, desperate movements. The sight would’ve been heartwarming in any other world. Here, it just makes your chest ache with worry.
“Tomorrow,” Joel says quietly, “we’ll stop by those suburbs. Find some formula. Clothes. Maybe even diapers, if we’re lucky.”
His voice is steady now, and when you glance up at him, you notice the tightness in his shoulders has eased. He’s still frowning—because of course he is—but there’s something softer in his expression as he looks down at Ellie. Something resigned.
Sarah brings over a little bowl with watery mashed potatoes. You scoop a little bit onto the pad of your finger and Joel removes his pinky so you can slide yours into Ellie’s mouth. She whines a little, but starts suckling soon after. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“Might be able to find some formula for her.” Tommy says softly, shuffling over to look over Joel’s shoulders at Ellie. “Damn, she’s pretty cute. Reminds me of you, Sarah.”
Sarah’s eyes widen when she looks up from staring at Ellie, she blinks, as if not expecting comparison, then grins. “Well yeah, she’s my little sister.”
You feel Joel stiffen next to you, “Sarah -” he starts, his voice plaintive, “We’re not gonna keep -”
“Yeah, yeah, dad.” Sarah rolls her eyes. She saw the way Joel looked, same as you, “We’re definitely not keeping her.”
Tommy snorts, shaking his head. “Well shit brother, don’t they got your number.”
Joel exhales sharply, like her answer catches him off guard. His lips press into a thin line, and for a second, you think he might argue. But then he nods. Just once.
“Well, then,” he murmurs, the words barely audible. He looks down at Ellie again, his eyes soft. “Ellie, huh?” he reaches out and puts a finger near Ellie’s hand, she immediately grabs on to it, clutching at it. You watch as his face breaks into a smile.
Something inside you shifts—something tight and terrified and braced for the worst. You feel it melt away, replaced by a flicker of warmth.
You barely sleep that night. Between taking a watch shift and the near constant fussing from Ellie, you get stuck between a cycle of sleep and startling awake. The only one who seems to get any rest is Sarah, eyes closed despite her earlier promises that she could take care of Ellie throughout the night.
The fourth time you wake from Ellie’s fussing, you feel Joel get up from where he’d been lying next to you, hear him snort at the way Sarah is deeply asleep, one hand reaching out to Ellie, no signs of waking despite the baby’s whines.
You watch as he picks up Ellie gently, cradling her and rocking her as he brings her closer to where the two of you have been lying down. You reach out, not bothering to sit up, and Joel places Ellie in your arms. The baby settles as you stroke her cheek and slowly rub her tummy.
“Sarah was the same,” Joel murmurs softly as he settles behind you again, “Didn’t get any solid sleep until she hit six months.”
You turn slightly, just a small shift so that you can still keep your eyes on Ellie as she fights sleep. “I’m scared.” You whisper. “She’s… she’s so fragile.”
Joel hums behind you, one of his arms wrapping around your stomach. His thumb slips under your shirt, gently rubbing just above your waistband. There’s no heat behind his touch and you let yourself take comfort in the sensation.
“They’re tougher than you think.” Joel says, “But… yeah. I’m fuckin’ terrified.”
The quiet admission from Joel makes you pause, the weight of his words settling over you like the heavy blanket you’ve been sharing. You glance down at Ellie, her tiny hand curled into a fist against her cheek, her fussing softening into little whimpers as she begins to drift off.
“She doesn’t look tough,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid to disturb the fragile calm. “She’s so… small. Feels like the whole world’s out to break her.”
Joel’s thumb keeps tracing small circles against your stomach, and for a moment, it feels like the only thing tethering you to the ground. His voice, when he speaks again, is softer than you’ve ever heard it. “She’ll surprise you,” he says. “Sarah did.”
“She was scrawny as hell when she was born,” Joel says, his tone warm with a memory that’s clearly etched into him. “I remember holding her for the first time, thinking I’d break her just pickin’ her up wrong. Had no idea what I was doing, no clue how to be a dad.” He chuckles, low and quiet, and you feel the rumble of it against your back. “But she was tough. Stronger than she looked. Kept me on my toes every damn day.”
You can’t help but smile at the thought of a baby Sarah, scrappy and full of fight. “She’s still keeping you on your toes,” you say, glancing over at her sleeping form.
You glance down at Ellie again, her tiny chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. You trace a finger along her cheek, marveling at how impossibly soft her skin is. “Do you think… do you think we can do this? Keep her safe?”
Joel doesn’t answer right away, and the silence stretches out between you. His hand stills against your stomach, but he doesn’t pull away. Finally, he exhales, long and slow. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice raw. “But I know we’ll try. That’s all we can do.”
His honesty feels like a lifeline, grounding you in the overwhelming uncertainty of everything. You turn your head just enough to catch a glimpse of his face in the dim light. He’s staring at Ellie, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. But there’s something in his eyes—something soft, something there —that makes you believe him.
“Joel…” you begin, your voice catching. You stop yourself, unsure of what you even want to say. Instead, you reach out, letting your fingers brush against his free hand where it rests on your hip. He takes your hand without hesitation, his grip firm and reassuring.
Ellie makes a small noise in her sleep, her face scrunching up briefly before smoothing out again. The sound is so tiny, so fragile, but it tugs at something deep in your chest. You press her closer to you, cradling her as though you can shield her from the whole damn world with just your arms. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment. Ellie’s soft breathing, the weight of Joel’s arm around you, the quiet strength in his voice.
The next morning comes too quickly, the kind of quick where it feels like you’ve just fallen asleep and then the sunlight is cutting sharp and bright across your face. It pulls you awake with no mercy, the warmth of it almost mocking against the cold ache in your muscles. You groan softly, shifting on the hard ground, and in doing so, you wake Joel. He’s pressed up behind you, solid and warm, and you feel the deep, gravelly rumble of his snores break off into a muttered curse as he stirs.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he grumbles, his voice rough with sleep. There’s a heaviness to his tone, thick and familiar, like the mornings you used to share in softer places. You smile to yourself, even as the stiffness in your limbs reminds you of just how far you are from any kind of comfort.
Nearby, Sarah and Tommy are already awake, and the sight that greets you makes the ache in your body ease a little. Tommy is holding Ellie, his big hands cradling her so delicately it’s almost funny, while Sarah kneels in front of them, making exaggerated faces. The baby’s eyelids are still heavy, barely open, and it’s obvious that Sarah’s faces are being wasted on her. But Sarah doesn’t care—she keeps at it, determined to entertain her baby sister.
Tommy laughs, his deep chuckle breaking the stillness of the morning. “She’s got no idea what the hell you’re doing, Sarah. Poor kid probably thinks you’re having a seizure.”
“Shut up, Uncle Tommy,” Sarah shoots back, sticking out her tongue. “She likes it. Look at her.”
Tommy shakes his head, smirking. “You keep telling yourself that, kid.”
You sit up slowly, your joints protesting the movement, and feel Joel shift behind you. His arm is still draped over your waist, heavy and warm, and as you move, he groans softly, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
“Fuckin’ getting too old for this,” he mutters, his breath hot against your skin.
You laugh under your breath, tilting your head slightly as his lips brush the back of it in a sleepy, absentminded kiss. The feel of it lingers, warm and soft, and a little part of you aches for the mornings you used to have, where you could lie in bed for hours with nowhere to go and no one to worry about.
“Mhm, miss the QZ yet?” you ask quietly, your voice teasing but your body leaning into him anyway.
Joel hums against your skin, his voice turning serious. “No.” His arm tightens around your waist, the weight of it grounding you, steadying you. He presses another kiss just behind your ear, slower this time, more deliberate. “No. I don’t.”
The way he says it, low and certain, sends a shiver down your spine. There’s something raw in his voice, something that lingers between the words and curls around your heart. You don’t dare ask why—it’s written all over the way he holds you, the way his lips linger too long on your skin.
“Speak for yourself,” you say lightly, trying to keep the mood from tipping into something too heavy. “I miss the mattress we had.”
Joel lets out a soft huff of agreement, the sound vibrating against you. “Mhm. Suppose I do too.” His hand starts to move, slow and lazy, slipping over your stomach. His fingertips trail just below your ribs, then dip lower, skimming the edge of your waistband. The touch is light, almost teasing, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch.
You grin, your eyes still on Tommy and Sarah with Ellie, but you can’t stop yourself from leaning back into Joel’s chest. His warmth, his touch—it’s all too easy to get lost in, even here, in the cold morning light of the woods. Already, you’re missing those rare mornings when you’d wake up tangled together in the quiet comfort of a bed. No dangers waiting outside, no responsibilities pressing down on you like the weight of the world. Just the two of you, safe and warm.
Joel’s lips press into the curve of your neck, and it’s almost enough to make you forget where you are. Almost.
“Hey, hey, break it up,” Tommy’s voice cuts through the quiet, loud and teasing. You glance up to see him waving in your direction, a lopsided grin plastered across his face. “No hanky-panky in front of the baby.”
Joel groans, the sound vibrating low and deep against your back. “Fuck off,” he mutters, but his lips are still pressed to your neck, the words muffled against your skin.
Tommy cups a hand to his ear. “What was that? Didn’t quite catch it.”
Joel pulls back just enough to lift his head, glaring at his brother. “ Fuck off, Tommy. ” This time, his voice is louder, cutting through the air with the kind of gruff authority only Joel can muster.
“Language, Dad!” Sarah chimes in, her voice bright and scolding. She wrinkles her nose, giving Joel a look that’s almost comical in its disapproval. “Don’t swear in front of Ellie.”
Joel looks at her, his glare softening into something closer to exasperation. “Ellie don’t understand words yet,” he says flatly, though the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile.
“Doesn’t matter,” Sarah retorts, crossing her arms. “She’s learning. Next thing you know, her first word’s gonna be fuck, and it’ll be your fault.”
Tommy barks out a laugh, adjusting Ellie in his arms so she’s propped up against his shoulder. “Wouldn’t be the worst first word,” he says with a grin. “Better than ‘FEDRA,’ at least.”
Joel groans again, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Christ. This is what I get for traveling with you two.”
The warmth in his eyes lingers, even as Sarah starts teasing him again and Tommy joins in. You watch as Joel reaches out to take Ellie back from Tommy, cradling her with a gentleness that still surprises you. She whines softly, her tiny hands curling into fists, but Joel rocks her instinctively, his big hands dwarfing her small frame.
The suburb is not as promising as you thought it would be. After clearing the first four houses and finding nothing baby-related, you feel nearly frustrated enough to give up.
Ellie poops in the sling you made her, and Tommy gamely sacrifices one of his shirts so you can clean her. She peeps three times in half an hour, and you have to stop after walking for five minutes because she starts wailing for food.
Eventually, Joel takes her from you when you feel yourself getting flustered by all the crying.
“It’s not all on you.” He murmurs when he reaches to take Ellie. “We can help.”
“I know, I know.” You say, blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face. You don’t doubt that any of the other three are willing to help, but somehow you feel like you’re the one responsible for the tiny little baby.
You’re insulted when Ellie seems immediately pacified after being transferred over to Joel.
Tommy laughs at your expression, “Don’t sweat it, peaches. Babies love him. It was the same with Sarah, she’d fuss and cry if I were holdin’ her, then quiet as a mouse the second Joel picked her up.”
“That’s cus ain’t nobody wanna see your ugly mug,” Joel mutters as he rocks Ellie, “Makin’ babies cry.”
You laugh, feeling marginally better at the mock offense on Tommy’s face.
Eventually, Joel gives in to Sarah’s Bambi eyes and shifts Ellie over to her after the baby falls asleep, and you feel something shift in your heart when you see the way she holds the baby ever so carefully, murmuring softly and humming to her.
It makes the frustration worthwhile when another house comes up empty.
You almost scream in triumph when you finally spot an overturned plastic slide in somebody’s front yard. Surely, if anything is, that is the sign that you’re looking for. You tap Joel on the shoulder to get his attention and point towards the faded pink slide.
His eyes light up too when he spots it and he gives you a nod. You signal to Tommy and Sarah to stay outside on guard while you and Joel go to scout out the house.
Inside, the house smells faintly of mildew and abandonment, that stale, hollow scent of a place long untouched. The door creaks loudly as Joel pushes it open, and you both freeze, holding your breath as you listen for any sounds—shuffling, groaning, the telltale gurgle of an infected. But there’s nothing. Just the faint rustle of leaves outside and the muffled sounds of Tommy and Sarah talking quietly on the lawn.
Joel steps in first, his gun raised, scanning the darkened entryway. You follow close behind, your own weapon drawn, your eyes darting over the dusty furniture and scattered debris. A child’s shoe lies abandoned in the hallway, its laces frayed and knotted. There’s a bicycle helmet near the door, small enough that it must’ve belonged to a kid no older than five.
The house is eerily still, and every creak of the floorboards under your boots sets your nerves on edge. You and Joel move in sync, clearing the downstairs room by room. A living room filled with faded floral couches and a TV that looks decades old. A kitchen with a fridge that hangs open, its shelves empty except for rusted cans and a bottle of ketchup tipped on its side. Nothing unusual, nothing dangerous.
You find the stairs leading up to the second floor, and Joel gives you a look—a silent question, his eyebrows raised. You nod, and he leads the way, his steps slow and deliberate. The second floor feels heavier somehow, like the air is thicker here. The hallway stretches out in front of you, the walls lined with family photos coated in a fine layer of dust. You glance at them as you pass—a smiling couple, a little boy with missing teeth, and a woman cradling a small bump in her belly.
Then you see it: the nursery door, slightly ajar, with peeling pastel paint on the frame. Joel notices it at the same time you do, and his jaw tightens as he nods toward it. He pushes the door open cautiously, his gun raised.
The sight that greets you makes your breath catch in your throat.
The nursery is pristine. Untouched, like a time capsule frozen in the moment before everything fell apart. The walls are painted a soft yellow, and a mobile with little fabric animals hangs above a crib in the corner. The floor is scattered with unopened boxes, some of them still taped shut, others half-open with baby clothes spilling out in pastel shades of pink and blue. A stuffed bunny sits on the windowsill, its fur slightly discolored but still intact.
“Jesus,” Joel mutters under his breath, lowering his gun.
You suddenly feel the lump in your throat, thinking about what might have happened the family.
“You think -” You ask, and you know it’s childish before the words even leave your mouth.
“They’re probably at the QZ.” Joel says. He doesn’t sound like he believes it, but you ignore that.
“Yeah, yeah you’re right.” You nod. Wiping furiously at the tears that somehow found their way into your eyes.
You step into the room, the creak of the floorboards startling in the quiet. Dust motes swirl in the weak sunlight filtering through the cracked blinds, giving the space an almost dreamlike quality. Your eyes scan the room, taking in the boxes, the neatly folded blankets, the unopened cans of formula stacked in one corner.
“Jackpot,” you whisper, your voice tinged with something bittersweet.
Joel exhales deeply, holstering his gun as he steps in beside you. “Yeah.” His voice is low, thoughtful, as his gaze lingers on the crib.
You try not to think about the family who once lived here—about the parents who’d probably spent months preparing this space, who never got to bring their baby home. But it’s hard not to feel the echo of their loss, lingering in every careful detail of the room.
Joel shakes his head and moves toward the boxes, crouching down to open one. “Let’s grab what we can and get outta here.” His tone is gruff, businesslike, but you catch the way his hand hesitates for just a second before pulling the first box open.
You kneel beside him and start sorting through the contents. Diapers, wipes, tiny little socks no bigger than your thumb. You grab a stack of swaddling blankets, soft and neatly folded, and shove them into your pack. Joel rips open the packaging around a diaper bag, still wrapped in plastic, and starts to stuff it full of baby formula—four unopened cans—and hands them to you without a word. His expression is tight, his jaw clenched, but his eyes are softer than you’ve seen in a while.
You open another box and find a collection of small, colorful toys—a rattle shaped like a giraffe, a teething ring, a plush bear. You hesitate for a moment, feeling the weight of sentimentality creeping in, but then you grab the rattle and the bear and shove them into the bag. Ellie deserves something to hold onto, something that isn’t just survival.
Joel moves to the dresser and pulls open one of the drawers. Inside is a stash of baby clothes, neatly folded and only faintly smelling of mold. He pulls out a tiny onesie covered in little blue stars and holds it up for a second, his expression unreadable.
“Can you imagine Ellie in this?” you ask softly, trying to lighten the mood.
Joel huffs out a laugh, short and quiet. “She’d probably look ridiculous,” he says, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Ridiculously adorable,” you counter, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.
“Yeah,” Joel murmurs, his voice softer now. He folds the onesie and adds it to the growing pile of supplies.
You spot a pacifier sitting on top of the dresser and grab it, holding it up for Joel to see. “Think this’ll help when she starts screaming her head off?”
Joel snorts, a low sound that almost sounds like amusement. “Worth a shot,” he says with a shrug, “Sarah never took to ‘em, but maybe we’ll get lucky with Ellie.”
You both move through the room quickly but efficiently, taking as much as your packs will hold. The silence between you is companionable, broken only by the rustle of boxes and the occasional soft comment. But there’s an unspoken heaviness in the air, a quiet acknowledgment of the lives that were meant to fill this space.
As you’re zipping up your pack, Joel glances toward the crib one last time. His hand brushes the edge of it, fingers lingering on the worn wood. He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes is enough to make your chest tighten.
“Joel,” you say softly, your voice cutting through the quiet.
He looks at you, his brow furrowed, and for a moment, you think he might say something. But then he shakes his head and straightens up, his face hardening into that familiar mask of determination. “Let’s get back to the others,” he says.
You nod, slinging your pack over your shoulder and following him out of the room. But as you leave, you can’t help but glance back at the nursery, at the life that never got the chance to start.
Back outside, Tommy and Sarah are waiting, both of them perking up when they see the bulging packs you and Joel are carrying.
“Find anything good?” Tommy asks, his voice hopeful.
“Hit the jackpot,” Joel replies gruffly, handing one of the cans of formula to Sarah.
Her face lights up, and she grins. “Finally! See this baby sis? Real food for you!” She whispers excitedly, taking care not to wake Ellie.
You’re walking away from the house when suddenly a thought occurs to you, you turn back, looking at the garage, the idea taking root in your mind.
“What is it?” Joel rumbles next to you, following your line of sight.
“Getting ready for a baby, they’d need…a car?.” You raise an eyebrow at him, “I think this area’s been evacuated, no cars abandoned on the roads. So…”
“You think …” Joel trails off, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “Mhm…”
“So far all the cars you’ve checked were parked outside, right? Exposed to the elements? Freeze thaw cycles? But if it’s been in a garage….”
“Worth a shot.” He nods, and whistles to get Tommy’s attention. He nods towards the garage doors, “Tommy, come with me and check this.”
You hold your breath when they manage to get the garage door open. THere is indeed a gleaming suv sitting in there, completely with a child’s car seat. Next to you, you hear Sarah give a tiny shout, “yay”.
Yay indeed, you’re grinning as you watch Joel and Tommy check over the car, looking for ways to open the door, opening the hood to peek inside.
Your grin fades as you watch Tommy pointing and starting to shake his head. He steps back from the SUV, scratching the back of his head as he glances toward Joel, who’s crouched near the engine with a scowl deep enough to carve into stone. You feel your stomach sink, that flicker of hope extinguished before it even had the chance to catch fire.
“Bad news?” you ask, your voice tighter than you intended.
Joel stands, wiping his hands on his jeans and muttering a curse under his breath. “Battery’s shot,” he says flatly. “Looks like it’s been sittin’ too long. Won’t hold a charge.”
Beside you, Sarah’s small cheer fizzles out into a disappointed groan. “Ugh, seriously? I thought this was it. ”
“Yeah, me too,” you admit, though your tone is laced with frustration more than defeat. Your eyes linger on the car seat strapped into the back of the SUV, its brightly colored fabric mocking you with its uselessness. For one wild second, you’d let yourself imagine Ellie sitting in it, her tiny face peeking out over the top. But of course, it was too good to be true.
Tommy claps Joel on the shoulder as they step back from the SUV. “We’ll try another one.”
Joel gives a curt nod, his face unreadable as he moves to close the hood. You sigh, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders again, but you push it aside.
“Alright,” Joel says, his voice steady as he gestures to the next house down the street. “We’ll check the next one.”
The next garage is a disappointment, but at least it’s an interesting one. When Joel and Tommy wrestle the door open, you’re met with the sight of a car that looks like it came straight out of a junkyard. Rust coats almost every inch of it, the roof sagging inward as if something heavy had been dropped on it. A mouse darts out from under the hood as Joel lifts it, squeaking indignantly as it scurries into the bushes.
“Well, unless you want to strap Ellie to a pile of tetanus, I think this one’s a no-go,” Tommy says dryly, shaking his head.
But Joel’s looking at something in the back of the garage, his head tilted. He walks over, Tommy trailing after him, and grunts.
You’ve known Joel long enough to know it’s a happy grunt.
He comes back with a canister, one of the ones you remember from summer BBQs in the backyard. He shakes it a bit, looking pleased. “Still half full.” He says, “Could solve a lotta problems.”
The next garage is worse. It takes you all a good five minutes to get the door open, the rusted hinges shrieking loud enough to set your teeth on edge. When the door finally lurches upward, it reveals… nothing. The garage is empty save for a moldy tarp draped over what might have once been a lawnmower and a stack of rotting cardboard boxes in the corner.
“Thrillin’,” Tommy mutters, kicking a rock into the corner as Joel glares at the empty space like it’s personally offended him.
You lean against the doorframe, pinching the bridge of your nose. “This is starting to feel like a waste of time.”
“No,” Joel says, his voice sharp enough to cut through your frustration. He meets your gaze, his eyes hard but determined. “No, it’s a good idea. Just gotta keep looking.”
The third garage almost breaks you. It’s locked tight, and by the time Tommy manages to force it open with a crowbar, your hopes are already low. Inside, you find a car that looks intact—a sleek sedan, still gleaming faintly under the dust—but Joel doesn’t even need to pop the hood to call it a loss.
“No keys,” he says simply with a shrug, “Can’t hotwire these newer models. Need the damn key fob.”
You slump against the frame of the garage, biting back a frustrated groan. You’re tired. Ellie’s been fussing off and on in Sarah’s arms, and the weight of every failed attempt feels heavier with each step. You start regretting bringing up the idea at all with Joel.
Then comes the fourth garage.
It’s a simple, unassuming little house with chipped paint and a sagging front porch. You’re not expecting much when Joel and Tommy pry open the garage door—but this time, luck is finally on your side.
Inside sits an older model SUV, dusty but intact, its tires still fully inflated and its paint gleaming faintly despite the layer of dust. Joel whistles low, stepping forward as if drawn by some magnetic force.
Joel and Tommy immediately go to work, popping the hood and inspecting the engine while you hang back with Sarah and Ellie. You watch as Joel tests the battery, his movements quick and efficient, and then he glances back at you with a look that makes your breath catch.
“It’s good,” he says, his voice calm but threaded with relief. “This one’ll run.”
“Thank god,” you breathe, unable to stop the smile that spreads across your face.
As Joel and Tommy work on clearing out the car, Sarah pipes up, her brow furrowing. “Do you want me to go grab that car seat we saw for Ellie? You know, for safety?”
The question catches you off guard, and for a second, you almost agree. But then you think about it—about how fast you might need to get out of the car if something goes wrong, about how dangerous it’d be to have her strapped in when seconds could mean the difference between life and death.
“No,” you say finally, shaking your head. “It’s too risky. If we need to run, we can’t waste time unbuckling her.”
Sarah frowns, but she nods slowly, seeming to understand. Tommy leans back against the SUV, crossing his arms as he looks at Ellie, who’s snoozing contentedly in Sarah’s arms.
“Gotta say,” he says with a smirk, “this kid’s got some kind of luck. Near everything’s been goin’ our way since she showed up.”
“Ridiculously adorable luck,” Sarah coos, grinning at Tommy.
Joel snorts, shaking his head as he slams the hood of the SUV shut. “Let’s just hope it holds.”
You catch his eye, and there’s a flicker of something soft in his gaze—something hopeful, even if he won’t admit it. For the first time all day, you feel a spark of optimism take root in your chest. Maybe, just maybe, you’ve got a shot at making this work.
“Alright,” Joel says, clapping his hands together. “Load up. Let’s get the hell outta here.”