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Ellie never wants to see another human being again.
After Kansas, it’s been nothing but a hard trek. The absence of friendly banter and random noticings spur them on in determined silence. Henry’s frantic eyes still haunt her sleep. His sorrow and shock all caught up. He hadn’t even given himself ten seconds to process. Hadn’t given Joel’s soft, shaken words a moment to sink in.
Aim. Fire.
The spray of blood. The shrill screams of penned up Infected. Joel’s final words:
Oh God.
He hasn’t spoken very much after that.
The past hundred miles have been something close to kind at least, even as the dust roads muddied with the snow and the chill bit into their stolen layers. No sign of raiders or strays. She’s beginning to believe there was no such thing as a slaver. One would require people to enslave.
Do the Fireflies even exist at all? Is this fabled Tommy still alive?
There’s no one here in the wilderness but them. And perhaps because there’s been no one around for miles to observe but him, she notices the breakage much faster.
They are, indeed, small to begin–a slight blip in his solid pattern. A series of hairline fractures that eventually build into one blatant crack.
A beat too long staring into the fire.
A misstep turned stumble.
An additional call on his left (good) side when all it takes is one.
Hungry, cold and tired is their default so outright asking him how he’s feeling is a crapshoot. Not that he’d be truthful anyway but the tightening clench in her gut every time he falters is getting harder and harder to tuck away under the grim determination of their goal.
Winter is coming on fast, wherever they are. Turning everything surrounding them white, silver and hard. Although the outdoors could never truly be silent with all the skittish movement from the branches above, she is grateful for any respite from the hollowed out cities of warped metal and broken cement. To supplement their swindling supply of canned vegetables, Joel shoots a few squirrels. Then (to her delight) he shows her how to clean the carcasses before soaking the meat. What to discard and what to keep. How to salt and store it.
Stewed squirrel isn’t half bad mixed with a packet of neon orange dust from the tattered blue box. She’d eaten her fill, offering him a side glance when he’d abandoned his plate to survey the surrounding trees another time.
“Gonna eat that?” She eyes his portion.
“Later.” His response might be muffled but he still has a way of ending a conversation before it starts. She drags out their bedrolls and begins the process of settling down.
“G’night!” If he’s going to be curt with her, she’ll be curt with him. She rolls onto her belly, yanking the coverlet up over her shoulders.
Joel isn’t so quick to bend but that’s typical. He manages himself into a crouch to do a ground check—searching for prints, debris, anything not meant to be there. Satisfied, he begins walking the parameter through the bramble, weapon ready. She observes him as he pauses near a thick tree to dig deep in the pocket of his jeans, withdrawing what looks to be a wadded up plastic bag. He shakes something out of it, pops it in his mouth and swallows with a grimace.
Ellie rolls over, feigning sleep as she listens to his heavy footsteps plod their way back to his roll. She expects to hear the familiar rustle of fabric, his typical chorus of creaks and groans as he settles in. Instead he’s propped up against a log, rifle splayed across his lap. Coat pulled up tight as he can get it around his hunched shoulders. He’s shivering so hard she can hear it. Her ears hone in on the shallow rasp of his breath. The click of his teeth as they rattle is amplified by the night's stillness.
One more thing to worry about as the fire dies into smoking ash.
She closes her eyes and lets sleep drag her under.
______________________________________________
Joel is late to rise come morning, wrenching himself upright on bones that seem to protest more than usual.
“How many more days are we out?” She ponders out loud.
Joel rubs his temple. “Hard to say.”
Against her better sense, she pushes. “Are we even close?”
He runs his hand through his greasy hair, chest swelling with his uneasy breath. “If the map is right, we might cross the River by tomorrow noon.” He squints into the pale horizon, adjusting the rifle on his shoulder.
“If we don’t stop.” By way of answer, he simply nods so she hefts her pack on her shoulders. “Shall we?”
The quality of his silence has changed—the pensive simmer replaced by something heavier. She tries to engage him, to keep him alert than anything else. Conversation is her fuel, keeps her mind off the potential threat of attack.
“How many miles?”
“Twenty,” he grunts, kicking over a decaying log to clear their path.
“Think we’ll run into any more Infected?” Cody had been a perilous calamity that had left her as exhilarated as it had him ragged. But now they’re back to No Man’s Land. Surrounded only by the cluster of bare trees coated in snow.
“Probably not,” is his blunt reply.
“Tommy gonna be happy to see you?”
Her eyes may be playing tricks, but Joel flinches slightly at the sound of his brother’s name. When he doesn’t answer, she switches her trajectory.
“How long’s it been?”
“Long enough.”
“Never had a brother. I wonder if he’d be like me or—“
He turns on her to snap, whirling to stare her in the face. “You done with the questions?”
All she can do is freeze. There’s something off about him beyond irritation. He looks sweaty, panicked even. She watches the white pant of his breath curl into the frozen air.
“The fuck’s wrong with you?” She mutters, heart thumping. To her relief, he drops it, turning away to continue down the path towards the bank of the river.
“We’re a day behind. Talk less, move more.”
And just like that, they're through.
Maybe he’s worked up about seeing family again. Guy like him? There’s loads to wonder about. She can only imagine what kind of person keeps bloodlines with a man like Joel.
Or maybe they’re polar opposites and that’s why he’s so jumpy?
At her request, they pause. Not a full stop, just a fresher. The air is different the higher up they go; so crisp and clear she wants to bathe in it. She watches as he leans heavily on an outcropping of rock, trying without much success to catch his breath. She can see the way his forehead gleams as he tips his head back to take a pull from their water.
“Drink more,” she speaks up from her criss-crossed applesauce spot on the ground. He swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Better save it.”
“But you need it.”
“Come again?”
Ellie has never been known to hold back.
“You don’t sleep, barely eat, your lungs sound like they need a mechanic and when things get extra shitty, you hit that bottle of booze like it’s going to magically help. Want me to tell you how you look?”
He takes a step forward, his gaze hard.
“What are you getting at?”
She shrugs. “I sure hope your brother’s got a stash of meds he’s willing to part with.”
He plants a fist on his hip and scoffs: “I ain’t sick.”
She gives him a beat or two of silence to see if he’ll eventually realize how stupid he just sounded. When all he does is trudge forward on his barely dependable legs, she explodes:
“The fuck am I s’posed to do if you keel over? Just sit here and ignore the squirrels?!”
“Don’t be stupid.”
That’s an insult she won’t abide from anyone.
“You can barely walk a straight line but I’m the stupid one.”
Fortunately for them both, he ends it. His mouth is nothing but a pale grin line as he seizes his pack and starts heading south. She’d been expecting a fallout, a good old-fashioned shouting match, just to test his lung power, to see if he still has enough steam to rail on her.
Apparently not, she surmises with a shudder.
“Get moving.”
“Sure you don’t need me to carry that for ya?” She yells after his retreating shoulders, feeling a mite of savage triumph when he stumbles again.
______________________________________________________
The silence is not comfortable the rest of the way through the clearing and out into the ledge overlooking the river. The constant rush of falling water soothes the wrinkles between them. If Joel isn’t going to give credence to her worry, it sits fine with her. She’s sick of him too.
It’s she who first sights the outline of a gated border wall just as the time the sun starts dipping low on the horizon. The winds pick up and the chill dries the sweat off her back. The uphill climbs are a battle and she finds herself adjusting her own pace for him. His headache must be worse, from his shortened temper and pinched brows. The multiple pauses he takes.
“Gimme a minute.” Palm braced against a trunk for support, his other hand presses against his chest. And all she can do is wait for whatever this is to pass. He’s slowing down the closer they get. Joel’s large strides are a thing of the past. She’s beginning to out-pace him, much to his chagrin.
“Stay behind me!” He grunts when she surges on ahead, hoping to see something–anything out there.
This will not end well.
They approach the wall to Jackson’s settlement by dusk. The white sound of thundering water reaches them before they see the bridge and the dam below it. Glittering with updated barbed wire, a barrier of wooden logs towered over the river built too tall to be scaled by anything. A steel gate wide enough for a large vehicle is the only visible entry and, she guesses, would probably mean a checkpoint.
People again.
She hasn’t missed them overmuch and the thought of an encounter makes the pale jagged marks on her forearm suddenly itch. Maybe Tommy won’t end up being like people, more like folk. Being Joel’s only kin doesn’t instill any promises in her mind.
They’re just close enough when Joel stops. He swipes a hand across his damp forehead, as though figuring out what to do. Ellie decides not to comment on how beat he looks.
“So…” Ellie ponders out loud, eyeing the heavily chained gate.. “….we just gonna knock or—?”
“We’re gon’ lose light soon. Let’s set up for the night…see who’s home tomorrow.” Joel’s voice is limp.
“Sure that’s a good idea?” She takes a step closer to him. “Maybe they have a doctor?”
“Don’t need no--”
A sudden blast dislodges a mound of snowy sod close to Joel’s feet.
The crack of another gunshot rips through the air, spurring Joel to action.
“Get behind me!”
His body is in front of her, shielding her long enough to violently shove her behind the nearest cover–a standing boulder. Instead of lifting his own weapon, he raises both hands in the air.
“Tommy!” He hollers through a cough. “Quit firing, it’s me!”
His plea is answered by another round of fire. A bullet glances off the boulder behind him. Joel ducks, skidding behind the rock to join her where she’s crouched.
“Why the fuck is he shooting at us?” Ellie pants.
“No worries,” Joel says with far too much ease, unholstering his handgun as he slides in beside her. “ He’s got worse aim than a Stormtrooper.”
“A what?!”
“Stay down.” He jumps to his feet to return fire.
“Tommy! Goddammit!” He bellows though this time with less wind. Ellie realizes with horror that he’s wheezing.
Shit. Shit.
A third round whizzes by to explode the rocky outcrop over her head. E llie hunkers down, scrambling with one hand for the firearm tucked away in her pack. Joel risks another stand, darting out from behind the boulder to stay visible to their attacker.
How is he so sure it's Tommy trying to pick them off?
“Tommy!” He yells again though this time the wind’s been knocked out of him. She glances over the side of the rock just in time to see him topple backward on shaking legs. Before she can jump out to catch him, his knees buckle and he crumbles to the frozen ground.
“Joel!”
Her first thought is that he’s been shot. She doesn’t notice past the roar of blood in her ears that the gunfire has ceased. Frantically, her fingers run over his chest, searching for a wound.
There’s no blood. What the fuck is going on?
“C’mon, c’mon…” she orders, shaking him. “Get up, Joel!”
But Joel is out cold. His head lolls lifelessly to the side.v The sound of approaching hoofbeats makes her freeze.
A dark haired man in a baseball cap and a denim shirt barrels in their direction, rifle strapped to his shoulder. Ellie has her gun out faster than he can skid to a halt.
“Back off, asshole!”
Shrieking, the horse rears up, eyes wild.
“Easy, easy!” The long-haired man throws one hand up, the other stead on the reigns. “I’m Tommy. I’m his brother!”
“Why the fuck did you shoot at us?” Her fingers tighten on the trigger. “You knew who he was!”
“Yeah lil gal, I did.” The man speaks with Joel’s identical twang. “And if you knew him like I did, you’d shoot too.”
“Back up or you both get one.” She warns.
“Permission to dismount?”
He leans forward in hiss saddle, seemingly to get a better look at Joel’s still form. She cocks the gun at him with a loud click.
“Don’t. Touch. Him.”
To her silent relief, the man relents.
“So what now?” He gestures over his shoulder. “I got fifty men behind that wall waiting on my order if you so much as nudge that trigger.”
Her aim remains locked and steady on him. She says nothing.
“I ain’t gonna hurt him,” he speaks calmly as though coaxing a kitten off a ledge. “He’s my brother.”
“Couldn’t tell.” It’s a struggle to stay focused on either, torn between keeping the stranger in check and examining Joel’s face for any sign of life.
“Just building bridges.”
“Well, you suck at it.”
He ignores the barb, centering briefly on her hands.
“He showed you that grip, didn’t he?” A cautious smile.
“Yeah.”
“Same way I hold my mine,” his eyes crinkle in a way that is weirdly familiar. “Who might you be?”
“None of your goddam business.”
The man meets her gaze, addressing her as though he would a man his equal.
“Ok, fair. But him? Was my business first and now, if you’ll permit, he’s our’s. I gotta get close to him so’s I can help. Unless you’d rather keep playin’ Texas Hold Up, neither of us is doing him any good like this.”
Reluctantly, Ellie steps back, but doesn’t lower her weapon.
“Fine.”
He dismounts, clicking the unsettled horse away with gentle sounds from his throat. His approach is slow, lowering his hands to crouch beside Joel. Ellie keeps her gun trained on him while he bends low, checking Joel’s airway. Joel’s face is utterly ashen, chest hitching unevenly.
Joel’s kin alright, younger from what he’d already mentioned. His eyes are dark but not tired; his brow is smoother. On the leaner side but still stocky like his brother. She fights the dizziness threatening her vision, keeping her firearm trained on him as he examines his brother.
“Your own flesh and blood…” Ellie shakes her head. “Why bother checking him if you were about to put holes in him?”
Tommy looks chagrined, answering with the same easy accent she’s heard from Joel. “To be fair, it weren’t me that took the shot. Was my wife.”
Ellie blinks. “Your wife?”
“She’s pregnant. Extra jumpy.” He presses two fingers against Joel’s throat, black eyebrows furrowing at what he feels. “Is he on anything?”
She frowns, uncertain. “What do you mean?”
“We were smugglers. Sometimes took a cut for ourselves.”
“I knew that .”
Tommy pats down the front of his brother’s shirt, fingers dipping into his right jeans pocket to pull out the tiny baggie of round white pills. His eyes narrow hatefully: “Aw shit, Joel.”
“The fuck are those?”
Instead of answering, he pockets the pills and rises, yanking a walkie- talkie from his belt loop. “Maria! Send Baker to my location. Tell him to come prepped. Man down.”
“Is it him?” The crackled response belongs to a woman.
“Yeah.” He swings his attention back to her, his voice going dead somber. “Truth now. He bit?”
Ellie finds it harder to speak past the growing lump in her throat. Her words when they come eject faster than she means them to. “He’s clean. We’re both clean!”
A Fedra grade scanner appears in his hand and Ellie feels her throat tighten. Tommy nudges Joel’s limp head to the side and holds it there. Ellie watches his worn face go slack in the revealing glow.
“He’s green.” His eyes close in momentary relief before aiming the scanner at her. “Now you.”
Her heart stops, sweaty grip tightening on the gun.
“I’m clean, too.” She keeps her voice steady as possible while she stares him down. “Think he’d be roaming open country all this way toting some Infected girl?”
“He’s been known to pick up strays.”
She aims her gun to show him she’s serious, voice lowering to a shaky whisper. “Just take my word, mister.” It’s the closest to a prayer she’s ever said.
His face hardens, eyes boring through her. “I can’t let just anyone in to our hold and he ain’t with it enough to vouch for you. What you got to hide?”
Ellie’s heart is about to explode.
“If you’re so fucking bent on clearing me, just shoot me now and get it over with.”
His face tells her he doesn’t like that explanation. But the business end of her handgun gives him less savory options. To her intense relief, he backs off, turning back to the limp form of his brother.
“Guess he’s in a worse state than you are.” He passes a hand through Joel’s hair, holds the back of his fingers against his brow.
“Well, you spooked him half to death!”
He chuckles at that, shaking his head in disbelief. “Nah, Joel don’t spook.”
“First time for everything.”
“I bet you got some story, gal.”
“Likewise. Why else would you try to kill your own brother?”
Something like sadness overtakes the man’s features and she can see that once upon a time, he’d known Joel as a different man.
“I never counted on seeing him again.”
“He's just full of surprises, I guess."
“How long he been sick?” She shrugs because she has no idea.
“Your guess is good as mine.” It's unnerving to watch how easily this man touches Joel. As if Joel has ever required gentle handling. "One minute he was protecting me, the next--"
“How’d you get here?” Tommy continues to stare at his brother, a troubled look pinching the lines around his mouth and eyes. Ellie keeps her face impassive.
“We crossed the river yesterday. Stuck to the woods to avoid Clickers. Ran into some nice people who told us to turn the fuck back.”
“On foot?” He whistles, another headshake down at his brother’s prone body. “Crazy sonofabitch.”
“That we can agree on.”
Tommy’s brows knit in concern. “He feels like he’s burning up. Gonna need to start him on antibiotics.”
“Yeah, not eating, sleeping or human-ing for days on end will do that.”
“Sounds bout right for him.”
A sharp whistle brings Tommy to his feet. He lifts an arm to signal the man in a navy blue jumpsuit.
Ellie scoffs. “This your squad?”
The rail-thin man in the uniform ignores her as does Tommy. Neither of them seem too concerned that she hasn’t once lowered her gun.
Whoever he is, he’s going to help Joel. That’s all that counts.
“All yours Baker,” Tommy shuffles aside, letting the second man drop down to his knees beside Joel. Baker is direct, unzipping his duffle and getting right to work. With gloved fingers her opens Joel's mouth, flashing his pen light inside to take a quick look. Ellie can’t be sure what he’s doing next as he unwinds a piece of black rubber tubing with a metal disc at its end. Two buds go in his ears, the metal disc applied firmly to Joel’s chest. He moves it around after a pause, as though he's searching for something.
“What’s he—?” Ellie begins to ask but Baker hisses sharply.
“Don't talk!”
He moves the disc several places on Joel’s chest, finally resting it directly over where his heart would be. Then the man stares at his watch for what seems like a goddam eternity.
“Lungs are clear.” He reports. “Tachy at 110. Likely shock. Do me a favor and help him lose the jacket?”
He straightens up and fishes another weird looking instrument out of his bag while Tommy lifts his brother’s senseless body up to peel his coat off. A Velcro cuff wraps around his bicep and Baker listens with the disc again, this time at the crook of his elbow.
“Prognosis Doc?” Tommy urges, scanning the horizon anxiously.
“Mucus membranes are drier than dirt, his skin turgor is shit, and his BP is impressively low. Dehydration most probable.” He sighs. “Unless she knows something we don’t?” His eyes flick upward to Ellie.
“He’s not Infected," she insists.
"Well figured that," the thin man says cheerfully. "If he were, we wouldn't be standing around here wasting the afternoon."
"I'll radio a crew." Tommy supplies. "How urgent?"
“Nothing fluids, rest and a meal or two won’t fix.” Baker starts putting his assessment tools away. “I’ll start a drip once we get ‘im to infirmary. Should perk up quickly after that.”
“He’s my brother.” Tommy says abruptly. Baker pauses, re-examines his patient.
“Well shit!” He exclaims, blue-eyes shifting to her inquisitively. “So is this your niece?”
“No!” They bark unanimously. Baker holds his hands up like he gets the message.
“Ok then.” He fumbles nervously with his equipment for a moment before digging through his bag again, dragging out a painted metal canister and some clear soft tubing. “His vitals are holding for now. I’m gonna give him some extra O2 while we wait for Gaius and his squad to bring out the stretcher.”
Ellie’s head spins. They have oxygen. How equipped is this place? From Joel’s sparse description of life in the QZ, medical supplies were hard to come by for average people and Tommy and this Baker dude both look painfully average.
She watches as Tommy fits a clear plastic mask over his brother’s nose and mouth, holding it in place while she watches distant shapes emerge from the open gate, moving with urgency. Tommy doesn’t take his eyes off his brother. Oddly tender for a man who’d just tried to put a hole in him. His dark eyes search Joel’s face, as though he can’t truly believe what he is seeing.
Two more uniformed men arrive with a gurney. Baker jumps to his feet to help them prep Joel for transport.
Sure enough, Joel pitches a fit the moment they start strapping him to the gurney. He’s weak; uncoordinated so his struggle is quickly contained, too shaky to aim a punch though he narrowly misses Baker’s cheekbone. An injection administered directly into his shoulder makes him go still.
“The fuck did you give him?!” Ellie snaps, alarmed by Joel’s rubbery state. Joel’s brother cocks an irritated eyebrow at the cuss as though just noticing. But it’s Baker who responds:
“Just something to keep him calm. His heart rate is pretty high, won’t earn him any points in his condition to get worked up before we can treat him.” Baker holds two fingers against Joel’s throat.
"Precaution," Tommy explains as they tether his limp arms and legs to the steel frame of the gurney. Tommy insists on leading the team out toward the encampment while the other man takes the horse by the reins.
It's Baker who reaches out to her. “You can put the gun away now. You’re safe.”
Ellie does not obey. She's heard that before.
___________________________________________
Many eyes follow them as they make their way down the dirt path. She's only seen places like these in old movies, Western towns full of settlers on horseback. Some of the people stare, leery, weapons half-ready, and others stand by inquisitively. They must be some spectacle. Judging by the way multiple men have approached, Tommy must pull some weight in this commune. That doesn't surprise her at all.
He's like their sheriff or something. The community in and of itself isn’t too bad off for a quarantine zone. There are no tanks, no soldiers, no signs of Fedra’s stink. Just rows of sturdy man made wooden houses neatly built in rows. Penned up livestock. Even a string of soft bulbs strung up to brighten what would otherwise be a fairly unfinished town.
They pass a corral of horses and she almost skids to a halt.
Woah. She hasn’t seen any since breaking out of boot camp. These horses look well-fed, shiny coats and soft, curious whickers. She hopes Tommy will let her live long enough to ride one.
She follows the two men pushing Joel into the clinic door where immediately, they settle Joel's gurney into a corner.
Another eyebrow lift. They have a clinic.
“What is that?” Ellie points to the object she’d seen Baker use on him earlier, now draped haphazardly around his shoulder.
“Stethoscope.” He replies with a small frown. “Ain’t you never seen one before?”
She shakes her head. "They didn't explain much where I came from."
He takes it in his hands, unwinding it. “This here goes in your ears so’s you can listen. This here’s the diaphragm. I use it to hear heart and lung sounds.”
He hands it to her. “Put it on, we’ll try it out on him.”
Tommy sighs, impatient. “Baker—“
“Aw, it ain’t gonna hurt him.” Baker grins. Whatever’s wrong with Joel surely isn’t worrying him overmuch. “He’s out like last Tuesday.” He turns to Ellie and offers her the weird thing. “Here. Go ahead and stick ‘em in both ears like so. Now whatever you do, don’t—“
He’s too late, Ellie already scratches at the diaphragm’s smooth surface, causing a violent eruption of friction to explode into her skull.
"Fuck that's loud!"
"Has to be to pick up what we need to. Here," Baker guides her hand holding the bell and places it over Joel’s chest. Ellie hesitates at first; jarred by the sudden closeness. But the sensation is fleeting, overwhelmed by another sensory focus. Again, the uncomfortable crackle of friction as the disc touches the fabric of Joel's T-shirt. She's shaking, adrenaline high, afraid Joel will wake up at any moment.
"Keep still." Baker's voice reaches her through the shapeless din in her ears.
Ellie closes her eyes, tries to focus.
“Hear anything?”
“Nothing.” Her face screws up. “It’s kinda static-y?”
“Move it up higher. Here.” He tugs the hem of Joel’s shirt up under his chin, snaking her hand beneath the fabric to get at his bare skin. He adjusts her hand’s position slightly to the left before lifting his own hand away.
“Should hear something now.”
She waits.
The sensation she feels is like being plunged underwater—a series of muffled interruptions assaulting her senses at once. All at once, she isn't in some cramped, tiny medical room. Physical surroundings melt away. There is only the sound.
First she hears the deep woosh of his lungs as they deflate, rise and fall of his chest barely perceptible beneath her hand.
The wet gurgle of his empty belly clicking.
Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.
It's the loudest sound of all. Each beat a punctuation, distinct and even. A peaceful sound.
She barely notices that she's stopped breathing.
"Ellie?" Baker's voice surfaces.
“Holy shit.” She whispers.
Her brain grapples for words to describe what she’s hearing—both alien and familiar at once. Of course she knows this sound— as essential as the one she keeps herself.
But his!
It's mesmerizing.
Tommy watches with arms folded, eyes rolled skyward. She barely hears Baker’s light question over the rhythm in Joel’s chest.
“Can you hear his heart beating?”
She nods, too enthralled to speak.
“Fast or slow?”
Good question. She’s not too sure what to compare it to.
“Slow—?“ she says haltingly, then hastily corrects herself. “—sorta…no wait, it’s slow-fast.” She shuts herself up to listen closer as Joel pulls in another breath.
“That’ll be the drugs. He won’t be too happy when they wear off.”
As though to prove this point, Joel begins to stir faintly, shifting against the restraints.
“Woah! It just changed!”
“He’ll be coming round then.” Baker places two fingers against his carotid, studying his watch. “I’m clocking him at about 65 right now, is that what you got?”
She begins counting in her head. But the pace is too unsteady, it starts to shift as she listens closer: Joel’s accelerated breathing forces the once-steady beat to pick up to a trot.
Tommy speaks from her peripheral vision. “Hey? I think he’s…”
Ellie gasps when Joel’s torso jerks with sudden violence, spine arching up and off the padded gurney. She rips the stethoscope from her ears, backing away. Joel looks like he's in distress, blinking against the weak lighting.
“Wha—?” Joel slurs, tugging at the restraints on his wrists. “W-where—?”
“Welcome to Jackson.” Tommy backs up so Baker can shine his own light into Joel’s pupils.
“Follow the light for me…” the medic murmurs. Joel ignores him, blinking rapidly in confusion. He slumps back, shaking his head weakly from side to side.
“You arrived in pretty rough shape, friend. Another day out there in the wilderness and we might have had to radio out.”
“Ellie—?” He turns his head, searching.
“S'up, Joel?” She gives a little wave, holding the stethoscope still around her neck. “You’ve got quite the healthy ticker there.”
He frowns uncomprehendingly, resting back against the gurney. Baker takes over.
“Joel? My name is Baker and I’m the medic here at Jackson.” He pulls the stethoscope from Ellie’s hands. “I’m just gonna give you a once over ok? Then we'll take those restraints off. How do you feel?”
“Head hurts,” he groans.
"Can you tell me where you are?" Baker eyes him carefully.
"A gurney." He yanks his trapped wrist taut against the tie with a forced grunt, sweat breaking out on his forehead. Baker is unruffled.
Joel shoots Baker a withering glance. “Get these off.”
Baker looks at Tommy for approval who nods.
Ellie smirks. "I vote you leave ‘em on until he wipes that look off his face!”
That earns a snort from Tommy, slapping his thigh. “Shit, I kinda like this kid!”
"Ellie," Joel growls a warning, all humor having evaporated.
Baker loosens the restraints.
Joel rubs his wrists, grunting as he begins to right himself. Baker moves in swiftly, planting a hand on his chest.
"Stay down. You need fluids. You're extremely dehydrated."
"Be sure to wet my whistle then," Joel scowls, swinging his legs over the gurney anyway. He sways, eyes going glassy for a moment.
Baker steadies him easily. "Alright tough guy."
She’s never heard anyone speak to Joel that way, fascinated by the way he bristles. Fists clenching in his lap.
Joel huffs, begrudgingly resigned. In the end it’s Tommy who talks some sense into him.
"Stay put long enough for Baker to start a line. You're drier than El Paso and your blood pressure took a dip."
"Wonder why?" Joel seethes. "Had to gimme the Texas welcome, huh?"
"Sorry."
Joel lowers himself back, still smoldering. There’s lots on his mind, Ellie knows. And right now Joel’s head is swimming too much to handle all that needs saying.
Humiliation is part of this too, she realizes. She would be in his place.
The medic douses his hands and the crook of Joel's arm with pungent moonshine. Her eyes tear from the fumes.
He ties a thick rubber band around Joel's upper arm.
"What's that for?" she blurts.
"Helps make the veins more visible." He produces a needle.
"Oh fuck," Ellie gasps. "That's huge!"
"He's got big veins," Baker angles it over a particularly large one and Ellie can't help but stare in utter fascination.
Joel clamps his eyes, drilling the knuckles of his freehand into his temple. "Just get this over with."
The medic wastes no time and pierces his skin in one fluid motion, taping it in place. Joel winces but not much else. Baker expertly hooks up the lines and hangs a yellowed bag of fluid.
"What's in that?" Ellie asks, hopeful that her relentless slew of questions annoys the Holy Spirit out of Joel.
"Normal saline, electrolytes, which is basically salt water ," the man replies. "Should have your Pa back on his feet in no time."
"He's not my dad!"
"She ain’t my daughter."
Tommy’s face tightens as if he knows something.
Baker throws his hands up in defeat. "O-K. Well, I'm gonna recheck your chaperone's blood pressure. Wanna learn something kid?”
"Hell yeah!” She scurries closer to the medic.
"I ain’t some Guinea pig," Joel seethes, not bothering to open his eyes.
"No, you're our patient, now hold still please," Ellie pats his hand with a smile as Baker returns with the same weird object she'd seen in the field.
"This is called a sphygmomanometer."
"Sphyg-mo-nemoter…" Ellie attempts the new word, failing miserably.
"Sphyg-mom-anom-meter. No one really calls it that anyway. It's the technical term for a blood pressure cuff," he explains.
"Can this be over now?" Joel grits out.
"See this line?" The medic points to the wrap part of the device.
She spots a very faded white marking, and nods. The tool has clearly seen better days.
"You line this up with what's called the brachial artery, here," he traces a finger just off-center of Joel's upper arm. "It's one of the main blood vessels that feeds the arm, and we can surmise blood pressure based on it."
"Cool, brachial artery. Joel I know where your brachial artery is, what do you think of that?"
"Lucky you," he closes his eyes.
"First, you snug up the cuff, you don't want it loose." He wraps it around Joel's bicep. "Here, line up the marking" he encourages.
"Ok," she smiles, basking in Joel's reluctant role but more so beaming from learning something new. She was always itching to learn.
"Looks good," Baker nods, securing it in place. "Now for the interesting part," he unwinds the stethoscope from around his neck. "We're gonna pump up the cuff to cut off circulation," he points to the bulb hanging from the arm wrap, "and then listen for blood flow through that artery as we watch the dial." He holds the clock-like end in his palm.
She’s in rapt attention, like a kid at a circus.
"Here, put this in your ears," he hands her the funny-looking tool again. She plugs it in her ears, eagerly awaiting the next step.
"Place the diaphragm,m under the lip of the cuff over that artery we were talking about," he guides her hand. There's really no discernable sound after the disc touches his inner elbow.
"Hold it there. Now squeeze the bulb fast. II made sure the pressure release on the side is sealed."
Ellie pumps it up in her hand and the cuff promptly inflates
"Watch the dial, pump it up until it's just past the 180 mark."
She glances at him while she keeps squeezing the bulb. Joel opens his eyes briefly, seemingly curious too, but shuts them pretty quickly. For all his pent up aggravation, he still looks dazed.
"Ok, good, stop," he instructs - she's reached her mark. You don't hear any thumping right?" The medic inquires.
"No, nothing." It's quiet, save for the long suffering sigh of Joel’s forced exhale.
"Now that little knob on the side of the bulb, you're going to slowly loosen it. And you're going to listen for a thumping while you watch the needle on the dial," he emphasizes, bouncing the circular part in his hand. "As soon as you start to hear thumping, take note of that number. That's the systolic pressure, or the pressure of the blood when the heart beats. Then, when you no longer hear any thumping, that's the diastolic pressure, or the pressure of blood when the heart is at rest."
"First number is when thumping starts, second is when thumping stops. Got it." She slowly loosens the valve.
She listens, watching the dial Baker holds up for her to see.
It's silent...until a sudden bassy rhythm reaches a crescendo in her ears.
"There! Uh," she reads the dial. "I think 86 or 84?"
"Good job," Baker smiles. "You're a natural."
The thumping soon diminishes to nothing.
"60? Maybe?" She estimates.
"86ish over 60ish, sounds reasonable based on his previous numbers.”
“Izzat good or bad?”
“Slightly improved. I'll double check just for quality control," he winks, hand outstretched for the stethoscope.
She takes the listening tool from her ears and hands it over.
The medic takes the reading so quickly and efficiently. It's impressive.
"84 over 58," he announces, unstrapping the cuff with a loud rip. "Not bad kid."
She swears that for a millisecond, a small smile cracks on Joel's permanently frowning face. Baker addresses Joel:
“You aren’t taking any medication currently, are you?”
“Tell him all about your pills, Joel.” Ellie pipes in helpfully. "Or I will." He throws her a dirty look but clears his throat.
“Uhh…droxy.” He uses its street name, seemingly relieved when Baker’s eyes light up in recognition.
“So Hydrochloride tablets. How many?”
Joel’s adam’s apple bobs. “Four most nights. Sometimes two.”
“For pain?”
He nods wordlessly.
“May I ask where you sourced them?”
Joel understand the reason behind this. “Atlanta QZ mostly. Fedra grade tablets were harder to come by.”
“Atlanta cuts their pills with fentanyl and I want to make sure I don’t have to get that outta your system before I give you anything else. When was your last dose?”
“Ran out a week ago,” Joel’s gaze averts to his lap. “Haven’t taken anything since.”
“So there’s a chance it’s outta your system. I can run some bloodwork to make sure. We just got our lab up and running a month ago.”
“Ok, you’re gonna stop those. They aren’t doing your heart any favors. Were you ever prescribed blood pressure medication in the past?”
“I was.” Joel recalls. “But can’t remember the name.”
Tommy speaks up. “Was called Lotren, I think?”
Joel starts. This was not the reunion he'd planned on.
“How you remember shit from back then?”
“I’m your brother ain’t I?” Tommy grins. “Sides, they nearly put me on it after shacking up with you for so long.”
“Asshole.” Joel mutters.
“I’ll radio the QZ over in Colorado. I think the original factory was located there. Meanwhile, I have some generic in our supply. I’d like to see if we can’t curb that pressure of your’s, get you feeling better faster.”
"Alright, just gonna take a listen to your heart and lungs."
Joel sighs a sigh to end all sighs but sits up so Baker can get at his back.
"Hey Joel," Ellie prods with a mischievous grin. He slowly side-eyes her as the medic listens to his chest.
"Are you playing 'heart' to get?"
She watches him huff, a slight upturn of his mouth. "Ellie?"
"Yeah."
"Beat it."