Chapter Text
He doesn’t know why he started using the radio. Tommy found it on patrol one day and wondered if Joel could get it working again. Joel said he’d give it a try, but he wouldn’t promise anything.
He tinkers with it every night, taking a piece out here and placing another there. It’s not like he has anything else to do. It’s been over a year since Ellie stopped talking to him, stopped looking at him, and started avoiding any possibility of being in the same room, leaving him with a lot of spare time.
So he tinkers with the radio.
He tinkers with the radio until one night, he gets it working.
—
“Is this frequency in use? This is K72OFF.” No response, he continues. “CQ CQ Calling CQ. This is K72OFF, Kilo-Seven-Two-Oscar-Foxtrot-Foxtrot. Go Ahead.” Static crackles across the line. Joel waits and listens. Nothing.
“CQ CQ Calling CQ. This is K72OFF, Kilo-Seven-Two-Oscar-Foxtrot-Foxtrot. Go Ahead.”
Static. He waits patiently, takes a sip of his coffee, and then tries again, more static.
He periodically changes the frequency and repeats the call over the line.
It’s been nearly an hour, he sips the drags of his coffee and tries one last time. “CQ CQ Calling CQ. This is K72OFF, Kilo-Seven-Two-Oscar-Foxtrot-Foxtrot. Go Ahead.”
He waits, the white noise of the static playing dully in his ears, until he hears a click and a woman's voice call back.
“K72OFF K72OFF, This is K789FU, Kilo-Seven-Eight-Nine-Foxtrot-Uniform. Roger.”
“I’ll be damned,” Joel whispers. Shaking his head in surprise, he sits straighter in his chair, pulls the mic closer, clears his throat, and presses the switch to talk, “Well, Howdy there, K789FU. Name’s Wayfarer, and you are 599. Over.”
“This is Rosette, and you are… shit, just stand by,” the voice responds, and there’s a shuffling of papers. “Got it! Okay, you are 599. Over”
Joel chuckles and clicks his mic back on. “New to usin’ a ham radio, I’m guessin’. Over.”
“You’d guess right. Over,” the woman responds, laughing a little.
“So, Rosette, what made you decide to give it a try? Over.”
“If you must know Wayfarer, I’ve found myself with far too much free time at the moment, and the radio was left by the previous owner of my lovely abode, so I figured I’d give it a try. Didn’t actually expect to get someone right away, though. Over.”
“I won’t keep ya. It’s late an’ I was just testin’ to see if I’d get this workin’ proper. Over.”
“Okay, yeah, sure. It is late. Do you, maybe, want to talk again tomorrow? A little earlier in the evening? Over,” she says hopefully. Joel smiles to himself.
Whoever this woman is, she sounds young. Not a child, but not much past it. The range on this antenna isn’t far, so he has to be talking to someone in Jackson, or if they aren’t in Jackson, they would have to be right outside the walls, which is unlikely. So he can’t see the harm in talking to her again.
As he mulls it over, he sees Ellie come from the side gate through his back window. He’d set up the radio at the little table in the kitchen since the room had one of the best lights in the house. Not because it was one of the few places where he might still be able to catch a glimpse of Ellie from time to time. It was most definitely not for that reason.
Watching her march across the lawn, her eyes steady on her little garage apartment, Joel thinks surely one day she’ll turn and see him sitting there, watching her like the desperate, lonely old man he is. But she never does. Not once in the last 542 days has she looked back. N ot once.
Sighing, he clicks on the mic. “I think I could see being on tomorrow night. How’s twenty-one hundred hours sound to you? Over.”
“Sounds great. Talk to you tomorrow, Wayfarer. Twenty-one hundred hours. Over.”
“Roger Rosette and clear.”
“Clear.”
Joel leans back in his chair, clicking the radio off. Tomorrow, he’ll let Tommy know he’s fixed the radio and clarify the rules about radio usage in Jackson. He figures that it should be fine as long as it’s inside the walls, but he’s not in the mood to step on anyone's toes.
The light in Ellie’s apartment clicks on, illuminating the interior enough that Joel can momentarily see her silhouette in the window. He wonders if she’s been eating enough or if she’s keeping up with her guitar playing. Sometimes, he thinks he can hear her playing when he has his window open late at night when he’s in bed, but when he tries to catch the tune, the music always seems to slip away.
He knows he made the right choice back at the hospital, and there’s no world in which he can imagine himself not saving her. But there are days when the consequences of that choice weigh heavier on him. Like today, when the loneliness creeps painfully under his skin.
His choice to save her was the right one, but his lies are the driving force behind her continued avoidance of him. His lie to her on the hill overlooking Jackson created a fissure in the already tenuous bond they had managed to build after leaving Jackson that first time. While she had accepted his promise to her that day, he’d always known she didn’t believe him, and his years of doubling down on his lies had only strengthened her mistrust.
He’d been so afraid holding Ellie in his arms in the basement of the hospital, hearing Marlene speak his greatest fear. Not that Ellie would die someday; Joel was no fool. He knew that death was inevitable for them all. No, he feared that Ellie wanted it; she wanted to die. She was willing to give her life for the cure.
But she was a girl shaped by trauma and loss, and what guardian in their right mind could let a child make a choice like that?
So, while Marlene was correct, Joel did know what Ellie would have wanted if she had been given the choice, he couldn’t let her make it. He could not let her sacrifice herself upon an altar of guilt, built because she survived while so many others had not. She would never choose herself over the world, so he chose for her.
Joel chose her .
Now, he spends his days in Jackson, sharing meals, talking, and laughing with his neighbors. He patrols, helps with construction projects, and spends time with Tommy, Maria, and Mateo. In all of those moments, he feels the absence of the girl who had once lived in his personal space like it was her own—the girl who had dogged all his steps and filled his days with terrible puns and bits of knowledge about space, dinosaurs, and anything else that came to her mind.
Standing up with a groan, he rinses out his mug and puts it in the sink to be washed tomorrow. It sits next to the single plate and fork from his dinner. He looks around at his large, echoing kitchen and then wanders into his equally empty dining room. The memory of Ellie, Dina, Cat, and Jesse sitting at the table huddled over books and papers, laughing about some stupid stunt Jesse pulled that day, plays in his mind, the echo of their voices lingers in his ears. He moves into the living room, where pictures and mementos of his and Ellie’s life together litter the room.
He rattles around his too-large house, turning off lights as he goes, locking the doors, and closing the curtains. Each room full of memories, like ghosts haunting him with what he once had.
As he reaches his bedroom, Joel opens the window to let in the cool night air and changes into comfortable night clothes. Crawling under his blankets, he contemplates whether to continue reading the book on space he borrowed from the library. Feeling worn out and melancholy, he decides it’s probably best if he just seeks out a hopefully dreamless sleep.
Drifting on the edge of sleep, Joel thinks he hears the soft vibrations of a guitar playing in the night air, the melody familiar enough that his brain tries to place it. But after a few moments of listening, the song fades away, and Joel is left with only the faint resonance of the music lingering in his ears.
—
“Know anyone else in Jackson that’s got a ham radio?” he asks as he works side by side with Tommy, shoveling the snow out of the schoolyard.
“There’s a few, all short wave, mind you. Nothing that can reach outta Jackson.” Tommy huffs, standing up with a groan, hand to his back, and shovel planted into the remaining snow bank. “Get that radio fixed, I’m guessin’.”
“Last night. The signal’s good, few more tweaks I wanna work out, but it’s not bad.”
“Did ya talk to someone?”
“Yeah, a woman called herself Rosette.”
“A woman, you say?”
“Ain’t like that, Tommy. She was young, can’t have been much outta her teens. It was a quick signal check. Hi an’ bye,”
Tommy wipes his face with the back of his sleeve and pulls off his gloves. Joel plants his shovel and follows suit. The exertion of shoveling warms them both up to the point that they are quickly shedding layers. Joel has already ditched his scarf and hat, shoving them into his pockets as they move from the front of the school to the back.
“So, what are the rules about radio usage in town?” Joel takes a swig from his thermos, the almost too hot coffee tingling on his tongue.
“As long as it’s here in Jackson, ain’t got any rules. Other than we keep a pretty regular check on frequencies at the main guard station, so any conversation you have could be interrupted.”
“Makes sense. The town got a list of call signs?”
“Yeah, but it’s for the patrollers. You lookin’ to find out who this Rosette is?” Tommy peeks at him out of the corner of his eye, and Joel rolls his eyes.
“I told ya it ain’t like that.” Joel wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and plunks the thermos down onto the still snow-covered picnic table. “Just didn't know if there was some protocol I had’ta follow. An’ I ain’t lookin’ to find out who she is. Long as I know it’s someone in Jackson, I’ll be fine. If an’ when she wants to share her real name, she can.”
“Alright, just let me know if anythin’ seems off. Like I said, shouldn’t be able to get outside the town walls, but if someone really wanted to, they might be able to communicate from just outside.”
“That’d be some dedication to findin’ out our secrets, waitin’ from some old man to decide to test out his radio and then just happen to be in range to hear it an’ respond in the dead of winter. If they were that close, one of our patrols woulda already found them. Plus, they’d have to know we was here.”
“Right, don’t think it’s likely. Just be careful, is all I’m sayin’.” Tommy sighs and picks his shovel back up.
“When have you known me not to be careful?” Joel says, grabbing his shovel and digging it into the remaining snow bank. “Christ, you would probably have already given out your name and our location. You're too damn friendly.”
“Can’t help if I’m likable, unlike your surly ass.”
“I ain’t surly, I’m cautious.” Joel huffs and accidentally hurls a shovel full of snow in Tommy's direction.
—
“CQ CQ Calling CQ. This is K72OFF, Kilo-Seven-Two-Oscar-Foxtrot-Foxtrot. Go Ahead.” Joel sends through the radio promptly at 9 pm. The crackle of static permeates the air for only a few seconds before he’s answered.
“K72OFF K72OFF, This is K789FU, Kilo-Seven-Eight-Nine-Foxtrot-Uniform. Roger.”
“Good evenin’ K789FU. This is Wayfarer, and you are 599. Over.”
“Good evening to you too, Wayfarer. This is Rosette, and you’re 599 too. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure you would be on. Over.”
“Told ya I would be. Ain’t in the habit of making promises I don’t intend to keep. Over.”
Joel hears some shuffling on the other end and a light laugh. “Nice to know, I guess. Ah, so what are we supposed to do now?” The connection kicks off, and Joel’s about to respond when it kicks back on to a muffled, “Shit, sorry. Over.”
Joel chuckles briefly before clicking the talk switch, “It’s okay, kid. Ain’t any protocol to it. We jus’ talk. At least that’s what you used to do. I can start. You in a safe place? Over.”
“Oh yeah, yeah, I’m fine, safe as houses. In a house even. I guess I should ask, are you safe? Over.”
“I’m fine kid, don’t gotta worry about me. Over.”
“You keep calling me kid. Do I sound that young? Over.”
“You under thirty? Over.”
“Yeah. Over.”
“Then you’re a kid. Over.”
“Damn, I could tell you were old the last time I talked to you, but I didn’t realize you were everyone below thirty is a kid old . You have anyone checking in on you, making sure you didn’t fall and break a hip or something? Over.”
Joel stifles a laugh before clicking back on. The kid’s funny, he’ll give her that, “Ain’t that old . You got someone checkin’ in on you, makin’ sure you’re diaper don’t need changin’? Over.”
“Oh, har har, old timer. But yeah, I have people checking in on me.” She pauses, and he’s not surprised when she asks, “Should I be worried about you trying to find my location? Over.” Her tone is light as if she’s joking, but Joel can hear the slight hint of anxiety in her words.
“I ain’t. But you should always be cautious when you’re talkin’ on the radio, never know who you could be talkin’ to. Over.”
“God, you sound like…” The connection clicks off.
Joel waits, thinking maybe she accidentally let go of the button, but she doesn’t come back. “Rosette? You still there? Over.”
There are a few more moments of silence then the connection clicks back on: “Still here, sorry. Just, I-I gotta go, forgot I have something else to do. Over.”
“That’s alright, sorry if I kept ya. Over.”
“Yeah, no, it’s fine. Tomorrow night, same time? Shouldn’t be busy. Over.”
“Sure, kid, " he pauses. He doesn’t know this kid from Eve. He shouldn’t push her, but he can sense there’s something bothering her. “Are you sure you’re okay? Over.”
“I’m fine, really. Talk to you tomorrow Wayfarer. Clear.”
—
“You don’t sound like you're from around here? Over.” Rosette comments the following evening.
Joel sucks his teeth and sighs, “I ain’t. But is anyone nowadays? Over.”
“Guess not. I’m not really from here either.”
“That true?”
“Yup, did a lot of traveling. Most recently, I was out west.”
“More west than here?”
“Ah, yeah. Almost as west as you can get.”
“Did ya see the ocean?”
“I did, yeah. It’s everything I imagined and also not.”
“Well can’t say as I’ve ever been that far myself. Only been a bit further west than here.”
“Oh really? Whereabouts?”
“Sound a little too interested there, girl.”
“Sorry, not trying to make you uncomfortable. All this cloak-and-dagger stuff is new to me.”
“Jus’ the world we live in.” Joel huffs.
“You’re right about that. So what should we talk about? Can’t ask where you live or where you’ve been. Can’t ask about family. That’s always a touchy subject.”
“Can be,” Joel fiddles with his coffee mug, twisting it in his hands, “I got a daughter.”
“Oh…” she pauses, static crackling across the line. She clears her throat and hesitantly asks, “Ah, is she still…?”
“Yeah, she’s alive. We ain’t in the best place right now, her and me. Relationship-wise that is. She, uh… cut me out of her life about a year and a half ago.” He weakly laughs, “I’m sorry, not sure why I told you all that. You don’t need to be hearing about all my dirty laundry.”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t really mind. Helps me not think about my drama.”
“Oh?”
“God, you don’t want to hear about my crap.”
“You don’t know. Reckon maybe I do want to hear about your crap.”
“Really? You want to hear how I messed up the one good thing in my life because I just can’t let things go?”
Joel whistles, “Sounds serious.”
“It was.” She sighs across the line. Then he hears some shuffling, and the connection clicks off. He waits, and then the static clicks back. “Well, it looks like I have to cut this short. There’s some emergency I have to go handle. Tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here, got nothin’ else goin’ on. Over.”
“All right, old-timer. Talk to you tomorrow. Clear.”
—
“So you and your daughter aren't talking to each other?”
“Hey now, I thought we was talkin’ about you.”
“We were, and this is me subtly trying to change the conversation.”
Joel chuckles, “Mighty smooth. But if ya don’t wanna talk about it, I won’t make ya.”
Rosette takes a deep breath and huffs it out over the mic, “It’s fine, I can talk about it. I brought it up, after all. I just had a good thing going with someone I loved, and then something bad happened, and it changed everything.”
“Somethin’ bad?”
“Yeah, something terrible.” Rosette’s voice cracks, and static plays through the mic. Joel hears what he thinks may be a sniff and a rustling of clothing before the connection cuts.
“Kiddo, ya don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna. I’m sorry.” Looking up, he just catches sight of Ellie creeping out the front door of her apartment, her hat pulled tight over her ears and hands tucked into her coat pockets. A shot of loneliness strikes him as he watches her sneak across the backyard, refusing to look his way.
The mic cuts back, and Rosette’s dull laugh draws his attention to the radio: “Oh, you pulled out the big guns, I got a kiddo. I must have really made you feel bad for me.”
“No, it ain't that. I jus’ know it ain’t easy to talk about hard stuff sometimes. God knows I ain’t very good at this type of thing myself—you know what they say, you can take the man outta Texas, but you can’t take Texas outta the man.
“I should have known you were from Texas.”
Joel smiles and picks up his whittling knife, “Shit, caught me there, don’t go tellin’ anyone. My reputation will be ruined.”
“I won’t. Don’t really have anyone to tell anyway.” Rosette sniffs and clears her throat, “Anyways, bad things happened. I thought I could move on, maybe make a life for myself, and for a while, I was. But in the end, I just couldn’t let it go and because of that, I lost the person who stood by my side during all of it.”
“Kid, I’m mighty sorry to hear that.”
“Really, it’s okay. I know I’ll never get them back in that way again. But things are looking up.”
“Oh really?” He picks up the carving he’s been working on off and on all night.
“Yeah, I finally got a lead on something I’ve been searching for. My… friend and a few other people said they’d help me with it. If we can pull this off, I might… get some resolution.”
“That sounds wonderful, kid. I hope it works out.” Sliding his blade down the leg of the carving, he hits a knot in the wood: the knife slips and slices into the pad of his thumb. With a hiss, he jerks away, dropping the animal to the floor.
“Wayfarer, you okay?”
He puts his thumb to his mouth and sucks lightly, when he pulls it out, there's a small gash, nothing too deep. “I’m fine, just doin’ some carvin’ and wasn’t bein’ careful with my knife and cut myself, but it ain’t bad.” he reaches down and picks up the carving from the floor. He tsks sadly, “Shit, I think I might have ruined this one. Can’t salvage this leg.”
The house creaks and shifts, the wind rattling a loose shutter out front as Joel lays the carving on the table next to the other animals he’d finished for the piece. The lamplight flickers, casting shadows over the smooth plain of its flank, the majestic crown of antlers sprouting from its head, and the front leg bisected by a deep gash stained a bright maroon from his blood.
The moose stands defiantly, head held high, but he’s injured and alone, and the wolves encircle ever closer.