Chapter Text
Joel wasn’t shaken by much, but the sight of a young woman, barely alive, with a gunshot wound in the leg, was pretty damn startling.
He scooped her up in his arms, carrying her and her bleeding leg back through the forest and into the small clearing where his current home stood. He moved around a lot, but decided to stay closer to his brother Tommy in Wyoming, so he’d built himself a house in the woods, far away enough from Jackson to give him space to breathe, but close enough to stay somewhat connected to the community.
He brought the woman into the bathroom and gently set her onto the counter, grabbing supplies from the cabinets. The bullet had grazed the size of her leg, causing a bleed that wasn’t as bad as it looked. He gently cleaned her leg, the blood that poured down her calf, then used his limited supply of antiseptic on the wound itself and used a needle and thread to stitch it up. He certainly wasn’t a doctor, but he’d stitched himself up enough to do a semi-decent job.
He carried the woman’s limp form to the worn sofa in the living room and laid her down, made sure she was alive, then gently laid a blanket over her.
When you woke up, your eyes fluttered open, squinting at the sunlight seeping in through the windows. It was early morning; the first thing you heard were the birds chirping and the creaking of old wood. You quickly sat up in alarm as you realized you were now in someone’s house and not bleeding out on the forest floor, then winced once you felt the pain of your wound kick in.
“Woah there, darlin’-” a deep, funny-sounding voice sounded from across the room, “no need to hurt yourself. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” Your head turned to look at the man currently approaching you like one would a skittish prey animal, his body a bit crouched, shrinking himself, his palms open and facing you in surrender. “Name’s Joel. Found ya half-dead in the forest by my house, n’ I fixed up your wound.”
You lifted the blanket he’d laid over you, examining your bandaged calf.
“Thank you, Joel.” You murmured softly. “The Prophet’s blessing must be upon me.”
Joel’s face scrunched in confusion. “The Prophet?” You nod. Didn’t he know about the Prophet? He only shook his head as if to brush the whole thing off. “You must be starvin’- I’ll wrestle up somethin’ for you to eat.” Turning away, Joel walked over to the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets in search of something for you to eat.
You adjusted yourself on the sofa, sitting up and adjusting the blanket to lay over your legs. It was nice and warm in the house, with a fireplace next to you that felt nice compared to the chilly Wyoming breeze.
He returned a few minutes later, handing you a bowl of porridge, although it was a bit too watery. You were so hungry you could care less, grabbing the spoon he provided you with and scooping the stuff into your mouth.
“Slow down,” he murmured with a tinge of amusement, “don’t wanna make yourself sick.” You slowed down a little, but still ate voraciously, like a dog. If your mother were with you, she’d chastise you for being ill-mannered.
“Where am I?” You finally asked once you were sated and of a clearer mind. You knew you probably weren’t in Seattle anymore- you had been traveling for days, trying to escape the wolves from hunting you down. Nothing but pure, primal fear had carried you on bare feet through miles of forest and abandoned houses until the wound on your calf and the mind-numbing hunger got to you.
“Wyoming.” Wyoming? Had the days and nights really blended together that much? How couldn’t you have realized you’d traveled so far? You felt a pang of guilt- your family was probably worried sick about you, and your husband- well, he was supposed to become your husband soon, must be wondering if his bride is dead. “Where’d you come from?”
“Seattle.” You answer in a murmur. Joel’s brows rose- it was the most expressive you’d seen his face thus far. “That’s a ways from here- ‘s a wonder you got here on those little feet of yours.” You handed the bowl to him when his hand reached for it, curling up into yourself as best you could without aggravating your wound. You saw concern in his eyes, more prominent now, but he didn’t ask any questions. You found a bit of relief in that, for some reason.
“Well, you can rest up here. I ain’t gonna harm ya, I promise. It’s nice n’ quiet here- no people for a few miles, no infected really come ‘round here. I got traps that catch ‘em if they ever do wander nearby.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” you murmur softly. Joel gave a non-commital shrug and a grunt. “Not like I could’ve left ya out there, dyin’ in the cold.” An awkward but rather peaceful silence fell over the two of you, and after a moment, he cleared his throat. “Well uh, I’ve got a spare bedroom upstairs. You could rest there- I’ll carry you, if it’s too hard to walk on your own.”
“It’s alright, I’ll stay here.” You murmur. You weren’t planning on staying long. A few days and hopefully you’d be able to find your way back home, where you belonged.
“Alright, then. You go ahead n’ rest up, let your leg heal. I’ll be around the house- just holler if you need anythin’.” He lingered for a second before turning and walking out of the house.
The day passed slowly, sluggishly, each hour feeling like a year. You stayed on the couch, not really desiring to move, especially with your injury. You watched the fire flicker in the fireplace, listened to the sounds of Joel working outside, shuffling around and chopping wood- you even heard the clucking of chickens and bleating sheep. Otherwise you closed your eyes in prayer, dozed off a couple times, looked around the house from where you sat. It was pretty structurally sound, no rotted wood or janky floorboards- almost like it was built recently, and with skilled hands. It was also well-furnished, with the fireplace built into the wall on the left of you and a shelf with a few picture frames. Two featured Joel: one where he was younger, posing with a man with lighter-colored hair and blue eyes. Another where he was smiling wide and posed with a little blonde-haired girl who was wearing some sort of uniform. A third frame held a rough sketch of Joel. Did he have a family? Why was he living in the woods alone, then?
A bearskin rug covered the floor of the living room, your toes lightly brushing against it. A bookshelf rested against the wall in front of you, close to the stairway that led to the second floor. There was a clock, a few paintings hung up, and to the far right was the kitchen, with a rounded table and four chairs, a potted plant in the center. It was cozy and simple, but welcoming. The scent of cedarwood and coffee filled your senses, making you feel much more relaxed than you probably should feel.
Joel had stopped in at lunch to check on you. He made sandwiches for you and him, gave you a glass of water, and disappeared outside once more.
He didn’t return until evening, his body moving with a slight sluggishness as he grabbed something from the fridge. He sat at the table, cracking the bottle in his hand open and taking a generous swig.
“You hungry over there?” He asked after a few moments. You had been staring at the floor, zoned out. You were thinking about your family again, wondering if they were alright. The last time you had seen them was before the Wolves came into your settlement and attacked. Your mother had been chastising your elder sister once again about the way she carried herself. Your sister had always been brash and fiercely independent, something you always admired. Your mother despised it, saying she acted like a man. Because of that attitude, however, she had been ready to fight back against the Wolves to protect you and the rest of the family, running headfirst into the chaos with your father without even a second thought. You could only pray that she survived.
Your attention snapped out of your thoughts when Joel called after you. “I asked if you were hungry,” he said almost gently.
“I guess I can eat.” You replied meekly. He cooked up some chicken, the smell reaching you in the living room and making you salivate. He walked across the room with your meal, which you almost grabbed out of his hands, before reminding yourself in your mother’s voice to be polite and ladylike.
“Thank you, Joel.” You said softly before gently taking the plate. He muttered a ‘no problem’ in response before returning to the table to eat from his own plate. Once you were finished, he came over to take your plate.
“Um, I have to go to the restroom,” you murmured quietly. Joel went to put the dishes in the sink before coming back. “Can I?” He asked gruffly, holding out his hands as if to reach for you. You nodded, your arm reaching up to wrap around his shoulders as he helped you stand from the couch. His other arm came behind your knees, sweeping you up in his arms, which surprised you.
He carried you to the bathroom, setting you down on the toilet. “Let me know when you’re done.” He said before leaving you alone. You shimmied out of your pants and underwear enough to comfortably relieve yourself before tugging the fabric back over your hips.
“I’m done,” you called out. He came in, scooping you up again before carrying you back to the couch. “You sure you wanna sleep here?” Joel asked as he set you down. You nodded, pulling the blanket over yourself. “I’m fine.”
Joel nodded, scratching the back of his neck. “Right then, goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” You said as you watched him walk upstairs. Once he disappeared from view, you bowed your head and quietly murmured prayers to the Prophet. You prayed that your family would be safe, you prayed for the Wolves retreat and your people’s victory, and you prayed for yourself- for your safety and prosperity when you made your journey back home.
The next few days that passed were the same: you woke up on the couch, ate on the couch, Joel went outside, checked in at lunch, carried you to the bathroom if you needed it, checked your wound, came back in the evening, then the day would end with you falling asleep on the couch. He’d given you some books to read so you’d be less bored. You didn’t read them because they were frivolous. You’d asked him if he had any of the Prophet’s writings, to which he gave you that same confused expression when you first mentioned her.
“Do you not know of the Prophet?” You asked gently, a bit of excitement creeping into your voice. You wanted to impart your wisdom, to tell him about what you believed was the answer to everything. The corruption, the demons, the rebirth of the world- it was an honor to share such sacred information with someone, to bring them to the truth.
“I don’t suppose I do,” he answered warily. You could tell he wouldn’t be receptive to her love, at least not yet. Something tugged at your heart, something that said you should lead by example, show him what blessings the Prophet could bring to his life, but you knew you didn’t have the time- you’d be leaving soon. “When I go back home, maybe I could bring you some of her writings.”
You felt yourself inwardly cringe after the words left your mouth. The Seraphites were wary of outsiders, given most of them were out to persecute them- but if you explained the situation… that he saved your life, that you wanted to share the Prophet’s love with him, maybe they’d allow you to teach him.
“Go home?” Joel parroted, his weathered brow furrowed. “You ain’t in shape to go home, darlin’.”
“Yes I am,” you insisted, “I have to go home- my family's waiting for me, they’re probably worried sick.” He shook his head before you’d even finished speaking. “Nah, you ain’t goin’ home.”
You were perplexed at the firmness in his tone. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I was going to ask if I could take some food and water- not too much, I promise, just enough for me to make the journey.” His gaze shifted, his warm hazel eyes darkening with something that terrified you, your body instinctively curling protectively into itself. “You ain’t leavin’.”
“I need to go home-” you began, much quieter than before. “What I say is final, girl. You ain’t leavin’ here anytime soon- ain’t healed enough yet.” His voice wasn’t raised, but there was something biting in his tone, his drawl low and gravelly, almost resembling a growl. You went quiet, your eyes wide with fear, surrendering to the authority made clear in his voice.
Anger flared up within you once he turned and went upstairs. Despite your quiet reserve and general timidity, you had your father’s stubborn attitude and your mother’s quick temper. It drove you to get up, grab your cloak and hobble into the kitchen, where you took what you could fit in your pockets and left.
Your bare feet crunched in the grass, the only sound in the cool night air being the crickets and the occasional sound from the pens nearby. You didn’t turn back, continuing your quick pace and ignoring the pain that bit at your calf. This was childish and stupid, you knew that, but you just wanted to go home, to return to where you belonged. You trusted that the Prophet would guide you through the thicket of trees, over the streams and through the brambles that blocked your path. You didn’t even know where you were going, but you had to trust that she would lead you home.
By sunrise, you had sat against the trunk of a tree next to a small creek. The gentle sounds of the water lulled you into a light doze, and your leg throbbed less intensely from the brief rest.
That very moment, you heard rustling nearby. Your eyes flew open, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. You wish you had your bow with you- Joel must have left it behind when he brought you to his home. You only had a small pocket knife you’d taken- barely anything that could truly defend you. The feeling of fear and hopelessness gripped you once more, burning in your eyes and throat, constricting your lungs. It was stupid to think you’d be able to make it home with barely anything, but Joel had found you, hadn’t he?
You could’ve died, but the Prophet guided him to save your life. Now she was going to guide you home, to your family, to your husband. Your life was set in stone, nothing could change the course of destiny. You would marry Adonis and bear his children. That was the life the Prophet had chosen for you through the Elders.
Then you saw it, a beast running at you at full speed, muscles straining with each movement, eyes dark and wild and focused solely on you. You scrambled to your feet and broke into a sprint, adrenaline controlling your limbs and disregarding the feeling of your wound opening back up beneath the bandages. You jumped over the creek and kept running, light and agile as you ducked under branches and stepped over gnarled roots.
You could hear the beast behind you, roaring your name, but you kept running. Everything felt far away, the forest before you stretched out before you, guiding you through its obstacles. You could hardly feel the burning in your lungs or the throbbing pain in your calf, your body pushing you to keep going until you were safe.
And then something shrieked, something that wasn’t the beast pursuing you. Your head turned to see a demon flinging itself at you, its ugly maw open in a perpetual cry as its hideous claws reached to grasp at your flesh. You moved back, narrowly dodging the attack, but your ankle caught onto a root, sending you careening onto the ground. You felt the impact move through your body like an electric shock, starting in your head and extending through your body. Staring blankly up at the trees, you said a silent prayer in your mind, praying to the Prophet that you wouldn’t die here. You had to make it home.
Something loud cracked through the forest like a thunderclap, and the shrieking suddenly stopped, leaving only the ringing in your ears. You could hardly move, frozen in place, staring up at the trees.
Then your vision faded to nothing.