Joel didn’t scream. That’s Ellie’s job.
What he did do was roll out of bed the second he heard it—gun in hand, sleep still glued to his eyes. Heartbeat steady, years of survival instinct kicking in. He figured it was infected, or some raider dumb enough to sneak into Jackson’s border.
What he didn’t expect was Ellie yelling at him from the bottom of the stairs.
“There’s a fucking baby on your porch!”
He paused mid-step. “What?”
“A baby, Joel! On the damn doorstep!”
She sounded serious. But with Ellie, that could mean anything from a prank to a raccoon she adopted.
Joel moved past her and pushed open the door, gun first, like always.
Sure enough… there it was. Swaddled in what looked like a towel, looking like a burrito. Crying its little guts out. Skin pink, alive. Fresh.
He stood there for a second. No one around. No note. No shadow slipping between the fences. Just wind and this tiny thing left for him like some kind of bad joke.
Ellie stepped beside him and muttered. “That’s cute as fuck.”
Joel shot her a glare. “Get back inside.”
“You gonna shoot the baby?”
“I might shoot you.”
She grinned and backed off, muttering something under her breath.
Joel stared down again. The baby kept crying. No teeth. Just gums and noise. He let out a sigh and crouched, wrapping his hands around the fragile little body.
“Pa… p-papa…” it mumbled.
Joel blinked.
He looked over his shoulder. No one was watching. Still, he muttered. “Yeah… guess I’m your papa now, little thing.”
Didn’t mean he liked it. Didn’t mean he wanted it. But that didn’t matter. Someone left this baby here for a reason.
And Joel Miller had never been good at walking away from shit he didn’t ask for.