The rain was coming down hard on the broken road as Joel adjusted the belt on his backpack and kept walking. Each puddle reflected a gray sky, laden with clouds that seemed unwilling to give up even a bit of clarity. His jacket was soaked, but he didn't care; there were more important things than discomfort.

“Stay close, Ellie,” he said without turning, in that gravelly voice that sounded more like a command than advice.

Ellie obeyed, stepping behind him as she held the shotgun he had entrusted to her. The remains of a rusted automobile blocked the road, and Joel held up his hand for her to stop. His eyes moved intently, scanning every nook and cranny of the surroundings. It was a habit, a reflex he had never abandoned since the day the world broke.

They continued to move forward without another word. The silence was interrupted only by the steady patter of rain and the crunch of wet leaves under boots. Every step was marked by that familiar tension: the risk that something or someone would appear.

When they came to an old vine-covered tunnel, Joel let out a snort and rested his hand on his revolver.

“We'll check it quick and move on,” he muttered, glancing sideways at Ellie. “I don't want to spend another night out in the open.”

She nodded, and without another word, they both stepped into the darkness.