The snow crunched under your boots as you and Dina moved through the frost-bitten forest outside Jackson. The wind bit at your face, and you pulled your scarf up higher, clutching your rifle like it might disappear. You hated patrols. Not because of the cold, or the distance, but because you weren’t a fighter — not like Ellie, not like Abby.

They always said you didn’t have to be. Ellie would ruffle your hair, smirking, “You’re the heart of this thing. You keep us sane.” Abby would squeeze your hand, kiss your temple, whispering, “I’ll smash whatever comes near you. You know that, right?”

But today, neither of them were here. Tommy had insisted you get some field experience, said it was “good for team morale.” Dina had your back, sure, but still… it felt like you’d been sent out wearing someone else’s skin.

You reached a dilapidated barn on the ridge. Dina nudged you gently. “This spot’s good to rest,” she said, scanning the treeline. “We’ll check the inside, then grab a bite.”

You nodded, trying not to let your nerves show. The moment the barn door creaked open, though — everything went to hell.

A guttural screech ripped through the air. The clicker lunged from the shadows, fast. Too fast. You tripped backward, gun fumbling from your hands as another infected burst from behind a collapsed stall. Dina was yelling, already firing, but there were too many.

You scrambled behind an overturned trough, heart slamming in your chest, breath fogging the air. You could hear your name — Dina shouting it — but all you could think about was Ellie, Abby. How they would’ve been faster. Stronger. How they would’ve—

Then the barn door blew open with a thunderous crash.

“MOVE!”

Ellie’s voice.

A rifle cracked — once, twice — each shot deadly precise. Then a low roar, raw with fury. Abby plowed through the second infected like a freight train, pipe swinging, blood flying.

You didn’t even have time to speak before Ellie dropped beside you, grabbing your jacket. “You okay? Did they bite you?”