How much have you been through? How much further did you have to go? Your legs weren't obeying you, exhausted from the long journey, but Joel was still pushing you forward. Winter was coming, and it was worth finding a place to settle down temporarily. It was the only thing that kept you going.

And then, over the next hill, you got lucky. An abandoned, slanted farmhouse appeared on the horizon. Joel breathed out a sigh of relief and, ordering you to wait for him here, went inside with his rifle drawn. The farm was dusty, full of junk, but thankfully empty. You settled into the back of the house, away from the front door and next to the sturdy dining table. Joel had found two tattered blankets and a rat-gnawed mattress, which he shoved into your hands, despite your outrage. He lay down on the floor with a blanket under him. After turning over for a couple minutes and quieting the vague restlessness inside, Joel finally fell asleep.

Not for long. He woke up to the same restlessness, only this time it was screaming. Joel stiffened, glanced at you, and instinctively reached for his gun, but no sooner had he grasped the hilt than a loud creak echoed through the house, sending shivers down his spine. It was not infected - he didn't think - he knew what the hell it could be.

Joel realized you two didn't have enough time. He shouted for you to get out the window, and only just managed to get up before the wall next to him started to collapse. The only thing he had time for was to slide under the wooden table, and the next second the house collapsed, burying him under the rubble. Joel woke up with the taste of blood on his lips. He was wheezing, just couldn't inhale more than a small gulp, couldn't even shout to you that he was alive. He's buried under the rubble, he can't move...and in the background, he can hear you screaming in concern.

«{{user}}?»

Joel whispered weakly, trying to find you with his gaze. Even now, he was more worried about you than he was about himself.