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The Last of Us

Part III

Prologue

The Beach

A bloodsoaked waif-like woman sat on the misty California shoreline, watching a boat go out to sea. She could make out only the silhouette of another woman inside it, hunched over the prone body of a boy with scars on his cheeks.

Why? The woman on the shore, Ellie, stared up at the oppressive gray sky, the promise of rain like a headsman's blade. Her gaze shifted to a second boat, still tied to a broken wooden tether. It wasn't too late. She could still reach her rifle. One shot and she could make it right. Make it all go away.

A sob wracked her. Was there still such a thing as 'right' in this world? Could anything ever exorcise the ghosts in her head? She struggled to her feet, staggering from the pain, blood oozing from a puncture wound in her side, her bitten fingers stinging from salt water. She plodded towards her boat, towards the rifle.

Ellie dragged herself inside. Feeling the waves rocking beneath her on the shoreline. She grabbed the rifle and lay it in her lap. Too scared to use it. Too scared not to. Watching the other boat recede into the distance. Watching Abby disappear.

Too late. Her heart had made its decision. She wouldn't add one more ghost to the count. She couldn't. Her enemy dwindled to a speck and vanished into the mist. All Ellie's strength vanished too, and she collapsed into a hollow between the boat's benches, pressing a hand to her wound, wondering how long it would take her to die. How long it would take for someone to find her corpse.

Would it be the Rattlers? The escapees? Infected? Some lone refugee who'd find her with her guns and her journal, like she'd found so many others? Thunder rumbled. Rain began to pour as if the heavens wept alongside her.

"Joel," Ellie murmured. "What was I supposed to do? Joel . . . Answer me . . ."

But the sky held no answers.

Ellie passed out.

Lick. Ellie felt something wet against her cheek. She opened her eyes, hand going for her knife. Then, she stopped.

Staring at her was a scrawny waterlogged mutt, medium-sized with long stringy dark fur. It wore a shiny gold collar marred with a bloodstain that still looked fresh. Its owner must have died recently. After all any dog that had been out alone and scavenging in the wilderness for a while would probably treat her more like a meal than a friend.

"You hungry?" Ellie asked.

The dog just cocked its head and panted at her.

Ellie reached for her pack, gasping in pain. She glanced down at her abdomen and saw the bleeding had stopped. So long as she could scrounge up some antibiotics from the Rattlers' compound, she was probably going to make it after all. "This piece of shit world isn't done with me after all, huh, boy?" she asked the dog, fishing through her belongings. She pulled out an oatmeal raisin cookie in a plastic wrapper—something she'd scavenged.

She tore open the wrapper, broke the cookie in half, gave one piece to the dog, and nibbled on the other. It was hard, stale, and she hated oatmeal raisin. But she ate it anyway.

Time went by. At some point she passed out again. When she awoke the second time the mutt was gone, along with half her rations—shredded wrappers strewn about, a chocolate candy bar among them. She hoped the dumb dog hadn't poisoned itself to death.

Above, the sky had cleared, clouds giving way to the endless pinpricks of stars. Ellie winced as she pushed herself to standing, and slung her pack over her shoulder.

It was a long way back to Jackson.