Hours ago, she laid you down, pressed against you, her body strong and gentle, her hands sure, a river current. Hours ago, the last pieces fell into place, your hypothesis proven: Ellie is who you've been waiting for.

The basement stinks of blood when you open the door. On the ground, three human heaps. Ellie, closest to you. Her name falls from your lips, panicky. You drop beside her, rouse her, touch her gently all over, looking for damage. Her eyelids peel open—alive. You call for Jesse, sprinting for the door, for help.

Hours ago, you held her, whole. Her body light in your arms.

It takes an hour to coax her away from Joel's body. Her hysterical sobs fade into hyperventilating, into tears and choked gasps. You hover behind her, touching her arm, her shoulder, sliding your arms around her waist, but she seems not to feel you at all. Her world swallowed by Joel's crushed skull. Finally you turn her toward you, and she buries her face in your shoulder.

Behind you, you hear Jesse checking Tommy for injuries, hear him rummaging through the house, putting a makeshift sled together. He doesn't need to tell you it's to tow Joel home. Once, Jesse steps toward you, makes to speak, but your dark glare makes him stop.

"He won't get up," she sobs into your shoulder.

"I know," you hum, your hands soothing her back, her hands clutching your coat. "I know."

Your horses pick slowly through the snow drifts, the sled scraping and dragging behind Ellie's horse. Jesse and Tommy are a speck in the distance, riding ahead to warn Jackson.

"I'm gonna fucking kill them," she says, her throat clogged. "Fucking kill all of those fuckers."

"We'll find them," you say firmly.

She looks at you, that guarded, hopeful look. For a second, you see her wreathed in warm light, watching you finish her drink and tug her onto the dance floor. Afraid to believe.

You gaze at her, steady. "We'll make them pay."

Her eyes search you. She nods. Her voice wavers as she agrees: "Okay."

Ellie doesn't stop at the gates; she rides right past Maria, tending Tommy's head, and Tommy, waving you both down. You stick with her, bypassing the stables, the sled scraping loudly on the cleared street. Ellie leads you down and around, through the gates of the cemetery. Without looking at you, she slides off of Shimmer and unties the sled lines, her fingers shaking. You dismount and approach her slowly, steadily.

"Can you, uh, take the horses back? I want to…" She looks at the sled, at the blanket covering Joel's body, now dusted with snow.

"Of course." You take the reins.

You try to walk from the stables back to the cemetery, but when you get there, you realize you ran. Inside the gate, you hear the scrape of a shovel.

Ellie labors in what looks like a snowbank, fighting the frozen ground under the snow she cleared. She grunts as she works, panting, anger and sadness splashing to the surface. You spot another shovel staked in the snow along the path, and pull it out as you approach.

You circle carefully into her sightline. Her eyes jump to you, but she doesn't wave you away, just turns back to the hole she's begun. Her face is puffy, streaked with tears, a bruise darkening at her temple. She shucked her jacket already. She stabs the shovel down, vicious. The tip bites in and stops. She has to stomp the blade over and over for it to sink in.

Across from her, you start work on the other end of the grave. The shovel, the dirt, bring you back to New Mexico: sweating in the fading light, Talia pushing to dig deeper and deeper, afraid the infected will dig up your mother's body for dinner before her soul can escape. You must have buried her fifteen feet deep. It felt like the center of the earth.

"Ellie, we aren't burying him til tomorrow," Maria says when she comes. She squats beside the grave, trying to catch Ellie's eye. Ellie twists her shovel like a corkscrew, fighting the ground, more ice than soil at this depth. You can see blisters forming on her palms.

Maria glances at you, but you say nothing. "You don't want to bury him like this," she says. "Let us… let me clean him up. Tommy is planning a funeral. That way everyone can say their goodbyes."

Ellie stills her hands, her breathing heavy. She stares at a fixed point in space, past her hands, between the two of you. You feel your breath catch.

"Okay," she blurts, like a breath knocked out of her. It's hard to tell if it's relief or shock.

She lets you lead her away from the graveyard. You take the long way to her place, avoiding foot traffic and prying eyes, warning people away with a look. She looks at the sky or her feet, the whole way, twisting her fingers together in her nervous way.

At the door, she mumbles, "You don't have to…" as you open the door and steer her inside. You give her a look, but soften it.

"Come on, sit down. I want to look at your head."

Her voice cracks as you set her on the bed. She clears her throat. "Not sure this is the time to be checking me out," she jokes. Not even half-hearted.

You ignore the bait, wet a washcloth with warm water, and sit next to her on the bed. "Stay still." You cup her cheek and gently wipe the blood from her nose and mouth. When you pull it away, she looks wide-eyed at the red cloth, like she forgot.

You fold the cloth and wipe the rest of her face, skimming gently over the blue blooming at her temple. As you work, you feel her begin to settle, her breathing more steady, her body sinking onto the bed. Her fingers twist together in her lap.

When her face is clean, you take her hands in yours and wash them, too. You scrub firmly, taking your time, wiping the wrinkles of each knuckle, the webs between her fingers, the lifelines on her palms.

"Ellie," you say. You've run out of skin to wash. She meets your eyes as you set the cloth aside, abandoning pretense, and hold her hands, lightly tracing the frayed leaf of her tattoo. You bite your lip, desperate to hear her voice, afraid to push her too hard. "I'm sorry."

Her face crumples slowly, eyes turning liquid. She opens her mouth but nothing comes out. You see her brow pinch, the dam about to break, and you pull her to you tightly as she starts to cry. Her arms link behind you, fluttering, grasping. Her cheek is cold against you.

"I have to leave," Ellie blurts, forcing it out in one breath. She watches you warily. "I have to find them. Tommy said we can go with a team. He's going to talk to Maria about it. But I'm going with."

"Of course," you say. You frown. "I'm coming too."

She falters, stalls. She didn't expect this. How didn't she expect this?

"You thought I wouldn't come?" It stings, but you try to swallow it. "Ellie, you're not going without me."

She worries her ring finger. "I just… it's a lot. I would never ask that of you."

"I want to—"

"It's just dangerous," she crosses her arms and rocks on her heels, "and I know we only just—well, I just mean, you don't owe me anything, like, you don't… have to come."

You can't help but smile. You cross the space between you and touch her wrists, unfolding them, placing her hands on your waist and linking your arms over her shoulders. As always, she flusters, a blush on her cheeks and her hands twitching against you. Even now, more heartbroken and somber than you've ever seen, she's still adorable. There's a tug at your heart, like the pull of a string, a magnet between you.

"Ellie." She bites her lips; you look her deep in the eyes, holding her here, holding her with you. "Where you go, I go."

She struggles with a shaky breath, fighting the instinct to doubt, to second-guess. You check her eyes, one then the other, back and forth.

A small smile curls her lips. "Okay," she whispers, allowing herself to believe. "Okay."