Three Points of Light

Dusk settled over Jackson like a heavy blanket, the usual evening routines replaced by tense preparation. Three teams gathered at separate gates, checking weapons and radio equipment one final time before departure. The plan was simple in concept, terrifying in execution—strike the WLF holding pens simultaneously, redirect the infected toward the enemy outpost, and retreat before the chaos fully unleashed.

Joel stood at the western gate, his experienced eyes scanning his small team—Arthur beside him, two of Jackson's best marksmen behind them. His son moved with careful precision, the pain of his injuries masked beneath a soldier's discipline, though Joel could see the cost in the tightness around his eyes. A slight sheen of sweat despite the cool evening air concerned him, but now wasn't the time to raise it.

"You sure you're up for this?" Joel asked quietly, adjusting his pack.

Arthur checked his rifle's action, his movements economical. "Better me injured than someone inexperienced getting killed."

Joel nodded, recognizing the logic even as parental concern—still new and strange to him with this adult son—urged him to object. "Stick close. We move fast, strike clean, get out."

At the northern gate, Tommy briefed his own team, their breath fogging in the cold evening air. Four fighters, all veteran survivors who'd proven themselves on countless patrols. They would have the longest approach, the most difficult terrain, but also potentially the weakest WLF presence according to Arthur's intelligence.

And at the southern gate, Ellie adjusted her pack as Jesse double-checked their route on the map. Her leg had begun throbbing again, a persistent reminder of her recent injury, but she ignored it with practiced determination. Their team was smaller—just the two of them—but their target was the most isolated, theoretically requiring less firepower.

"Three minutes to departure," crackled Maria's voice through their radios. "Synchronize watches."

Each team leader—Joel, Tommy, Ellie—confirmed their timers. The coordinated strike would occur exactly ninety minutes from now, giving each team just enough time to reach their targets undetected.

Ellie's gaze found Arthur across the yard, standing beside Joel as they made final preparations. Though only hours had passed since they'd lain tangled together, their intimate connection temporarily eclipsing the dangers around them, it might have been another lifetime. Now they were soldiers again, focused on the mission, personal concerns set aside for survival.

As if sensing her attention, Arthur looked up, his eyes meeting hers across the distance. No words were exchanged, none needed. In that brief glance lay everything—care, concern, determination, promise. Then, with military precision, he turned back to Joel, readying himself for departure.

Maria approached Ellie, her expression grim but resolute. "Remember the extraction plan. If anything goes wrong, fall back to the secondary rendezvous."

"Got it," Ellie confirmed. "And if we don't make the rendezvous?"

"Then you find a secure position and radio your coordinates," Maria replied firmly. "No heroes tonight. The mission matters, but your lives matter more."

Ellie nodded, though they both knew survival would become secondary if the mission itself was jeopardized. The WLF's plan to use infected against Jackson had to be stopped, whatever the cost.

"One minute," came Maria's final alert.

The yard fell silent as each team took their positions. A strange calmness settled over Ellie, the familiar clarity that always preceded combat. Her awareness sharpened, senses heightening as unnecessary thoughts receded. The pain in her leg faded to background noise, her focus narrowing to the mission parameters, terrain challenges, potential threats.

"Move out," Maria ordered, and the gates opened.

The three teams departed simultaneously, heading in different directions like spokes from a wheel. As they disappeared into the darkness, Maria turned to the defensive forces remaining in Jackson. If all went according to plan, they would never face the full force of the WLF attack. If things went wrong...

She pushed the thought aside, focusing on what she could control. "Defensive positions," she ordered. "Be ready for anything."

Joel and Arthur moved through the forest with ghostly silence, years of survival instinct making them nearly invisible despite the darkness. Behind them, Seth and Miles—both experienced hunters—followed their lead, maintaining distance without losing sight of them.

The western approach to the WLF outpost presented both advantages and challenges. The terrain offered more cover than the other routes, but WLF patrols would be heavier, vigilance higher due to proximity to their main base.

Arthur took point, his knowledge of WLF patrol patterns proving invaluable as he guided them through gaps in the enemy's security. Twice, he signaled them to freeze as WLF soldiers passed nearby, the enemy patrols oblivious to their presence merely yards away.

Joel watched his son work with a mixture of professional appreciation and parental pride. Whatever his injuries, whatever exhaustion lingered from his infiltration mission, Arthur's focus remained razor-sharp, his movements precise, his judgment sound.

Forty minutes into their approach, Arthur paused, leaning briefly against a tree. In the dim moonlight, Joel could see him taking measured breaths, one hand pressed against his bandaged ribs. When Arthur caught Joel watching, he straightened immediately, giving a short nod to indicate he was fine.

Joel knew better, but this wasn't the time or place to argue. The mission came first—they could deal with whatever was happening with Arthur's injuries afterward.

Moments later, Arthur raised his fist, halting the group. Ahead, barely visible through the trees, stood their target—a reinforced compound surrounded by high fences. From within came the unmistakable sounds of infected, the moans and clicks that haunted survivors' nightmares.

Arthur signaled Joel forward, both of them belly-crawling to the edge of the clearing for a better view. The holding pen was larger than they'd anticipated, the number of infected inside impossible to count in the darkness but clearly substantial. Two guards patrolled the perimeter, while a small control building stood adjacent to the main enclosure.

"Main gate faces east," Arthur whispered, pointing to the heavy doors designed to channel the infected toward Jackson when opened. "We need to redirect them west, toward the outpost."

Joel studied the setup, noting vulnerabilities, calculating angles. "Control building likely has the release mechanisms. We take that, we control the flow."

Arthur nodded. "Two guards visible. Probably at least one inside the control room."

"Silently if possible," Joel decided. "Seth, you and Miles circle north. Arthur and I take south. On my signal, we move on the guards simultaneously."

The team separated, working their way around the perimeter until they had the guards flanked. Joel watched through his scope as Seth got into position, then gave the signal—three quick flashes from a covered light.

They moved with deadly efficiency. Joel took the southern guard with a silenced shot to the head, while Seth's knife found the northern guard's throat before he could radio for help. Both bodies were quickly dragged into the underbrush, leaving no immediate evidence of the attack.

The control building presented the next challenge. Arthur approached first, peering carefully through a dirt-smeared window. Inside, as expected, a single WLF soldier monitored equipment—radio, controls for the pen gates, what looked like timers.

Arthur held up one finger, then gestured at the door. Joel nodded, positioning himself while Arthur quietly tested the handle. Unlocked. With practiced coordination, Arthur opened the door as Joel slipped inside, his pistol finding the back of the guard's head before the man could turn around.

"Don't move," Joel warned quietly. "Hands where I can see them."

The guard froze, then slowly raised his hands. "You're making a mistake," he said, his voice steady despite the gun at his head. "You have no idea what you're interfering with."

"We know exactly what we're interfering with," Arthur replied, entering behind Joel and closing the door. His voice sounded strained, and Joel noticed beads of sweat had formed on his forehead despite the cool night air. "Your plan to use infected against Jackson."

The guard's shoulders tensed in surprise. "How did you—"

"Doesn't matter," Joel cut him off, eyes darting briefly to Arthur with concern. "What matters is it's not happening. Now tell us how these controls work."

"Fuck you," the guard spat.

Arthur stepped forward, something cold and methodical entering his expression despite the visible pain. "We can do this two ways. You tell us voluntarily, or I make you tell us. Your choice, but we're on a schedule, so decide quickly."

The threat wasn't empty—Joel could see that in his son's eyes, the Firefly training that had taught Arthur interrogation techniques evident in his stance. The guard must have seen it too, because his resistance crumbled.

"Main panel controls the gates," he said, nodding toward a console with labeled switches. "Timer was set for dawn, coordinated with the other sites."

"How many infected are in there?" Joel demanded.

"Fifty, maybe sixty. Mostly runners, some clickers."

Arthur studied the control panel, one hand subtly bracing against the edge of the console to steady himself. "And this redirects them? Changes which gates open?"

The guard hesitated, then nodded. "Sequence matters. Wrong order creates a bottleneck, they'll tear each other apart before getting anywhere."

"Show us," Joel ordered, pressing the gun more firmly against the man's head. "Slowly."

Under close supervision, the guard demonstrated the sequence to open the western gates instead of the eastern ones, redirecting the flow of infected toward the WLF outpost rather than Jackson.

"Now the timer," Arthur instructed. "Reset it for thirty minutes from now."

As the guard complied, Joel radioed the other teams. "Western site secured. Thirty-minute timer set. Status?"

"Northern team in position," came Tommy's reply. "Engaging guards now."

"Southern team approaching target," Ellie reported, her voice steady despite background sounds suggesting they were moving quickly. "ETA ten minutes."

Joel checked his watch. "Synchronize for simultaneous release at 2200 hours. Confirm."

Both teams acknowledged the new timeline. Thirty minutes until all three infected pens would open, unleashing coordinated chaos on the WLF outpost.

"What about him?" Arthur asked, nodding toward their captive. Joel noticed Arthur's voice had grown hoarser, his breathing more labored as he finished securing the prisoner.

Joel considered the options. Killing an unarmed prisoner went against Jackson's ethics, but leaving him alive created risk.

"Tie him up," Joel decided. "Gag him. We'll radio his location to Maria after the mission. She can send a team to retrieve him if we succeed."

If we survive, hung the unspoken qualifier.

As Arthur secured the prisoner, Joel made a final check of the control panel, confirming the timer and direction settings. Outside, Seth and Miles had taken up lookout positions, ensuring no WLF reinforcements approached undetected.

Joel watched Arthur with growing concern. His movements, while still effective, had lost their earlier fluidity. Sweat now dampened his shirt despite the cool night air, and a slight tremor had developed in his hands—subtle but unmistakable to Joel's practiced eye.

"You okay?" Joel asked quietly once the prisoner was secured.

"Fine," Arthur replied automatically, though the tightness in his voice suggested otherwise. "Just need to keep moving."

Joel knew better than to push—they were in enemy territory with a time-sensitive mission. But he made a mental note to check Arthur's wounds at the earliest opportunity.

"Five minutes," Joel announced. "Then we move to our observation position."

The plan called for each team to trigger their respective releases, then retreat to high ground where they could confirm the infected flowed in the correct direction before fully withdrawing. A risky extension to an already dangerous mission, but necessary to ensure their efforts succeeded.

Arthur finished with the prisoner, checking the bindings one last time before joining Joel at the window. Joel noticed him press a hand against his side, grimacing as he took a deep breath. The bandages visible under his torn shirt showed a worrying dark stain spreading slowly.

"Your wound's reopened," Joel observed quietly.

Arthur glanced down, as if noticing for the first time. "It'll hold," he said dismissively. "We finish the mission first."

"Think the others will make it in time?" Joel asked, changing tactics. Arguing about injuries in the field never worked—not with him, not with Tommy, and apparently not with his son either.

"Tommy will," Arthur said, echoing Joel's earlier certainty while carefully shifting his weight to minimize pain. "He's got the easiest approach."

"And Ellie?" Joel asked, watching Arthur's reaction closely.

"She's got Jesse," Arthur replied, his expression softening slightly at the mention of her name. "And she's the most capable person I know. She'll make it."

Joel nodded, recognizing in Arthur's assessment of Ellie the same respect and confidence he himself felt. Whatever else was happening between those two, it was built on a foundation of genuine mutual respect.

"Two minutes," Joel announced, checking his watch. "Let's move."

Tommy's team encountered more resistance than expected at the northern site. What should have been a skeleton crew of three guards turned out to be a full squad of eight, suggesting the WLF had accelerated their timeline.

"Change of plans," Tommy whispered to his team as they crouched in the underbrush, observing the increased security. "We can't take them all silently."

Esther, his second-in-command, pointed to a fuel tank near the control building. "Create a diversion? Draw most of them away while a smaller team infiltrates?"

Tommy considered this, weighing risks against their deadline. "Worth a shot. You and Mike create the diversion east. Logan and I will hit the control building from the west."

They separated, moving into position with practiced efficiency. Tommy watched through his scope as Esther and Mike reached the fuel tank, attaching a small explosive charge before retreating to a safe distance.

When the explosion came, it was perfectly timed—loud enough to draw attention, small enough to seem like an accident rather than an attack. Six of the eight guards immediately rushed toward the source, leaving only two to protect the control building.

"Now," Tommy ordered, and he and Logan moved swiftly across the clearing.

The first guard never saw them coming, Logan's knife finding his throat with silent efficiency. The second managed to turn, reaching for his radio before Tommy's silenced pistol ended the threat.

Inside the control building, they found what they expected—monitoring equipment, gate controls, and a timer already counting down.

"They've moved up their schedule," Logan observed, pointing to the display that showed less than an hour remaining. "We got here just in time."

Tommy worked quickly, resetting the directional controls and synchronizing the timer with Joel's instructions. "Twenty minutes until release," he reported into his radio. "Northern site secured."

"Western site holding," came Joel's acknowledgment. "Southern team, report."

Silence followed, stretching into seconds that felt like minutes.

"Southern team, report," Joel repeated, tension evident in his voice.

Still nothing.

"They might be in a dead zone," Tommy suggested. "Or maintaining radio silence during approach."

"Or they're in trouble," Logan said what they were all thinking.

Tommy made a quick decision. "We stick to the plan. If they don't make contact by the fifteen-minute mark, we adjust."

He just hoped they wouldn't need to.

Ellie and Jesse encountered problems almost immediately on their approach to the southern site. What Arthur's intelligence had suggested would be the most isolated, least guarded location turned out to be crawling with WLF patrols.

"Something's not right," Jesse whispered as they ducked behind a fallen tree, watching a squad of six soldiers sweep the area with military precision. "Why so many guards at their most remote site?"

Ellie's mind raced, analyzing the unexpected development. "They must have changed plans after Arthur escaped. Reinforced all sites, especially the ones furthest from their main outpost."

"Should we abort?" Jesse asked. "Western and northern teams might be enough."

Ellie shook her head firmly. "No. All three sites need to be triggered simultaneously or the strategy falls apart. The infected need to come from multiple directions to overwhelm their defenses."

Jesse nodded, accepting her logic. "So how do we get past all this security?"

Ellie studied their surroundings, formulating alternatives. "We need a different approach. Going in quiet isn't an option anymore."

She pointed to a ridge overlooking the compound. "If we can get up there, we might be able to use Arthur's explosives to create a diversion. Something big enough to draw most of them away."

"And then?"

"Then we hit hard and fast," Ellie decided. "Take the control building, reset the directional controls, synchronize the timer, and get out before they can regroup."

It was riskier than their original plan, but time was running out. Jesse checked his watch. "We've got twenty-five minutes until synchronization."

"Then we move now," Ellie said, already plotting their route to the ridge.

The climb was challenging, especially with Ellie's injured leg protesting every step, but they managed to reach the overlook undetected. From this vantage point, they could see the entire compound—the holding pen filled with infected, the control building, and the pattern of WLF patrols.

"There," Ellie pointed to a secondary building at the compound's edge. "Looks like a fuel or ammunition store. If we hit that, it should create enough chaos for us to approach from the opposite side."

Jesse nodded, removing one of Arthur's specialized explosives from his pack. The remote detonator had a range of several hundred yards—perfect for their needs.

"Once we trigger it, we'll have seconds to move," Ellie warned. "The ridge curves around to the western edge. If we hurry, we can reach the control building while they're distracted."

"Ready when you are," Jesse affirmed, the explosive primed and in position.

Ellie checked her watch. "Eighteen minutes to synchronization. Let's go."

They retreated along the ridge, moving to a position that would give them access to the compound's western edge. When in position, Ellie took a deep breath, then nodded to Jesse.

The explosion was more effective than they'd hoped. The secondary building erupted in a fireball, secondary explosions suggesting they'd indeed hit an ammunition cache. WLF soldiers scrambled toward the blaze, shouting orders and organizing fire suppression efforts.

"Now!" Ellie ordered, and they descended the ridge at a controlled run, using the chaos and darkness to cover their approach.

They reached the control building undetected, taking out the single guard left behind with a silenced shot from Jesse's pistol. Inside, they found the control panel similar to what Arthur had described from the western site.

"Watch the door," Ellie instructed as she worked with the equipment, trying to decipher the control sequences. The timer was already counting down—eleven minutes remaining, faster than their synchronized plan.

"We need to slow this down," she muttered, searching for the timer controls.

"Company," Jesse warned from the door. "Two guards heading this way. They must have noticed this position was undermanned."

Ellie worked faster, her fingers flying over the controls as she adjusted directional settings. "Almost got it. Just need to reset the timer."

"No time," Jesse hissed. "They're almost here."

Ellie made a split-second decision. "Cover me for thirty more seconds, then we go out the back window."

Jesse positioned himself by the door, weapon ready as Ellie completed the reprogramming. Just as the approaching guards reached the entrance, she finished, the timer now synchronized with the other sites.

"Done!" she announced, moving swiftly to the rear window.

Jesse fired twice, dropping both guards before they could raise an alarm, then followed Ellie through the window. They sprinted for the tree line as shouts indicated their presence had been detected.

"Southern site secured," Ellie reported into her radio once they'd reached cover. "Timer synchronized. Eight minutes to release."

"Copy that," came Joel's relieved response. "All teams fall back to observation positions."

As gunfire erupted behind them, Ellie and Jesse continued their retreat, moving toward the ridgeline that would serve as their observation point. Her leg burned with each step, the earlier wound threatening to reopen under the strain, but she pushed through the pain with grim determination.

"Almost there," Jesse encouraged as they climbed, WLF search parties spreading out below them.

They reached the observation point with minutes to spare, collapsing into cover as searchlights swept the area. From this vantage, they could see all three holding pens—distant points of light in the darkness, connected by WLF patrols unaware of what was about to happen.

"All teams in position," Tommy confirmed over the radio. "Three minutes to release."

Ellie checked her weapon, preparing for potential pursuit. Below, the WLF continued searching, their patterns becoming more organized as officers redirected efforts from the ammunition fire to the security breach.

"Two minutes," Joel's voice came through, steady and certain.

The tension was almost unbearable, time seeming to slow as they waited for the culmination of their high-risk strategy. If successful, the WLF would be too occupied with the infected threat to mount their planned attack on Jackson. If not...

"One minute," Tommy announced.

Ellie shared a look with Jesse, both understanding what was at stake. Not just their own lives, but the future of Jackson itself.

"Thirty seconds," Joel counted down. "All teams confirm final status."

"Northern team ready," Tommy replied.

"Southern team ready," Ellie added.

"Western team ready," Joel concluded. "Prepare for chaos."

The final seconds ticked away, each team watching their respective holding pens with bated breath. Then, with synchronized precision, the gates opened.

At first, nothing seemed to happen. The pens appeared empty in the darkness, the infected within perhaps confused by the sudden freedom. Then, as if responding to some silent signal, they began to emerge—first a trickle, then a flood. Runners, clickers, even a few bloaters, their distinctive forms illuminated by the compound's lights as they poured from their containment.

For crucial seconds, the WLF remained unaware, still focused on their search for intruders. By the time alarms sounded, it was too late—the infected had caught the scent of living prey and were converging from three directions on the main outpost.

"It's working," Jesse breathed, watching as WLF soldiers abandoned their search to deal with the more immediate threat.

Ellie nodded, allowing herself a moment of satisfaction before returning to practicalities. "Now we need to make sure they keep flowing in the right direction. If they scatter, some could head toward Jackson."

The infected behaved as Arthur had predicted, following the path of least resistance—in this case, the deliberately opened routes toward the WLF outpost rather than the more difficult terrain toward Jackson. But infected were notoriously unpredictable, requiring constant monitoring until the threat was fully redirected.

"Western flow confirmed toward outpost," Joel reported. "Moving to extraction point."

"Northern flow likewise," Tommy added. "Beginning withdrawal."

Ellie watched their own handiwork with clinical detachment. The southern infected moved as intended, joining the converging horde drawn by the lights and sounds of the now-frantic WLF defenders.

"Southern flow confirmed," she reported. "Proceeding to extraction."

As they began their withdrawal, a new sound rose from the WLF outpost—automatic weapons fire, explosions, the unmistakable cacophony of a defensive position being overwhelmed. The infected had reached their target.

"All teams report status," Maria's voice came through, the connection weaker at this distance but still clear enough.

"Western team intact, proceeding to rendezvous," Joel confirmed.

"Northern team same," Tommy replied.

"Southern team withdrawing," Ellie added. "No casualties."

It had worked—better than they'd dared hope. The WLF was now fully occupied with surviving the very attack they'd planned to unleash on Jackson. The immediate threat had been neutralized, at least temporarily.

But as Ellie and Jesse made their way through the darkness, a nagging concern grew in her mind. They'd struck a devastating blow, but had they truly eliminated the threat? Abby was still out there. The WLF might be diminished but not destroyed. And vendettas, as Joel knew all too well, didn't die easily.

"Think this will be enough?" Jesse asked, seeming to read her thoughts. "To keep them away from Jackson for good?"

"No," Ellie answered honestly. "But it buys us time. And sometimes that's all you can hope for."

The journey back to Jackson was tense but uneventful, all three teams converging on the rendezvous point before continuing together. Ellie found herself watching Arthur as they traveled, alarmed by the change in his condition since she'd last seen him. His face had grown ashen, each step seeming to require more effort than the last, and the left side of his jacket was now visibly stained with blood.

Joel walked close beside his son, exchanging increasingly worried glances with Tommy. They were still an hour from Jackson, moving slower than planned due to Arthur's deteriorating condition, though he rejected any suggestion of rest.

"Just need to keep moving," he insisted when Tommy suggested a brief halt. His voice had grown faint, his breathing increasingly labored. "We stop out here, we're vulnerable."

The logic was sound, but Ellie could see what it was costing him to maintain this pace. Twice she caught him stumbling, only Joel's steadying hand keeping him upright.

"What happened?" she asked Joel quietly as they navigated a particularly dense section of forest.

"Wound reopened during the mission," Joel replied grimly. "Might be infected—he's running a fever."

Ellie's concern deepened. Field injuries turning septic was a death sentence in the old world; in theirs, with limited antibiotics and no hospitals, it was even more dangerous.

They were still thirty minutes from Jackson when Arthur finally collapsed. One moment he was walking, stubborn determination driving each step; the next, his knees buckled and he pitched forward. Only Joel's quick reflexes prevented him from hitting the ground face-first.

"Arthur!" Ellie rushed forward as Joel eased his son onto the ground.

Arthur's eyes were glassy with fever, his skin burning to the touch. The left side of his shirt, when Joel carefully pulled it up, revealed an angry red wound with telltale streaks spreading outward—blood poisoning setting in.

"Shit," Tommy muttered, seeing the infection. "We need to get him back to Doc, fast."

"He can't walk," Ellie stated the obvious, fear making her voice sharper than intended.

Joel made a quick decision. "I'll carry him. Jesse, take point. Tommy, cover our rear. Ellie, stay close." He looked at each of them. "We move fast, we don't stop. Understood?"

Everyone nodded, reorganizing themselves efficiently. Joel hoisted Arthur over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, grunting slightly at the weight but managing it through sheer determination. Ellie moved beside them, one hand on her weapon, the other occasionally reaching to check Arthur's pulse as they traveled.

His heartbeat was too fast, his breathing shallow. Twice he regained partial consciousness, murmuring incoherently before slipping back under.

The third time, as they came within sight of Jackson's walls, his eyes opened with brief clarity. "Ellie?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"I'm here," she reassured him, her hand finding his. "We're almost home. Stay with us."

His fingers tightened on hers weakly. "The mission?"

"Successful," she told him. "The infected hit the WLF exactly as planned. We did it."

Relief flashed across his feverish features. "Good," he managed, before his eyes rolled back and his body went completely limp.

"Joel!" Ellie's alarm was immediate. "He's unconscious!"

Joel quickened his pace, his own exhaustion forgotten in the face of this new urgency. "Almost there," he grunted, Jackson's gates now visible ahead. "Signal them!"

Tommy ran ahead, firing the recognition pattern that would alert the guards to open the gates without delay. By the time they reached the walls, Maria and a medical team were waiting, Doc Matthews at the fore.

"What happened?" the doctor demanded as Joel carefully transferred Arthur onto a stretcher.

"Wound reopened, turned septic," Joel explained tersely. "Been getting worse for hours. Lost consciousness about two minutes ago."

Doc Matthews examined the wound quickly, his expression grim. "Get him to the clinic, now! I need antibiotics, clean instruments, boiled water."

As the medical team rushed Arthur away, Ellie made to follow, only to be stopped by Maria's hand on her arm. "Let them work," she advised. "Doc's the best we have. If anyone can save him, it's him."

"He pushed himself too hard," Joel said, watching the stretcher disappear inside the clinic. "Should've checked his wounds more carefully before we left."

"This isn't on you," Tommy assured his brother. "Arthur made his choices. He knew the risks."

But Joel's expression remained haunted, the newfound parental concern sitting strangely on his weathered features. "He's my son," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

And in a way, Ellie reflected, it did. Joel had lost one child to the outbreak. The thought of losing another, so recently discovered, would be unbearable.

"Come on," Maria directed, ushering them toward the town hall. "Quick debrief, then you can check on him. The mission details matter—especially with Arthur out of commission."

The debriefing was mercifully brief. Each team reported their experiences, confirming the successful redirection of infected toward the WLF outpost. Maria documented everything, already planning increased patrols to monitor the aftermath and ensure no unforeseen consequences threatened Jackson.

"We've bought time," she concluded, "but we can't assume the threat is eliminated. The WLF still has resources, and Abby is still out there. We remain on high alert until we know more."

As soon as they were dismissed, Ellie, Joel, and Tommy headed straight for the clinic. The main room was empty except for a few minor injuries from the other team members, already treated and resting. Doc Matthews emerged from the back room, his shirt sleeves rolled up, hands freshly scrubbed but still stained with blood.

"How is he?" Joel demanded before the doctor could speak.

Doc's expression was grave. "It's bad. The wound reopened completely during your mission, letting in bacteria. He's septic—blood poisoning. I've cleaned it, started antibiotics, but..." He hesitated, clearly weighing his words. "The next twenty-four hours will determine if he makes it."

The stark assessment hit them all hard. Ellie felt her chest tighten, the possibility of loss suddenly, terrifyingly real.

"Can we see him?" she asked, her voice smaller than intended.

Doc Matthews nodded. "Briefly. He's unconscious, and needs to stay that way while his body fights the infection. No more than a few minutes."

He led them to a small room at the back of the clinic. Arthur lay on the single bed, sheet pulled to his waist, torso heavily bandaged. An IV bag—one of their precious few remaining from before the outbreak—hung beside the bed, fluid flowing into his arm. His skin had a grayish cast, and despite being unconscious, his features were tight with pain.

Joel approached first, his movements uncharacteristically hesitant as he looked down at his son. His hand hovered over Arthur's for a moment before settling on his forearm, the touch gentle as if afraid of causing more damage.

"You did good," he said quietly. "Now you just need to fight a little longer."

Tommy stayed by the door, giving the others space while maintaining a protective presence. His expression was solemn, concern for both Arthur and Joel evident in his watchful gaze.

Ellie moved to the opposite side of the bed, memories of their intimate connection before the mission flashing unbidden through her mind. How quickly things could change—from the closest human connection she'd experienced to this sterile distance, Arthur's consciousness submerged beneath fever and medication.

"I'll stay with him," she decided, looking up at Doc Matthews. "In case he wakes up, so he's not alone."

"Ellie—" Joel began, likely to suggest she needed rest herself.

"I'm staying," she repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Someone should be here, and you need to coordinate with Maria on next steps."

Doc Matthews considered this, then nodded reluctantly. "You can stay, but if your own wound starts acting up, you call for a replacement immediately. I don't need another patient."

"Understood," Ellie agreed.

Joel seemed about to protest further, then recognized the determination in her face—the same expression he'd seen countless times before, on patrols, during their journey across America, whenever she'd committed to something that mattered to her.

"I'll bring you some food," he said instead. "And check back in a few hours."

Doc Matthews ushered them out, pausing at the door for final instructions. "If he wakes, keep him calm. If his fever spikes higher or his breathing changes, call me immediately. I'll be just outside."

Once alone with Arthur, Ellie pulled a chair close to the bed, settling in for what might be a long vigil. His breathing was labored, each inhale a visible effort.

"You're too stubborn to die from this," she told him quietly, finding his hand beneath the sheet and lacing her fingers with his. "Not after everything you've survived."

Arthur gave no indication of hearing her, but she continued speaking anyway, her voice low and steady in the quiet room. She told him about her part of the mission, about the WLF's panic when the infected were released, about how their strategy had worked exactly as planned.

"You would have appreciated the chaos," she said with a sad smile. "All those WLF soldiers running for their lives from the very infected they planned to use against us. Poetic justice, really."

As night fell over Jackson, Ellie remained at Arthur's side, monitoring every change in his condition. Joel returned with food she barely touched, then came back with a blanket when it became clear she had no intention of leaving. He didn't try to convince her otherwise, merely squeezed her shoulder in silent understanding before departing again.

The hours passed slowly, marked by Doc Matthews' periodic checks. Arthur's fever neither broke nor worsened significantly, leaving him balanced on the precarious edge between recovery and decline.

In the deepest part of the night, when even Jackson's nocturnal sounds had quieted, Ellie found herself fighting exhaustion, her body demanding rest after the mission's exertions. Her head nodded forward despite her best efforts, jerking back up when her chin touched her chest.

"You need to fight this," she whispered to Arthur, as much to keep herself awake as to reach him. "I'm not done with you yet, remember? You promised."

His features remained unchanged, lost in whatever fevered dreams gripped him. Ellie leaned closer, her voice dropping to a barely audible murmur.

"I don't let people in easily," she admitted. "But you... you saw me. The real me. Not just what I could be for the world, not just what I mean to Joel. Just me." Her thumb traced small circles on the back of his hand. "So you need to come back. Because I need to know if this—us—is real. If it could be something."

The confession, spoken to unconscious ears, cost her more than she'd expected. Vulnerability had never come easily to her, not after all she'd lost. But Arthur had somehow slipped past defenses she'd thought impenetrable, becoming important in ways she was only beginning to understand.

As dawn approached, Arthur's fever finally broke. The change was subtle at first—his breathing easing slightly, the tension in his face relaxing. Doc Matthews, checking his temperature, allowed himself a small smile.

"He's turning the corner," the doctor confirmed. "Antibiotics are working. His body's fighting back."

Relief washed through Ellie, so powerful it left her light-headed. "He'll recover?"

"Barring complications, yes," Doc Matthews replied cautiously. "But he'll be weak for days, maybe weeks. That kind of infection takes a serious toll on the body."

"But he'll live," Ellie pressed, needing the explicit confirmation.

Doc nodded. "He's young, strong, and too damn stubborn to die from this. Yes, he'll live."

By mid-morning, Arthur still hadn't regained consciousness, but his color had improved dramatically. Joel, returning from an early patrol, found Ellie still at his side, exhaustion evident in the dark circles beneath her eyes.

"Your turn to rest," he insisted gently. "I'll stay with him."

This time, Ellie didn't argue. Her own body had reached its limits, the emotional strain of the night combining with physical exhaustion to leave her barely able to stand.

"Come get me if he wakes up," she requested, reluctantly releasing Arthur's hand.

Joel nodded, taking her place in the chair beside the bed. "Go. Sleep. He'll be here when you wake up."

Ellie made it as far as the clinic's small waiting area before her legs gave out, forcing her to sit on one of the worn couches. The thought of walking all the way back to Joel's house suddenly seemed impossible. Before she could decide what to do, her eyes closed of their own accord, and sleep claimed her completely.