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When Etho found him, Joel had everything under control.
Sure, there were three Reds rapidly closing in on him. And yeah, he was cowering behind a protruding pipe in a dead end, nowhere to go. But he had a plan.
He could hear their shouts in the distance, echoing through the narrow, foggy streets of the city. Their thumping footsteps grew nearer.
Blood rushed in Joel’s ears as he scanned the walls towering around him for a way out. Wooden planks boarded up all the windows, so he couldn’t break through them without an axe. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a sob for his missing things, lost to some other survivor who found his safehouse two nights ago and decided they needed the supplies more than Joel did. There were pipes and loose bricks that he could climb, but there was no way he’d make it all the way to the top, much less before the Reds caught him. But would falling to his death be better than being turned into one of them, forgetting everything he had once loved, until everything that he is was slowly consumed by mindless bloodthirst?
He checked his pockets for anything useful. No weapons other than his dagger, his old makeshift sword having been stolen along with the rest of his things. Less than half a roll of gauze. A pitiful amount of stale bread.
So, maybe he didn’t have a plan.
Joel struggled to suck in a breath though his constricting throat. His knuckles turned white around the hilt of his dagger. The Reds were only getting closer. He had seconds before they turned into the alley, if he was lucky. He blew out a breath and sheathed his dagger, then gripped the pipe next to him with shaking hands.
It was then that the Reds appeared. One looked down the alley, right at him, and he froze, entraced by its piercing crimson gaze.
For a moment, his future flashed before his eyes. Claws ripping into his chest, blood pouring out of him, and with it his identity. It would be agonising. He would feel every moment.
But then it would stop. And he would be reborn. He would never have any doubts again, no fears, no confusion. He would know exactly who he was. Exactly what he had to do. Just him and the suffocating, smothering, inescapable urge to kill, forever. It would be beautiful.
A thunderous grin split the Red’s face, and the three of them charged down the alleyway. Fear struck through Joel and snapped him out of his trance. He clambered up the pipe, the decaying metal creaking under his weight, his worn boots sliding down the side of it with every step. Rusted metal dug into his palms. The Reds congregated around the bottom of it and Joel prayed to a God he didn’t believe in, couldn’t believe in after everything that had happened, that their clumsy coordination would render them unable to climb up after him. He peered up the side of the building. He was barely a fifth of the way up, and his strained muscles were already failing. He would never make it, but there was no way he’d beat the three Reds in combat either, so it was the least he could do to put up a fight.
Without warning, the pipe began to shiver under his weight. He glanced down to see the Reds whacking the pipe. It was already weak, old and left unmaintained after the Change, and it was now trembling dangerously. Joel sucked in a breath and clung onto the brick wall. He desperately searched for a foothold, but there was none. He let out a yelp as the pipe careened to the side.
“Please, please, come on,” he muttered to himself, trying and failing to hold his weight on the wall, seconds from plummeting to his death. He held his breath, felt his heart pounding down to his fingertips, scrapes on his hands stinging.
Suddenly, with a mighty crash reverberating in his ears, the wooden boarded window next to him exploded in a shower of wood chips, an axe protruding from the split. A gloved hand surged out from the gap and gripped his arm. In the same moment, the pipe fell out from under him, a metallic shriek splitting the air. Joel clutched the mystery arm frantically, his ragged nails digging into its sleeve, his legs dangling in the air. Another arm reached out to Joel, yanking him up to the safety of the window. He planted his feet onto the windowsill, but his momentum sent him tumbling into the room, sharp wood splinters from the edge of the boards ripping into his sleeves.
Joel was quick to recover, rolling onto his feet and pulling out his dagger in one swift movement, prepared to defend himself. He took in the stranger who had just saved his life, who was currently standing still, empty hands raised and open in an attempt to show he wasn’t a threat. He stared at Joel impassively through the unkempt bright white hair falling into his eyes.
After deciding that he was safe, at least for now, Joel straightened up and put his dagger away. The two stared at eachother for a moment, before he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, thanks,” he muttered.
The man took a moment to respond. His face remained expressionless - or Joel thought it did. It was hard to tell with the black mask covering his mouth. “Sure,” he finally answered.
So, not the conversational type, Joel thought. “I’m Joel,” he told him, despite the fact he didn’t ask. This was the first relatively friendly survivor Joel had come across in months. Joel was completely and entirely alone. If he was to die soon, which he was sure he would, at least now somebody would know his name. He wouldn’t be totally forgotten.
“Where are you staying?” The man asked, apparently neglecting to introduce himself.
Joel blinked. “Uh, nowhere. I had to move a couple days ago.”
The man watched him for a long moment. Joel shifted uncomfortably under his unwavering gaze. “You can stay with me for tonight.” He then turned and started walking away, not even bothering to check if Joel was following him.
He was, but he wasn’t happy about it. “I don’t need your pity. I can find somewhere on my own,” Joel spat.
The man paused and turned to look at Joel blankly. Suddenly, Joel was very aware of how pathetic he looked. Dirtied skin and torn clothes, no meaningful tools of any kind, not even a bag on him. He had nothing. Not that anyone was living in luxury at the moment, but Joel was without a doubt doing particularly badly.
Then he turned away and started down a flight of stairs, with only a little hesitation. The floorboards were corroded and rotting, the thin carpet damp and peeling. Joel followed carefully.
One more flight of stairs and a long hallway with the roof breaking apart above them, and they were out of the front door, back onto the empty streets. They felt a lot less confined when he wasn’t running for his life.
The two of them walked in silence for a short while, Joel falling a few steps behind this stranger who he was blindly trusting with his life. The fog hung low, preventing him from seeing more than a few metres ahead, and their footsteps echoed in the eerily silent city. It wasn’t unusual for it to be so deserted after the Change, but it still made Joel uneasy.
“So, are you going to tell me your name?” Joel asked, a tentative attempt at something as close to a friendship as you could get these days.
The man took a moment to respond, as he usually did. He seemed to consider each of his words carefully. What was there to consider about his own name?
“Etho.”
Joel jogged a couple steps to catch up, so the two of them were walking side by side. “Etho,” he repeated, for lack of a better response. “Nice name.”
The corners of Etho’s eyes crinkled into what might have been a smile. It was the first expression Joel had seen him make. “You don’t say it properly,” he pointed out.
Joel scowled. “Yes, I have a speech impediment, well done for noticing. Shut up.”
“I like how you say it.”
To that, Joel had no reply. They continued to trudge down the street together, hands in pockets to shield them from the cold, nothing but the old brick houses to see them.