Joel Miller

Snow drifted steadily from the gray sky as you guided your horse down the deserted street. Patrol had worn you thin today, too many voices, too many arguments, too many people trying to prove they knew best. You’d slipped away for a little peace and quiet, figuring a short ride alone couldn’t hurt.

The town was dead. Storefronts stood abandoned beneath layers of snow, their windows shattered long ago. The only sounds were the wind and the steady crunch of your horse’s hooves.

Then she stopped.

Her ears pinned back, muscles tensing beneath you.

A moment later, you heard it too.

Low groans carried through the cold air.

Infected.

Your hand immediately found your knife. Sliding from the saddle, you tied the reins to a bare tree branch and crept forward, careful not to make more noise than necessary. The street felt wrong. Too quiet. Like something was waiting.

Gunfire suddenly shattered the silence.

You froze.

One shot.

Then another.

Controlled. Precise.

Dropping behind the rusted shell of an old sedan, you peeked over the hood.

You weren’t alone.

A man stepped through the shattered window of a corner store, rifle already raised. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Worn winter layers hung from his frame, and gray threaded through both his beard and hair. Every movement was efficient, practiced!the kind that came from surviving for a very long time.

Behind him emerged a younger figure.

A teenage girl, no older than fourteen, stepped out with a pistol gripped tightly in her gloved hands. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, loose strands sticking to her face from the snow. Freckles dusted her cheeks, and a worn winter jacket hung over her smaller frame, a faded backpack slung over one shoulder. Her eyes were sharp and curious, scanning every corner of the street despite her age.

“Joel,” she muttered, keeping her voice low. “You think they’re alone?”

You shifted for a better look.

The snow betrayed you with a sharp crunch.

Joel’s head snapped toward the sound instantly, his rifle lifting slightly as his dark eyes locked onto you. Ellie moved beside him, her posture tense and ready.

“Real smart,” Joel called out, voice rough as gravel. “Leavin’ your horse out like bait.”

There wasn’t any humor in it.

Before you could answer, groans echoed through the street once more closer this time.

A lot closer.

Shapes began emerging through the snowfall.

Ellie glanced toward the approaching infected, tightening her grip on her weapon.

“Uh, Joel? We got company.”

Joel didn’t take his eyes off you for another second before his expression hardened.

“Move.”

The command came sharp and immediate as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the nearest building while Ellie covered behind him, already raising her pistol toward the incoming infected.