Jackson fell quiet as night descended, watch fires dotting the perimeter like earthbound stars. Ellie sat alone on the porch of Joel's house, her injured leg propped on a stool, cleaning her pistol with practiced efficiency. The scouting party had departed at dawn, Joel's backward glance lingering on her as they rode through the gates. Arthur hadn't looked back at all.
"Thought I might find you here," Maria said, climbing the porch steps with two steaming mugs in hand. "Coffee? Or what passes for it these days."
Ellie accepted the mug gratefully, the warmth seeping into her fingers. "Thanks."
Maria settled into the chair beside her, studying Ellie's profile in the dim light. "They'll be fine. Joel and Tommy have been doing this longer than most."
"I should be with them," Ellie replied, holstering her freshly cleaned weapon. "This leg isn't that bad."
Maria raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. She'd known Ellie long enough to recognize when stubborn pride was speaking. "Sometimes the hardest part of caring about people is letting them do what they need to do."
Ellie snorted. "That sounds rehearsed."
"Practice makes perfect," Maria replied with a slight smile. "I've had years of saying it to myself when Tommy's out there."
They sat in companionable silence for a while, sipping the bitter coffee and watching the stars emerge. Ellie's thoughts kept circling back to the argument with Arthur, to the firm resolve in his eyes when he'd told her she was staying behind. The logical part of her knew he was right—her injured leg was a liability on a stealth mission. But logic rarely won against pride.
"Get some rest," Maria advised eventually, rising to leave. "That leg won't heal if you keep pushing it."
After Maria left, Ellie remained on the porch for a while longer, watching the quiet routines of Jackson's night shift. The normalcy of it all felt surreal against the backdrop of her concerns for the scouting party. Finally, driven inside by the chill, she made her way to bed, each step a reminder of why she'd been left behind.
Sleep claimed her quickly, exhaustion overwhelming restlessness.
---
Miles away, the scouting party moved silently through dense forest, having left their horses hidden in a secure ravine. Joel took point, decades of survival instincts guiding him through the underbrush without disturbing so much as a leaf. Tommy followed, then Jesse, with Arthur bringing up the rear, constantly checking their six.
They'd been traveling since dawn, following rumors from traders about WLF movements west of Jackson. The Washington Liberation Front had been expanding their territory, according to whispers—moving eastward from their Seattle stronghold, establishing outposts, claiming resources.
"Hold," Joel whispered, his raised fist bringing the group to an immediate stop.
Ahead, through a break in the trees, lights flickered—too steady for campfires, too organized for wanderers. Joel beckoned Arthur forward, passing him the binoculars wordlessly.
Arthur surveyed the scene, his expression unchanged despite what he was seeing. "WLF outpost," he confirmed softly. "Recently established, but well-fortified. Proper guard rotations, spotlights, perimeter alarms."
"Numbers?" Tommy asked, his voice barely audible.
"At least twenty that I can see," Arthur replied. "Probably more inside."
Joel took the binoculars back, studying the encampment. "Too close to Jackson for comfort."
"We should get closer," Jesse suggested. "See what they're planning."
Tommy nodded, eyes on his brother. "Your call, Joel."
Joel considered their options. Closer observation meant greater risk, but they needed information—Jackson's safety depended on knowing what threat they faced. "We wait until nightfall," he decided. "Then circle around to the eastern approach. Less guards posted there."
They retreated to a defensive position to wait out the day, taking turns keeping watch while the others rested. Arthur found himself sharing a shift with Joel as afternoon deepened toward evening, the silence between them companionable but loaded with unspoken thoughts.
"She was pretty upset about being left behind," Joel said finally, eyes never leaving the distant outpost.
Arthur didn't pretend to misunderstand. "She'll get over it."
"Will she?" Joel glanced at him. "Ellie tends to hold onto things."
"She knows it was the right call," Arthur replied, his tone even. "Even if she doesn't like it."
Joel studied him for a moment, then returned his attention to the binoculars. "You care about her," he observed. Not a question.
Arthur remained silent for several beats. "Yes," he admitted finally.
"Good," Joel said simply. "She deserves that. But—" his voice hardened slightly, "—she's been through enough. Lost enough."
The warning was clear. Arthur acknowledged it with a slight nod. "I don't intend to add to that."
Further conversation was cut short as Tommy and Jesse rejoined them, fully alert after their brief rest. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the forest floor—perfect cover for their approach.
"Time to move," Joel said, checking his weapons one last time. "Remember, information gathering only. We avoid engagement unless absolutely necessary."
They moved like ghosts through the darkening woods, years of experience guiding their every step. As they neared the WLF outpost, Joel signaled for them to split up—Tommy with Jesse taking the northern perimeter, himself with Arthur approaching from the east.
The outpost was more sophisticated than they'd initially thought—a repurposed ranger station surrounded by newly constructed guard posts and fencing. Vehicles were parked in neat rows, supplies stacked under tarps, and armed sentries patrolled at regular intervals.
Joel and Arthur found a vantage point behind a fallen tree, close enough to observe but still within the treeline for cover. From here, they could see inside the main compound, where WLF soldiers moved with military precision—nothing like the chaotic survivor groups that typically formed in the aftermath of FEDRA's collapse.
"These people have training," Arthur murmured. "Organization. Leadership."
Joel nodded grimly. "Question is, what are they doing this far east?"
The answer came sooner than expected. The outpost gates opened to admit a small convoy—two vehicles, headlights cutting through the gathering darkness. As the lead truck parked, soldiers gathered around, clearly welcoming important arrivals.
Arthur tensed beside Joel as a figure emerged from the passenger side of the lead vehicle. Even in the dim light, her muscular build and distinctive stance were unmistakable.
"Abby," he whispered, recognition and confirmation in one word.
Joel's grip tightened on his rifle, memories of the lodge—of the golf club, of his narrow escape thanks to Arthur's intervention—flashing through his mind. "Guess that confirms her connection to the WLF wasn't temporary."
They watched as Abby spoke to the gathered soldiers, her gestures animated, her authority evident. Though they couldn't hear her words, the response was clear—focused attention, nodding heads, weapons checked with renewed purpose.
"They're planning something," Arthur observed. "Something big enough to bring her out from Seattle."
A noise behind them—too deliberate to be wildlife, too careful to be infected—caused both men to freeze. Arthur's hand moved slowly to his knife, eyes meeting Joel's in silent communication.
The WLF patrol emerged from the trees before they could react, five soldiers with rifles raised, too professional to waste time with warnings or questions. Joel and Arthur dove in opposite directions as gunfire erupted, the peaceful reconnaissance instantly transforming into a desperate fight for survival.
Joel rolled behind a boulder, returning fire with controlled bursts that dropped one soldier immediately. Arthur moved with lethal efficiency, his knife finding the throat of the closest attacker before the man could adjust his aim.
But they were outnumbered, and the gunfire had alerted the main outpost. Alarms blared, spotlights swung in their direction, and shouts indicated more soldiers mobilizing.
"Fall back!" Joel ordered, providing covering fire as Arthur retreated into denser forest.
They ran in a zigzag pattern, using the trees for cover as bullets splintered bark around them. Eventually, they reached the pre-arranged meeting point where Tommy and Jesse were already waiting, tension evident in their postures.
"What happened?" Tommy demanded. "We heard gunfire."
"Patrol spotted us," Joel explained tersely. "Whole camp's on alert now."
"We need to move," Jesse urged. "They'll sweep the area."
They retreated rapidly but carefully, ensuring they weren't leading their pursuers directly back to their horses. Once satisfied they'd lost any immediate tail, they circled back to the ravine where their mounts waited.
"Did you at least see anything useful before they made you?" Tommy asked as they prepared to ride.
Joel and Arthur exchanged looks. "Abby," Joel said, the name carrying significant weight. "She's definitely with the WLF, and from what we could tell, in a position of authority."
"Shit," Tommy muttered. "What's she doing this close to Jackson?"
"Nothing good," Arthur replied grimly. "They're organized, well-equipped, and now they know someone's watching them."
"We need to warn Jackson," Jesse said, mounting his horse. "Maria needs to know what we're dealing with."
They rode hard through the night, pushing their horses as much as they dared on the unfamiliar terrain. A round had grazed Tommy's shoulder during their escape, and Jesse had a cut above his eyebrow from a low-hanging branch, but otherwise they'd escaped relatively unscathed.
Dawn was breaking as they approached Jackson's walls, the settlement just stirring to life as the gates opened to admit them. The grim expressions they wore told the gathered crowd everything they needed to know about the success of their mission.
---
In her dreams, Ellie wandered through unfamiliar streets, rain falling in sheets around her. Seattle, a part of her mind supplied, though she'd never been there. The city felt oppressive, watching, hostile. Her hands in the dream were stained with something dark—blood that wouldn't wash away no matter how long she stood in the downpour.
*A voice, unfamiliar yet somehow known: "We let you both live, and you wasted it."*
*The sound of a golf club cutting through air.*
*A guitar with two strings missing, notes discordant as she tried to play.*
*Standing alone on a beach, waves washing away footprints in the sand, leaving no trace anyone had ever been there with her.*
Ellie jerked awake at the sound of commotion from the main gate—voices raised in urgent tones, horses' hooves on packed earth. For a moment, the dream images lingered, too fragmented to form a coherent whole but leaving her with an inexplicable sense of dread.
Shaking it off, she reached for her boots, the realization hitting her—the scouting party was returning, far earlier than expected. Either they'd found something significant, or something had gone wrong.
By the time she made it to the gate, the four riders had dismounted, their expressions grim as they spoke with Maria. Ellie scanned them quickly for injuries—Tommy favoring his shoulder, Jesse with a cut above his eyebrow, but Joel and Arthur apparently unharmed.
Relief washed through her, sharper than she'd expected. The glimpses from her dream—vague but threatening—made seeing them whole and present all the more powerful.
"What happened?" she asked, approaching the group.
Joel's expression softened slightly at the sight of her. "WLF outpost, heavily fortified, about a day's ride west. We were spotted."
"And?" Ellie pressed, sensing there was more.
"We saw Abby," Arthur supplied, his eyes meeting hers directly. "With the WLF. In a position of authority, from what we could tell."
The name sent an inexplicable chill through Ellie, echoing with something from her dream that she couldn't quite grasp. "What's she doing this close to Jackson?"
"That's what we need to figure out," Maria interjected. "Town hall, twenty minutes. We need a plan."
As the small crowd dispersed, Arthur approached Ellie, his gaze assessing. "How's the leg?"
"Fine," she replied automatically.
A hint of a smile touched his lips. "Still a terrible liar."
Despite everything, Ellie found herself returning the smile. Her anger at being left behind seemed petty in the face of their safe return. "Did you really see Abby? The woman who tried to kill Joel?"
Arthur nodded, his expression darkening. "She's organizing something at that outpost. Something that involves a lot of soldiers and resources."
"Something aimed at us," Ellie concluded.
"Most likely." Arthur fell into step beside her as they walked toward the town hall. "Joel and I saw her giving what looked like a briefing. The soldiers there responded like she had authority."
Ellie's mind raced with implications. "She won't stop, will she? Not after what happened at the lodge."
"No," Arthur admitted. "People like that—with that kind of focused hatred—they don't just let things go."
Something about his words resonated with an echo from her dream, sending another chill down Ellie's spine. Before she could examine the feeling, they reached the town hall where the others were already gathered.
Inside, maps were spread across Maria's desk, Joel marking the location of the WLF outpost with grim precision. Tommy and Jesse recounted what they'd observed from the northern perimeter—troop numbers, weapons sighted, defensive capabilities.
"They have at least three armored vehicles," Tommy reported. "Military-grade weapons. Radio equipment. This isn't a temporary camp—they're establishing a forward base."
"For what purpose?" Maria asked, though her expression suggested she already knew.
"Us," Joel said simply. "Or more specifically, me. Tommy. Arthur." His eyes flicked to Ellie briefly. "Anyone connected to what happened in Salt Lake City or at the lodge."
"They know about me?" Ellie asked, tensing.
"We don't know for sure," Joel replied. "But it's a safe bet they know about your... significance."
Her immunity. The potential cure. The reason Joel had slaughtered the Firefly doctors and, by extension, why Abby had tried to kill him. The burden of it settled over Ellie like a physical weight.
"So what do we do?" Jesse asked, ever practical. "We can't just wait for them to make a move."
"We could strike first," Tommy suggested. "Hit them before they hit us."
"With what army?" Maria countered. "They outnumber us and have better equipment. A direct confrontation would be suicide."
The debate continued, strategies proposed and dismissed, risks weighed against limited options. Throughout, Ellie noticed Arthur's unusual silence, his eyes thoughtful as he studied the maps.
"Arthur?" she prompted finally. "You've been quiet."
All eyes turned to him. Arthur straightened, his decision apparently made. "There's another option we haven't considered," he said carefully. "The WLF knows Joel and Tommy by sight. But me? I was in shadow when I saved Joel. Abby saw me briefly, but doesn't know my connection to Jackson."
Understanding dawned on Joel's face. "You want to infiltrate them."
"I have the training," Arthur confirmed. "With the Fireflies, I specialized in reconnaissance, intelligence gathering. I could pass as a recruit or a survivor looking to join up."
"No," Joel said immediately, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Too risky."
"It's our best option," Arthur countered calmly. "We need to know exactly what they're planning, not just guess. Intelligence is the difference between survival and extinction."
"He's not wrong," Tommy admitted reluctantly. "We're flying blind otherwise."
Maria studied Arthur with narrowed eyes. "How would this work? Practically speaking."
"I approach as a drifter," Arthur explained. "Someone who's heard the WLF offers security, purpose. I have enough military knowledge to be useful to them, enough Firefly background to be believable."
"And if they recognize you?" Joel demanded. "If Abby remembers your face?"
"Then I don't come back," Arthur replied simply. "But that's a risk I'm willing to take."
Ellie watched the exchange with growing unease. The logical part of her recognized the strategic value of Arthur's plan. The emotional part rebelled against putting him in such danger—especially after her unsettling dream fragments.
"I could go instead," she offered suddenly. "They've never seen me."
"Absolutely not," Joel and Arthur said in unison, then exchanged startled glances at their synchronicity.
"Your immunity is too valuable to risk," Arthur continued. "And you're still injured."
"So are you," Ellie pointed out. "Your side—"
"Is healing fine," Arthur cut her off. "This is what I was trained for, Ellie. Let me do my job."
The room fell silent, the decision hanging in the air like a physical presence. Finally, Maria sighed.
"I don't like it," she admitted. "But I like our other options even less. How soon could you be ready?"
"Tomorrow," Arthur replied without hesitation. "I'll need supplies for the cover story, clothing without Jackson identifiers, a believable backstory."
Joel looked like he wanted to object further, but years of survival had taught him to recognize when pragmatism must override emotion. "I want daily radio contact, pre-arranged times. We establish a fallback point. Extraction protocols."
Arthur nodded, accepting these terms. "We'll work out the details tonight."
As the meeting concluded and people dispersed to their various responsibilities, Ellie caught Arthur's arm, holding him back.
"This is crazy," she said when they were alone, her voice low. "If they recognize you—"
"They won't," Arthur assured her, his confidence unwavering. "I've done this before, Ellie. Many times."
"With the Fireflies?"
He nodded. "Intelligence gathering was my specialty. Getting into places I wasn't supposed to be, learning things I wasn't supposed to know."
Ellie studied his face, searching for any hint of doubt or fear. Finding none, she sighed. "I still don't like it."
"You don't have to like it," Arthur replied with the barest hint of a smile. "Just trust that I know what I'm doing."
"Fine," Ellie conceded grudgingly. "But if you get yourself killed, I'll be really pissed."
This time he did smile, a rare sight that transformed his usually serious features. "Noted."
They walked together toward Joel's house, where they would spend the evening planning Arthur's infiltration in detail. The lingering fragments of Ellie's dream still whispered at the edges of her consciousness, but she pushed them aside. There were more immediate concerns than vague nightmares.
That night, as Joel and Arthur pored over maps and developed cover stories, Ellie watched from the periphery, contributing when asked but mostly observing the surprising synchronicity that had developed between father and son. They thought alike, these two—strategic, measured, willing to take calculated risks when necessary.
After finalizing the plans, Arthur joined Ellie on the porch, both of them seeking a moment of quiet before the next day's challenges.
"I'm sorry about our argument," he said suddenly. "Before the scouting mission. I shouldn't have been so rigid."
Ellie waved it off. "You were right. My leg would've been a liability." The admission cost her pride, but recent events had put things in perspective.
"Still," Arthur insisted. "I could have handled it better."
They sat in companionable silence for a while, the night sounds of Jackson wrapping around them like a familiar blanket. Eventually, Ellie voiced the question that had been troubling her since the town hall meeting.
"Why you?" she asked softly. "Why not Tommy or Jesse or someone else? Why does it have to be you ris