Red Dead X Last Of Us

Snow crunched softly under hooves as the two riders moved along the frozen trail, the world around them painted in hushed whites and grays. The air was sharp, clean, and still, broken only by the rhythmic clop of their horses and the occasional snort of warm breath into the cold.

Joel rode a little ahead, scanning the hills and treeline as they followed the curve of a long-dried creek bed. Arthur trailed behind for a while, lost in the familiar rhythm. Then he pulled up beside Joel, riding shoulder to shoulder as the silence stretched between them.

"You ever think 'bout the end?" Arthur asked, his voice cutting gently through the frost-laced air.

Joel glanced sideways. "The end of what?"

"The end o' your story. How it wraps up. What's left when it's all over."

Joel took a breath, his grip on the reins tightening slightly. "Used to. Not so much anymore."

Arthur gave a small nod. "Guess I didn't get a chance to stop thinkin' 'bout mine."

He leaned forward, hand resting near the saddlehorn. The wind stirred his coat, the snow catching in the folds of his old duster like it had on the Grizzlies all those years ago.

"I died, Joel."

Joel looked at him, brows creased.

"Least, I was supposed to. Up on a mountaintop. After all the killin', the runnin', all the damn lies... it caught up. And so did the sickness."

Joel didn't interrupt. Just listened.

"Tuberculosis. That's what got me. It ate me from the inside while I was tryin' to keep the folks I cared 'bout from bein' swallowed up by a man gone mad."

Arthur's jaw worked for a moment, remembering the sting of betrayal, the weight in his chest heavier than any illness.

"Dutch… he was our leader. Like a brother, maybe more. But he lost himself. Power, money, some dream that didn't exist anymore. We all bled for it, until I saw what he'd become. And I stood against him. For John. For Jack."

He paused, the memory vivid and bitter.

"Last thing I remember was watchin' the sunrise, after fightin' my old friend near to death. I helped John escape with his family… gave him my hat, my satchel. Figured that was it. My time."

Joel's brow furrowed deeply, his voice quiet. "And then?"

"Then I woke up. In a world I didn't recognize. Cities swallowed by grass. Roads cracked like old bones. No Pinkertons. No outlaws. Just... silence. And ruin."

The two rode in silence for a while. The weight of it all seemed to follow behind Arthur like a ghost.

Joel finally spoke. "You stood up for the right thing. That matters."

Arthur gave a soft huff, more breath than laugh.

"Sure hope so. Spent most my life doin' wrong. Lies, robbery, killin'... but in the end, I tried to be better. I was better. For as long as I could be."

He looked at Joel. "Maybe that's why I'm here. I ain't sure. But this time... I ain't wastin' it."

Joel nodded slowly. "Ain't many people get a second chance, Arthur."

"Then I'll make it count."

Ahead, the trail dipped into a narrow pass. Joel clicked his tongue, urging his horse forward.

Arthur followed, his voice carrying through the snowfall one last time.

"You got ghosts too, Joel. I can see it in your eyes. One day, you'll tell me 'bout 'em."

Joel gave a quiet, almost imperceptible nod.

"I will."

The trees thinned as Arthur and Joel rode up the ridge, snow falling light and slow like ash from a dying sky. The horizon stretched white and silent — until it wasn't.

Joel reined in his horse sharply.

"Shit…"

Down in the valley below, the snow was disturbed — moving. At first it looked like nothing but shadows against the pale, but then they started to shift, jerk, twitch.

A horde.

Dozens of infected, their limbs twitching with unnatural pores, flesh crusted over with frost and fungal bloom. They trudged, staggered, some faster than others, their jerky movements barely slowed by the frigid air.

Joel stared in disbelief. "They shouldn't be this far out. Not in this cold."

Arthur squinted, hand already going to the scope of his bolt-action rifle slung on his back. "You sayin' they don't like the cold?"

Joel nodded. "Too cold, too empty — they usually stay closer to the cities or lower ground. This far north, they don't last long."

Arthur frowned, pulling the rifle off his back and peering through the scope. He panned across the valley.

Then he froze. "Joel..."

Joel turned his head.

"There's a goddamn bear."

And sure enough, at the far side of the horde, a massive shape slumped in the snow — a bear, huge and shaggy, its belly torn wide open. Blood soaked the snow around it. Several infected crawled over the carcass, biting into the flesh, ripping muscle and fur with their jagged teeth.

"They took down a bear?" Joel whispered, disbelief thick in his voice.

Arthur watched, eyes narrowing. "That normal? You sure these things ain't gettin' tougher?"

Joel didn't answer. He didn't have to. The way his jaw tightened said enough.

Suddenly, one of the infected stood taller than the rest. Its head jerked unnaturally — not a Runner. Bigger. Wetter. Faster.

Its head snapped in their direction.

And it screeched.

Arthur muttered, "Well, shit."

The screech was enough. The others stopped feasting. Heads turned, sniffing the air.

Then the valley moved. Like water breaking through ice — they surged.

Joel shouted, "We've been seen! Go!"

Arthur yanked the reins. "Go! Move!"

The two horses reared and bolted up the trail, hooves kicking up snow. Behind them, the horde came fast — faster than anything should in the snow. Runners scrambled over rocks and tore through trees like rabid wolves.

Arthur didn't even look back. "They're gainin'!"

Joel gritted his teeth, leaned into the gallop. "Back to the ridge! There's a slope they'll struggle with!"

A plan. Arthur liked that. He clicked his tongue, urging the horse harder.

Gunshots cracked — Joel turned in the saddle and fired a few rounds. One infected dropped. Another stumbled. The rest kept coming.

Arthur pulled his bolt-action, turned with expert ease, and squeezed off a single round — crack! — headshot. Another. Another.

"I got five more shots!" he shouted.

The slope came fast. Joel's horse took it first, skidding down in wide arcs. Arthur followed, snow kicking up in blinding flurries. The horde reached the crest behind them but hesitated — the incline too steep, too slick.

Some fell. Tumbling, crashing, snapping limbs as they slammed into rocks.

The rest stopped.

Panting hard, the two horses finally slowed at the base of the ridge. Arthur wiped sweat from his brow despite the cold.

"You weren't kiddin'... These bastards ain't like anythin' I ever seen."

Joel nodded, chest heaving. "They're changin'. Evolving maybe. Or just gettin' desperate."

Arthur looked back up the ridge, eyes narrowing.

"Either way... I don't like it."

Joel adjusted his rifle. "We need to get back. Tell Tommy. Tell Maria."

Arthur muttered under his breath, "And here I thought I was gettin' some fresh air…"

They turned their horses toward the west and started the ride back. The snow swallowed the trail behind them.

But not the sound of screeches echoing across the hills.