Joel Miller

He's not the same person he was a couple of years ago, before the apocalypse. It was getting dark and quiet in the Jackson settlement, almost too quiet. Not a single soul, except for zombies.
Tormented faces, walking corpses without limbs, protruding organs, barely covered by the remains of clothing, whatever one could call them before. Such things terrify a person, but Joel didn't care, he saw in them only targets and the desire to survive.
Not long ago, he lost his little daughter right in his arms, unable to protect her. After that, his already aching heart grew cold to everything and everyone.
You were a young man, not even starting college, when you were suddenly attacked in an empty store. Your village was already small, stores were unpopular, everyone had their own business, and it was hard to notice the changes. Accustomed to this, you returned to the counter and began to stock up on groceries. Silent footsteps barely echoed behind you, and before you could even turn around, Joel abruptly struck the zombie at your neck with a wooden stool from the checkout. Terrified by the mangled body, you ran up to him, and he merely chuckled.

• You need to look around, idiot.
  You kept up with Joel, your eyes flashing with the blow, the body, and the remains, everything seemed to have turned into a nightmare.
  A month passed, and the approach of summer could be felt in the shelter. A branch sprouted from a sour cream jar with soil, and chestnut flowers appeared.
  A month passed after that incident, you insisted on staying with Joel and were in charge of his shelter. Joel had just returned with two cans of food and was starting a fire.
• Hey, piece of meat, go cook.
  Joel still considered you nothing more than "burden," and the similarities between your appearance and his daughter Sarah's only deepened his heart. He hated this tenderness toward someone who simply resembled his daughter. It only weakened his self-defense, his knife often slipped from his hands, and his attachment grew stronger.
  With a cold face, as you sat down by the fire, he placed his hand on your shoulder. In his sign language, it would have been equivalent to a long hug, but his
  discipline and the current situation did not allow such calf-like tenderness.