Eventually Malcolm will be able to nudge Doc into a warm bath and a change of clothes. For now he seems to be accepting the weight of the throw, holding the two ends closed using icy cold fingers for a substitute clasp.

He doesn't want to find her bloated body rotting on the beach or washing up on the streets once the weather starts to let up. That there won't be maggots feasting on her eyeballs and intestines because there are no maggots anywhere brings him little comfort.

"She's coming back," he says quietly, giving Ellie and Mathias no choice in the matter. "She has to. She's--" and he falters because he knows this isn't fair on her. She's not... his Alice. And he's not her Joel. He hadn't drawn her into his life because he wanted some kind of substitute surrogate vessel for his misplaced affections, and he's fairly certain Ellie hasn't done that with him either. And yet, he feels this acute loss cutting a little deep.

"She's the only little girl I have left," he finishes weakly, admitting to this most heinous crime of adopting unruly, strong-willed, formidable young ladies and setting himself up for failure when he watches them get hurt.