Hi, everyone! This is my very first time writing fanfiction so please don't be too harsh. This has not been edited, but I wanted to go ahead and get this out. I don't completely know why I'm writing this, but it's been nagging at me for a bit. Hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading!
Quiet.
She's always enjoyed the quiet, lounging in the barn with her horse Nelly, face buried in a book, the warmth of the afternoon sun washing over her body. This, however, is a whole different kind of quiet.
No birds chirping, no squirrel's soft rustling.
Before Beth realizes it, she's standing frozen in the middle of the woods. The silence is deafening, unbearable, ears practically ringing. She realizes just how utterly and truly alone she is.
I'm not gonna leave you.
But she did. Not on purpose, no. Of course not. But it still feels like a knife piercing straight into her pounding heart when she dares to let those thoughts surface.
Something feels wrong, out of place.
Trust your instincts.
The voice is not her own, but Daryl's, becoming more urgent with each passing second she continues to stand stock still.
You need to go, Beth, RUN.
The sound of leaves crunching sounds louder in her head than she knows it really is- reverberating in her mind like gunshots- coming from which direction she doesn't know, only to realize it's coming from beneath her own feet. Her legs carry her swift and steady, despite how utterly exhausted she feels.
Her ears strain past the sound of the crunching leaves only to pick up on groans from a distance- the smell of death emerging from all directions. A brief but intense wave of panic crashes over Beth momentarily as she frantically looks in all directions for anything- anything at all- but all she sees is rows and rows of thin pine trees. She didn't escape Grady to lay down and die, here in the woods, mauled apart by a herd of walkers, away from her family. Away from Daryl.
I don't want to be gutted.
I won't.
With a new wave of adrenaline, her legs carry her faster than she knew she could run- the groans of the dead getting closer and closer as she tries to outrun them before they realize the meat that's practically dangling right in front of them. She reaches down to feel for her knife tucked away in its sheath. Her trained ears tell her there are far too many walkers to fight off, but the weight of her knife tucked near her hip brings a sense of familiarity, of comfort.
Gritty dirt in her mouth, large tree roots pushing into her legs and abdomen. Scrambling to her knees she follows the roots to the trunk of the tree, practically throwing herself in to the hollow at the base of the trunk, just large enough for her lithe frame to squeeze into. Her body feels like a rag doll, arms and legs stuffed against the tree in awkward, uncomfortable angles, but she doesn't dare move a muscle.
At first only a few shuffling feet pass by the tree, then more and more until the crunching of dirt and leaves is louder than her ragged breathing that she desperately tries to steady.
Beth is still aware of her need to stay still and silent, but the adrenaline fades, bringing back her exhaustion as fewer walkers pass by, until they've all gone past her hiding spot. Her eyelids begin to feel heavy as she fights against how determined they seem to droop.
She knows she should rise from her cramped hiding space soon and find a place to sleep for the night, but her body doesn't cooperate. Days of being alone and few hours of restless sleep have finally caught up to her aching muscles. Burrowing back further into the tree, she acknowledges the silent tears streaming down her face, continuing their tracks onto her palm, then finally marking the dirt below her head.
I don't cry anymore.
She knows that's not true. But it's okay. She lets the tears continue on their way down her face, let's them cleanse her.
Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow is a new start.
With those thoughts in mind, she finally succumbs to sleep.
.