This is my first Fanfiction in a looonnnggg time so I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. This IS a crossover with The Boondock Saints that I didn't want to place in the crossover section (didn't look like it had a lot of activity over there) Things in this chapter are shaky and if anyone would like to beta or even just do a quick proof read of coming chapters that would be a HUGE help the likes of which you have no idea. I own freakin' nothing! And let me tell you many tears have been shed over that fact. So please enjoy or not, I accept all reviews even if they are tearing me a new one telling me how bad I suck, because then at least I know! So yea… on with the show I guess.

I don't want to die…

~TBS~TWD~TBS~TWD~TBS~TWD~TBS~TWD~TBS~TWD~TBS~TWD~TBS~TWD~TBS~TWD~TBS~TWD

I don't want to die… It's amazing how one little though could overshadow anything else. I don't want to die…not like this…

Since the end of the world I figured I'd die the not so pleasant death of being eaten by walkers. And then Shane Walsh killed Otis. He thought he had gotten away with it; that no one would ever know. But I knew. Every time Otis' name was mentioned that same nasty light would come into his eyes, the same awful smile that he would try and pass off as a grimace. But I knew, and so did Dale, and looking back Daryl probably knew too. That first night before they even left to try for the supplies I knew I didn't like him. From how he treated Rick, who was obviously just a Dad terrified his son was going to die, to that stupid little smirk I wanted to slap off his face when he was talking of getting the equipment necessary, the one that said he was going to be the reason the boy lived, not his father. It was the same night when he came back alone, a terrible, mean, and crazed look in his eyes that I decided he was a man to be afraid of. I wanted to scream over his eulogy for Otis, the only thing keeping me back being poor Patricia, she didn't deserve that blow, and Daddy. He would have kicked them off the farm the second he believed it. While Shane was horrible the others in the group seemed like good people and I didn't want to be the reason they would have to go face more of the dead.

Daddy, bless his soul, had faith from the start that it was just a virus, that it could be cured. I knew he had Momma and Seth in the barn, and any of the neighbors he found wandering the property. I had watched Otis for weeks as he would bring them to the barn after they were stuck in the swamp like ditch that ran through the woods. There would be no cure. I don't think anyone has ever asked if I thought the same as the rest of our group from the farm. I was with them so I must believe it to. And then Shane The Terrible opened the barn… They thought I tried to kill myself because I had hope that my Mom was still able to be brought back. No. I just realized how little I wanted to die by being torn to pieces and eaten alive. I didn't want my last moments being filled with the fear I felt when my own mothers corpse rose up and tried to eat my face. I admit now I didn't really think that through. Thinking back and knowing if I had actually succeeded I likely would have killed what family I had left chilled me to the bone. I may never like that Lori interfered with what I thought I wanted at the time, but I would forever be grateful.

And then Randall… I kept my mouth shut about Shane because of the rest of the group. They all seemed to give me a reason not to say anything. Carl was such a sweet boy who was now grieving the loss of his friend. Lori was pregnant now, Maggie, though only knowing him for such a short time, would have been devastated if Glenn was forced to leave with the rest, or if he left voluntarily. Carol had lost her child, and Dale was a good man that simply would not survive long if forced back onto the road. Andrea had been the only one to give me the choice I so desperately thought I wanted, was probably one of the only people on the farm who understood why I wanted to die. I hadn't really gotten to know much about T-dog or Daryl at that point but it still didn't seem right that they should have to leave because one guy was psycho. But couldn't any of them make anything easy. Towards the end I was almost starting to feel sorry for the poor idiot locked in the shed, not knowing what they were going to do with him had to be worse than if they had just outright said they would kill him. Then again if he would have never opened his big mouth and said he knew Maggie he probably would have lived. But then if he had lived would he have brought the rest of his group to our doorstep. I may not have known Daryl at all then but the look on his face when he told Rick the things the group had done…well be eaten alive or gang raped, left for dead, and THEN eaten alive. Never before the outbreak had I really thought I could be a person who actively said "This guy is dangerous, the only way he wont be is if he's dead, so he needs to be dead."

That's the problem with being kidnapped. I have entirely too much time to sit and think. I don't dare think about what's to come when they decided I've been left alone long enough. And as hard as I try I can't seem to remember anything BEFORE the outbreak. I just can't help but think maybe, somewhere, I should have gone left instead of right and I wouldn't be here now. Who knew by the tender age of 18 I, Beth Greene, would be wishing with every fiber of my being to either open my eyes to a prison cell or the sight of a couple of arrows in the heads of the three men practically lounging by their fire.

Two days of driving and I'm sure they've run out of gas. When they had pulled to the side of the road earlier that morning and marched me into the woods I had briefly thought of trying to run but quickly decided that would just get me dead faster. They kept my hands tied behind me with blood stained rope (still trying not to think about where the blood came from before it was used on me) and led me like a dog through the trees with another that hung around my neck. I had no weapons, was outnumbered, and had no idea what direction to go in even if I could run. I stayed quiet and just tried to remember which way back to the road. Thankfully they didn't go far into the woods before deciding to set up camp. They had taken the rope from around my neck and retied my hands so they were in front of me before looping the piece that they used as a leash around the tree and to my hands, bringing them to my chest. I had really wanted to kick one of them but refrained. Maybe if I had spent a bit more time alone with Daryl I could have done it and said fuck the consequences, but that stupid thought wouldn't leave me alone.

I don't want to die.

I couldn't wiggle the rope enough to sit down without tearing my back open against the bark, and shy of screaming at the top of my lungs I couldn't think of a better way to announce to a walker "HEY I'M OVER HERE PLEASE COME EAT ME!" then bleeding all over the place. So I stood as still as I could, trying to think of anything besides what they were going to do to me, and prayed. God may have been ignoring a lot of prayers lately but that was his thing right? God has a plan and we all play a part. Just like our jobs back at the prison. We can't stop, just because were scared, we have a part to play.

My captors didn't spend much time on securing our makeshift campsite and a steady cold chill was running down my spine at the thought of walkers popping out of nowhere in the night because these idiots couldn't be bothered to set up any kind of alarm. Thoughts of dead flesh and dull teeth were almost enough for me to draw attention to myself except I wanted to put off the moment they remembered I was there for as long as possible. For all my talk of good people still being left in the world getting kidnapped right after was shaking my faith. I know I can't trust these men but could I trust no one? If I actually got away, from both my unwanted companions and the walkers, could I trust the next people I could come across? Using the questions the council at the prison had thought of just didn't seem like enough anymore. Daryl had spoken very briefly about how Bob was out on runs just to fuel his apocalypse induced alcoholism, and I was the only one who knew Zack, poor Zack, had been deep in drug running for a minor mafia Family out of Atlanta. They were with us. They worked beside us, slept in cells just halls away and no one bothered to ask about their pasts beyond if they had killed anyone and why. If any of the run parties had found these men before the Governor returned and asked them if they had killed would they have said yes? No? For all I know they've never killed anyone, just abducted, raped, and left them for the walkers. Just the thought was making my empty stomach heave. Right happy thoughts Beth! Getting out of this alive! Finding Daryl! Finding Maggie, finding everyone! Not dying…

And right back to square one. I don't want to die. Settling myself as comfortably as I can against the bark rough on my back from where my shirt had torn when I'd been grabbed outside the funeral home I glared at the men seated around their fire like they owned the world. My ankle throbbed painfully under my weight and I tried getting even an inch lower to get some pressure off it even as I felt small lines of blood trickle down my shoulders. It wasn't enough to draw a walker to the site but still stung, it was enough though that could balance better with just the one foot.

Thankfully assholes 1, 2, and 3 all completely ignored me, not that I really thought that would last too long. They were eventually going to look in my direction and I was still at an utter loss as to what to do about it. Screaming felt like what I'd want to do but that would just bring walkers. Fighting back didn't really seem to be in my favor either, even if I could get them one on one. I guess Daryl wasn't totally off base when he said I needed protecting. Was it really her fault that Maggie got all the ass kicking genes in the family though?

A twig snapped somewhere off to the left drawing all four pairs of eyes in that direction. Asshole 1, a beast of a man with blonde hair almost brunette with dirt, tattoos over almost all of his exposed skin except his face, wielding what looked like a metal bat wrapped in barbed wire and exposed nails, was the first to get up and wander towards the noise. Asshole 2 didn't seem very concerned and continued what he had been doing, digging though one of the packs they had removed from the car, and finally hitting pay dirt if the satisfied "Hell yea" that I picked up was anything to go by. When his hand reemerged wrapped around the neck of what I can only assume was alcohol I couldn't help the eye roll. Ok so yea I might have dragged Daryl around looking for booze just a few days ago but I figured things couldn't get any worse from that point and Daryl himself hadn't been dealing with the fall of the prison that well. Withdrawn and moody; which ok isn't all that weird for him; but the levels he was taking it to had been too much. If it was going to be just the two of us and he was gonna be like that then why shouldn't I have been allowed a little bit of teenage rebellion? Besides getting through to Daryl, and feeling closer to him then the entire time we'd known each other was worth it, and burning the shitty little shack was just plain fun after all the horror and death of the few days before it. I'd bet bullets Asshole 2 hadn't just watched a madman massacre his family though. His back was still to me leaving only Douchebag, because asshole was getting old for all of them, left to really look at.

Like looking at him was what he was waiting for his greasy head whipped in my direction and as if they were magnets my eyes met his and it was like I was looking into the future. I could see everything he wanted to do to me in his deranged mind. No this man wouldn't kill me, he'd be the one to keep me just alive enough to wish I was dead though. I never had the opportunity to see the Governor up close but I bet his eyes looked like that. It was like I couldn't look away, felt like the second I did he would be on me and it would be worse than anything I had thought till then. My heart felt like it was going to punch a hole in my chest and my lungs couldn't get enough air, I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't look away. I was starting to see spots before another, much louder, noise broke over the camp.

It must have been a walker in the woods and it didn't sound like Asshole 1 was up for the job of getting rid of it. An old panic over road whatever held my eyes to the last man. What if it wasn't just one? If a herd was passing through and these men left me tied to this damn tree I would have no way to fight or run. Even if I wasn't mauled to death any bite would turn me eventually, and then I would be Walker Beth Queen of this damned TREE. Would anyone ever find me? Would they put me down? Just like I didn't want to die I really didn't want to be Queen of the Tree either. Better to be dead then a walker. In the midst of my panic the two left at the fire started arguing over who should go check on Asshole 1, the noise was getting louder and bound to draw more attention. Asshole 2 didn't want to go and leave his bottle and Douchebag wasn't backing down, glancing my way every couple of seconds. I wanted Asshole to win. Not that he likely wouldn't do anything Douchebag would, he just seemed like the lessor of two evils.

Dull 'thunks' were coming from the direction Asshole 1 went only closer now. Either one of them had to go help or the fight was going to make it to the camp. Asshole 2 gave up his fight and grabbed a machete that had been sitting next to him, quickly disappearing into the woods. I could feel panic trying to claw its way back into my mind and tried to stomp it down, to think clearly, as Douchebag didn't even wait for him to be gone before making his way over to me. Adrenalin blindsided me as it flooded my system. My body wanted to know what to do, fight or flight. To bad I didn't know the answer…

In the span of seconds it took for him to reach me he had produced a knife I bet even Daryl would have been impressed with. Struggling to breathe, let alone move, it's like my eyes couldn't decide what was more important to keep track of, the knife or the man wielding it's dark eyes that felt like they could cut me just as surely as the knife could. His hand fisting a chunk of my hair and dragging my head back painfully took the decision away, eyes it was. His breath in my face was enough to me gag and try and rip my head from his grip, my stomach rolling unpleasantly and the burn of acid strong in my throat. The hand didn't let me get far and only released me long enough to backhand me in the head before returning its punishing grip in my hair. As soon as his fist landed the spots from before became stars and the pain was enough for me to cry out softly.

Fight or flight. I don't want to die…

The knife was back in my field of vision as he dragged it up the left side of my shirt, ripping it farther and leaving it hanging open on that side. I kicked out with good foot not hoping for much more then gaining myself a few inches from my attacker, maybe just a few seconds to get enough of a grip on myself to make a difference. It was like he didn't even feel the toe of my boot making contact with his shin and now I was left to balance with nothing but the fist in my hair and my sprained ankle that quickly gave out and left me dangling by the hair. I still didn't think I was breathing but the scream tore out of my lungs before I even fully registered the knife slipping and cutting through the flesh right above my pant line. It felt like white hot fire in my blood and even as I felt my body going into shock; because really after that kind of pain this numbness could only be shock. Two days I had gone without food or water. Two days I went terrified of sleep. Two days of constant gut-wrenching fear. And now I was bleeding, could feel it quickly soaking through the fabric of my jeans, could taste it in my mouth, the smell of it overpowering even Douchebags horrendous odor. Distantly I could hear him laughing, it was a rough, mean sounding noise. The spots were back, covering even more of my vision as his filthy face loomed into mine, taunting me.

The rope keeping me tethered to the tree came loose and before the thought even had time to fully form I drew my knees to my chest, using the tree and my enemies weight to keep me level and kicked out as hard as I could. He went down hard, dragging me to the ground with him by the hair. That was all it took for everything to click back into place in my brain. This guy was going to rape and torture me if I didn't do something. And now I wasn't tied to the tree I could do something. Scrambling to get as far away from him as I could, I tried to make it to my feet and even managed to get several yards away before a hand grabbed me from behind and pulled me to a body just behind me.

The smell hit my nose and the mouth coming down to my face was rotted away and missing flesh on the right side. I dropped my weight to the ground trying to get away from the teeth that would try and make a meal of me. The walker had to be older because it seemed confused as to where its food disappeared to just long enough for me to roll to the side and kick out again taking out its far knee cap. The rotting corpse of what maybe was a good looking man in life fell to the forest floor and immediately turned back to her, arms reaching to drag her back to his chomping mouth. The spots were getting worse again and my whole body felt like I was trying to move underwater now but I had to get away. A hand composed of mostly bone locked around the cuff of my boot on my injured foot and tried to pull me closer and I just couldn't get my foot loose. My heart felt like it was in my throat, blood pounded in my head in a frantic beat, breathing felt like inhaling knives to my lungs and the teeth just kept getting closer.

The snarling stopped abruptly, helped along by the buck knife now deeply imbedded in its skull. Before I could even think past "it didn't bite me" large hands shoved at my shoulders pushing me roughly back to the ground. A fist closely followed, aimed this time to my wounded stomach. The gash who's importance had vanished with the appearance of walkers was back at the top of the list now. Trying to roll away I was stopped again by an arm being pressed to my throat and the rest of my shirt being ripped from my shoulders. Seconds later my legs were pinned as the evil thing above me leveled down and brought the knife to the waist of my jeans again, this time slicing through them like they weren't even there, and I was done. I couldn't stay awake for this, I didn't want to. I didn't want to die but I didn't want to live through this either, didn't want to wake up and feel it all, know what happened, just for the other two to get back and repeat the process over again.

Finally succumbing to the darkness that had been threatening for hours I felt as my body went limp. Felt the jerking of my jeans as they were completely torn from my body down to the knees. Felt his hands as they grabbed and pulled and hurt everything they touched on my body. And almost as suddenly as it all began it stopped. Barely conscious, what breath I still had was driven out of my lungs as the assault stopped and he slumped down on top of me, his entire body dead weight. Words whispered around me. Something about hands and rivers and souls but I was too far gone to understand. For now I was willing to be satisfied with the neat little bullet hole in the middle of my would have been rapists head. I closed my eyes and prayed the other two assholes that had grabbed me were dead too.