Her breath came in ragged gasps as she trampled through the long grass, beating it down under her worn cowboy boots. She wanted to yell at him to wait, to stop stubbornly barreling forward deeper into the fields without her, but something in her pride wouldn't allow the words to come out. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Beth continued on, bounding after Daryl like a lost puppy. Occasionally, over the height of the tall strands in the field, she lost sight of his mop of dark hair momentarily and felt a panic claw at her throat. It wasn't that she felt she wouldn't survive by herself, it was more that she didn't want to, and if the only person to be her companion was a surly, angry redneck who hadn't spoken a decipherable word to her in almost forty eight hours, then so be it.
Eventually, she elbowed her pride out of the way, and called out. 'Daryl, wait up.'
For a few paces, he stubbornly continued. Beth gritted her teeth in annoyance, but relented as she saw him stop. Daryl didn't turn to see if she needed anything or was safe; he just stood still, resembling a scarecrow in the overgrown field, and waited for her to catch up. Out of pettiness, Beth wanted to pretend she was hurt or something sinister had happened. All she wanted from him was a reaction, but any emotions he had previously had died after watching the prison fall.
The prison. She missed the place already, with its high fence and secure walls. Not secure enough though that The Governor couldn't take it away from them. Beth cast her mind back to four days ago. Life was as good as it had been since the world had changed. They had a system at the prison, a close knit group who Beth looked upon as her family. Things had begun to look up; the new people from Woodbury had fit right in, sharing the workload of tending to crops that Rick had planted, learning to shoot and offering to go out on scavenging runs to find supplies. Beth had allowed herself a little more hope for each day that passed. Her cell, which acted as a bedroom, was decorated with various things she had found out on runs and left behind in the prison; signs, brightly coloured stickers, poems that she had written and torn from the pages of her diary, and a sign that she had found in one of the other cell blocks - a chart with flippable numbers to indicate how many days had passed without an incident. Mentally, Beth flipped the numbers back to zero.
'C'mon,' Daryl growled. He reminded Beth of a feral animal.
'We need to find a place to stop. I'm tired of running,' she told him.
She noticed, as he looked at her, that he couldn't disguise the contempt in his features for her. His thoughts were etched, plain as day, onto his features: Why am I lumbered with this useless girl?
A burst of anger flashed through her. On one hand, she could understand his frustrations. Unlike the other females in the group, she knew she was one of the weakest. Sure, she could thrust a blade into the head of a walker, but she wasn't a survivor. She got by on hope and faith that things wouldn't always be this bad. But he didn't need to make it so obvious that he found her to be an absolute hindrance. Drawing herself up to her full height, she peered over the top of the grass, searching for any place where they might spend the night. When she found nothing, without a word to Daryl, she shoved past him and continued forward.
The sun was beginning to dip low on the horizon as they walked, slower now and lethargic from a combination of mild dehydration and lack of sleep. The Georgia heat was still oppressive, beating down and making their journey even more miserable. Beth's vest was soaked with sweat, her skin shimmered with the perspiration. She wondered if her journey would have been more pleasant if she could actually talk to Daryl as they traveled. She couldn't understand why he had put his guard back up around himself. If anything, she should be the one crumbling into pieces, and sobbing with heartache and sorrow. An image of her father entered her head, his sweet old face, with the mere ghost of a smile playing on his lips. She shoved it away, not wanting to remember what had happened to him, fearing she would break down if she did. There wasn't time for hysterics. Like her father had always said 'Everybody has a job to do' and this was hers. She would prove to Daryl that she was a worthwhile companion, she would prove that she was equal to her sister Maggie, to Carol who had emerged into such a strong woman, and to fearless Michonne. She would show him that she was worthy in her own way.
It was twilight when they reached the road, and low storm clouds rumbled ominously overhead. Beth and Daryl crashed through low bushes, bursting onto the tarmac and attracting the attention of two stray walkers. Beth fumbled for the knife attached to her belt, closing her hand around the hilt and drawing the thin blade out of the sheath. Daryl signaled to her to take the left one and he lined up his crossbow to sink a bolt into the head of the one on the right. Wordlessly, they dispatched the walkers, checking one last time that they were completely dead before wandering further along the road. With the overhang of trees, the road seemed darker and more threatening. Thunder rolled through the clouds, right above, a booming noise that Beth worried would draw more walkers. A shadowy mass at the side of the road morphed into the shape of an abandoned car; door ripped from it's hinges and a corpse sprawled on the floor beside it. She glanced at Daryl who was poised and ready with his crossbow. He half nodded at her and she slid into the drivers seat and surprisingly, found the keys dangling from the ignition. With a silent prayer, she turned it. Silence. Disappointed, she climbed out, unsure of their next move, but Daryl was one step ahead of her. The trunk was dented and open. He pulled it open fully and indicated silently that she should get in. She complied, squeezing herself into the small space. Daryl followed, pulling the trunk down behind him and securing it tightly with a scarf.
Beth allowed herself a small sigh of relief. It wasn't perfect, and it was very cramped but it was safe and would provide a much needed shelter for the night. She wanted to say something to Daryl but was unsure how to approach him. He was tense, his crossbow positioned between the gap where the trunk was too broken to close fully, ready to fire off a bolt at any moment. She opened her mouth to say something to him, anything to break the unbearable, uncomfortable atmosphere, but hostility came off of him in waves, so instead she closed her mouth and fidgeted to find a position that would be comfortable for the next several hours.
Eventually, the storm erupted. Torrents of rain battered the car, beating a steady rhythm on the trunk. Beth used to find the rain comforting; when she lived at the farmhouse, she would open the windows during a storm and breathe deeply, inhaling the wonderful scents that came with it. She tried to hang onto that feeling now. Lightning arced across the sky, illuminating the road with each bright flash. Beth could see the walkers outside, shambling slowly past the car unaware of hers or Daryl's presence. One noise could change that; the tiniest sneeze of cough, or a movement that was too rapid could bring them all on top of their shelter, clawing and snapping their teeth as they groaned and tried to break their way in. Beside her, Daryl hadn't moved - still poised to shoot, crossbow crooked and one eye scrunched shut as he looked down the sight.
The moments dragged by, seeming slower as time went on. Still neither of them spoke. Beth, alone with her thoughts, began to think back to the prison. She was certain that everyone else had made it out safely. She had to believe that to keep herself going. They had been a strong group, even more driven when The Governor had threatened their place of safety. She swallowed, blinking back tears that she wouldn't allow to fall, as she thought of the possibility of never seeing Maggie again. Raw with grief over her father, she drew her knees up to her chest, hugging herself into the smallest ball that her body could make. She wouldn't cry. She had learned that crying got her nowhere. Plus, it would further fuel Daryl's assumptions that she was weak and useless.
Outside, the rain slowed and the storm calmed. The sky began to lighten and Beth watched through the narrow crack as the dark hues lifted, giving way to a hazy morning. She blinked, checking for signs of walker activity outside the car before scrabbling at the tight knot that Daryl had made with the scarf. The trunk opened silently. On aching legs that had cramped from being curled up all night, Beth shakily clambered out of the trunk space. Daryl followed, giving the surroundings a quick sweep before slinging his crossbow over his back to investigate the debris surrounding the car. Beth picked out some things that they might find useful; a piece of broken glass, the wing mirror with lay uselessly in the road, and some old plastic bottles for collecting water. She stuffed them into a plastic bag which she found on the backseat. Daryl's haul consisted of some string and the hubcaps from off of the wheels. He slung the black plastic sack over his shoulder, and with a final, silent glance at her - the contempt still obvious - he sauntered off along the road. Beth watched him in disbelief, shaking her head at his surly demeanor, which was quickly becoming very tedious, and followed.