With her heart pounding, Beth dug out a hole in the ground. Clumps of dirt embedded themselves beneath her nails, beads of sweat dribbled down her face, and her slim muscles ached.

As she dropped a couple of twigs into the center of the hole, a slight tremor shook her hands.

"What are you doing?" said a familiar voice.

The sound of sticks falling to the ground was quickly proceeded by arms enveloping Beth's torso. Then she was unceremoniously hoisted backwards.

Beth looked up at Morgan, her big blue eyes weary. She was aware of how easily he could lift her nowadays. She was getting weaker and she knew it.

"I just wanted to help. I can't keep letting you do everything, Morgan. We all have jobs—"

"Your only job is to rest," he interrupted. "And I can handle things just fine."

Her gaze softened. "I'm getting worse and I'm slowing you down. You know that." She watched Morgan pick up where she left off, seemingly oblivious at her attempt to segue into this conversation. So she tried again. "Morgan..."

"We'll stop in the next town over, figure out where we are." He paused. "I'll find medicine, and then we'll bunker down until you're rested enough to travel."

Beth looked away, suddenly conscious of her myriad of deficiencies. She was wearing old jeans, which had once been tight but now sagged in weird places, a hole infested black tank-top, and a purple fleece hoodie jacket. Her hair, although in a high ponytail, still stuck to the nape of her neck in dirty blonde clusters. It's not like she brushed it lately, anyhow.

Furthermore, she was sick. A liability.

"Never suggest I leave you behind, Beth. Cause it ain't gonna happen. We're gonna get to Washington, together."

After a moment of tense silence, she nodded slowly. "Okay, together."

And I'll try not to slow you down, either, she silently amended. You'll find somewhere safe if it's the last thing I do.

The world contained a lot of dead people and options were scarce. When she got separated from Noah back in Atlanta, Beth wasn't sure what to do, or where to go. However, in a strange twist of fate, the impossible happened: Beth met Morgan. And it just so happened that the map Morgan possessed was the only lead Beth had to anyone from the Prison.

Rick Grimes. Washington, D.C.

An empty feeling in the pit of her stomach triggered a twinge of unease to swell inside her, on cue. As thoughts of Daryl and Maggie and Judith settled into the forefront of her mind, she shifted, almost fidgety, until she rested on her elbows.

While a distant hoot of an owl cooed in the background, the beginnings of a strong breeze picked up. Leaves stirred on the forest floor, and the intensity of the sunlight streaming through the canopy diminished, then returned.

Beth pulled out her diary and flipped to the last page. Once there, she traced her fingers over her swirly script. The page, now discolored and creased, used to be a thank you note to that phantom funeral man for the food, shelter, peace of mind, however brief. But now, it was simply a reminder.

Beth closed her eyes and took a calming breath.

"Feeling nostalgic?"

Her eyes popped open and she glanced over at her friend, confused. "What?"

Morgan put the water over the fire to boil. Then, after dusting off his hands, he pushed himself back until he sat next to her. He laid his arms over the tops of his knees and said, "Well, you always get this — I don't know — this look on your face when you pull that out." He gestured to her diary. "I was just curious."

"Yeah, I guess," she admitted. She fingered the ragged edges of the worn journal before stuffing it back into the bottom of her rucksack.

Morgan tore open their last packet of hot chocolate mix and sprinkled it into the simmering water. Not feeling particularly thirsty anymore, Beth pushed off from her spot on the ground, using the log beside her as leverage.

It was hard to miss the blunt expression of trepidation ripple across Morgan's features. She could practically hear the admonishment on the tip of his tongue.

"I'm fine," she stated, quick to counter any concern. "I'm just gonna try to rest a little more."

"All right," Morgan said, and his voice was deceptively neutral.

With the help of the walking stick he'd given her, she left him to his breakfast and ambled over to the abandoned car that they had been camping in. She settled into the passenger seat and shut the door, feeling her muscles relax with the resounding click of the lock.

As Beth shot Morgan one last glance, she caught an unsettling glimpse of herself in the side view mirror. A gray knit hat hid the upper portion of her blonde hair and most of her forehead, but the color drained her. Her eyes looked sunken, and the dark bruise like circles beneath them merely highlighted the waxy hue to her skin.

For the second time this morning, she turned away, swallowing down the growing urge to cry.


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