I Will Find You
Before
The sound of the dead singing their lament of hunger filled the empty rooms of the funeral home, turning Beth's blood cold. But she kept on prising the planks loose, sweat dripping down the back of her neck with the strain. Casting the last bit of wood aside, she had to take a moment to steady herself. She wanted to throw herself headfirst into the fray and find Daryl, to goddamn help him, instead of turning tail and abandoning him, but Daryl had told her to run, to get out, that he'd meet her on the road. So she had to have faith in him that he would be there like he said. She had to trust him like he trusted her.
Gritting her teeth, she swung her legs over the window sill, the worn heels of her cowboy boots hitting the damp earth of the ground outside. Then she was off, weaving her way through the trees and gravestones, moving at an odd jerky pace, her busted ankle slowing her down. But she pushed on, striking out for the dirt road, trying to keep out of sight of the various Walkers staggering around, pulling out her knife as she went, trying to think ahead, like Daryl would.
But as she neared the road, she immediately sensed something was wrong, terribly wrong. Picking up her pace, she started to run at a staggering sprint, only to skid to a halt, freezing at the sight of the crossbow lying on the ground. For a moment the world turned upside down. Then her head snapped up, the sound of tyres screeching shattering the silence of the night. Without a second thought, she snatched up the crossbow, slinging it over her shoulder as she took off after the black car with the white cross in its back window, screaming Daryl's name as she went, not knowing what the hell was happening, except she had to follow that car.
No matter where you go, I will find you
In the place with no frontiers
No matter where you go, I will find you
If it takes a thousand years
After
Beth collapsed onto the ground, her ankle giving way beneath her, the harsh concrete scraping her skin through her ripped jeans, her hands sickeningly sinking into the mulch of the rotting leaves littering the crossroads. She'd lost track of the black car as it drove into the darkness, leaving her far behind. But still she'd limped on, not stopping, not slowing, the tears rolling down her face as the rain fell, night fading into day.
For a while she just lay there, the grief of losing her father, her sister and the rest of her 'family' at the prison hitting her like bullets all over again, an agony only sharpened by Daryl's disappearance. Then she forced herself to sit up, biting down a scream as she shifted her ankle into a different position. Her arm hit the crossbow lying beside her, vaguely recalling it had slipped off her shoulder when she fell. She stared at it, the sight of it turning her stomach, reminding her of all that she'd lost -
"Well, look it here," a man drawled as he and five other men surrounded Beth, all armed and all ready to claim their prize.
Beth slowly raised her head, feeling oddly calm despite the way her heart was juddering in her chest. Glancing up through the tendrils of damp blonde hair framing her face like a halo, she caught a glimpse of grey cowboy boots and faded jeans, her fingers closing almost automatically around the stock of the crossbow, gripping it with a fierceness she didn't feel. The crossbow had been cocked and loaded earlier by Daryl, the bolt left in position, never fired, breaking all the safety rules he'd hammered into her head. All she had to do was point and shoot...
As the man stepped forwards, bending down as though to whisper in her ear, the others grinning to each other, she lashed out, smashing the crossbow across his jaw, sending him flying backwards. All of time seemed to slow down, then speed up, the past and present colliding like cymbals in her memory - I can take care of myself - somehow she was on her feet - soon I won't need you at all - the pain in her ankle nearly making her pass out, but still she stood there, legs trembling, hands shaking, aiming the crossbow at the man on the ground, guns surrounding her on all sides, a bow trained on her back.
"I'm claimin' her," the one holding the bow growled, "I'm likin' that ass in them jeans."
"Damn it! Hold up! Hold up!" the man on the ground bellowed, his words muffled as he clutched his mouth, staring up at Beth with narrowed eyes. Beth met his gaze head on, holding her ground as he studied her. He was scared, but at the same time, he seemed intrigued, curious even. The others shifted their feet impatiently, becoming bored. Then the man's face creased up, his shoulders shaking as he started to laugh, making Beth take a step back in confusion. He lowered his hand from his face, spitting out a tooth, only to laugh even more, the sound incongruous amongst the stillness.
"Well, I'll be damned," he roared, "I've just been bested by Barbie."
Beth tightened her grip around the crossbow, trying to maintain her focus. One wrong move and it was all over. She could do this, she was strong. She was a survivor, maybe not like Michonne or Carol or Maggie, but she'd made it. She wasn't going to be another dead girl. The man's gaze travelled over her, taking her in from cowboy boots to ponytail, missing nothing, not even the missing button off her filthy light blue cardigan or the holes she'd worn through its long sleeves to turn them into makeshift gloves. Then he got to his feet, Beth raising the crossbow so it was still trained on his face.
"So you're a bow-man," he said sarcastically, pushing his silver hair back with a grubby hand, the gesture almost debonair, "I respect that, even when it's a piece of tail callin' the shots, quite literally..." His voice trailed off as he studied her again, something akin to lust flickering behind his eyes, making Beth's flesh crawl. "Now, see a person with a rifle," he continued, edging forwards, driving her back, her ankle nearly turning under her, "they could have been some kind of photographer or soccer coach back in the day, but a bow-man is a bow-man through and through... Or a bow-woman in your case," he amended, sweeping her an ironic bow.
Beth gritted her teeth, forcing herself to hold on, to keep holding her ground.
"What you got there? A 150 pound draw-weight?" the man asked. "I'll be donkey-licked if that thing don't fire at least 300 hundred feet per second. I've been lookin' for a weapon like that... Course I'd want one with a bit more ammo in it - although I'm not complainin' about the lil blonde that comes free with it like some insane Happy Meal," he said to the man with the bow behind her, the pair of them laughing at his lame wit. Then silence fell, the tension being ratcheted up a notch as it became clear Beth wasn't backing down.
"Look at how red they pretty blue eyes of hers are," one of the men taunted, changing tack. "She's been cryin' so she has."
"Get yourself into some trouble, lil lady?" the man with the bow leered, Beth ignoring him, keeping her focus on the man in front of her.
"Back off, Len," the man said before turning his attention back to Beth. "Look," he cajoled, "if you let loose one of those bolts, these boys are gonna drop you several times over. Is that what you want?"
Beth just stared at him, shifting awkwardly on the spot, her ankle threatening to give way at any moment now.
"Don't be stupid, sweetheart," the man said, lowering his voice so it was nothing more than an intimate growl, "why hurt yourself, when you can hurt other people?"
"I ain't stupid," Beth said, struggling to keep her voice steady.
The man looked her up and down again, his gaze lingering on her pale face the longest. "M'name's Joe," the man then said, his gun-metal grey eyes boring into hers.
"Beth," she said, lowering the crossbow, no longer holding on, holding her ground. She was freefalling. She was surviving.
