Hey guys, finished you your next chapter! Ooh isn't that nice of me- I shall treat myself to a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit xxx hope you enjoy and thank you for all the support (it means a lot- you should get bickies and tea too)
You were meant to save her, to run to the edge of the world in search and beyond that. In all those books that she read alone at night in her room with an old flashlight, that's what the hero would have done. They wouldn't have this crippling fear, this inability to go chasing after her with reckless abandon. Because not finding her was scary, and finding her was even more terrifying.
He's back at noon, the night of events left Michonne and Carl unmoving in the truck, and Rick in the same stupor in which he had been left. And Daryl was fucking pissed. The pity-party had finally broken and his rage was seeping out of every pore, mostly at himself for having the damn balls to let her go for so long. He was going to find Beth- you bet yer ass he was.
Michonne noticed the storming change of character, the way he held himself and sensing it would bring no good to the stretched limits of the groups wits she removed herself from the truck. He threw a pair of rabbits into the dust at Rick's feet, the days hunt and their dinner smacking to the dirt with an unsavoury squelch. It was enough to make the point, but the loud bang of hit punching the broken trucks hood was an added bonus for the silence to be broken.
''Found a trail leadin' t'Beth. Wipe yer own asses if yer comin' with-'' her snarled angrily, kicking the ground and picking up his crossbow from where he had put it down before his outburst. He slung it over his shoulder and gave a stance similar to a stubborn teenager.
''Beth- Maggie-Beth, that Beth?'' Carl's voice seemed higher and younger than Daryl remembered form the prison. He was broken in a way Dixon thought the youngest grimes would never be broken- the sprit was waning. But a renewed vigour of confused hope in his voice made Daryl less annoyed t hearing the pain affiliated with her name, enough to not storm off but give a curt nod instead.
With confirmation Carl only nodded back, pushing his hat back with purpose and moving his knife from its sheath to stand nearer to Daryl, avoiding him mostly due to the still obviously flaring temper. Michonne strapped her katana back on, pulled the belt holes of her jeans and re-did the laces of her boots. Her hand rested on Carl's shoulder and I was her who looked into the emotional mask of Rick Grimes face.
There were no more clues in the clearing as there had been in the dusk. Not that it was expected, he had bypassed the car despite the others interest. Not wanting to face that particular nightmare again, because all he saw was the blood and it driving away. The hard ground gave him nothing to go off, but hunting earlier and a bit of common sense made him point his way and that was the choice. After an hour or so the lack of evidence was less that encouraging, seeming to only fuel the never-ending pool of anger in his stomach. They had all stopped trying to reason with him, or even talk to him instead just following obediently in silence so he wouldn't flip out at anyone- again.
The terrain turned softer, the end of the mud to a soil based floor that hurt less on the feet. However upon this comfort led two obvious paths to pick. One slanted to the right, whilst the other to the left. Depending on where you wanted to go with your kidnapped woman either required a small climb up or down the staggered planes ruined by years of Georgia storms.
Beth stood in the trees, he back against the bark casually as if waiting for him to stumble upon her. When he jerked his head to the right and started clambering the small climb to even ground he heard the others mutter. The hunter instincts were almost training for this exercise, for that he was sure. Daryl could look at the ground and tell you the kind of man that stood there hours previous, likewise he could pick up the speckle of brown blood stains from where she had leant whilst climbing, a captor in front and a captor behind. But finding that meant nothing, not until this motivation.
She looked up at him from where he crouched inspecting the mossy ground. The damn hair playing in the sunlight the way it used to so he could barely damn focus on keeping them safe. The light streamed through it like the sun through the leafy canopies overhead, a second filtration to fall upon his face. She simply smiled at him, stepping back as he stretched back up, falling into rhythm beside him. He missed her noise. His Beth didn't make noise, he couldn't hear her moan about blisters or being a reformed vegetarian, not to mention the lack of her incest humming he swore he hated before all this- hell, even worse the sweet caterwauling. Perhaps even just the sound of her old cowboy boots next to his. But no, his Beth was a poor imitation of the real thing.
Merle had once goaded him up a cliff face, loud noises and insults being shouted in his face- but never touchable. Merle was never tangible to his fingertips as she was. Maybe that meant she was closer, or maybe it meant he had fucking lost it for good.
He sniffed loudly, taking over a brisker pace. Michonne trailed behind him, her arm around Carl still and the other dragging an ever-ready katana. A bit further back Rick singlehandedly struggles to keep pace, managing to barely bridge the gap as they stopped for breaks to only start again once he caught up. Occasionally bodies of walkers told them they were headed the right way to following someone at least, if not the tiny signs and her gentle prodding in a sixth sense direction.
He paused as they hit the train tracks. A broken wooden sign and a mess of gravel told them they hit the right place. Not even half asleep Rick needed any help to spot the signs, simply sitting down and taking the tie it would take to investigate for a well-deserved rest.
The sun was as ready to drop as they all were. Pushed to the total limit and Michonne already making a small fire to cook the rabbits they'd dragged around all day. She had the stony face that demanded that there would be no move movement until the next morning, crack of dawn if it must be- but right now, right now they were resting.
Daryl closed his eyes trying to figure out the mess of flyaway gravel. He followed the fleeing stones to where a walker body lay, impaled with some sort of home-made wooden sign. The break in the wood holding up had been kicked forcefully, and the messy blows to the walkers face told him the person who put them down had to have a few swings before making it work. That could be Beth, he hope to god it wasn't the people she was wit. If they kidnapped her, he needed them to be at least competent enough to defend themselves and her. Trying to quieten the voice in his head, Daryl chewed on the rabbit as he joined the campfire.
It might be possible, just possible that Beth tried to escape again, and from the mess she made a decent attempt.
Yes, that meant she was with them still and that more than likely they had tightened watch on her. However, the most important thing was that it showed him one thing- Beth was still defiant. She was still fighting, still alive and wanting to run back to him.
They woke up, early hours on the unforgiving comfort of the train tracks. From the morning light you could understand the stale smell of heat- streaks of hot smoke filled the air. Recent, if not still burning. He sat in wonder for a moment, loving the beautiful sight of arson. Then he begrudgingly woke the other who were less than committed to his vigorous shaking. The watched the sky with lesser enthusiasm than him, but complied with brushing gravel off themselves and consenting to yet another day walking.
Daryl weaved them toward the smoke, following in seemed the same root at the occasion sporadic clues that had been left, stones out of place and mud scuffed. A house of sorts was smelt way before it was seen, and the renewed energy seemed to buzz in all of them.
There was a bottle of bourbon where the trees met the soft grassy garden of where the house once stood. It must've been small, nothing more than that cabin where they had moonshine and shouted at each other. The kinda place that brews moonshine and men hunt in the early hours 'cause they can't be damned with humans anymore, retirement or one abuse too far. The smell of broken homes and ask clung to everything, fiery and still ablaze with small licking flames. To Michonne, Carl and Rick- this looked like a fight gone wrong a need to cover something up perhaps or a horrible campfire accident.
The whiskey bottle and her prints told him it was a sign. He felt himself grinning and nothing was topping the smile widening his face. Taking one look at the burnt remnants before heading back into the wood to track and catch up, he saw her solitary figure there.
His Beth in perfect mockery of the real living and fighting Beth. Facing the flames with a walker-stained polo, middle finger pointed at the building and infectious smile plastered as widely as his own.
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