The harsh wind howls loudly as snow fell in waves against the dim backdrop, a young woman watching mindlessly. The lucky find behind the tree line was a cabin or rather cottage, along the edge of a shoreline. There was a small stream that rolled into the waves of the unnamed body of water.
The storm would be the last, as it was getting much to warm for it to stick and Beth predicted that by noon tomorrow it would be gone. It was her second winter, marking the amount of months the woman has been alone. She had been able to stockpile supplies, her once nomadic life style creating anxiety during her self-exile.
During the autumn months she gathered supplies , pulled up her harvest and attempted to hunt whatever wild life remained. Rodents, like squirrels and rabbits, became jerky to be used in times of food scarcity. However, larger animals would be eaten as is, much like the large chunks of deer currently crackling over the heat. The scent was already making her mouth water.
The rough fabric and animal skins were crudely sewn together as a shaggy overcoat and pulled over her shoulders. Suddenly, a strong cold wind blasted the door open sending in the wind and snow. Quickly, the woman grabbed raw meat that had been stored in a small container. The lid shut with a snap and stones were replaced on the top. The door shut with the kick of the boot. The medieval wooden bar was pulled down on the slots on either side of the door to secure it. As she made her way to the hearth, she paused and fished into a medium burlap bag for harvested sea salt. Jars upon jars lined the shelves of the cottage containing pickled vegetables grown from the summer. Seeds were not easy to come by, even with her skill set.
However, Murphy's Law had been paused after her detachment from a previous settlement. As long as her family was more than a safe distance away, her hunting and scavenging skills rose. Walkers avoided her with an iron will. Her other needs , her other side seemed to be hibernating, as the storms froze another food source. The fresh meat and produce could only satiate her needs for so long.
Traps were active in case of a lovely surprise. Walkers, albeit disgusting, were the other part of her diet. The unnatural strength that held them together, that kept them alive; it was the biggest source of energy that kept her going. Although the frost months slowed them down so much as if they were hibernating, they would spring back to life as soon as the weather permitted. Day or night, if a trap was sprung and the noise system alerted her, Beth would bundle up , destroy the offending creature and drag it back home. Their minds did not register her scent or movements even their unnatural keen sense of smell so most kills were easy. So long as none of her blood was exposed to the air, she was fine, they hated her blood with a passion now and would avoid her.
The more she devoured their… kind, the more potent her abilities were.
Books about preserving food were stacked on milk crate next to a cot close to the fireplace. As her main source of energy was protein and undead flesh, her body still required other vitamins and minerals. Beth would suffer mentally and physically, just as would another normal human being. So, the practice of preserving all types of food was important.
Her small crossbow sat on her cot, begging to be used. For the winter, she had found a bin to story once fresh meats. The weapon had not been used in almost three months, the time it took for the winter to run its' course of the region.
The setting sun casted an amber hue; blinds and crudely hung sheets covered the windows opposite of the rising and setting sun. There were heavy shutters on the outside of the building that had been latched and locked before the first frost.
Pulling out a hunting knife from where it sat against her hip, she began to make work of the frozen chunk of protein. Without running water, a commodity of the old world, to thaw it; brute strength against the reinforced table would have to do.
It was a lie if Beth said she didn't miss her family. However, the bloodshed that ensued shortly after Morgan and her arrival only spurred her own bloodlust. The hands handling the chunk of meat slipped, the sharp blade dug into her sensitive flesh. Startled, Beth dropped the knife and pulled the sore knuckle into her mouth. She paused and looked into the flames.
The man known as Negan had murdered Glenn and Abraham. His group was far worse than the Governor could ever strive to be. Negan and the Saviours have been assaulting all the communities, Alexandria, Hilltop and the Kingdom. One attack after another in succession giving no community a chance to breath or regroup to strategize their own counterattacks.
Images of her father's death were becoming a foggy memory. Michonne's own sword was used against her kin by the wrong hands. The image of smoke and everyone scattering for their lives assaulted Beth's mind. Their one true home since the farm poured from their hands like running water from a tap.
After the Alexandrians scattered to the sewers, Beth found herself in another haze as she attacked one of her own kin.
Perhaps attacked was a strong word.
Her eyes closed as she slumped into the creaky chair.
Carl was farther down the tunnels lying on an army cot with a large wound in his side from a walker. The bite had caused an unfortunate fever to erupt. She sat next to him for a little while before going off on her own, praying she could keep the monster to the back of her mind. Being near Carl, around his blood had stirred the primal instinct in Beth to the point where it was hard to keep it in check. After collecting herself, Beth returned to the injured boy, checking him over frantically, not knowing for sure if her blood was still in his system. His demeanour hadn't fallen and he continued to be strong.
"Carl, let me take a look." She didn't wait for his acceptance and lifted his shirt. Beth carefully pulled the bandage away from the wound to reveal a pair of teeth marks. The wound oozed clear and bloody fluids, with no sign of healing at all. The sweet scent of blood made Beth cringe as the beast within snarled at her for daring to hold it back. Taking in a shaky breath she and looked up into his gaze.
"I once promised that I would save you before, remember? When that boy shot you ? I'm not sure of the potency back then but let me help you. We can't lose you."
Beth was reminded of Lori, who died giving birth to Judith. That woman loved her son to pieces. It would be a shame to have her first child die this way, whether or not it was an infectious bite from the unread or not.
A confirmation from the Grimes boy was all she needed before spitting into her open palm and pushed into the wound. Carl gasped in pain at the force but clearly did not hear the apology.
Seconds became minutes as she felt the gnarly bite close against her palm. A bit of pride formed in her as her plan was working. After about five or so minutes, Beth pulled her hand away to reveal a red scar. Beth used her hunting knife to cut the bandage away and clean the blood from the newly healed site with a cloth.
Carl's eye was shut from pain, his jaw still locked as labored breaths and saliva flew out.
Beth rose to her feet and stood above him. "I will come back to see if that actually helped. I gotta go." Carol appeared from the shadows holding Judy in her arms. The older woman didn't look surprised but smiled and sat next to the boy. The younger Greene nodded at her and fell back into the tunnel.
Beth was careful as she meandered through the tunnel, stepping over the wounded and children. It was about ten meters and a right then immediate left turn to the farthest exit. Getting to the surface was as important as saving Carl's life.
The blood and gore from Saviors and Alexandrians alike were burning her sense of smell. It would take a miracle to thwart off the enemy. Fortunately, she made a decision to create a Hail Mary.
She was tracking a thrall she made on a previous run to an outpost.
If it wasn't for the Wolves attacking from before, that man she almost killed before joining the walled community, she never would have known how to make one. He ended up dying as an end result, but the denizens survived.
Their near-death experience taught them it wasn't daisy and sunflowers. Most had lived barely knowing the dangers; blood and ultimately death, beyond Alexandria's border.
Beth adopted the word from the massive library both from here and Hilltop. Her studies were hidden under other subjects she was bent on learning. Even at that time, she knew deep down, perhaps, she wouldn't remain with the community way of living.
None of them were safe.
Exploiting even one of Negan's subordinates could cause fatalities. She cringed at the memory, opting to keep to the task on hand.
Finding that half-dead man was easier said than done. The walls of the tunnels shook sending clumps of mud and debris fell onto the ground below her feet.
The footsteps and voice would have alerted her of a presence behind her if not for the explosions and remaining screams. She thought she heard, "Where ya goin', girl?"
However, by the time it took the voice to register, the hand gripped her shoulder.
All thoughts on tracking fell through the floor as her predator side grabbed the offending limb and pulled, hauling the person over her shoulder. Her hips twisted with her body as she straddled the guy. All the feedings of walker and human alike had given her more strength and stamina than the weeks before.
Her heart jumped into her throat after realizing it had been Daryl. The expression on his face held shock. Her strong grip was digging into his collarbone, her nails already drawing blood. She hadn't been in such close contact to him in weeks. He had been tortured by the half-faced bastard Dwight, one of Negan's top lieutenants, when he was forced to the Sanctuary.
After he was given sanctuary in Hilltop, he shuffled back to Alexandria. He was almost broken by that man and here she was, digging into him with supernatural strength. The apology sputtered from her mouth but not in enough time until another tremor filled the tunnels. It was rough.
She felt her body lurch forward but the man below her, who had dropped his weapon in the shuffle, held her in place. Once the dust settled, Beth rolled off of him and put space between them.
Daryl was still for half a moment more before he also reached his feet. He grabbed the bow and shouldered it.
"What was that about, huh? I ain't the enemy, girl."
Beth shook her head and looked him in the eyes. "I gotta go, Daryl." She paused, her eyes looking behind him as Rick turned the corner towards his son. Her blue eyes met the hunter once more. He looked … upset. She took a step back, eyeing the exit before speaking.
"After what I just did, with this strength and everyone's made it clear that I'm not a trustworthy person in the group…." Beth turned back to him, "I can't stay here anymore. Maybe, I can figure something out, out there." The blonde shrugged, "I won't disappoint anyone out there."
Daryl was quiet, his face blank as she spoke. Perhaps it was his time running, or other carnage from the constant wars or maybe it was because of Negan.
"So you're just gonna leave then?" Though his expression didn't change, there was anger present in his voice, "Right now? Nah. Everyone here ... can't lose anyone else." He took step forward to hold onto her biceps to stop her from leaving. "Ain't gonna be any easier out there ..."
Beth twisted out of his grip and shoved him to where he needed the help of the wall to keep his balance. She picked up the backpack that had been stored there, she thought about going back to take care of the Grimes boy as she has promised, but something stopped her. If she did, Rick was going to corner her and demand answers. After that, who knows when she would have such a perfect chance to leave? So, Beth fled. As she rushed to the exit, she could hear him yelling out her name.
"Beth!"
Beth snapped out of her reverie, the recollection fading as smoke reached her nostrils. The meat over the cooking spit was over cooked on one side and began to catch fire. She quickly stood, the old chair squeaking in protest as she turned the lever. The meat rotated to a lesser-charred side. Shortly after, Beth plunged her blade into the chunk of meat and pulled it out to find no more blood seeping from it.
She returned to the table, where the frozen chunk had been left. A sigh escaped her. It would be a lie if she didn't feel lonely. The daily chores and weather be damned was making her anxious.
She finished her mindless chore and tossed the meat into a salt-water bath to sit overnight. Tomorrow, the fat would be pulled away and set into a pan near the fireplace. The tallow would be used for future cooking.
The once creative ways to prepare food became mundane chores to keep life interesting in the self-forced solitary confinement.
"It's better this way." Recently, had become Beth's mantra.
The storm outside began slowing down, the gusts of wind soon quieted down.
Beth ate the dinner she prepared while picking some potatoes from a jar that was left on the table from the day before. Root vegetation was the easiest to grow.
The location of her home was on sandy shores, so her garden was closer to the dirt up the hill behind the building. The idea behind it was to make a safe haven... Or a trap.
If the ideal location were to attract people, it would also attract the walking dead. If not for the requirements of her special diet, it would pose a problem in the future.
Beth cleared the table, dishes had to be washed in the seawater some yards away from the tiny porch.
A jar dropped from the far wall, close to a long unused bathroom. Beth pulled her knife to the nothingness behind her. The cottage had no other inhabitants or pests. The candles and fire from the pit lit the room bright enough to see down the small hallway where the racks had been placed. She quietly made her way to where the jar had fallen to see viscous liquid covered a small patch of carpet. Mulberry jam she had made over the summer was destroyed with no evidence of mouse or rat .
Then, Beth dropped her knife as if someone stabbed her heart. She held onto her chest as the pain bloomed like a flower in spring. A memory flashed before her eyes, a time where she was thinking of the children after the prison. Before she thought she lost hope. Her mind and body slowly shut down and her form crumpled on the floor. Darkness overcame her vision and she was out.
A dog barked into the darkness, whining after seeing the walking dead speak amongst themselves in hushed tones. Their eyes twinkling in a disturbing light as groans and shuffles of half frozen undead beings lurked nearby...
