Last One Standing
Chapter Seven - New Faces
From the corner her eye, Beth saw Daryl reach for his crossbow, but it was too late. They both turned to face three men, all holding shotguns level with their heads. Beth's breath caught in her throat, and the pain in her head stung, sending a jolt from the top of her forehead to the nape of her neck.
"We don't want no trouble." Daryl's gruff voice rolled through the silence of the room, but the men didn't shift. "We just need a place to stay until the sun comes up."
The man in the middle stepped forward. He was bearded, with a stocky build, and wore a gray cloth beanie. He narrowed his eyes at them. "Put your fucking hands up."
Beth struggled to make her arms move. Sometimes it was hard, sometimes effortless. In fear, it seemed, her brain took longer to connect with her limbs.
"I said-"
"We fucking heard you!" Daryl shouted, shifting forward. Beth bit her lip, finally able to pull her hands above her head.
"Give me the crossbow." The man was close to Daryl now, one hand on his gun, the other outstretched. Daryl took a deep breath before he pulled it off his back. "And the knife." Daryl's hand went to his hip but hesitated to pull it from its holster.
The man didn't hesitate, jamming the shotgun into Daryl's chest. Daryl let the knife fall to the floor. The man reached a leg out to swipe it behind them. He turned next to Beth, and she tried to read him. He was tight-lipped. Something about him looked conflicted.
"I don't have a weapon," she told him, her voice steady. The man circled her carefully, his eyes traveling over her body, searching for any place she might be hiding a weapon.
"What happened to you?" The man with the shotgun spoke with a thick southern accent, his voice like honey.
"I was shot."
"And you survived?" The man eyed her bandage once again. "How?"
"I was in a hospital, and, there was a doctor."
The man lowered the gun. "A hospital?" The barrel aimed at the floor. "Where?"
"Atlanta." Daryl's voice was hard, he spoke through gritted teeth.
Beth kept her eyes on the man. His eyes went wide with possibility. The hospital was important to him.
"Do they have medicine there? Medical care? Doctors?" The man turned to Daryl next. Daryl's arms were still raised,
"Yes," Beth said. The man turned back to her.
The man turned his back to them both, his arms slack with Daryl's crossbow in one arm, his shotgun in the other. Daryl lowered his arms, stiffening, ready to fight. Beth narrowed her eyes at him.
Stop, she mouthed to him with a shake of her head. Don't.
The man signaled for the other two to lower their guns, and they did as they were told. They huddled together in whispered conversation. Beside her, Daryl shifted to grab her arm. He held her steady like he was afraid she was going to fly away. The man was protective, she remembered that. Protective over things and people that he cared about.
"Come with us." The man returned, his gun and still slightly raised.
Daryl and Beth obeyed, moving forward. The three men led them through aisles of clothing, back into an area where more metal shelves were stacked. They rounded a corner and came into what must have once been the Home and Bath section of the department store.
The place had high ceilings and smelled how all things did these days, of stale body odor and something rotten. Beth noticed since her accident that her sense of smell had shifted. Sometimes it was heightened, sometimes not there at all. She supposed there would be many things like that to come as she recovered.
To the left of where they stood, three, large, plush beds were grouped, separated by scattered shelves, tables, and dressers. The beds were all occupied, the one closest to them, by a little girl. She couldn't have been older than six.
She lay back in the pillows, no color to her face, her lips purple, sleeping. Her breathing was slow, and she looked frail, uncomfortably so. The man who brought them back looked down at her from the foot of the bed. Beth knew, just by the way he looked at her, that she was his daughter.
"My daughter is sick." The revelation was obvious. "She needs a hospital." He looked up at Beth and Daryl, eyes focused. "And you are going to tell us how to get there."
Daryl's eyes narrowed at the man. "That place ain't what you think it is."
The man raised his eyebrow. "You think I care? She needs help. If they got medicine there, I'm gettin' it."
Beth looked at the bed, then back up at Daryl who sighed. "Fine," he said. "I'll draw ya a map. Their security is shit, they got a couple of scared kids guarding the entrance." He crossed his arms. "Once I show you the way through, you're gonna let us leave."
"This ain't that easy," the man growled. "Not until I know you're telling the truth about where this place is."
Daryl tensed beside her. She felt the anger radiating from his body like he'd explode with it.
"Unless you wanna do this the hard way?" The man slowly reached for the shotgun in his hand.
"No!" Beth nearly shouted, taking a step forward. Her head throbbed and she felt herself wobble on her feet from the outburst. She was so tired of guns. "We'll draw you a map and wait til we hear word you've found the place. Then, you let us go."
Daryl and the man exchanged a look before they both gave a nod of agreement.
Beth saw stars now. A shooting pain seared through her head. It felt like her head was splitting in two. She needed to lie down, and she needed to lie down fast.
"Beth?" Daryl's voice was filled with worry and fear. "You okay?"
No. It was too late. His arm was the first thing she found before she felt herself crumble into darkness.
A/N: Sorry for the sporadic updates! I wrote this chapter, then I erased it all and re-wrote it so it took a little to get it right. I'm appreciating all of the comments, follows, and likes on this! I've really missed writing these two together and I'm really hoping you guys are enjoying the story so far. Thank you for reading!