She mourned the bunny. She couldn't help it. She couldn't stop the tears that overtook her as dawn began to lighten the world around her. Dixie simply stared, offering no concern and no sympathy, though when she leaned down to brace herself on her knees the dog leaned up and licked her face. She was sure he appreciated the taste of her tears, but she veered off of the rails before long. She had to find water. She chewed on the pre-cooked rabbit as she walked. It had dried a bit, and the sinewy meat was tougher than she would have preferred.
But dammit did her leg hurt. That was another thing her tired mind was bemoaning. Her ankle had just seemed to have healed and some idiot in the woods tries to use her as zombie bait. With a small jolt, however, she realized that's what she had done to him. Sure it was self-defense. And sure they could probably have escaped together. When she found a small stream that she realized too late probably crossed paths with the rail, she sank to the ground. Dixie drank largely as she attempted to clean the wound. She was lucky.
Though the gash was long and the fabric of her jeans was stiff with dried blood, it was a fairly shallow wound. She washed the cool water over her skin, keeping her ears alert for the sound of movement. After having his fill Dixie lay down behind her. It was a comfortable balance. She filled the water bottle she still had after she was done, the water flowed so it was pretty clean. She looked around, wondering if she should allow herself to rest. She decided she would follow the stream for a bit, toward the railroad, so if she didn't cross it it would still be to the west.
She wasn't quite sated by the dried rabbit - and she was pissed that she'd shared with the backstabber. But that couldn't be helped now. As she walked, however, she noted lamely that there were fresh paw prints in the moist ground. She stopped for a moment, thinking. How could she catch herself a meal without a fast weapon. Daryl hadn't exactly taught her to hunt with her knife. She decided to make her move, and followed what she was sure was a rabbit. Maybe more than one, since the prints varied. She followed as quickly as she could, while keeping her silence. Dixie seemed to noticed the change in her behavior - and she wondered vaguely if he'd been a hunting dog. He stayed low and behind her.
And when she came across the rabbit hole, she was shocked with the dog leapt into action. One young hare shot out of the hole, and Beth was already feeling the loss when she realized it hadn't escaped. Instead, it hung limp from Dixie's mouth. As she praised him, another rabbit shot out - and again he caught it. This time by the leg, and the rabbit let out a squealing noise, and Dixie snarled lightly before the movement had completely stopped. Dixie had an injured snout now, but other than that he was fine. She could have laughed.
She had found herself a dog that not only didn't trust other people, and was quiet for walkers, but could catch a rabbit. She'd never seen a dog catch anything it didn't have to corner first. She lifted the rabbit gingerly, unsure if he would let her. But he made no complaints as she added them to her bag.
"A little closer," she said. "And then I'll cook them for us." She wasn't entirely sure if the dog should eat the animals raw. She knew she wasn't willing to risk it. So she veered back to the path of the stream, but now she saw more tracks. Boots. One quite large set of feet, another just a little bigger than her own. So probably a man and a woman, she thought. If not a father and child. She found herself wondering if Carl's feet were only that much bigger than her own. She tried to remember Maggie's relative shoe-size. What was the use of that anyway? When was the last time any of them had shoes that actually fit them right? She just hoped - truly hoped - that it was someone she knew. Rather than someone from Elijah's group.
She decided to make a small camp right then. She didn't want to catch up to anyone on an empty stomach. And since she had no clue where her people were... well, better safe than sorry. She built the fire, struggling only a little with lighting it. As it crackled she set up a small perimeter. Just enough room, she thought, to cook it. She would eat on the road. Again she checked the slice on her calf. And though it still bled sometimes, and she could feel the tightness of the skin - she was confident it wouldn't need to be cauterized. Which was thankful.
She ate one of the rabbits, feeding the other one to the dog. She considered saving it - but thought he'd earned his meal for the day. She prayed aloud now, though still quietly. And this prayer was as much asking for safety for herself and the others as it was thankfulness that God had brought her this far. Seen her through Mr. Mahon, and now Elijah. And thankful, too, that she had found Dixie.
She slept. She hadn't really meant to, and though it was fitful for a while, she awoke to dusk. Hurriedly, she solidified her boundary. She was a bit too open but didn't want to be wandering around in the dark. She did take the time, however, as the sun began to truly disappear, to set out the snare she kept. She stepped lightly through the water, before settling in and snuffing the embers.. She slept curled in a tight nook against a tree with Dixie at her stomach. It was a peaceful night. One that was rare. One that she was truly thankful for.
She rose with the dawn, with plenty of rest and was thrilled to find a fat squirrel in her snare. She cooked it, once again eating as she walked. She fed scraps of it to Dixie, and followed the stream toward the rails again, minding the tracks of the people who had come before her. She daydreamed as she wandered, and as she had suspected, though it wound a bit and the tracks veered off to the left, the stream lead her back to the rail.
She walked on, well into the night, and decided to stay on foot though it was usually safer to hunker down somewhere. But the clear sky and the full moon lit her way, an with Dixie at her side she felt more confident. She drank sparsely of her water, sharing with Dixie when he seemed tired. But he trotted along with her though she could tell he was beginning to fatigue. The rail had led her through an open field, however, and now she felt like she was too exposed to stop so she walked on, eyeing the line of trees far before her.
So when she came upon a mangled walker collapsed limply against the edge of the rail she hesitated for high grass rose all around her. He groaned agonizingly at her and she glanced around, fearful that he would bring others upon her. She took him out, edging around the stench of the guts that was splayed across the railings. Whoever had left him this way had a cruel soul. She was sad for his obviously painful death, and as she glanced back she missed the rock that angled out beside the tracks. With a soft gasp she tumbled, rapping her already injured leg smartly against more jagged rocks. She swore softly, glaring around.
As she attempted to gather herself, however, she heard a groan. And then another. She peered over the grass she was now mostly hidden by, and saw at least three walkers lit by the moon. She stayed low, and made a beeline for the trees, Dixie following her forlornly. Though she worried about the dog, her concern was primarily about avoiding the walkers who moved awkwardly toward the sound of her in the underbrush. When she came to the woods she weighed her options. It was too late to make a real camp. Too dark to safely set up a perimeter. But she didn't want to keep moving.
She had backed herself into a corner she knew, now. Her leg was bleeding freshly again, the scabbing scar open once more. She hobbled on, but the groan of the walkers had excited others. How many dead were in the woods? She thought angrily. This was rural Georgia. How many people could there have been? Stragglers, she wondered, from the herd. But she found herself cornered - surrounded. She cut across the rail to the other side, hastening her movements and to her shock and chagrin stepped on a rotten board. With a small yelp she tumbled down, landing in damp earth.
It was darker here. More terrifying because she couldn't see. She pulled her knife, terror seeping more confidently through her body. Because not only was she being hunted by the undead - she had nowhere to run. At least it was a soft landing, she thought grimly. At least there wasn't a walker in the pit... Yet.