As the night wore on she could hear the groans above her and all she could do in the darkness of the hole she'd fallen into was pray they didn't fall in, too. Dixie had hesitated on the boards that overshadowed her, but he soon enough jumped down into the hole with her. She wished he hadn't. She was cursing herself as she waited for the sun to rise. And though she knew the threat of a walker happening upon her was just as likely, she felt as though she would be better prepared to defend herself.
As the sky began to lighten, and the light illuminated the hole she was in, she started to play. A couple of the boards had fallen in with her, so she started the task of attempting to drag herself out. She tried wedging the boards against the slanted wall of the hole, but when she put any pressure of it, they simply sank into the moisture. She supposed all of the rain that had happened had soaked in to the soil here. And while the world above her seemed dry, this was going to be her dank death.
Twice Dixie barked, and twice Beth shushed him. She began to speak in earnest, breathily.
"Shh, we're going to get out of here. It's gonna be fine. It's gonna be okay." She tried a different tactic, and then another. And then to her utter dismay she heard the groan of a walker. She grew silent but it was too late. With a jolt she watched the animated corpse tumble into the whole toward her. At once she stabbed at it, but the blade glanced off of the skull. It must have been fresh. A recently dead. As she grappled, using all of her strength, she heard Dixie snarl, and tear into the walker. Of course it didn't flinch at all, and the distraction nearly cost Beth. The walker snapped its jaws at her, but she was pinned. With a determined burst of strength she shifted, plunging the blade into his skull from his soft palate. Gore dripped onto her, over the bottom of her face and down her neck and she struggled tiredly from beneath the walker.
It wasn't long before others appeared, but she was more prepared this time, leaping upon them and killing them as they dropped. She was exhausted. Every one of her muscles screamed, and she feared that her leg was becoming infected. It was certainly beginning to itch. But at this rate, she found herself thinking, I'll just have a pile of corpses tall enough to climb out. It was getting a bit cramped. And with every struggle a new walker approached - the sound drawing in the walkers who had noticed her during the night.
At the fifth corpse she collapsed, leaning heavily against the muddy wall. Dixie sat next to her. Clearly tired, but more vigilant than Beth. She opened the rip in her jeans to view the wound. Though it was covered in grime, now, as she wiped at it she saw the angry red flare. Yep, she realized in despair. Definitely infected. She wasn't sure what she could do about it. She wasn't medically talented, had never learned much about surviving in the wild. And then she heard Dixie growl. Stubborn, she tied her leg again, hoping the pressure much do something useful. She spent the entire day down in that hole. And then it started to rain again, just as dusk was beginning.
Her skin felt chilled and she shivered, but knew she was probably running a fever. And then she had a gruesome idea. With every bit of strength she possessed, she began to build with the only material she really had - the formerly human bodies before her. She didn't think of the insanity she was living in. She didn't think at all, but she worked anyway, cutting into putrid flesh, using one of the mangled shirts to hold the boards together. She had to get out. She refused to die down in this pit, faceless and nameless with a dog who had been her saving grace just days ago.
She didn't bother to be quiet. Her fury at the world around her was blinding her senses, the fever from the infection that had been at work in her body since Elijah had attacked her was dulling them just as much. Dixie paced in the small space, not even five foot wide - but more than nine foot deep. The rain was making her dizzy and she thought lamely that she was probably dying of exposure as she worked. She heard movement now, beyond the trees and in her fervor found herself mad.
"Come on then," she shouted. "Come on!" She struggled up, balancing on the makeshift step-stool she had created. She gestured for Dixie to come to her, and though he nearly unbalanced her she managed to lift him, pressing him up against the ledge until he could climb out. At least the dog might live. It was a grim sort of satisfaction, to give this dog a chance at life. She heard that movement again, not a groan but a movement in the brush. She glanced down, the was nothing else to help her escape. No other option. So she leapt, wriggling limply, catching the underside of her arm against a nail that protruded from one of the more stable boards around her.
That was fine, she was getting out. She pressed diligently against the sodden wall, feeling her feet slimp grossly in the mud. It was all fine. When she found her torso flush against moist earth, but horizontal she wondered for a moment how she had gotten there. Dixie was licking her face, so she dragged herself further. She was sick. A mess, and unable to defend herself. And then she heard that movement again and felt as though someone was watching her. She pulled her blade, struggling to her feet and glared around her. Still the sun had not completely set. She heard a sound, guttural and vaguely human.
"Come on!" she shouted again. She was ready to die. She was ready to be done with it. Maggie and Daryl, Rick and Carl and Glenn. She was done. And Judith, she thought, as the sound of a cooing baby invaded her mind. She was hallucinating. She swung the blade at the air, knowing there was nothing there. Numbly trying to scare off the walker that hunted her. "Bring it on, you sonuvabitch! I'm ready!" And sure enough a walker came into her view. But before she could attack it, it crumpled to the ground. She saw a figure, darkened by the low contrast of the evening. And she wavered on her feet.
"Beth?" said a voice. She turned her head, attempting to focus on the figure who had spoken. All she saw before she collapsed was a mouth set firmly in concern.