Real quick before we begin, there are rumors going around that Beth will die this season. Even IF that happens, I WILL continue this story. No one is truly dead as long as they are remembered and Beth will always and forever be alive for me. Besides, I really love writing this story, I can't say that enough. So, as usual, much thanks to DarylDixon'sLover, Dixongirl, Guest, Sillymommy2010, rckyfrk, heatherrk, lucky713, islandgirl33, PolkaDotSocks93, boothandbones4ever, cybil2113, hossfan, and Emma Kellogg for your lovely feedback messages! And much gratitude to those who have favorited and followed! Now to continue!

Chapter nine: (Part Two)

A fine film of dust and cobwebs masked the door handle, making the appearance seem far more ancient than the building truly was. Various advertisements and flyers laden the glass windows, combining with the interior darkness to make it near to impossible to see what lurked inside. Daryl inhaled, the frigid temperatures burning his lungs as he watched Beth position her gun out of the corner of his eye. With his good arm, he rapped on the glass, stare concentrated on the spot as he waited.

Almost instantly, he was greeted by the snarls of what he guessed were four or five walkers, their rotting mouths pressed to the window, boney, decaying fingers dragging hungrily across the surface. So primitive, lacking any sort of humanity now, it was like gazing at a caged animal in the zoo. Daryl waved Beth back, thrusting the door open with a few tugs, knife in hand to quickly end their existence as they stumbled out into the open light for what could have been the first time in years.

"Think that's all of 'em?" Beth murmured, eyes fixed on the last walker as Daryl withdrew his weapon from its skull.

"Dunno," he mumbled, glancing into the dark interior of the building. "Keep an eye out."

The stench cut through the coolness of the atmosphere as the pair stepped inside of the structure. After years of dealing with it, the archer had been under the impression that he had grown immune to such aromas, but the combination of death and indisposed sewage made his stomach lurch in disgust. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the uneasiness in Beth's expression, her lips pressed firmly together as if the threat of vomiting had been dramatically increased. He deduced that pregnancy did that to women, remembering vaguely being at a bar with Merle-back when things were decent-and a pregnant woman becoming ill simply because her husband had ordered a side of onion rings and the smell didn't agree with her.

"You alright?" He murmured, eyes meeting hers.

She nodded, her chest rising slowly as she took a few steps forward. She didn't say anything, perhaps her nausea prohibiting her from doing so, but she remained in control of it nevertheless. Cautiously, crossbow and gun raised, they began to move through the lobby, the sound of their footsteps echoing throughout the empty structure. It was a little eerie, seeing all of the posters of happy families in various vacation spots around the state. One even promoted a county fair that was set to occur just months after the outbreak started. He'd personally never attended an event such as that and briefly found himself wondering what such would have been like. It helped, after all, momentarily deter from the worrisome thoughts that too often plagued his mind now.

When they finally came to the bathroom entrance, Daryl nudged the door open slowly with his foot. He paused, arrow pointed through the sliver of space as he waited for anything to appear. Surprisingly, such did not occur. No growls. No shuffles. The archer inhaled, immediately regretting his decision as the air reeked worse here than it had anywhere else. Glancing once at Beth, he forced the door the rest of the way open, almost gagging as the full extent of the smell hit his nose.

"Christ," he hissed, throat and eyes equally burning from its strength. "You sure you wanna-"

"Yes," Beth nodded, her tone sounding strained from the effort it took not to regurgitated what little she had eaten that morning. "Let's just hurry and check everythin'."

From stall to stall they went, attention fixed for any sign that a walker-or what could easily be left of one-lurked within the areas. Finally, after Daryl was satisfied that nothing unexpected could possibly appear while he was outside, he lowered his crossbow. Beth stood against a sink, arms crossed firmly over her chest as she eyed the bathroom with slight displeasure. It was clear the smell was making this far less worth than what it had seemed early. But they were here now and that in itself was something they could not waste.

"I'll be right outside," the bowman said, meeting Beth's stare. "You shout if anythin' happens, alright? Don't care if it's jus' a bug hittin' the window. If you hear-"

"I can handle myself," Beth assured him. "I had a good teacher after all."

Her tone was genuine, lips playing into a small, but meaningful smile. Daryl watched her for a moment, a part of him wanting to stay just to make sure. But he remembered the hospital. Recalled both Noah's and Beth's tales about the happenings before they were rescued. She was no longer the timid farm girl he'd met those many months back. She was a woman. A brave, independent survivor who had adapted just like they all had to do. Of course she still had her moments, who didn't. But Beth was more than capable of protecting herself. Even though such was starting to get slightly harder with the impending birth of their child.

Daryl exited the bathroom without another word to Beth, deciding that maybe he could busy himself by looking around. He remained in close proximity to the bathroom as he began to examine the various strewn objects that had been abandoned so long ago. Money. Purses. A crushed pack of cigarettes he decided to take for the hell of it (wasn't like he smoked anymore, but maybe it'd be worth something to trade if the chance came). Some feminine products. A packet of most likely stale peanuts. Until his attention was drawn to an object shoved underneath a display case.

He got on his knees, grunting as his shoulder protested his attempt to reach under and grab the thing. Finally, after much effort, he managed to withdraw the possession. A book. The cover was torn, ruined with water and mold, but the title despite its faintness was still clear enough to read. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Nothing that he'd ever heard before. Then again, the archer wasn't much of a reader unless it came to wrestling magazines or the occasional porno Merle left sitting on the sofa. He began to flip through it, eyes scanning the text simply out of both boredom and curiosity.

"Good book?"

Daryl whipped around, a jolt of pain shooting through his shoulder as he caught sight of Beth standing behind him. He stature relaxed somewhat, relief flooding over him at the realization that it was only her. He'd been so engrossed in the damn thing, he hadn't even heard her leave the bathroom. The archer exhaled, closing the book as he held it towards the girl.

"I ain't even hear you come out," he mumbled. "Don't be sneakin' up on people like that."

Beth smiled, taking the book from Daryl. As her eyes flickered over the cover, a look of recognition crossed her features. She inhaled, fingers delicately trailing across the surface as if this mere object was some prized possession.

"This was one of my favorites," she admitted, chuckling softly. "Had to read it in school. Kinda reminds me of you now that I think about it. The main character, I mean."

"What about me?" Daryl asked, unsure if he should feel offended or not. "What's it about?"

"You know about Tom Sawyer?" Daryl only shrugged in response. "Well it's about his best friend, Huck Finn. See, the boy's father's a drunk and Huck runs off one day with this slave named Jim? They go on adventures and such, it's a good book. You got his attitude. Huck's."

The corners of Daryl's mouth twitched into a frown, Beth seemingly unaware of his displeasure. Not that he'd ever shared with her-wasn't something he much cared to talk about-but the description wasn't too far off from his own father. Of course, he realized, she hadn't ever meant it in that way. Beth was sweet and would never had made the connection if she knew, but his childhood had been far from happy. In a way, maybe he was a lot like this Huck Finn. Except there had been no Jim to keep him company, only himself.

"C'mon," he mumbled, looking towards the door. "Morgan's probably waiting."

The sky was beginning to turn a foreboding shade of gray as Daryl and Beth exited the rest stop building. Daryl inhaled, placing an arrow in his crossbow as they moved towards the back of the foundation. A few walkers wandered about, not seeming to have their attentions caught by the archer and his companion as they wound in and out of the abandoned cars. Daryl peered around, a feeling of uncertainty finding him when Morgan didn't immediately appear in his line of vision. As he considered going back around to the front, half wondering if the man had already left them, he felt Beth nudge his side.

"Look."

Not too far off, leaning out of the window of an eighteen wheeler truck, was none other than Morgan. He waved to them, silently motioning for them to come forward. Daryl looked to Beth, adjusting his bow as she began to head towards their other group member. It was quiet out, the only sounds being the occasional wail of the wind or the distant grunts of a walker. When they drew close enough, the blood in Daryl's veins suddenly froze. A hum. An engine rumbling. The damn thing was running.

"Got it to work," Morgan muttered, hopping out of the driver's seat to help Beth ease her way up into the back. "Took a few mechanics classes in high school. Guess I didn't forget everythin'."

"You know how to drive it?" Daryl asked, skepticism outweighing his astonishment. "It's pretty damn big."

"Can't be that hard," Morgan exhaled, looking towards the truck. "Has a good amount of diesel in it too. Guess people forgot about that during the gas rush. Won't be easy, but it sure as hell beats walking. Can't say how far it'll get us though. What with the roads all clogged up. Still, it's warm. Walkers can't reach us from that high. Could use it as a shelter if nothin' else."

The archer glanced up towards the inside of the truck, noting that Beth had completely disappeared from sight. He knew well enough that such vehicles, due to their business, had space in the back for the truckers when day trips turned into nights. At least Beth would be able to rest. She needed that if nothing else. Yet an eighteen wheeler was big and far from conspicuous. They'd have to be careful, if they were lucky enough to get the monster of a mobile anywhere.

"We can take the back roads," Morgan suggested. "Less crowded than the highways. Might be a map in there too. Ya'll came out before I could check."

Daryl nodded thoughtfully, the vehicle seeming more welcoming as a large gust of wind blew. Anything was better than nothing. That much he had learned even before the outbreak. And on the off chance that it did work, maybe they'd come across Rick and the others on the road. Exhaling, the bowman nodded his head, adjusting his bow over his good shoulder as he moved to climb inside.

"We take shifts," he mumbled. "Rotate."

"Alright," Morgan agreed, glancing up towards the sky. "We should get goin' though. Sky don't look too welcoming."

xXx

As Morgan had anticipated, the atmosphere suddenly light up with the tiny, but unmistakable snowflakes. Daryl watched, slightly in awe as they danced in front of the headlights as the truck rumbled down the road. It was late evening now, the highway disappearing into a two lane highway that seemed almost nonexistent under the coverage of leaves and branches that had blown over on top of it. But it was warm. Safe inside. And the bowman allowed himself to find some comfort in that.

"It gets you wonderin'," Beth murmured, Daryl peering back from the passenger seat to see her reclining, the novel propped up on her stomach. "I guess we are kinda like how these people were in the 1800's. Well, with the exception of walkers and the somewhat readily available technology. Other than that though..." She touched her stomach, smile softening. "Hey, whaddya think of the name Huck?"

"Rhymes with somethin', don' it?" Daryl said, looking to meet Beth's unamused stare. "Jus' sayin'."

"Named my son after Bruce Wayne," Morgan admitted, not letting his gaze linger too long off the path. It was nearly dark due to the storm, the headlights offering what little illumination they could. "Batman? Not exactly the same name, but we sort of played around with it and got Duane. Big fan of the comics growing up. I remember goin' to the store and gettin' some penny candy and one of the newer editions to the series." He paused, fingers tightening around the wheel. "Guess what I'm tryin' to say is, it's not so bad to name someone after a piece of literature you like...not that comics are that, but it was somethin' I was passionate about as a teenager. Thought about doin' somethin' like that until I met Jenny."

Daryl didn't need to ask to figure out that Jenny probably had been Morgan's wife. What had happened to her was probably what had also happened to Merle. To Sophia. Hershel. The archer glanced behind him briefly, noting how the snow seemed to be getting progressively heavier as it fell. Maybe the temperatures would be somewhat warmer in Washington. The snow slight if existing at all. His gaze wandered back to Beth, back to the smile and friendliness that shown in her expression. The corners of his mouth twitched, the faintest of smiles beginning to play on his own expression when he was immediately snapped back into reality by Morgan's cry.

"Shit!" The man hissed, the tires screeching as the vehicle veered onto the opposite side of the road. "Goddammit!"

For a moment, the archer was in a blissful confusion, his vision obscured by the wintry weather ahead of them. It wasn't until the truck drew closer, the brakes seeming to fail due to the speed, that the initial horror set in. Ahead of them, just seeming yards away, appeared to be some oddly construed roadblock. Until the headlights shown on it, it almost appeared to be completely invisible against the night. Daryl gripped his seat, gaze flying back to Beth as Morgan struggled and failed to regain control of the vehicle.

The last image to grace his mind was that of Beth. The fear masking the usual hope in her features as the truck barreled off the side of the road, smashing through the metal guarder as it turned onto its side, skidding down the slope of the hill. His head it the dashboard as the wreckage finally collided with a cluster of trees, its motion immediately stopped.

Everything went black.

I hope no one was expecting a happy-go-lucky bethyl baby story. Nothing comes that easy in an apocalypse which is why I plan to stay true to the show's roots and have my little cliffies here and there. But don't worry too much. There would be no story with Bethyl. And there would be no story without the pregnancy. So at least let that ease your mind somewhat. Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! Seriously keeps me writing! Until next update! -Jen