CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Needless to say, I was a little spooked out by my dream. The weird fuzzy feeling in my stomach and shoulder didn't help either. I had barely thought of my mom in the past few years, let alone have a full on dream about her. And in that dream I was pretty sure she was an angel. It was so weird...

I took it as a sign from God. He must have wanted me to know her walker body had been killed. I recalled my mom, Amillia, gently touching the center of her forehead. Right where you would hit a walker so it died. It gave me happiness and depression at the same time.

But I couldn't dwell on it. I had no clue how far away I was from my home. I hadn't even known it was in North Carolina until Daryl circled it for me. Did he know until that moment? He had to have, right?

I took the map out of my waistband and opened it, staring at the red circle, behind it multiple black dots from Rick's directions. I needed to find out where I was and remake it. Unfortunately, I had no clue as to how. This would be so effortless with Daryl. If he would have just taught me-

No. I wasn't going to play the blame game. This was my fault. I was the reason that I wasn't with him. I was the reason for everything going wrong. I couldn't touch him, whisper to him, kiss him, love him. All because of me.

I realized I was crying, deep sobs came to my lips, rocking me to the core. I covered my mouth with my hand, leaning into it as I cried, trying to be quiet and failing. It was like all the emotional and physical stress came all at once; not just Beth, but everything.

"I can't," I managed out between sobs, shaking my head. "I can't do this."

I was sure of it. All my determination had left me, escaped through the unpleasant seats while I was sleeping last night. I wanted to just wait here and either starve to death or be a meal for an ugly, son of a bitch walker. But I had no fight in me left. That was for sure. I had no will, no reason to even try anymore.

'That's so like you,' a voice whispered. I turned, my sobs stopping all at once, my eyes burning, but saw no one. Then I realized it was, in fact, all in my head. The voice was some inner conscience made up from my stress and loneliness.

"What's so like me?" I asked myself.

I was talking to myself. I was officially crazy. I was officially a psycho.

'To just give up. You always have someone else fight your battles. Put on your big girl pants. Get out of this mildewed piece of shit and go find Him.'

I shook my head, covering my face with my hands, my nose pressed against the handle of my gun. My lips trembled.

"I can't. I can't." I nearly sobbed.

'Why not?' the voice demanded an answer. It wasn't my own voice. More like Morgan's gentle voice mixed with Michonne's badass-ness.

I thought about it for a moment before wiping my nose with my wrist.

"I don't know how to do anything. I can't find my way back. Nobody ever taught me how to use a map. No one ever showed me how to drive-"

'So teach yourself! Maps aren't that hard! And Rick showed you a lot on driving. You could do it. It may take you twice as long, and you may get lost but you can damn well do it.'

I shook my head once again, to the anger inside my head.

"I have nothing to do it for. For all I know he's dead. What's to fight for."

'Nothing to do it for? How selfish are you?' the voice shouted, (shouted? It was inside my head, right? I was fucking crazy, right!?) 'Daryl damn well may be debating on tracking your skinny ass down, pacing back in forth on your porch back in N.C.'

"Or-"

'Or!' my own self interrupted me, 'How about fighting for that damned kid growing in your belly! I'm giving you the Worst Soon-To-Be-Mom Award! Have you forgotten about the product of you and Daryl constantly going at it?'

I placed a hand on my stomach, running it across the small bump. It- whatever it was- was right. That stupid voice in my head.

"I lost my other baby."

'I know this,' the voice said matter-of-factly. Oh, yeah. It was inside my head. It was me.

"Four months. That could be the same for this one," my hand ran across my stomach again.

'Don't you remember your mother giving you a gift? Even if you lose Daryl, surely you'll still have his child. It would be a cruel world if you didn't.'

"It's already a cruel world."

'It's always been that way. You were just too young to see it... Now, get out of this seat and get moving. You have people who love you and are counting on you. Go go go go!'

I groaned and crawled over the seats, fumbling uneasily until I was sitting in the front seat, my head pressed against the steering wheel, gun in one hand, map in the other.

The last two things I had.

The sun told me it was around noon. I had overslept, yet I still felt like shit. Today, I needed to find a car. I couldn't be too picky either. Sure, I would have looked a little longer and gotten something I could actually drive well. But, I would be lucky to get something period.

I brushed back my hair out of my face, checked the car for anything I could use, and slowly crawled out.

There was a field to my left and woods to my right. I could either keep going down this back road or turn around and head back from where I came.

For all I knew, this could be a long ass drive way and I was wasting my time.

But drive way meant car, right? Maybe?

I was hopeful, and, shoving my map back into my waist band, I started off again.

I kept my thoughts off Beth. If I thought of her, I would be too mad to do anything else but cry. So I shoved her and Daryl out of my mind. I shoved everything out and thought of only memories. The good ones, before the walkers.

I thought a lot about Dad and Mom. The stories they would tell me when I was little, out of my illustrated Bible Nursery story book.

Mom and her Sunday make up ritual, how she would curl my hair when I was little and let me wear red lip stick. But only on Sunday. And all the old women would talk about how cute I was. I would feel... well the age I was now. So grown up and sophisticated.

Now I just feel like I was six again, small and worthless.

But I wasn't innocent. I was so far from being innocent. I was such a dirty person now. My hands weren't clean like they used to be. It made me feel so... empty.

Within an hour I stumbled upon a farm house, being as quite as possible. I stalked low as I rounded around a barn, my gun ready, safety off.

I let out a sigh of relief when the barn was void of any walker life. But I didn't completely let my guard down.

I went inside and checked out the little farm truck out, an iron gate like thing around the back, probably for hauling stuff. I sighed and looked for keys. Nada. I would have to go inside the house and hope there was some in there.

I left the barn and once again crept around to the house. I waited just outside the white screen doors, my heart thumping in my chest. Who the hell knew what was on the other side of that door?

I slowly opened the door, tip toeing inside as my palms grew sweatier, my gun firmly in my hand. I wouldn't have been nearly as nervous if I wouldn't have been pregnant. It was all I could do to grip the gun.

The door stepped into a little kitchen, and to my delight, there were keys on the table. Quite a few sets, but I could weed through them and see if any of them fit the truck outside.

I grabbed the keys, trying to be quite as I slid them off the counter, and put them in my back pocket. It'd be cool to actually have keys, not a screw driver. If they worked, that is.

I debated on checking the cabinets or not and my growling stomach told me it would be wise to do so.

I opened a few, not finding much of anything. But eventually I opened it up to a dusty jar of pickles and half opened crackers along with cereal boxes and other old stuff I doubted was exactly fresh. But I took the jar of pickles and headed back out to the barn, quietly closing the door behind me.

Once back in the barn, I set the pickles on the ground and took out the keys, setting my gun on the hood of the truck.

I picked a small, silver key with a circular top first. There were only six keys and I figured one of them had to open the truck door, as it was locked.

The silver key didn't work and I slid it off the key ring, tossing it in the dirt at my feet. I brushed my hair back and said a silent prayer for the next key, a small, bronze one with a more boxy top. It also didn't work. I took it off the key ring and let it join it's fallen brother.

The next one I picked was another silver one, a bit dirty. It had a boxy top and was only slightly larger than the other two. I said another prayer over it and skeptically slid it against the small slit in the door.

To my pure pleasure it slid in. I turned it in disbelief, and the lock turned with me. In my state of shock I almost cried out in joy. But I remembered I had to be quiet and instead grabbed my gun and the pickles and slid into the dusty old front seat on the farm truck.

I set my gun in the seat beside me, the truck being like one giant bench with a smaller one in the extended cab. I opened the jar of pickles and took one out, quickly eating it. I was so hungry and I barely tasted the sourness of it. I are another one. And then another before remembering I probably needed to save some for the trip home. (Home!)

I put the lid back on the jar, set facing on it's side in the passenger seat, and wiped my hands on my pants before sticking the key in the ignition.

At first, it just made a clunking sound.

"Oh, no... Come on, don't do this to me..." I begged it, trying again. It moaned in protest, and I tried again. This time it squeaked to life and I let out a small burst of laughter.

"He's watching over me," I sang out, something my mom used to say.

I backed the truck- very badly- out of the barn and then down the drive way, where I met a few walkers. I headed back the way I came, only going about twenty miles an hour. I couldn't really tell. The speedometer on the truck wasn't exactly working.

I soon passed the little moldy car I had slept in and silently thanked it for sheltering me before going on.

Now I had a vehicle. Now I had a faster way back to Daryl, who was surely waiting on me back home.