Beth dropped her pack onto the dusty ground and fell to her knees beside a stand of poplar trees, retching into the bushes. Daryl felt a little queasy himself, but he kept watch on the surrounding hillside as Beth brought up the remains of her breakfast. She kept going until her heaves subsided into sobs, then rocked back into a sitting position, her arms wrapped around her knees and her head buried in her arms.

Despite the truth implied in the conversation they'd overheard in the forest, neither of them had been prepared for what they'd found down in the burning remains of what had clearly been a large scale compound. Daryl shuddered thinking of the room with the butcher tables and meat hooks, where undeniably human remains were processed and stored like slabs of beef. Almost worse were the rooms filled with backpacks, weapons, clothing, and, chillingly, even a few toys. There was enough gear to supply an army. How long had these people, these savages, been luring survivors into their trap? And how many of their family had managed to escape?

Daryl hadn't wanted to look too closely at the bodies scattered around the compound, but he made himself check every face they came across, praying not to see one he recognized.

Once the horde milling around the destroyed buildings caught sight of them, they had fled for the safety of the trees.

One thing was certain. Daryl and Beth couldn't underestimate their adversaries. They would have to be careful. The monsters who had done this thing were capable of anything. At some point between survival and predation, they had found themselves on the raggedy edge of sanity—and jumped off.

They struck out immediately in pursuit of Rick and the others, aware that their quarry had a head start of several hours. A new sense of urgency pushed them both to go faster than usual, aware that their people might not realize they were still in danger. Neither of them wasted energy in talk as the minutes pooled into hours and the sun made its steady climb into the sky and down the other side. Beth hung back a dozen yards or so as they walked, Ash padding along at her side, so that Daryl could concentrate on tracking the men they were following. Not that they made it difficult. In most places, the broken branches and trampled leaves were hard to miss. The only time they had to slow down was when the path took them across a tumbled field of broken shale that had clearly washed down from the roadbed above during a hard rain. It wasn't immediately apparent whether the Terminus group had crossed the road directly or continued parallel to it, so Beth sat down in the shade to rest while Daryl moved in a careful grid pattern, looking for a sign.

Opening her canteen, Beth took a long drink of warmish water. They had filled three bottles each from the pump back at the barn, enough for a couple of days, but she knew that if they went much further, they would need to find a stream or pond where they could refill. She wrinkled her nose in distaste remembering some of the brackish water they'd had to boil for drinking while they were out in the wilds. It was amazing how quickly she'd grown accustomed to once again having clear, cold drinking water available. She felt a sudden pang of longing to be back at their hidden farmhouse, wrapped up in a warm quilt and sharing dinner with Daryl rather than chasing sociopathic cannibals across the dusty Georgia countryside. The thought passed as quickly as it came, though, when she thought of Maggie and Glenn and Rick, still out there, hopefully, and maybe needing their help. The desire to find them filled her with resolve. She wasn't going back without the rest of her family.

Daryl was still working his way along the edge of the road, so Beth took the opportunity to slip into the brush and empty her bladder. Ash came with her. She kept a careful watch for stray walkers as she squatted near a scrubby pine and peed. She was just zipping up her jeans when Ash lifted his head in alarm. A very low growl, almost silent, rose up in his throat, and she instantly went into a defensive posture, unsheathing her knife from where it hung at her waist. Slowly, she crept in the direction she had come from, her eyes scanning for movement as she eased around a large tree at the edge of the shale field.

A man she didn't recognize was standing there, no more than ten feet away, his back to her. Frantically, she looked for Daryl. There he was, on the ground, trying to push himself to his knees. He seemed to wobble as he moved, and Beth had to bite her lip to keep from gasping when she saw blood running down from a cut near his eye. The man hulking over him was holding a stained machete in one hand and had his other hand tucked casually into the bib of his straining overalls, as if he was at a summer cookout, waiting for the burgers to be done. He outweighed Daryl by at least eighty pounds. He had the unmistakable air of one of the rowdies that used to hang out drinking night after night at the Hog Trough back in Senoia before the turn. Beth knew the type. Daryl had already been disarmed somehow. His crossbow lay on the ground behind him, and a bruise was slowly forming across his jaw, but he had made it to his knees, hands raised in a conciliatory gesture. Fortunately, the Hog's back was to Beth, so he didn't see her peeking out from behind the trunk of the towering pine where she was hiding. But Daryl did. Alarm made him clench his jaw slightly, but he focused on the thug, trying hard not to glance at her and give her away.

"We figgered somebody might circle around to follow us," the Hog was saying, "so I stayed behind to take care of it." Beth could imagine the cold cruelty in his eyes, the look of sinister glee that always seemed to animate monsters like this one, even before the walkers appeared. He continued, "See, I was in the slaughter house back in Terminus when yer sheriff pal was brung in. One look in his eyes, and I knew he weren't the kind to just run off without tryin' to get his own back again." He chuckled darkly. "Don't tell me yer the only one he sent? He is an overconfident little cuss, ain't he? Well, don't worry. We'll catch up to him, too." The big man swiped his greasy hair back from his eyes with hands crusted with filth.

Daryl's eyes blazed with hostility. The Hog didn't like it. "Still think yer gettin' out of this don'tcha? I seen guys with attitudes like yours. They all beg in the end. Course, it's a little hard to understand them after I've busted out their teeth." He hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spat it into the dirt next to Daryl's knee with a grin. "They usually have to stop me so I don't ruin the meat, but it's just me out here this time. And I'm gonna enjoy this."

The man raised the machete he was holding and advanced on Daryl.

Beth's heart raced with panic. Concern for Daryl overrode everything else in her mind, and she stepped quietly out from behind the tree. Daryl saw her and gave a tiny shake of his head. No. But she was past listening. In three running steps, she had leapt onto the Hog's back and locked her left arm around his neck. After that, she just concentrated on holding on. He bucked in surprise when he felt her lock her knees against his rib cage. It was like riding an unbroken horse back at the farm. The Hog spun around, trying to snare one of Beth's legs with his heavily muscled arms.

Daryl jumped to his feet and raced toward her, but met one of the assailant's meaty fists instead, and was knocked to the ground. Anger flooded through Beth, and before she could think twice, she had used her right hand to plunge the length of her blade into the side of the Hog's meaty neck. As if someone had pulled a plug, he dropped heavily to his knees and fell over on his side, trapping one of Beth's legs beneath his bulk. She winced as she felt the rocks digging into her flesh. She pulled her knife free, and a spray of arterial blood caught her in the shoulder, soaking through her blouse. Blood bubbled from the Hog's lips as he let out a final gasp and then stilled for the last time. Daryl ran over and lifted the dead man's bulk so Beth could pull her leg out from under him.

"You okay?" he asked her, his voice full of fear for her, and then in the same breath, "What did ya think you were doin'? Tryin' to get yourself killed?" Without waiting for an answer, he pulled her into his arms and held her so tightly she couldn't speak.

After an interminable time, Beth pulled back and ran her hands over Daryl's back and sides, then over his chest and down his arms, checking for blood. There wasn't any. She gave him a quavery smile, and then burst into tears.

Gently he pulled her back into his embrace, letting the tears come. "I killed him," she whispered, when her sobs had died down.

"It's okay, Beth. You don't gotta feel guilty. That guy was one of the monsters."

She glanced up at him, a strange fever in her eyes. "That ain't why I'm cryin', Daryl."

He looked at her, puzzled.

"I'm cryin' because… because I don't feel bad." Her glance hardened as she looked around him at the still body lying on the ground. "I don't feel guilty at all. I would do it again. He was gonna kill you."

"I know," he said, stroking her hair. "I know." He retrieved her pack and helped her shrug the shoulder straps back on, ignoring the grisly blood now coloring a good portion of her shirt. "You keep ridin' to my rescue like that and I might forget which one of us is the fair maiden and which one is the knight in shinin' armor."

She chuckled at his joke and bumped him with her hip. "Sexist ass."