Heart of Autumn: October

It had happened on their last supply run, when they had been moving a filing cabinet in front of the busted-out bottom half of a door. Her palms had been sweaty from adrenaline—that walker had come close enough to nearly get a handful of her hair—and her side had slipped, pinning her left hand between the heavy metal cabinet and a display counter.

Blessedly, her fingers hadn't broken. Her hand was left badly bruised and tender, but otherwise fine… except for her pinky. That finger had taken the brunt of the weight, not breaking, but catching on the sharp edge and causing a deep laceration. Daryl had cleaned it for her with some of their whiskey and wrapped it tight in the bandages she had crafted from rags and worn through clothing.

That had been a week ago. Though the wound scabbed, the skin around it was red, swollen, and hot to the touch. Infected.

Hadn't she told him this would happen eventually?

Daryl had left her with the truck, going off into the woods to hunt. She wouldn't have such fortuitous cover from trees for long, the leaves already starting to turn color in these first days of October. For now, she sat in the bed of the truck, gathering her courage to unwind the bandages and inspect her finger.

Though a cool breeze fluttered over her skin, she was warm. Too warm. The beginning of a fever, Beth knew. With her good hand, she lifted her ponytail to let the breeze cool the back of her neck.

"Okay," she said, steeling herself to unwind the bandages. "Okay."

Beth took her bandages off by feel only. Her eyes were scrunched shut against the possibility of a truth she didn't want to face. When she did open them, she didn't like what she saw.

"Fuck," she whispered. The fine veins of her pinky were clear under her skin. An intricate roadway painted in the same angry red as her inflamed wound.

The telltale sign of a blood poisoning infection.

"Fuck!" This time, she kicked the closed tailgate in front of her. Immediately, fear shot through her anger. She stilled, straining her ears to listen. All she heard was her heartbeat roaring in her ears. Forcing herself to take deep breaths, Beth calmed herself to take in her surroundings.

Bird song. Wind whispering in the leaves and grasses alike. The buzz of insects, still thick in the woods despite the changing weather. An animal scurried through the underbrush to her left, but none of the sounds raised any red flags to her. Sighing, she brought her hand close to her face to more fully examine the wound.

To put it simply, it was bad. The wound was red, painfully swollen, and very hot to the touch. When Beth grit her teeth and picked at the scab, yellow-green pus dribbled out. And that dark veining. Yes, this was bad indeed.

"Not tetanus," she murmured to herself, confident in this self-diagnosis. Hershel had taught them the symptoms of various infections, important as it was to be mindful of such things on a farm. Beth lacked issues swallowing and muscle spasms. Besides the pain around the wound and her burgeoning fever, she had no other symptoms of infection… yet.

"Only blood poisoning, then." Only. As if that wasn't enough. As if that couldn't easily lead to sepsis.

They only had basic medical resources—some pain killers, whiskey, bandages, antibacterial cream. The last hadn't been much help to Beth. Keeping herself hydrated would be simple enough, but she knew the unlikelihood of finding antibiotics to treat herself with. Beth slumped against the side of the truck bed, turning her gaze skyward.

"Fuck," she said for a final time, this time in a whisper of resignation.

He returned with more game than he usually would have—two large blackbirds and a rabbit—but Daryl very much wanted to get some solid food in Beth's stomach. Her cheeks had taken on a hollow look, her skin taking on a decided pallor though her summer tan had yet to fade.

That finger was infected. There was no denying that. And the infection wasn't going to get weaker alongside Beth. It was crucial that she keep her strength up.

She was reading in the truck cab when he returned, thumbing through a dense collection of short stories. While they drove, she had picked up her habit of reading aloud to him again. Daryl tapped on the window to get her attention, prompting her to slip out of the cab and join him for dinner preparations. Daryl watched her as she gathered twigs and dried underbrush as kindling.

"Hey," he murmured, touching her arm lightly. "You good?"

Her skin was hot to the touch, her face paler than it was that morning when he left her. But she nodded, turning away from him and bending to her task of fire building. Shielding the spark with one hand, she blew on it until the kindling took flame. Then she hung back, letting Daryl take over with the tending of the meat.

All the while, though, her eyes watched the flames. Just as they had on her bad days in the funeral home. It wasn't until she had eaten her share of their dinner that she leveled her gaze on him.

"Daryl." His name was little more than breath, here in the open. He leaned forward. From the dark, serious look in Beth's eye, he knew he didn't want to miss what she said next. "I need you to cut off my finger."

"What?" Surprise left him speaking too loudly. Cursing himself, he made himself drop his volume once more. "Bethy, what the hell are you talking about?"

There was still strong, late-afternoon light; they never built a fire after dark. Beth held her left hand out over the smoldering remains of the fire between them. "Take my bandages off."

He took her hand gently in his, carefully unwrapping the thick-wound cloth. "Fuck, Beth."

"I know," Beth croaked. She swallowed, sitting up straighter and squaring her shoulders. "So if we really meant it, that neither of us are dying, I need you to cut it off."

Daryl took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. He wanted to argue. Damn, but he wanted to. Gingerly, he turned her hand to examine the angry red veining. A heavy pit in his stomach formed as he realized she was right. If they didn't take the finger, it would spread through her hand and up her arm. How long until she ended up septic?

The thought of sending his sharp hunting knife through Beth's flesh made hot bile rise in his throat. He swallowed, hard, and nodded.

They needed to plan this carefully, and that would take talking. He smothered what was left of their fire and nodded toward the truck. Inside the safety of the backseat, the two could talk freely.

"You're right," he conceded, hating the words even as they left his lips. Before him, Beth sagged. In relief or resignation? Did it matter? No; the result was still the same. He leaned forward, closely inspecting the injury once more. "It would be best to take it at a joint."

With a feather-light touch, he pointed to the second knuckle of her pinky. "Think I can take it here?"

Beth lifted her hand close to her own face. She nearly went cross-eyed from staring so hard, but eventually she nodded. "We can always take more if we need to, but I don't think it's spread too far past that part."

"Okay." He nodded, trying to gather some confidence in this endeavor. "Yeah, okay. We can do this." Taking a deep breath, Daryl reached into the front seat for their backpack.

"There's a roadside gas station a quarter mile up the road," he told her, nodding in the direction. "I came up on it when I was hunting. Its abandoned, I already checked. I was gonna have us stop there in the morning to see what we could find, but I guess that trip's comin' early."

He led her from the truck cab, taking her by her good hand. They rushed to the gas station, running to beat the sun, which hung heavy in the horizon. Just from eyeballing it, Daryl knew they had around three hours of good light left before evening fell.

They slipped inside easily, into a dust-filled little station. Beth stood to the side while Daryl barricaded the door and began rummaging through their backpack. Bandages and whiskey were all he pulled out. Taking her hand again, he carefully tied together Beth's other three fingers with a length of the bandages.

"We can only make this so sterile," he told her, "and if we're gonna do it, then it has to be now. We're losin' daylight and we can't let it spread anymore."

"I know," Beth's voice was small, but steady. It was messy inside the station, the wares thoroughly picked through by other travelers before them, but otherwise fairly clean. Daryl wiped down the cashier counter with a whiskey-soaked rag before giving the bottle to Beth. She took several healthy pulls before handing the bottle back to him. He used more whiskey to sterilize his knife. Then, for good measure, he pulled his lighter—found a few towns back—from his pocket and ran the blade through the flame.

Daryl gently laid her hand flat on the sterilized counter before pulling off his belt and using it as a makeshift tourniquet for her arm. He tied it as tight as he could manage. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes." Good, he thought, but outwardly only nodded. A familiar calmness settled over him. It was the same precision that took him while hunting. He took a clean rag and twisted it tight before handing it to her.

"Between your teeth," he prompted. "Bite down on it."

The rag was not quite enough to muffle her scream when Daryl sliced through her finger. He was endlessly thankful that his hunting knife was wickedly sharp; he only had to cut her once. The infected portion of her finger severed cleanly. He took the whiskey-soaked rag and pressed it to the wound to staunch the beginning of the bleeding. Beth whimpered anew at the burn of the alcohol on exposed muscle.

She said something, but it was so distorted by the rag in her mouth that Daryl was left with a furrowed brow. "What?"

Beth was paler than he had ever seen her, a sheen of sweat thick on her face. She spit the rag out. "Cauterize it," she bit the words, her jaw tight against the pain.

"It ain't gonna bleed much," he faltered, hesitant to cause her more pain. Now that it was done and he could see that small piece of her laying on the counter, disjointed from the rest of her hand, his stomach roiled.

"There's not enough skin to stitch!" Dumbass, he chided himself. They could hardly leave the wound open to infect a new.

"Okay," he acquiesced, leaving her to put pressure on her finger while he heated the knife again with his lighter. It took several minutes, but once the blade was red-hot, he nodded for her to move the rag. He put the heated blade to the wound in the next moment, before either of them could think about it.

Beth managed to muffle her scream on her own, gritting her teeth and clamping her lips together so that the only sound was a dull, wordless howl of pain. She kicked at the counter in reaction to it but managed to keep her upper body still as the knife burned her and the smell of singed flesh filled the air. There was a tremor wracking through her by the time the affair was finished, her face white as a sheet. When Daryl released her hand, she drew it to her chest and cradled it there.

She looked everywhere except the counter.

"Can we stay here for the night?" Her voice hardly carried any weight. She seemed as substantial as smoke, looking small and pale on the other side of the counter. One touch and she was liable to vanish, carried away on the early autumn breeze outside.

"'Course we can, Bethy."

The gas station had been cleared out of foodstuffs long ago, he was sure, but remnants of other traveler's needs remained. A rack of t-shirts remained on the south wall, all of them proudly wearing the North Carolina flag. While Beth carefully wrapped her hand in clean bandages, he pulled them from their hangers and created a makeshift sleeping pallet behind the counter, laying and layering the shirts over the tile flooring.

Their blankets were in the truck, but his poncho was packed in the backpack as always. When Beth laid down for her rest, he tucked the poncho around her. She curled on her side, around her hand, eyes staring blankly at the wall. Daryl laid down beside her. To his immense relief, she still relaxed into his touch.

Daryl stroked her hair, holding her as her shaking shoulders began to calm. A small amount of color came back to her cheeks, which were still feverishly warm to his touch. He pressed his lips to her temple. Warm, yes, but not burning.

"Thank you," she murmured into the growing dark. "I know it was hard for you, too."

"No offense, Bethy," Daryl said, pulling her closer to him, "but don't ever fuckin' ask me to do something like that again."

"I'll try my best." Though still weak, there was a hint of humor in her voice. Understandably, the events of the day had exhausted her. She asked for more some of the pain medication they carried with them and swallowed them dry before falling into sleep. Daryl would be lying if he didn't admit the whole ordeal had left him soul-weary himself. Still, once he was sure that Beth was deeply asleep, he pulled himself away from her and forced himself to stand up.

While Beth slept, Daryl needed to do something about her amputated finger. Burning it was out; too close to sunset, not to mention that the smell would draw attention. He mopped up her spilled blood with the rag, watching the red seep into the fabric. Bury it, he decided.

Taking another t-shirt from the wall, Daryl smoothed it out on the counter. He placed the blood-soaked rag in the center of the shirt. Steeling himself, he managed to pluck the digit from the counter. His stomach rebelled against this, this piece of Beth that was no longer her. The skin had gone cold and rubbery, reminding him of walkers. Daryl was all to happy to drop it atop the rag and fold the shirt into a neat, tight package around the remnants of their horrible day.

They had no shovel, but Daryl was not against digging with his hands. Luckily, just a few yards' walk from the station, the soil was soft and yielding. He felt as if he were digging a tiny grave; thankfully, it didn't take him long at all to craft a deep enough hole to drop his macabre package in. It was a relief to push the dirt over top.

Yet the weight of the day was only gone for the short walk back to the gas station. Once he was back inside, it came flooding back with one look at Beth's white, sleeping face. Even in her rest, she kept her left hand cradled close to her chest. He crouched beside her, gently unlacing her boots and working them free of her feet.

Someone needs to keep watch, the survival instinct part of his brain reminded him, even as he set aside Beth's boots and cradled her head in his lap. You can't see anything above the counter.

But a larger part of him needed to be close to her, to stroke her hair and feel her too-warm cheek pressed against his thigh. To know that, despite the necessary pain he had caused her, Beth was alright. Feeling the weight of her was a massive reassurance, but it was far from calming. With the proof there before him that Beth was safe and mostly sound, the adrenaline finally faded from his body. He began to shake in the aftermath, an errant tear slipping down his cheek. Daryl did nothing to stop it, feeling it drip from his chin to splatter on the back of his hand where it rested on Beth's head.

The setting sun cast a long shadow over them thanks to the counter they hid behind, washing out the flush of fever from Beth's cheeks. Daryl did not relax, even when the shaking stopped, and he could again breathe deeply without fear of choking on his air. He stayed rigid, back pressed straight and solid against the counter behind him.

As night fell, Daryl faced the terrifying possibility that their good fortune when traveling may be running out.

Beth took the loss of her finger in greater stride than he had expected. Then again, it had been her idea to sever the digit. Knowing Beth, she had likely come to peace with the decision long before she asked for the help of his blade. They hunkered down in the gas station for a few days, to give Beth's body time to rest and fight the remnants of the infection that had been removed along with the finger.

On their second day, Daryl picked the lock to the glass case that contained the lottery tickets. No change was to be had, for some other traveler—likely early on in the mess that had become the world—had broken the cash register and taken everything inside. The pair used rocks hastily taken from outside to scratch their cards instead.

"What's your total, Bethy?" Daryl asked, scowling at the five-dollar card he held in his own hand.

"Fifty-six bucks." Her color was coming back as her fever ebbed. It came and went, managed by the pain medication they carried with them.

"Mmph," was the only grunted reply she got before his losing ticket was tossed over his shoulder. "Me and Merle used to play scratch-offs professionally."

This elicited a giggle from Beth, surprisingly bright in the relative gloom that had held her since the day before. "How do you play lottery tickets professionally."

"Very carefully," Daryl smirked, but his tone was serious. "Can't let yourself get carried away in the high of winnin'. When we couldn't hunt our own dinner, we would use the money we won from the cards."

"Got enough to buy dinner over there yet?"

"Fuck no I don't, Bethy, that's why I told you a story instead of how much I got." The sting of losing so spectacularly in their little game was worth the healthy blush Beth's laughing brought to her face. He reached over, touching a hand to her cheek. She leaned into his touch for a moment, sighing as she did so.

"I guess we better look at my hand, huh?" Beth scooted closer to him, holding her hand out like an offering between them. He took it gently into his own hands, cradling hers in one palm as he slowly unwound the bandages. As he did so, Beth bit her lip. When he pulled the bandage free of her amputation wound, she sucked in her breath from the pain.

"Sorry," he whispered, meaning it with his entire being.

"Not your fault." They curved over her hand together, dark and light heads close as they inspected the wound in tandem. Her finger was still red and raw, obviously but the cauterizing burn was already starting to scab over. Most importantly, the crimson veins that foretold blood poisoning had faded. Beth sighed again, this time in relief, turning her eyes skywards in silent thanks.

When she prodded at what was left of her pinky, no pus welled from the wound. Another good sign of healing taking place rather than developing infection. Daryl tenderly dabbed more of their alcohol all around the wound before helping Beth wrap the bandages back into place. As soon as he was done, Beth leaned forward to press a kiss on his mouth. "Thank you."

"You're the only person I know who would repeatedly thank someone for cutting off part of your body." Though short, that kiss was such reassurance of her healing that Daryl went back for another one.

"I asked you to cut it off," she reminded him. "What did you do with it, anyway?"

"Buried it," he confessed with a shrug. "Why, did you wanna keep it?"

"No!" She exclaimed, giggling again.

"I mean, I can go dig it up." While he teased, he retrieved his game bag from where he had dropped it by the door earlier that day. No meat; he wouldn't dare risk a fire inside the station, and he hated the idea of leaving Beth alone too long when she still had fever coming and going. Regardless of her lightened mood, she was still pale for his liking. It was apples and pecans that he dumped from the bag. He started to crack open the pecans, the sound muffled between his hands, while Beth plucked an apple from the pile.

They still had dried foodstuffs from the MacDonald farm, tucked away and saved in their backpack. Until winter set in and they could no longer hunt or forage, though, they were abstaining from dipping into those reserves. "When are we gonna hit the road again?"

"When that fever of yours breaks for good. The truck's still there, I checked this morning." Daryl watched her closely, making sure she ate a good amount of their shared food and drank plenty of water.

They passed three days in this way, hunkered down in the gas station. Only when a whole day passed without Beth's fever returning did Daryl decide it was safe to go back to the truck. Still, he took one of their spare socks and wrapped it around her hand as an extra layer of protection before they headed out.

"We got really lucky with this." Beth turned her socked hand back and forth, making sure it wouldn't fall off. "As soon as we can—if we can—we need to replenish our stash of medicine. I took a lot, to manage my fevers. And the pain," she tacked on ruefully. "It's so much better, now, though."

"Take as much medicine as you need," Daryl brushed off her bravado. "Either we'll get more or we won't, but there's no use in makin' yourself miserable in the meantime."

He helped her on with their backpack and retrieved his loaded crossbow. "Stay close."

The trek back to the truck was blessedly without issue. Daryl opened the passenger door, ushering her inside the cab before taking the driver's seat. It felt good to be back in the sanctity of that truck cab, with her book still on the seat where she left it and the neat row of gas cans in the floorboard of the back seat. At that moment, she realized that she viewed the truck as home, the same way she had the funeral parlor.

As Daryl began to drive, Beth pulled the sock from her hand. Splaying her fingers, she examined the abbreviated length of her pinker compared to the rest of her left hand. It still hurt, of course. Her pinky seemed to throb with pain with each beat of her heart. But the pain is good, she reminded herself. The pain means healing.

That's what her father had said to her, after losing his leg. Every time she or Maggie had fretted over him while he healed, he reminded them that he would be more worried if it didn't hurt. If Daddy could lose a whole leg, I can lose a finger.

With one hand steering, Daryl reached over and caught hers in his. He drew it to his mouth, pressing his lips to the back of her hand just beneath what remained of her pinky. "Last chance to go back for it."

Beth wrinkled her nose at the thought. "The earth can keep it."

"Then let's get the hell outta North Carolina."

Of course, the necessity of hunting and foraging their food slowed their journey somewhat. Beth set back a portion of their collected foods—nuts, berries dried carefully on the console as one of them drove, handfuls of wild apples carefully checked over for worms. The backseat of the truck was soon overflowing in their autumn bounty.

"Long as we can keep our gas supply up, we'll be set." They were parked, watching a gang of walkers shamble across the highway. Another detriment to their progress, though many of these walkers proved little threat. Exposed to the elements as they had been, the dead making their slow way across the road were severely deteriorated. It was the walkers that were inside shelters they worried more about.

"Shouldn't be impossible," Beth mused, taking another bite of her roast dove. They had cooked them that morning and though the meat had cooled, it was still delicious and welcome on her tongue. "Seems most people abandoned their cars outright. Good for us, sucks for them."

"Mmm," came Daryl's hummed agreement. His eyes were trained on the going's on beyond the windshield. Following his gaze, Beth found the source of his interest: a walker several yards away, pulling pecans from a heavy-laden tree on the side of the road. The nuts were useless to the walker and each was dropped to the ground before another was picked. "Look, that one's got some brains left."

"Must be newer." Only when the branch was stripped clean of pecans did the walker lose interest. It joined the shambling progression of its brethren and disappeared into the tree line. "Some of them are smart, though."

She shuddered, thinking of the walker a few nights ago that had tugged at the door handle while she slept. Daryl had been awake on watch; his hand covered her mouth before she could scream. He had shushed her and reassured her that the door was locked, that she was safe, even as the half-skeletal face shined in the moonlight.

"That one, too." Daryl pointed with his chin to a walker stooping to pluck pieces of a blown tire off the road. It put the pieces of tire in its other arm, cradling the debris to itself. "Pecans was probably a seasonal worker, travelin' to the States for the harvest."

"Blown Tires was an environmentalist and picking up trash was a hobby for them. They would love to know the state of nature right now."

Giving fictitious backgrounds to interesting walkers was a game Daryl and Beth had developed while traveling. The night the walker had frightened her out of her sleep, Daryl had whispered a tale of a vagabond that made a career out of stealing from cars.

"Are all crimes job opportunities?" she had asked, giggling despite herself. When the truck door did not yield for the walker, it shambled along, clumsily banging against the hood as it did so.

"You don't know enough about crimes if you don't know almost all of 'em are careers, Bethy."

The stream of walkers was thinning, but not yet stopping. Though it was warm in the cab, Beth found herself shivering while watching them. "It's scary how they end up in a pack like this. How many do you think are in this one?"

"Over a hundred, give or take." His tone was confident; he had been counting. Beth shuddered again. "Even they understand strength in numbers."

There was logic in his words. Was it self-preservation? Were the walkers smarter than they gave them credit for? Maybe in the beginning, Beth mused. Maybe instinct lasts longer than thought.

When they finished their dinner, Daryl drew her hand into his lap. He tenderly unwrapped the bandages on her pinky, checking that the healing skin remained pink and healthy. Daryl cleaned it thoroughly before wrapping it anew and returning her hand to her. Beth read another short story aloud to Daryl. The sun set to her soft, hushed words and still there were stragglers of the walker horde crossing the highway. Neither of them dared sleep.

"I ain't startin' the truck 'til the animals come out. That's when we'll know it's safe." Night grew thick around them and the walkers had been absent from sight for nearly an hour before wildlife began to scurry about. Only then did Daryl tun the key and ease the truck off the highway. Now that fall had set in, Daryl had nixed their night driving.

Rutting season had been his explanation. "Deer lose their damn minds until it's over. I ain't risking the truck because some buck hasn't got a shred of sense left while he's focused on gettin' his rocks off."

Once settled, Beth leaned over the console between them to kiss Daryl goodnight. She watched the night around them while Daryl took his rest. A pair of foxes skittered through the moonlight, batting at one another in play. As Daryl had said, there were several deer out and about during the hours that Beth sat up watching the night go by.

She had joked, earlier, about Blown Tire and how much the person they had once been would love how nature had healed in the absence of modernity. But she found herself enchanted by the night herself, the animals moving about with no danger of humans. Including the softly snoring hunter beside her.

A huge gray owl swooped down, gliding through the air on massive wings. She reverently watched as it glided in elegant circles, searching for prey. Something was sighted; the owl nosedived so steeply that Beth was certain it would hit the ground. The owl turned at the last second. A little critter seemed to be squirming in the owl's clenched talons. Success.

She had grown up on a farm. She knew what it was to grow up alongside nature. But her thoughts took her months back, to the little church overtaken with greenery. The earth is gonna take itself back, Daryl had told her. The highway the foxes played on was already full of cracks through which resilient grass and dandelions grew. The skies the owl dominated was heavy with bright stars, no longer obstructed by light pollution.

A hundred walkers, give or take. They had seen a hundred of the dead, but not one other living person since they left the McDonald farm. The walkers could not go on forever. It was obvious they decomposed by the day, whether they fed on living flesh or not. And how long would humanity hold out in this world, before they all returned to the earth? Dust to dust.

Beth gently ran a finger over her bandages. The skin beneath was sensitive, causing her skin to break out in goosebumps, but no longer painful. A part of her had already returned to the earth. Regardless of her and Daryl's promise to each other, how long until the rest of her followed? She couldn't even conjure the thought of Daryl being interned in the dirt. Her mind bucked against it.

"Hey." A soft voice broke through the night, through her thoughts. His calloused hand was wonderfully familiar as it caught her own, stilling it. "Gonna undo all that work I did?"

She had been running her fingers over her pinky, akin to her habit with her scarred wrist.

"Sorry," came her murmured, sheepish reply through the dark. "I got caught up in my head again."

"Where'd that take you tonight, Bethy?" She twined her fingers through Daryl's, staving off the itch to touch either her scar or her pinky again. Buying herself a little more time before she explained herself, Beth bridged the small space between them in the cab and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

"I was wondering what it will be like when we're all gone, the living. When nature takes it all back." In response, Daryl brought her hand to his mouth. He kissed first her pinky, then her scar, each sending shivers down her spine to feel his mouth on such sensitive skin.

"You're thinkin' of us leavin' each other so soon, Bethy?" There was no teasing in his words. They fell as a soft whisper to rest on her skin and mind alike.

"It's going to happen, eventually." Breathy words; he was trailing his mouth up her arm, toward the sleeve of her t-shirt. When he got to the hem of the fabric, he skipped over her shoulder to catch her mouth with his. Daryl kissed her a long, long time before he drew away from her and tipped his forehead to hers.

"Not out here it ain't. Bethy, you can leave me any way you like, but not 'til I know you're safe."

"You know damn well I'll only ever leave you in one way, and it won't be a choice, Daryl Dixon." She ran her thumb over his mouth, feeling rather than seeing his smile. "But we're all going to leave the earth eventually, and its going to forget us. All of us. Isn't that… scary? That there won't be humans, living ones, around one day?"

"The earth did just fine without us for a long time," Daryl argued. "I'd argue she'll be just as fine once we all go. Feel sorry for the bastard that's gotta be the last one, though."

That was enough to elicit a small laugh from Beth, some of her tension easing from her. It was a harrowing thought, to think of humanity wiped from the earth, but Daryl was right. The earth would not miss their presence. "We're not gonna make it easy for the earth to give us up, though, right?"

"Nuh-uh. Not even if you insist on continuin' losing body parts. C'mere a minute."

Giggling, Beth did just that. She settled herself in Daryl's lap and let his hands span up under her shirt, his calloused palms raising goosebumps along her skin. Her existential musings could wait for some stolen moments with Daryl on a quiet night.

Under a canopy of riotous red, orange, and yellow fall foliage, Daryl and Beth met an unlikely friend. Beth was bent down, fingers nimbly plucking wild mushrooms for her bag. She was full of pride that she knew something Daryl did not about these woods; many autumns had been spent gathering the same mushrooms with her mother and sister. Still, the edible mushrooms grew thickly with less desirable varieties. Her attention was devoted to her foraging, lest she make a fatal mistake.

So consumed was her attention that Beth did not realize she was being watched.

"Hullo," came a voice… from above? Tipping her head, Beth pushed her beanie back to better look at the young man crouched on a tree branch not so far from head. He smiled and gave a little wave before nimbly hopping to a lower branch and then the ground. "Who do we have here?"

His dark almond eyes and shaggy black hair reminded her of Glenn, so much so that she found herself smiling back at him before she could think better of it.

"My wife," came Daryl's voice, cutting off any answer Beth might have given herself. To drive the point home, his hand came to rest on the small of her back. She had not seen this possessiveness from Daryl before. It was clear he did not consider the young man a threat, and how could he? The man was slight, rocking his weight from foot to foot, and entirely unarmed in this swathe of forest.

"Nice to meet you, My Wife." A smile split his face, surprisingly white teeth interrupting the considerable grime that covered his cheeks. Despite his joke, Beth rolled her eyes.

"My name is Beth," she explained, "and his is Daryl."

"Beth and Daryl," the man repeated, rolling their names in his mouth. "I'm Jonah."

"Do you always just… drop from trees like that?" Beth asked, flicking her eyes up once more. It appeared that Jonah was alone.

"Oh, yeah, I kind of live in the trees. Or I try to. Easier to stay away from the freaks that way, you know?" He's whispering, she realized. Just like she and Daryl did when out in the open. Though, Jonah was decidedly wordier than they tended to be.

He pointed upward and Beth and Daryl obligingly followed with their gaze. Far, far up the tree Jonah had descended down was a makeshift structure rigged up between two close-growing branches. A hut of sorts, suspended there in the tree, well covered over with animal skins for insulation.

"There's not many around just now," he continued on in hushed tones. "Damn big group of 'em moved through about a week ago, but it's been quiet since."

So, this Jonah had seen the same walker horde they had. Interesting.

"People?" Daryl asked, raising his eyebrows as he did so. To this, Jonah shrugged.

"I keep away from the settlement 'bout five miles east." He nodded his head in the direction, tucking his hands into his hoodie pocket as he did so. "They're territorial."

Beth resisted the urge to shiver as Jay's face came to mind. She pushed the thought away but couldn't help inching closer to Daryl. "And you? You're not?"

With a shrug, Jonah continued, "I don't own the woods any more than anyone else. I saw Beth picking mushrooms and thought y'all might want in on a bigger bounty. Saw you hunting, too. Sorry you didn't get that rabbit, man. They're smart in these parts."

Jonah turned on his heel without waiting to see if they would follow. After shrugging at one another, Daryl took Beth's hand and led her forward to follow Jonah. He walked softly, as they did, his steps cushioned on the damp leaves. They had spent the entirety of yesterday in the truck, patiently waiting out a rainstorm.

The sky beyond the thinning canopy was still heavy and gray with the threat of more rain. Where the ground wasn't well-covered with fallen leaves, Beth found her boots sinking into deep mud. Jonah led them deep into the forest, into thicker and thicker trees. He pushed through some branches, holding them aside for Beth and Daryl to step through.

"I guess I do kind of own this, but it's too much for just me. I leave what I don't use for the animals, usually, but the area's a little cleaned out this year thanks to that gang of freaks."

Well protected by the tree barrier was a garden bursting with bounty. Dandelions and violets, blackberries and elderberries, several crabapple trees. Squash vines crawled at the base of the trees. Jonah pointed out a bush heavy with red berries. "This variety of sumac is safe to eat."

To demonstrate this truth, Jonah plucked several of the berried and popped them into his mouth. He chewed them up and swallowed, going so far as to open his mouth and show off his juice-stained tongue as proof. "I planted it all. There's a garden for every season, but the others are hidden in other tree thickets. Y'all are welcome to any of the fall garden."

"Why?" The question left Daryl's lips with such forceful confusion that even he seemed surprised by it. Again, Jonah shrugged.

"This world's hard, man. No need to make it harder."

Beth and Daryl exchanged a look. He asked, she nodded and turned to their new friend. "It would be nice to have some dandelion root, if you don't mind."

This was answered with another white, gleaming smile. "Take all that you need."

Despite his words, Beth was conservative in what she added to her bounty of mushrooms. Together, the roots and fungi would be excellent additions to their winter stores. She was still very hopeful that the stores wouldn't be needed, but if she had learned anything from a year of travel, it was that you shouldn't count on the plans you make for yourself.

Jonah's show of honest goodwill was enough that, despite the icy tones he had used earlier, Daryl invited him to share in the fish he had been able to catch. The rabbits may have been smart, but the same could not be said for the creatures filling the pond they had come upon. All the gathered twigs were still soaked through with water, making them difficult to light. A strong, hazy smoke was the best Beth could coax from the lighted wood, but it was enough.

"Why do you do it?" Daryl asked while they waited. He sat with his knees drawn up, arms resting atop. Though Jonah had been good to his word and the forest was quiet, Daryl's eyes still swept all around them and he kept his back firmly to a tree trunk.

"Why do I help people?" Jonah asked, adding some drier leaves he had dug up to their kindling. "I told you the people to the east of me aren't friendly. They're a band of robbers, really. I've never known them to kill, but they'll rob you for all you're worth and throw you out, so they might as well just do the deed, you know?"

They had built their smoky little fire a few yards from Jonah's tree. He nodded toward it. "I'm just a scrawny Hawaiian guy with only a tree hut and a machete to my name, as far as the settlement is concerned. They know I'm here, but they leave me alone. I try to make it easier on the people who either don't listen to my warnings or who come in from the east and get robbed before they get to me."

With how much Jonah was talking, Beth wasn't surprised that he spent much of his time alone. She would likely fall into the habit of talking to herself all the time, if it weren't for Daryl. "They don't know about your gardens?" Beth asked, perplexed at how Jonah had managed to hide them.

"Nah," he said, smiling smugly. "They're all too scared to forage out here. They think that's how I feed myself, just foraging and fishing."

"And none of the people you help have sold you out?" Another smug smile lit Jonah's face at Daryl's question.

"They can't sell me out if I don't tell them about the gardens until after they don't listen to my warnings."

"Sounds like you're rewardin' people for stupidity."

"Maybe," Jonah agreed with a shrug, "but it could be me tomorrow, y'know? I would hope someone would help me when I needed it, if they could."

"The people in the settlement have never offered to help you?" Beth reached into the smokey little fire, withdrawing one of leaf-wrapped fishes. She tossed it between her palms until it cooled enough to peel back the leaves and check the meat inside. The first fish was given to Jonah. He unwrapped it fully and carefully began picking out the fine bones before answering.

"They wouldn't," he murmured, head bent low over his fish. "They'd maybe help you guys if they weren't such dicks. But not me."

That gave Beth and Daryl pause, both stilling in their own fish bone plucking endeavors. Beth threw a look to her left, catching Daryl's eyes. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"Fuckers," was all he murmured before plopping a bit of meat into his mouth. Across the fire, Jonah chuckled mirthlessly.

"Yeah. Fuckers."

They stayed in the area a few days, resting. In that time, Daryl became increasingly curious about Jonah's living situation. Jonah led him up his tree while Beth stayed on a much lower branch, head tipped back and scowling. "Don't fall out of this one!" She called up to Daryl, watching him test each branch before he set his weight on it.

In response, he smiled down at her from several feet above and shot her the finger. He heard Beth's laugh from below, making him smiler wider. Surely Beth knew he wasn't any keener to break his arm again than she was. Jonah's natural ladder of branches was more than effective so far. He had chosen well when he chose this tree.

"Getting all the way inside sucks the most, but it's not too bad." Jonah explained, standing on his own wide, solid branch. He braced himself with a hand against the trunk and leaned forward, looking past Daryl to where Beth sat below. "You sure she's good down there?"

"Yeah, she's got her gun." Climbing the branches had been too painful for the new skin on Beth's pinky. Loath to undo her healing, Beth had opted to stay on her lower branch and keep a lookout. He didn't offer this information to Jonah, though. And if Jonah had noticed Beth's missing finger, he hadn't commented on it.

When Daryl was close enough, Jonah demonstrated how to jump from the closest branch to the animal skin-covered platform that made up his living situation. It held their combined weight without any creaking or bowing. The trunk made up one wall of the structure, the others constructed out of branches and caulked with clay and stones. Jonah's machete and a hunting knife were hanging on the tree trunk wall. Lined up against one wall was a store of food and a stack of books. Jonah's sleeping area was a veritable nest of animal skins and blankets. A tarp made up the ceiling, and with the covering of animal skins, the structure was warm despite the autumnal chill outside.

"It's kind of ramshackle," Jonah said, shoving his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, "but it works."

"You're better off than a lot of people in this world, man." Honestly, Daryl was impressed by the setup Jonah had managed on his own out here. He had carved a living out of the forest for himself in such a way that he could succeed without drawing much attention to himself. If Daryl had learned anything from the prison, it was that staying low was one of the keys to survival in this new world.

"Most people don't bother to look up in the forest. That helps a lot."

"Yeah, I bet it does." Daryl walked the small space, pacing out the size. "You don't got much in the way of protein in your winter stores."

"Eating's light until the spring," Jonah admitted.

"C'mon."

Daryl had watched Jonah carefully on their way up, committing the path of branches he took to memory. He replicated them on the way down, passing by Beth as he did so. "Where are you going?"

"The truck." Daryl held his arms out. He caught Beth easily when she let herself drop from her perch. Jonah dropped down a moment later, landing easily on his feet. Daryl set the course, leading the way through the forest to the truck parked inconspicuously along the highway.

From the backseat, Daryl retrieved the bundle of goods the McDonalds had sent he and Beth off with. Inside was a bag of jerky. They had been given a generous amount to see them through their travels, and Daryl reckoned they could part with a little of it. He pressed a bundle of the jerky into Jonah's hands and watched his dark, almond eyes go wide in surprise.

"I can't…" he started, but Beth caught his hand when he tried to give it back to Daryl. She curled her fingers over his, pressing them closed.

"Take it," she smiled at him. "It was a gift to us and now it's a gift to you. Consider it paying the good fortune forward, just like you do for other travelers."

"I don't usually get given stuff," Jonah confessed, a smile starting to stretch across his lips. He chuckled, stowing the bundle of jerky into his pocket for safekeeping. "Makes sense, most of the people I meet are freshly robbed. Y'all promise you're not going east?"

"North," Daryl affirmed. "We'll skirt wide around your 'friends', don't worry. Stay safe out there, man."

"For sure." Jonah's head bobbed enthusiastically. "Y'all have safe travels. I hope y'all get to where you're going."

"Us, too." Beth hugged Jonah, catching him off-guard enough that he stumbled as her arms wrapped around him. His blushing face was clear to Daryl over Beth's shoulder, but he decided not to begrudge him of it. Who knows the last time he touched a woman, Daryl thought, smirking. It had only been a few nights ago for himself.

They left Jonah waving on the roadside. While Beth drove, Daryl watched him slip back into the trees in the rearview mirror.

"To Daddy."

Two weeks—and a flooded road, a few detours, and one blown tire later—Daryl and Beth crossed the state line from North Carolina to Virginia. Though the night was cold, the stars were bright and thick overhead, and the time felt right for a celebration.

"And Merle."

Beth hadn't had alcohol since they amputated her finger. The tequila went down smooth but hot, lighting a fire when it landed in her belly. She had no doubt Daryl would never have condoned taking shots in the open at night, except for the fact that they sat atop an abandoned bar to do so. The only way onto the roof was from an indoor staircase, and as always, Daryl had been careful to barricade the door once the area was cleared of the few walkers milling around inside.

"You sure it's not too cold to stay up here a bit?" Beth asked. Between the tequila and Daryl's arm around her, she was plenty warm for the moment, but her words came out in a thick puff before her.

"I doubt we'll freeze in an hours' time, Bethy."

She snuggled into him, sinking into his warmth. "I can't believe it's been a year."

Her throat grew thick at the thought and tears blurred her eyes. Daryl's sigh was like the smoke from a dragon's nose. "Yeah. A whole damn year. Wonder if Judith's talkin' yet."

"And how tall Carl is now," she added on. "He was hitting a growth spurt, remember?"

"I hope Rick's alright." Daryl murmured. Beth remembered how the fighting with the Governor had weighed on him, and so soon after Lori's death.

"He's a survivor," Beth said. She tipped her head back, pressing a kiss to his jaw in consolation. "We all are."

There was no question about the survival of their family for either of them. It was a matter of when they found them, not if, at least for that night on the bar roof. Was it the alcohol or thought of seeing Maggie's face again that left Beth feeling so light and giddy? It was hard to say for sure.

"How far to D.C.?" she asked, earning herself a chuckle in response.

"We still got a hundred miles, Bethy. And we better book it, before we have to hunker down for another winter."

"But we're closer," she said stubbornly. Beth felt Daryl press a kiss to the top of her head.

"Yeah, Bethy, we're closer."

A/N: Thank you all so much for the kind reviews last chapter! I hope y'all are pleasantly surprised that last chapter was, indeed, not the last chapter of Winter Song.

The last chapter is fast approaching, but for now, I give you this one. I hope you all enjoyed seeing Daryl and Beth get back into the thick of hardships on the road. Until next time, I hope everyone is staying safe and well!