Heart of Autumn: November

The creek water was icy on her hands but effective in washing away the thick, black rotten blood of the walker. She hadn't expected the much-decayed skull to… pop… the way it had when she hit it with a large stone. Caught unawares as she was, Beth hadn't had time to pull her knife. Both the rock and the fact that the disgusting blood splatter hadn't struck her in the eyes or mouth had been considerable strokes of fortune.

But the blood had still splattered her face, much to her chagrin. When her hands were scrubbed clean in the cold, clean water, Daryl took her by the chin and carefully cleaned her face for her.

"Too close," she murmured, keeping her voice pitched low. Daryl gave a small click of his tongue in response.

"Not your fault." In her defense, the walker had been sitting so long at the base of that tree that it had become overgrown with moss and foliage. Daryl certainly hadn't seen it, either, not until it had roused itself to take a swipe at Beth as she gathered some mushrooms. Just as Beth had been bathed in walker blood, so were the mushrooms, rendering them inedible. Never mind, he thought. They had plenty of food in the truck.

With Beth cleaned, Daryl took a quick moment to kiss her on the lips. Nothing more than a peck, but he knew it would make her feel better about her perceived misstep. They were coming up on another winter; every day was precious for their progress. He loved Beth, and he had come to understand her petulant moods, but neither of them had time for them at the moment.

There were too many signs of settlements. Well, possible signs. It was harder to tell, now, a few years into this new world. By Daryl's estimations, the dead outnumbered the living at this point. Still, the only markers he knew were the ones that he had used with Merle and Glenn in the beginning of it all. A lifetime ago.

Scavenging of resources was scarce. That was the easiest indicator, but also the most unreliable, this far in. The pair had encountered bad luck with scavenging plenty of times before without finding any settlements nearby. What strengthened his faith in this sign was that natural scavenging was also scarce. Those mushrooms had been the first edible plant they had seen in three days.

Combine that fact with the lack of animals in the area… though that sign was from before even the apocalypse. Daryl had learned that one young; animals didn't like to be around humans. If there were few animals in the area, that left humans as the culprits. Every stripped berry bush reaffirmed that to him.

Less walkers, too. Someone was clearing the bulk of them out.

Daryl just hadn't been able to suss out the location of these settlements. He wasn't sure, yet, if he wanted to know so he could avoid them or not. Hate it as he may, they wouldn't be increasing their chances of finding their friends and family if they continued on with their antisocial nature. He looked around, scanning the area and listening carefully. Only the wind rustled around them. Daryl inclined his head in the direction of the highway.

Beth fell in line behind him immediately, following him back to the truck. He opened the passenger door for her, quietly admiring the way the blaze of the setting sun made her hair shine golden. Daryl only spoke once they were in the privacy and safety of the cab. "We gotta get off the highways and go into the towns again. People are close."

"You want to go around other people?" Beth's incredulity was echoed in the teasing way she laid her hand on his forehead, checking for fever. "Don't tell me body snatchers are something I gotta worry about now, too."

"Walkers are more than enough," Daryl grumbled, swatting her hand away. "But yes, Miss Sass, if we wanna find Rick and the others, we're gonna have to seek out other people. Trackin' people takes talking."

In the before days, more than a lifetime ago, Merle had been the talker. Then, the people they were tracking were usually whoever owed Merle money or had wronged his brother in some way, perceived or real. Daryl had always been the quiet one, hanging slightly back but ready to jump into action at any time. He intended to do the same now, with Beth being the one to take over the talking role.

The only problem was that Beth looked entirely nonplussed by the idea. She batted a stray piece of hair off her forehead, regarding him with a blank stare. Her cheeks were a little pale, under her fading tan. "Maybe we should just make flyers instead."

It wasn't a joke, but it made Daryl chuckle all the same. "You got an excess of paper and pens that I don't know about, Bethy?"

She smiled despite herself, just happy to see Daryl happy. "No, but you've been teaching me for a year about very intense stranger danger and now you want to go back on it?"

"And when have you really listened to me about it, huh?" He asked, still teasing, reaching for her. Giggling, Beth playfully pushed against him before letting him envelope her for another quick kiss.

"Okay, okay," Beth agreed. "That doesn't mean all these people are going to be safe, though. How am I supposed to know when to talk to someone?"

Daryl brought out another of his old tricks he had cultivated with Merle for this new purpose. "I'll tap you two times on the back of the hand," he said simply. "That will be your signal."

It used to be Daryl's signal. When Merle tapped him in that way, he knew it was go time, and the brothers were about to get in a physical altercation. Now the signal was going to work in reverse; if even one hair raised on his neck, he got one twinge in his stomach, any sign at all that his intuition was trying to warn him, there was no way in hell he was going to tap Beth's hand.

She sat back in the passenger seat, mulling over what he had told her. As they had progressed in their nomadic lifestyle, Beth had gained footing in this new world. While he knew she still highly valued his knowledge and opinions, Beth no longer accepted his council outright. She considered it and added in her own input.

He liked that. A lot.

"What if I don't agree?" she countered after a beat. "If I think the person might be dangerous, or the situation?"

"Then don't talk to them?" Daryl suggested, the end of the sentence rising as if posed as a question. Beth rolled her eyes at this, her mouth twitching with a barely-contained smirk.

"I need a way to let you know I don't want to talk to them, though," she pointed out. "But if we're gonna be close enough together for you to tap my hand, maybe I can do the same? I'll tap you back, twice, if I agree?"

The idea of mutual agreement threw him for a fraction of a second. It had never occurred to him with Merle. When his hand was tapped, no questions entered his mind. There was no hesitation, even when he really didn't feel like fighting that day. Beth wasn't merely his mouthpiece, though, and he didn't want her to think she was. So, he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that'll work."

Beth smiled, backlit by the setting sun, before pulling their backpack into her lap and rummaging through their food stores packed inside. She had started rationing from the stores they kept in their backseat, portioning it out for a week of meals at a time. They had both adjusted to only eating twice each day, once as the sun rose and once as the sun set. This sunset meal was comprised of sunflower seeds, deer jerky, and dried berries carefully divided between the two of them. They ate in companionable quiet, watching the sun set and day fade.

They played rock, paper, scissors for first watch, and it took four games to decide the winner: Beth. Daryl reclined the driver's seat and laid back, closing his eyes. He had the unnerving habit of falling in and out of rest at will. Within moments, his breath was even and deep, and he was submerged in his usual light sleep. Beth settled into her seat as well, to watch the gathering night.

While Daryl slept, she mused. Beth tried not to let her heart soar, but it was a hard feat to deny herself. If Daryl thinks we need a plan, then we have to be close. The thought brought a giddy smile to her face. Quietly, she tapped her feet on the floorboard, trying to dispel some of her excited energy without waking Daryl. Just the thought of seeing Maggie again made her want to sprint across the empty highway stretching before her.

She curled her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms and biting her lip. But the motion reminded her that her left palm only had three nails digging into it. Beth was still getting used to her abbreviated left pinky. Sometimes it hurt, as if it were still attached, and the only way to dispel the phantom pain was to run her fingers over the nub. The skin there was sensitive to the touch, tingling with even the lightest brush. She uncurled her hand now, studying the digit. This was, perhaps, her most obvious physical change, but she was fundamentally changed. Beth knew that in her very soul.

She was not the same person she had been at the prison. Her naivety was gone, sloughed away as surely as the baby fat that had still clung to her cheeks then. Beside her, Daryl sighed in his sleep, his head lolling away from the light of a heavy, full moon. That is certainly new, too, she thought, smirking despite herself.

He didn't stir when she gently swept a strand of hair off his cheek. Daryl had changed, too. His hair was long enough to brush his collar. Sleep softened him. The hard set of his mouth, the ever-present narrowing of his eyes, all of that was lost in slumber. Now, his lashes were brushing his cheek and his mouth was slack, lips ever so slightly parted.

That Daryl was older than her was undeniable, but it had never bothered her. Never even occurred to her. Maggie and Glenn were the same age, though, or near about. It was hardly as if she and Daryl had a May-December romance, but he definitely had at least a decade on her. Canting her head to the side, Beth studied Daryl's profile as he slept.

I don't actually know how old Daryl is, she admitted to herself. I've never thought to ask.

Would Maggie accept her, this new Beth that she was now?

Shaking her head, Beth tried to dispel those thoughts. What did it matter? She and Daryl were bound, in a way that was much more authentic than any ceremonial marriage she had known. Just looking at him caused an overwhelming rush of love crash through her. She had learned to be as aware of Daryl as she was herself, always mindful of his position. They moved so easily in tandem that, sometimes, Beth imagined they were two vessels for the same soul.

Idly, she had sometimes wondered how her father would have reacted to her relationship with Daryl. Daddy had always liked Daryl, she knew. Those months where Daryl had taken over leadership of the prison had really enamored the man to Hershel. Where Glenn was concerned, Hershel had accepted him and welcomed him as a son with ease. Somehow, though Beth would never know for certain, she had a feeling that same love would be extended to Daryl.

Her sister, though… would she?

Daryl shifted again as if agitated by her restless thoughts. He rolled his weight to the left, half-turning to face her. Even in sleep, even when she hadn't said a word, he responded to her.

It doesn't matter, Beth decided. If Maggie can't accept it, that's her own problem.

Beth moved forward, placing a soft kiss on Daryl's mouth. She felt his lips twitch into a smirk beneath hers. "Kissin' me ain't keepin' watch, Bethy," he murmured sleepily against her mouth. He didn't move away, though, instead sliding a hand up her back and kissed her again.

"Sometimes I just miss you," she defended herself. "I think we've become codependent."

"What's that mean?" He was awake now, gazing up at her, eyes washed out of their blue electricity thanks to the moonlight.

"Like, we can't function without the other."

Daryl chuckled at that, running his hand lazily up and down her back. "We just work well together, s'all. Shouldn't go trying to fix what isn't broken."

She smiled down at him, her chest glowing with happiness to hear him surmise her own thoughts so easily. Beth buried her face in the crook of his neck, hugging him to her as best she could within their limited space in the truck cab. It wasn't until Daryl was falling back into sleep that she withdrew herself, leaving him with one more kiss on his cheekbone as he returned to his dreams.

"Are you sure you know how to do this?" Beth dubiously looked at the supplies laid before her on the counter, which Daryl had carefully wiped down with isopropyl alcohol. It had been his idea to try the small tattoo shop. His hunch that there might be things they could use as medical supplies—the alcohol, some bandages, and pain medication—had been right.

"Yeah, look." He held his left hand out to her, where a constellation of black dots was scattered across the skin. "Those are stick and poke. Merle did 'em."

"But can you do them?" She asked. Neither she nor Daryl wore a ring of any kind, though they introduced themselves as married to all the people they had happened to meet lately. None of those people had any ideas about any settlements in the area nor had they been responsive to their descriptions of Rick and Maggie.

"Yeah, I did Merle's after he did mine." It had also been Daryl's idea to give each other the stick and poke tattoos. He claimed it was easy. A small D for her lefthand ring finger, a small B for his. Easy. Unlike Daryl, she didn't have a single tattoo on her body. She was nervous it would hurt and, of course, there was always the thought of infection.

But Beth would be lying if she said she didn't like the idea. Hearing him suggest it had thrown her; she hadn't expected such a gesture from Daryl. It was romantic, in his way, and she very much liked the idea of having a marker to show they were each other's. So, despite her qualms, she held her hand out to him once his supplies were carefully laid out.

To her surprise, Daryl gave a low laugh. "What's funny?"

"Well, it ain't funny, really. Just rememberin' the last time you gave me your left hand on a counter." He gently tapped her pinky, making her blush.

"Just make sure you're not sticking and poking infection into my ring finger, okay? I plan on never cutting pieces of my body off again."

"Hey, now. I'm the one who did the cuttin', Bethy."

Though she had feared the pain, she found the rhythmic prick of the fine, sharp needle he used no more irritating than an ant bite. Daryl worked quickly, with a steady hand. After his first round, the faint outline of his initial showed back to her, etched into her red, irritated skin. He went over it two more times before he was satisfied.

The B she marked him with was shakier, but she defended herself on two counts: one, she had never done this before. Two, a B was much harder than a D to tattoo. It wasn't her fault that her initial was difficult.

"Coulda done an E," he teased her while she worked, her head bent low over his hand. "All those straight lines. Might've been easier."

Beth scoffed. "And when have I ever gone by Elizabeth?" Sometimes she regretted telling Daryl her full name. He liked to tease her about how she didn't look like an Elizabeth, but secretly, she agreed. The name had never fit her.

"I'm just sayin'."

Daryl stayed perfectly still for her the entire time, yet her work still turned out ever so slightly wonky. Oh well, she thought. He's got to keep it forever either way. She resisted the urge to scratch at the tattoo. The ink was itchy, now that it was settling, but Daryl had warned her that would happen. Instead, she leaned over the counter that separated them, waiting only a little impatiently for Daryl to finish inspecting her work and kiss her. He obliged her, of course, taking her by the chin and tipping her face upward.

By the sliver of strong, golden sunlight that managed to eek past their window coverings, Beth knew it was noon. Or roundabouts, anyway. They had hours of daylight left, and the truck was parked close by.

"Get over here."

She smiled widely at Daryl's words, pleased they had been on the same page without having to discuss it. Once she was close enough, Daryl pulled her into him. The counter bit into her back when he leaned close to kiss her, but she didn't mind. Both hands ran up her thighs, over the curve of her bottom, before gripping her by the hips and lifting her onto the counter. It was a low counter, her new perch bringing her at even height with Daryl.

Any itching and throbbing from her freshly tattooed skin was quickly forgotten. Daryl dipped his head, mouth working along the sensitive skin of her neck. Her breath hitched, legs hooking reflexively around his hips. She could feel the solid warmth of him, then, hard against her thigh. He paused in his ministrations only long enough to slip her sweater over her head, leaving her in the tank top she wore beneath. Beth tangled her fingers in his hair, letting him ease her back as his mouth traveled lower.

There was no time to fully undress, and Beth doubted she wanted to in this place, anyway. She helped him inch her jeans down, though, pausing to kiss him. There was passion in the sloppiness, a fervent need that was lighting up both of them. She slipped her hand inside his shirt, pushing it half-off his shoulders as her hands mapped the planes of his chest. Another kiss, but it was obvious they both had other things on their minds. Beth's fingers fumbled with his belt in their eagerness, but she finally managed the clasp. In one smooth motion, he slid home, filling her with the familiar warmth of him.

"Fuck, Bethy," he murmured into her shoulder, making her let loose a breathy laugh. Daryl always said those words when there was a long drought between their opportunities to have sex. Drawing back ever so slightly, she caught his mouth again, muffling her moans against his lips. He held her steady by the hip, thrusting into her again and again, each time bringing her closer to that delicious climax she had only known with him.

She thought about that, later, too. As they were already safely inside the tattoo shop, the pair had decided to spend the night inside. The padded chairs in the shop were a step up from sleeping in the truck or on the ground, she had to admit. Daryl had given her his poncho to use as a blanket while he took first watch. He sat close—but not too close—to the window, watching the world outside through a small crack in the flags they had hung up to cover the glass.

Beth hadn't been a virgin when she came to him, but her sexual experience certainly hadn't been broad. Did that matter? Not to her, it didn't. Nor did it matter in the grand scheme of things, she thought. What a jump, though, from Jimmy to Zach to Daryl.

Jimmy had been sweet, almost exactly her age, with a birthday that fell just days after her own. They shared classes at school-not to mention the summer before the apocalypse. A summer filled with trying to escape Hershel's careful eye anyway they could. Fishing at the creek, going into town to visit their favorite diner. He had stayed up with her one soft, warm night, waiting for one of the mares to foal. But even that night, they were regularly interrupted by Maggie and Sean, each under the guise of checking on the mare.

With Jimmy, it had never gone past the innocent, awkward over-the-clothes touching of a young teenage romance. When he had fallen ill after a walker bite, Beth had begged Hershel to keep Jimmy in the barn, so he could be cured with the others. She had wept for days after seeing his sickly, yellow face and the dull, lifeless look in his eyes.

Losing him the second time, along with Mama and Sean, had nearly done her in. She touched her scar, sending a silent prayer above that their souls were safe and at rest.

It had been different, with Zach. Easier to sneak off when Daddy and Maggie were distracted. Plus, the prison had been so big, there were plenty of places to hide away. Zach had been a few years older, more experienced. He had been in college, before.

But just because he had the confidence to guide her into sex didn't mean he was good at it. The first time was uncomfortable, of course, and every time after had felt better. Never like it did with Daryl, though. It was usually over quickly with Zach, his need satisfied but hers only awoken, with no release on her end. An itch she had to scratch herself, once she was in the privacy of her cell. There was only one time where she had felt an echo of the ecstasy she knew with Daryl, and that had been the afternoon Zach had goaded her into straddling him. In the span of those twenty minutes on a lazy afternoon, Beth realized that sex with Zach was exponentially better when she was in control.

She watched Daryl through sleepy, hooded lids as she mused over these truths. Her limbs were still pleasantly tingly from that aforementioned ecstasy. Beth felt like a livewire when she was in Daryl's arms, experiencing the love he had for her. Perhaps she should have felt some vague jealousy for the women who had come before her in his life, but she never had. He was hers now, in all the ways that mattered. Body and soul and ceremony, now, in a way. She ran a finger over the D permanently etched into her skin, feeling the tingle of the new, raw tattoo. Across the room, Daryl sat nearly relaxed under her gaze. His vest was still crooked from where she had gripped it, where she had buried her face in his shoulder and exclaimed his name when she climaxed. That shaggy brown hair of his was askew still, too. The sight of him disheveled, and knowing it was her hands, her passions, that had left him in that state made Beth smile to herself.

Though certain he must feel her eyes on him, Daryl never wavered in his watch. He kept his own gaze trained outside, though the way he lounged with his back resting against the counter gave away his ease. Surely he felt the same weightlessness in his own body, as if his bones had dissolved and left his body loose and light. He looked decidedly more solid than she felt, though. The padded chair was very comfortable beneath her, acting as her anchor to the tattoo shop. Her body was light, but her mind was settling into the heaviness of sleep.

She touched her tattoo again. What God has put together, let no man put asunder. There had been no words of ceremony, earlier, but they ran through her head now. They settled in her heart and Beth knew they were true. Her passing worries over seeing Maggie again dissipated.

Nearly a year has passed, she told herself, her eyes drifting shut on the sight of Daryl. And I've been made new in that year.

For the fifth time that morning, Daryl took hold of Beth's arm with a hearty squeeze. For the fifth time, Beth stilled beside him. For the first time, annoyance flared within her. They had hardly gone a mile into the forest, and she hadn't heard or seen a damn thing every time Daryl had stopped her. She threw her hands out, palms up, raising both shoulders and eyebrows.

Why?

Beth swept a hand at the forest around them.

What is it? What do you think is there?

Daryl sighed. He was close enough to her that his breath washed warmly over her face as he shook his head. A sharp, blue gaze was swept all around them, but his eyes didn't fix in any one direction. Another shake of the head. He didn't know.

He squeezed her arm again. But something was out there.

Beth looked around for herself, not seeing a damn thing. Usually, Beth had full and unwavering faith in Daryl's hunter's instinct. That morning, she found herself more annoyed with every stop. It was supposed to be a quick trek into the forest to fill up their water canisters. Yet now the morning was more than half over due to Daryl's constant interruptions. As she had every time, Beth stood obediently still for Daryl. Save for her eyes, that is. Those she rolled with abandon to silently convey her annoyance. He raised his eyebrows in response, mouth almost quirking into a smirk. Daryl was too distracted by what he thought he heard or sensed to indulge her mood, though. After a few more beats, he released her arm and waved her on.

Shaking her head, Beth led the way to the river again. It was clearly marked on their map and an easy hike. While she charted the course, Daryl took to surveying their surroundings again. Whether Beth could recognize it or not, someone or something was in the forest with them. The longer it went on, the longer he knew this but could not find this presence, the more pissed off it made him. Chewing at the inside of his lip, he flicked his gaze back to Beth.

Her golden ponytail swung before him, completely at ease and unbothered. His Bethy had come a long way, but he was still of the opinion that she wouldn't last the week without him. A valiant effort would be posed on Beth's part, he knew, but damn. How could she not feel it? Beneath the whisper of the wind and the scurrying sound of small animals, all very typical sounds for the forest, they very much were not alone.

Though he could not see them, he could feel the eyes on them. Intelligent eyes, which bespoke danger. The sweet-sour scent of decay was absent from the breeze, so an unusually smart walker was ruled out this time. He always kept it as a possibility in the back of his mind, smart walkers, remembering the humanlike behavior of the dead in the early days. Worse yet, he could not pick up even a hint of musky tang on the wind. Likely not an animal, then, which only soothed his fear of a starving, desperate predator. It did nothing for his fear—and knowledge—that whoever was watching them was very much human.

Where that human was, though, was a mystery to him. Definitely not above. The trees had shed the bulk of their leaves, only a few stubborn pieces of foliage wavering in the wind over their heads. If anyone in the area was of a mind like Jonah, their tree dwelling acquaintance, they would have been easily spotted. The threat had to be on foot just as they were, but the thick, soft layer of rain-damp leaves that cushioned their footfalls would do the same for the threat. Annoying.

While Beth crouched to fill the canisters with water from the Potomac River, Daryl stood defensively over her. The sooner they were out of this wood and on the road again, the better. Every day they edged closer to Washington, D.C. and he intended to either have Beth reunited with Maggie or safely hunkered down for the winter before the first snow fell. It would fall soon, too, if the bite of the wind wasn't lying to him.

The river ran icy cold, this late in the season. Beth's hands were red and frigid by the time she lifted them from the water. They felt numb and gummy as she loaded the canisters into her backpack, but Beth didn't mind. The phantom pain of her pinky had increased as the temperature continued to drop. It was annoying and left her rubbing at the tender stump often, but the Potomac had frozen the amputated digit into blissful non-feeling for the time being. With a hand hooked under her arm, Daryl helped her to her feet before drawing her close to him.

He was still in that mood, then, convinced something was going to pop out at them. Beth rolled her eyes again but let him lead back through the trees. The pace was ever so slightly faster than they had set before, leaving the heavy canisters banging annoyingly along her back. Still, Beth knew better than to pitch any argument here in the open. She would need too many words, whispered or not, to convey her point to him. They wouldn't speak until they were in the sanctity of the truck cab again.

"There's someone out there." Sure enough, the words didn't leave his mouth until they were safely tucked inside again. Daryl had taken the driver seat after quickly ushering her inside the passenger. The key dangled in the ignition but Daryl didn't move to start the truck. Instead, he was glaring into the trees behind her head, still watching.

"That's not so unusual," Beth pointed out. "We're hardly the last living people on the earth, Daryl."

"They were watching us," he went on, but his voice was hollow. Not really speaking to her so much as at her. His mind was still too preoccupied with the perceived presence cloaked in the trees.

"Well, we have a truck," she reminded him. Beth reached for the key, meaning to turn the engine over and prompt him into movement. He caught her hand, though, stopping her in her tracks and giving her another of his warning squeezes.

"And how do we know they ain't got some form of transportation, Bethy?"

"What do you mean for us to do, then? Sit here like lambs waiting for the slaughter?"

"Nah." He squeezed her hand again, this time with a smile. "Just watchin' another minute."

She counted to sixty in her mind, a little private test. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. Daryl was astonishingly good at time estimation. Right as she finished her count, he brough the truck to life himself, easing it along the road. He drove mindlessly—purposefully so—for a while, taking turns at random. They didn't stop until Daryl no longer felt those eyes on them and that happened to be in a Podunk roadside town that had likely been abandoned long before the onset of the undead apocalypse.

"Feel better?" Beth asked, only a tiny amount of teasing in her smile. Daryl had eased the truck behind the cover of a dilapidated clapboard shed, shielding it from view on the road. "Like, good enough I could go to the bathroom?"

To that request, Daryl waved Beth on with a flick of his hand. Grateful for the chance to empty her bladder, Beth slipped from the cab and into a close cropping of trees situated a few yards away from the shed. They had been driving forever, well into the afternoon. The sun was already starting to sag heavily in the sky, beginning its descent to the horizon. They would need to eat soon. Beth began mentally flipping through the catalog of their food stores, considering their options as she tended to her needs.

No fresh meat to be had, and the pair was trying to refrain from dipping too heavily into their dried stores. They had a whole cache of hickory nuts she had foraged on their hikes, though. There was some sunchoke at their disposal, too, and rosehips. Beth weighed the likelihood of getting Daryl to agree to a fire so she could brew tea from the rosehips. They would need the vitamin C, soon, with everything shriveling away before the onset of winter.

The new location had relieved Daryl of his worry entirely. There was no need for Beth to ask for a fire; Daryl was already building one.

"Going to hunt?" She guessed, keeping her voice low. The shed was missing a substantial portion of the back wall, revealing the interior to be filled with nothing more than old sawhorses and tools. No walkers—or other living people—in sight.

"Might as well," he murmured back. "Got a few hours left. The area's empty."

Her stomach growled at the thought of a meal more substantial than the one she had planned. She banked up the fire, leaving the rosehips to brew over the flames, and left the passenger side of the truck open as a precaution. Should she be happened upon, it would be easier to jump into the seat. Daryl counted his arrows and stopped to kiss her before walking off in that hunter's prowl of his. While Daryl was away hunting, Beth sat in the open air, her back to the truck and To Kill a Mockingbird in her hands. The late autumn sun was weak in warmth, but the small fire more than made up for it.

So did the doves Daryl brought back with him, already plucked and ready for roasting. Between the rosehip tea and the roasted birds, Beth didn't feel the slightest chill as they cleaned up camp for the night. Once the fire was smothered with a thick layer of dirt and another perimeter check ensured the area was clear, they loaded back into the cab to settle in for the night. Beth read from To Kill a Mockingbird until the sunlight failed her and she could no longer make out the words on the page.

"What did you think was in those woods?" Beth asked him, but only after they had settled in for the night. In the passenger seat beside her, Daryl sighed into the dark.

"People. Or at least a person. You didn't feel shit out there?"

To that, Beth shrugged. He heard the rustle of her flannel shirt against the seat. "No," she told him. "Just you. How'd you know?"

"Even with knives, guns, crossbows, whatever, humans ain't the biggest and baddest in the woods, Bethy. Even before walkers. Bears, bobcats, ruttin' deer, water moccasins. There's always something that might want you dead. If you're gonna be in the woods, you gotta be aware of that."

Beth fell quiet, considering this. She had long since considered Daryl to be an extension of the woods they often traveled through. On the McDonald farm, she had felt the same hominess among the animals that she saw in Daryl when in the wilderness. She thought of the way she could read the patterns of frost to know when it was the right time to plant. Or her knack of always knowing which day was the day a cow would calf or a horse would foal. It was something she could feel, and instinct she had developed. Just the same as Daryl sensing an unknown person in the woods.

"But what made you think they were dangerous?" Beth asked next. "We never even saw them."

"They were followin' us. All the way to the river, then all the way to the edge of the trees." That made Beth's skin prickle, a layer of goosebumps breaking out along her arms. That was certainly different than her assumption that Daryl was simply overly cautious about another living person being in the same area of the woods.

Through the shadows, Daryl reached for Beth's hand and laced his fingers with hers. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "It doesn't matter now, Bethy. They're gone."

Outside the windows, the night was quiet around them. The sky was clear and the stars were bright and heavy. Daryl taught her autumn constellations until he was sleepy enough to leave her to first watch. The night passed quietly, and the dawn came with a peaceful, pretty painting of reds and oranges. Beth and Daryl shared dried berries and nuts for breakfast, passing a water cannister back and forth. Once the day was sufficiently suffused with morning light, Beth eased the truck back onto the road.

While Beth drove, Daryl studied their map. His zigzagging took them off the initial course he had charted; they needed to recalibrate. Beth was singing along to a Turnpike Troubadours song as she drove, filling the cab with her pretty voice.

Back when you, well, when you were my darling…

Secretly, Daryl very much enjoyed when she read aloud to him and sang. He just liked to listen to her voice. It made for a nice soundtrack as he traced possible new routes with his fingernail. Daryl relaxed into his seat, getting lost in his own mind as he envisioned the new route. His attention was so focused that Beth's slamming on the breaks took him entirely off guard. Only his seatbelt kept him from smashing his nose on the console in front of him.

"What the fuck, Bethy?!" He shouted, just after a dull thud rocked through the cab. When he looked up, there was nothing around. "Did you hit the only walker in the whole damn area?"

"I didn't hit anything!" Beth yelled back. "He hit us!"

"Who?!" Turning in his seat, Daryl quickly scanned the outdoors. Empty.

"I didn't ask his name, Daryl," Beth snapped, punctuating her quip with a fierce glare. "Some long-haired guy wearing a beanie."

Like Daryl, Beth was twisting all around. The man truly had disappeared. "I braked before I would have hit him," she explained, turning this way and that. "He jumped on the hood, but then he jumped off, and now I don't know where the fuck—Daryl!"

Lightning quick, he had snatched her gun. She wore it in a hip holster, now, no longer tucked into her waistband as she used to. He made sure it was loaded and the safety released before pressing it into her hands. Daryl silently lifted a finger to his lips, motioning for her to stay quiet. That same finger pointed up, at the roof of the car. Beth followed his finger, eyes widening as she realized what he meant. In the next moment, he had his crossbow loaded and a hand on the doorhandle. Beth mirrored his movements, and when Daryl nodded, they both jumped from the cab and trained their weapons on the figure atop the truck.

The figure in question was a young man with shoulder-length sandy brown hair half-hidden under a gray beanie. He was sitting cross-legged on the roof of the truck, backlit by the sun. The man's bright, blue gaze was familiar. The stranger from the woods. A smile winked out of his heavy beard as he regarded Daryl. Though his finger was ready on the trigger, Daryl hesitated to send his arrow flying as the man above him held his hands—empty of weapons—out wide.

"Hello," he greeted them. "Name's Paul, but my friends call me Jesus."

Daryl narrowed his eyes, trigger finger twitching. He would have liked to shoot the man—not fatally, just in the shoulder—for that nickname alone. Lucky for Jesus here, neither Daryl nor Beth was trigger happy. Catching Beth's eye just then would have made Daryl feel better. Unfortunately, the mass of the truck stood between them. He could just make out the green plaid flannel shirt she wore through the truck windows. Her arms were raised, her gun trained on the man's back. Good.

"You're a little late for a second coming." The quip came from Beth. Daryl felt his mouth twitch, but he tamped down his mirth. Jesus didn't need to see anything on his face. "Aren't we supposed to follow you?"

Beth had put the pieces together, then. Daryl swallowed back his laugh, but Jesus didn't share his inhibitions. Arms still raised in a show of innocence, the man chuckled. "You're certainly welcome to, Beth."

Though his hands were empty, Jesus might as well have stabbed her. A sharp pang of cold, burning fear hit her heart. While Beth froze in her fear, staring at Jesus' back, Daryl adjusted the aim of his crossbow and took a step forward. No longer was his arrow trained on Jesus' chest, but rather now perfectly between his brows. "Why did you call her by that name?"

They hadn't spoken each other's names in the woods. They rarely did. And even when they did, they never spoke above breathy whispers. It was impossible for Jesus to have heard anything when he tracked them through the forest. From atop the truck, Jesus smiled again. "For the same reason I know yours, Daryl. I learned them from Maggie."

Beth had only parked the truck but hadn't pulled the key from the ignition. Neither had bothered to shut the doors. 'Evangeline' drifted from the open doors, filling the silence that held the three of them frozen as they all regarded each other.

Lookin' back, I see you with eyes that shouldn't be so blue, clearer than the calm before the rain.

Daryl held up a hand in unspoken warning for Jesus to remain where he was. From above, the man nodded in understanding. Still wary, Daryl kept the crossbow trained on Jesus as he edged his way around the truck to Beth.

So alive, it wasn't fair, to live without a single care.

He waved Beth to him. Just as he did, she kept her gun aimed at its mark as she drew near. Daryl raised his eyebrows. Beth tipped her head ever so slightly in Jesus' direction.

"I know Rick, too, if that makes your decision any easier."

"Shut up," Daryl snapped reflexively. He felt Beth's hip nudge his. When he looked back to her, she widened her eyes. How else would he know unless he was telling the truth? Daryl grit his teeth against her sound logic. They were far afield from the prison; it was damn near impossible for this Jesus to have been a part of the Governor's army. That left the man's claims to very likely be the truth.

"Tell us what they look like," Beth said, staring at the man down the barrel of her gun. "Maggie and Rick."

"Maggie's brown haired, green eyed. Just a little taller than you." Jesus nodded toward Beth, keeping his hands open and still. "She's married to a guy named Glenn. Rick's brown-headed, too. Got a real curly mop of hair. Blue eyed. He's got two kids, Carl and Judith."

Beth hoped the shock didn't show on her face. She exchanged a glance with Daryl. Judith. It was unspoken between the two, the hope that little Judith Grimes had survived the attack on the prison. Daryl exhaled slowly, his chest deflating in the most controlled of sighs.

"I'm a runner for a place called the Hilltop," Jesus carried on explaining. "We're allies with the Alexandria Safe Zone. That's where Maggie and Rick are. Maggie's been looking for her sister. She hoped, maybe, that I would be able to find something out for her. Some luck that I did one better and found you, huh?"

Again, Beth and Daryl shared a look. Immediately after, Daryl motioned with the crossbow. "Get off our truck."

Even now, Jesus kept his hands splayed where the pair could see them. He rose to his feet, leaned forward to judge the distance of his jump, and then leapt gracefully to the asphalt. Daryl jerked the crossbow, indicating that Jesus should move off the road. "Go park the truck up against the tree line."

Beth climbed through the passenger side, as it was the closest and put an immediate barrier between her and Jesus. Only once she was in the driver's seat and had the door shut did she lower her gun from the man. Despite having two weapons aimed at him for upwards of twenty minutes, now, Jesus was genial and calm as his nickname sake. Loathe as she was to leave Daryl alone with a stranger, Beth parked quickly before grabbing her backpack, drawing her gun once more, and making her way back to the men.

"Alright," Daryl pointed with his chin. "Show us."

"It'll take all day to get to Alexandria," Jesus warned, to which the pair shrugged in tandem.

"The day's young," Beth pointed out. Jesus smiled at that, turning his back on them to lead the way.

"Can I put my hands down, at least? Arms are getting tired." He did so without waiting for permission, holding his arms loosely at his sides. Jesus began to lead them into the trees, not far from where Beth parked the truck.

Here goes nothing, said the arch of Beth's brow.

If he's lying, we'll kill him, said Daryl's downturned mouth. They fell into step together, following Jesus deep into the woods. It was a considerable hike, as Jesus had told them. The trees grew so thick, at one point, that they had to walk single file for several yards. When this happened, Daryl positioned himself between Jesus and Beth.

Small credit was owed to Jesus; he didn't speak as he led them. They encountered a few walkers here and there, but each was quickly felled by Jesus. He pulled no weapons even against the dead, instead showing off his strength through martial arts techniques. Each walker was dispatched with Jesus twisting their bodies—all the while avoiding their teeth—and smashing their heads against trunks, branches, or rocks.

Eventually, the trees began to thin and a tall, metal fence was visible in the distance.

"New build, before," Jesus explained, his voice pitched low. "Fence came after. C'mon."

He led them from the trees to a two-lane road that was cut short by the fence. Beth reached for Daryl's hand, her heart pounding in her chest. There were voices streaming over the top of the fence, happy voices. Laughter. Children playing. Daryl let her take his hand, squeezing her fingers. He lowered his crossbow but kept his finger on the trigger, just in case, nodding for Beth to do the same.

Jesus walked clear up to the fence, but Daryl stopped them short several feet behind. Enough room to run if need be. From that short distance, they watched Jesus raise a closed fist and rap three times. Each sound was short and purposeful.

"Who is it?"

At the sound of the voice, Beth felt her knees go watery and weak. Had Daryl not been holding her hand, she was certain she would fall.

"Jesus." Here, the man looked over his shoulder to smile at them. "I brought a couple of friends."

There was a pause, then a metallic scraping as some mechanism was used to slide the solid sheet metal back to reveal a secondary, chain link fence behind it. As the sheet metal moved, the figure of Glenn Rhee was revealed to them. Beth watched him smile at Jesus, cracking a joke she though. She couldn't be sure; it was as if bees were buzzing in her ears. A dull, rational voice in her head noted it was her blood roaring from how fast her heart was beating, not bees. Glenn shifted his gaze over Jesus' shoulder, almond eyes widening and mouth falling open and slack in his surprise.

The next word out of Glenn's mouth was sharp and clear, cutting through Beth's spinning mind with sudden clarity.

"Maggie!" Glenn shouted her sister's name, working frantically at the mechanism to open the interior gate. Beth tightened her hold on Daryl's hand, feeling the bones of his fingers press against hers. The gate sprung, and Maggie still wasn't there, but Glenn was. He threw an arm around each of them, crushing them to him. "We looked for you guys," he told them, words muffled both by their shoulders and the tears choking his throat. "We looked everywhere we could."

The three-person hug was a little awkward, but both Beth and Daryl managed to hug Glenn back. By the time he pulled away, Maggie had responded to Glenn's calling of her. She came barreling through the open gate, pushing past Glenn and Daryl alike to cling to her sister.

"Oh, thank God," Maggie sobbed into Beth's hair. "Thank God."

"I missed you, too," Beth managed to choke out, burying her face in the crook of Maggie's neck. In the light of that warm, golden sunset, the year of travel melted away from her. Beth began to shake despite the sunlight and Maggie's holding her. All the stress and tension of surviving and hoping against hope came crashing down on her.

Daryl was hardly alone in the welcome brigade. Drawn by the excitement, Carol and Rick had come to the fence as well. Carol's hair was longer now, shaggy around her cheeks. Rick was himself again; Daryl could see it in the clarity of his eyes, in the way they brightened once they landed on his face. A year, an entire year had passed since he had seen either of his best friends. Daryl met them halfway, greeted with a kiss to the forehead from Carol and a bearhug from Rick.

"Beth!" And then there was Carl, taller than the last time they had seen him, Rick's hat no longer sliding all around on his head. One side of his face was heavily bandaged, covering his eye. He carried a toddler with wispy curls on his hip. Judith. "Daryl!"

Michonne trailed behind Carl, her dark eyes going wide in the shock of seeing them. More hugs were to be had there, just outside the gate of the Alexandria Safe Zone. Eventually, Rick ushered everyone inside, including Jesus. "It's late," he was telling Jesus. "It'll be near midnight by the time you make it back to the Hilltop if you head out tonight."

"I won't turn down Carol's cooking or your couch, man, you know that."

Swept up in the loving crowd of their friends and family, Beth and Daryl drifted away from each other on separate tides. Maggie had her arm linked with Beth's, talking away about Alexandria's gardens and livestock and how she would show her in the morning. Daryl carried Judith now, Carl having passed her off to him so he could fully gesticulate as he told the story of how he lost his eye. Still, they caught each other's gaze in the mass of friends, exchanging a smile that very clearly said, we made it. We really made it.