Thanks so much for reading. Leave a comment. :) Remember... slow burn!
Beth swallowed hard, trying to not look as shocked as she was, "Beta killed your mother?"
Her mind raced. Beta didn't seem exactly dangerous. Not friendly either. Were Lydia and Chubs with him against their will? Where was Beta anyway? She hadn't seen him all day. Beth's eyes went to Chubs, wanting so badly to protect him and Lydia, yet she knew that wasn't possible.
She must not have hid her shock well enough because Lydia stood so suddenly the chair shoved back on the wood floor. "I shouldn't have said anything. You're gonna make us leave now."
Her brown eyes were large, fear shining in the tears that pooled in them. Beth stood too, reaching toward Lydia hoping to stop her panic. "No. Wait!" Beth took a breath, calmed her voice. "I'm not making you leave but I want to make sure you're safe with Beta. If we're safe with him."
Lydia stopped her retreat. Her hand rested protectively on Chubs back. "He takes care of us. We are safe. He makes sure of it." Her voice shook. "Most importantly he makes sure Chubs is safe. After my mother died, after Beta killed her, he took me in. He didn't have to. I was appreciative when he did. I probably woulda' died without him."
It sounded dramatic. That's just how things were now… dramatic.
Beth believed her. She didn't want to know what Beta expected in return for his protection, so she said, "I didn't mean to upset you."
"I'd do anything to protect Chubs," Lydia said and Beth did not doubt her.
"I understand. You're a good Mama, Lydia. Chubs is lucky to have you. Lucky to have Beta too," She hoped as much.
Lydia eyed Beth cautiously, and after a moment, seemed satisfied and nodded. Just as quickly as she got upset she calmed herself. She sat again, rocking Chubs back and forth, her arms protectively around him in the sling. Beth had a feeling the rocking was more to comfort Lydia than Chubs, who was still asleep.
The walker was bearing down on Daryl before he even knew it was there, the heady scent of the deer covering its stench. He'd kick himself later for not paying better attention. The walker's cold, bony hands clamped down on Daryl's shoulders. He spun around reaching blindly for his knife he'd stabbed into the ground moments before.
Loose jaws snapped as his face, hands clawed at his shoulders, neck, and face. He gripped the loose rotting skin of its neck, the flesh sloughed off like gooey putty in his hand. Turning his head away, it was an inch from his cheek, an inch from sinking its decaying teeth into his face. Movement behind the walker caught his attention. Shit, another one.
Only this one didn't act like a walker. He waited expectantly. He stood too straight. He wasn't near as emaciated as he should be. His clothes, while dirty, were too clean, fit too well. He walked purposefully, straightforwardly. The upper half of his face was covered with gore, round circles pitted his eyes black. His chin was covered with a long beard. It was like he was wearing a mask.
Quickly it was on top of Daryl and the other walker. He reached out and snatched up the attacking walker by its shoulders and tossed it a few feet away like it was nothing more than a crumpled-up piece of paper.
Without stopping to figure out what the hell was going on, he spun around, grabbed his knife and charged the walker that was trying to stand again, and sunk the blade into the soft skin of its temple. The walker dropped quicker than the deer had. Other than his own ragged breathing, the world was silent again.
He turned toward the other walker. He didn't know whether to stab it or just run. Something familiar about this walker had him doing neither. It was breathing as hard as him, more alive than dead.
It reached up and began to peel the skin, exposing his face underneath. Daryl gripped his knife tightly, just in case. A second later, Beta appeared from beneath the gruesome mask, blood and bits of gruel still stuck to his face. He dropped the mask unceremoniously with a wet splat on the forest floor.
They stared at one another briefly, catching their breath. Without Beta, Daryl would be walker food right about now. All he could muster was a nod of appreciation. Apparently, that was enough for Beta because he nodded in return.
"Guess we better bleed it out here rather than at the cabin," Beta suggested, gesturing with his hand toward the deer.
"Yeah, guess so," Daryl said, trying to warp his mind over what just happened. He looked back at the deer, whipping the walker blood off his knife onto his jeans.
The men worked side by side on the deer and then they walked back to the cabin in silence, heavy with the awareness of more walkers roused by the noise of what had happened as well as the scent of blood. Daryl was also acutely aware of what Beta had done for him. They'd hardly said more than two sentences to each other since he and Lydia arrived at the cabin. He hadn't been exactly welcoming. All this left him wondering why Beta had risked himself to help him.
It was getting dark and there was no sign of Daryl or Beta. Beth stood at the sink watching through the curtains that were now wide open so she could keep an eye on the woods where Daryl had disappeared earlier in the day.
Beta came and went as he wanted throughout the day, always returning well before nightfall. Daryl, the opposite, stuck closer to home unless he was checking the traps. Beth tried not to overthink things. Tried not to overthink why he might stay close during the day and then even closer at night, sleeping only a few feet from her, especially since he was no longer sick.
She also tried not to overthink what his absence was doing to her or that she wouldn't be near as worried if it was only Beta that wasn't back to the house yet. Every movement had her peering into the woods. Every sound had her looking toward the door.
He'll be back soon, she reassured herself, he'd have to be. If not, she'd have to go look for them and she didn't see Daryl putting her in that position. Unless he had to. Unless something bad had happened. Unless he decided to split. Which he had every right to do. He doesn't owe her any explanations. Only he'd left his crossbow behind. She didn't think he'd leave that.
As if reading her mind as she stared out the window at the darkening treeline, Lydia asked, "Think we should go lookin' for them?"
Lydia had moved from the couch to the rocking chair and was now back in the kitchen rocking Chubs back and forth. He was fussy. It was like he picked up on the women's worry.
"Na'. It's getting dark." She glanced at Lydia over her shoulder. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, a reminder she was still up every few hours with a nursing baby. "I'll take him," Beth suggested, her arms outstretched to Chubs. Lydia hesitated for a moment then handed him over. Sighing lightly she plopped into one of the kitchen chairs.
Beth rocked Chubs staying at her post at the window. "I'm sure they'll be back soon," Lydia said. She sounded as unsure as Beth felt. She too needed to hear the words.
She didn't say anything. She adjusted Chubs into a more comfortable position, enjoying the weight of him in her arms. The scent of the homemade soap Lydia had bathed him in earlier. The comfort he offered when he nuzzled his head against her shoulder. Shortly Chubs was sleeping, his cheek smooshed against Beth, his little mouth slack and his eyes closed tightly as though he wanted to shut out the world. Shutting out the world sounded good to her. Yet, there was no way she'd leave that window.
"Why don't you all get some rest, go on up to bed. I'll wait up for them," Beth suggested. Lydia agreed and rose slowly from the chair and took Chubs from her.
Her arms felt cold and empty without the baby. She was tired too, but she stayed in front of the window. There was no way she'd get any sleep without Daryl being home.
Home? This isn't Daryl's home, she had to remind herself.
It was another half hour, the treeline already shadowed in black, when two forms emerged, shuffling into the clearing. Her hand automatically went to the knife on her belt. If a walker or two happened to stumble into her little hidden yard, she watched them closely. If they didn't pose a problem and continued to shuffle on their way, she let them go. No sense risking her life fighting off every walker that came onto her property. Still, she stayed stealthily aware. Ready to protect her land and herself if need be.
As the figures drew closer it became was obvious, they were not walkers, and judging by height, it was Daryl and Beta. Daryl was walking slowly, hunched over with a limp. Something was off.
Breath wooshed from Beth's lungs as she made a beeline for the door. Sliding her feet into her boots, grabbing her coat, sliding her arms through the sleeves as she rounded the house to the clearing facing the trees. She waited, heart racing, breath puffing out in the cold air. As they came closer she saw Daryl wasn't limping. He had something slung over his shoulders. A deer.
He's okay, he's okay, she repeated to herself as they met in the middle of the yard
Inexplicable turmoil settled in her chest where relief had been only seconds before."Where'd that come from?" She asked, not sure why it irritated her. They had a good amount of food to last them through the rest of winter. It was always good to add more to the stockpile.
Her worry was unwarranted. She had no right to it. He isn't yours to worry about, Beth.
He didn't respond, probably not sure what to say, put off by her change in attitude. Instead, he spoke to Beta. "Go on in. I got it from here." Beta looked between Beth and Daryl but didn't try to insist that he help. He only nodded and went into the house.
"I think the garage is the best place to hang this for tonight." He gestured to the falling-down building behind and to the side of the cabin. "Got any rope?"
She nodded and walked off toward the garage, embarrassed for her worry.
Daryl followed her into the garage, his eyes took a moment to adjust to the added darkness. Beth could be heard fiddling with something across the room. Then a strike of a match and the low light of a lantern filled the room.
He flung the deer unceremoniously onto the dirt floor, taking in the surroundings. He was right in his guess that the structure was in bad shape. Holes in the roof were like gaping black eyes. A window was broken from its frame and had been boarded up. Boxes lined two walls filled with what he wasn't sure, probably belongings of seasons past. Most notably was a red Chevy Nova parked in the center.
He let out a low whistle and ran a finger through a layer of dust along the hood of the car. "This yours?" He questioned. Beth had her back to him, digging through an old, yet large toolbox on the opposite wall.
"Yes," was her answer. "It had been my Dad's, then my sisters, then mine when I turned sixteen."
"Does it run?"
She turned back to him, a bundle of rope in her hand. "Doubt it." Her shortened and clipped answers baffled him. He thought she'd be happy about the deer.
"You drove it here?"
She nodded.
"When's the last time you fired it up?" He was a car guy, though now there was no reason to be one. Some things die hard. Mechanical knowledge was something he seemed to be born with. Had to be. Dixon's did not pay people to do anything. If something broke, they fixed it themselves no matter what that something was.
"The day I got here. No reason to run it after that."
"Fair enough," he replied, confused by her change in demeanor. He gave up trying to talk to her after that. He wasn't going to force her. Maybe the Nova made her think of her father and her sister, which he was sure she hadn't mentioned up to this point.
They worked in silence hanging the deer from a rafter overhead to drain the rest of the blood. Normally he'd hang it from a tree limb but he didn't want to attract any animals. Or walkers. He kicked an old tarp underneath to catch any remaining blood that they'll burn tomorrow to get rid of the scent.
By the time they were finished, Beth was no less distant. She'd retied the knot he'd made around the deer's back legs. She huffed out a breath before kneeling to spread the tarp out flat. In short movements, she took her knife from its sheath and cut the excess rope, bunched it up and tossed it back into the toolbox, slamming the lid shut. She was clearly annoyed with him and he couldn't figure out why.
"What's your fuckin' problem?" He finally asked when the ringing of the slammed lid echoing through the small space petered out and it was silent once again. The question tumbled out of his mouth before he thought better of it.
She stood with her back to him a second or two before spinning around on her heel to face him. "I'm sorry," she said in a way that demonstrated she was anything but sorry. "Who do you think you're talkin' to me that way?"
He held up his palms, still bloody from the deer, in surrender. "You're the one stomping around here all pissed off, but yeah, I'll try to refrain from using the word fuck." He couldn't help it, the sarcasm just slipped out unchecked.
"I'm not pissed!" Her tone of voice, the straight arrow of her tense shoulders, the crease between her eyebrows told him differently.
He held back the grin. "Sure, obviously not." He really had to reign himself in. His sharp tongue wasn't helping anything.
In frustration, she ran her hands through her hair. It was still braided but wisps of blonde wavy strands had loosened from the tie throughout the day. It fell softly, framing her face. Even pissed, she is beautiful. He looked away when that thought entered his mind, embarrassed.
"We got enough food. Not a lot. Enough. You didn't need to risk yourself for that deer."
"I didn't risk myself." He wasn't going to tell her what really happened with the walker or Beta or his mask. It would only add fuel to the fire. She probably wouldn't let Beta back into the house if she knew. "The deer was there. I took advantage of the moment."
She folded her open jacket closed with her arms crossed tightly around her middle. "It was unnecessary."
"Girl, are you actually pissed off at me 'cause I got us more food?" He questioned, totally confused, striding toward her. She was backed against the toolbox and couldn't avoid him. It was dark, the glow of the lantern hardly lighting the space. Standing right in front of her, he couldn't be sure if those were tears reflecting in her eyes.
His heart thudded. He wasn't any good with emotion. It made him uncomfortable. And for some strange reason, a reason he could not begin to explain, he wanted to make whatever was causing those tears disappear. Except he was pretty sure it was him making her upset and he didn't want to - maybe for the first time in his life - disappear. He didn't want to leave her. God help him, he wanted to stay.
"I just… I …" she stumbled over her words.
He reached up and brushed a wandering curl of hair from her face. He could imagine its silky softness sliding down his bare torso. The thought, lighting fast and beyond his control, hit him hard. He backed away. Putting space between them seemed the safest option right now. Her anger, his lust, probably wasn't the best combination.
He walked to the door and shoved it open, waiting on her. Whatever was between them in that brief moment was gone now. Her eyes were dry and tired. "Tomorrow will be a long day. Better get some rest."
Daryl didn't come inside for a while. Not that she blamed him. She'd practically ran him off with her attitude. All because she was… scared? That made no sense. He was obviously smart and a competent outdoorsman and hunter. He knew what he was doing out there. She had no reason or right to worry. No right to treat him like shit.
It was just that he stirred things in her she was sure she'd never felt before.
As she was laying in front of the fire, her face flushed with heat thinking about him. Frustrated and angry with herself, she kicked the quilt off. She knew she should apologize. She wasn't exactly sure for what. She committed multiple offenses. Being an asshole to him, for that she definitely needed to apologize. For being scared when he didn't come back for hours? Or for her unexpected feelings? No. That would make things too complicated. Life was complicated enough. And he most likely would not reciprocate whatever it was that she felt.
When he finally came in, she pretended to be asleep. No apologies were said that night.