Chpt 4: Now We Run!
Beth finds him out by the shed where her Daddy keeps the tractor. Daryl's been spending a lot of time in there. Tinkering with some of the old equipment in the back. Taking things apart, putting them back together again. He's going a little stir crazy. Needs a job, something to do. It's been a week or better since he and Beth sat and talked up in her treehouse. He wonders if she knows he's been avoiding her. Wonders what he was thinking, climbing that tree to her bedroom window like some crazy creeper. He thinks about what he promised her. He still means it. He'll protect her with everything he has. He just can't believe he told her he would. Can't believe he said it out loud. Can't believe he said anything he said that night. It ain't like him. He really can't believe he touched her like he did. Puttin' his arm around her. Pullin' her against him like he did. More than anything… he can't believe she let him.
She's in his head now. He's got Merle in one ear, (Merle's always in his head. Giving him grief), and Beth in the other. He's got Rick runnin' stuff by him 'fore he makes any decisions for the group. Always askin' his opinion. Acts like Daryl's his right-hand man or some crazy shit. Walsh is always in his ass about somethin'. Then there's Carol. She calls him Pookie. What the hell? But, damn, if it doesn't bother him like it should. He's never had friends like this. Family, like this. It's making him crazy. It's some messed up shit that the world ends, and he finds his best life right square in the middle of it.
He hears her holler at Maggie. Knows she's close. He wipes his hands on the bandanna he keeps in his back pocket and ambles out into the open. He pretends like it's a happy accident when she stumbles across him. She's humming again. Some cheery little tune he thinks he might recognize if he concentrates.
"Hey, Daryl," she half sings, like she just figured out his name is part of that song she's humming.
He lifts his chin and keeps wiping his hands. Just a happy accident.
"Where've you been the last few days?" It's not an accusation. And it's not like she's trying to get in his business. It's more like she missed him. Maybe. Or maybe he's bein' a dumbass. Merle would say he's bein' a dumbass.
"Been takin' night watch. Huntin' early. Sleepin' durin' the day."
"Oh. Thought maybe you were avoidin' me," she teases.
Daryl freezes. He's not gonna' lie to her. He may be a lot 'a shitty things, but liar ain't one of 'em. "You got a knife?"
"Where the hell did that come from," he wonders.
"What," she says, as confused by his redirect as he is.
"A knife, girl. You keep a knife on ya?'"
"o' course," she says smilin', and pulls out her pocket knife.
"Ya' ain't gonna' kill no walker with 'at piss ant thing. You got a buck knife?"
Beth purses her lips into a little pout. Daryl's seen her do it more than once, when she's thinkin'. He thinks he wants to keep her thinkin'. "Shawn had a Bowie knife. I think it's upstairs in his room."
"Go get it. I'll teach ya' how to throw."
"Yeah?" Her eyes grow wide, impossibly wide. Daryl grouses at her to keep from smiling.
He flings his wrist at her, shooshin' her along. "Hurry up, girl. Ain't got all day."
Beth giggles and takes off at a run toward the house. She misses the little smile that ghosts across his teeth. He's lost in the way her ponytail bounces when she runs, thinking about things he probably shouldn't be thinking about. Too lost to notice Shane leaning against the shed.
"Ain't that just the sweetest thang I ever saw…"
Daryl whips around, at the ready. Shane is chewing on a long piece of hay, feet crossed at the ankles, a smug look plastered on his face.
Daryl doesn't speak. He figures it's best to let Walsh say his peace and move on. Beth has already warned him about fighting with Walsh. She said it scares her. Called Walsh a chicken shit. She's afraid he might come after Daryl when he ain't expecting it.
"She is a fine piece of ass, Hershel's baby girl… Huh… I bet you think you're just the redneck ass hole to tap that ass too, don't 'cha, sparky?"
"I'm warnin' you Walsh… you better shut the hell up 'fore I do it for ya'"
Shane laughs. It's a heavy snort, condescending. Daryl's hands ball into fists at his sides. "You afraid her daddy might overhear? Ol' Hershel ain't gonna' take too kindly to a piece a' shit like you puttin' yer' filthy hands anywhere near his sweet baby girl." He huffs again. Tosses the strip of hay to the ground and spits. "Nah, I don't reckon he's gonna' like that at all…" Shane pushes lazily off the side of the shed. "You be sure and tell that sweet little peach, when she's done slummin' it, come find me. I'll show her what a real man feels like…"
It takes every bit of self-control Daryl can muster not to beat Shane's ass, right where he stands. He only lets him walk away because he knows Beth will be back any minute. Because he promised her, he wouldn't do anything stupid. Especially with Walsh. He doesn't want her to find him in another tussle with Walsh's stupid ass. She'd wanna' know why they were fighting, and he ain't ready to go there. So, he lets him saunter away. Beth is back in a flash. She slides to a stop when she sees Shane. He runs his eyes up and down the length of her. Nods. Keeps on walking.
"What did he want?"
"Nothin'," Daryl says, working his fingers at his sides. "Jus' bein' a asshole like always."
Beth scowls in Shane's direction before turning back to Daryl. "Look what I found," she says and shows him three, fixed blade hunting knives. "I like this one the best," she says and hands Daryl the two discarded knives. She pulls a shiny Bowie knife from its leather sheath. She flips is over in her palm and presents it to Daryl. It has an ornate pearl handle and a long, sharp, metal blade. "It's pretty. Don't 'cha think? I have no idea where Shawn would have gotten' such a thing. Or why. I mean it's too pretty to be a huntin' knife, right?"
Daryl hums his reply. He finds himself, again, trying not to let the smile that's pulling at his upper lip, escape. He can feel her looking at him. Waiting for him to agree. But he keeps his chin tucked and his head down, pretending to inspect the knife. "Differn't a'ight." He looks up to find her smiling. Proud of her three-knife haul. "You keep that sheath hooked to yer' belt. Keep that knife on ya' all the time."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Dixon"
"Knock that shit off," he fires back.
Beth just giggles at him. Doesn't matter how much he scowls at her; girl sees right past it.
"Come on," he says.
Beth is sore and tired when she finally heads to her room. Daryl taught her how to hold her knife at the ready. How to adjust her grip depending on what or who she was up against. Hold it this way to kill a walker. This way if a person is the threat. He had her stabbing at the air, first this way, then that way, learning how to protect herself. He also showed her how to spin out of a hold if somebody grabbed her. Where to kick. How to use her speed. How to throw a throat punch, and how to break a guy's nose with the heel of her hand. She liked that part, the touching part. Even if he was playing the role of the attacker. Hard to concentrate though when he had his hands on her. After that, he'd had her throwing knives for an hour. He promised he would help her again, sometime soon. "Finally, something to look forward to," she thinks.
Beth spends some time in her tree house, writing in her journal. It's good to have something fun to write about for once. She likes Daryl. She can admit that. But it's different than when she'd first started liking Jimmy. She likes talking with Daryl, even if she's the one doing most of the talking. He listens. She thinks he really sees her. More than just what's on the outside. She thinks they're friends, thinks Daryl would agree. That's enough for now. He reminds her of one of her old barn cats. She doesn't want to spook him. Beth reasons that Daryl is probably a guy who takes things slow. He's a hot head, yeah, but she bets he's cautious when he cares. She's noticed how gentle he is with her. How kind he was to Carol. How determined he was to find Sophia. How he held on to Carol when they found her little girl. How he chooses his words. Protects his new family. She sees his heart and how he protects that too. Yeah, she can admit she likes Daryl Dixon. Even if its only on paper in her journal.
Beth thinks she hears a gunshot way off in the distance. It's a handgun. She's certain it's a handgun. She's getting pretty good at telling the difference. It's late, like the night Dale died. Too late for a gunshot. Too far away. Further out than the perimeter Daryl and the others usually patrol. Beth sits perfectly still, straining to hear above the noise of her own breathing. It's so quiet at night in this new world. Sometimes, after the sun sets, and everyone has settled into their silent routines, all she can hear is the rise and fall of her own chest.
She goes back to writing in her journal. Daryl has promised to teach her how to make jerky if he can snag a deer the next time he goes hunting. She lists the things he told her they will need and makes some sketches of how she imagines the lay out will look:
-stones to build the fire pit -charcoal and the metal grate from the old grill -something to hold the grate at least 2 foot over the fire -a tarp and something to hold the tarp up like a teepee around the fire.
He said it would take about 4 hours to dry. Beth decides she'll start first thing in the morning. She'll be ready when he brings home a deer. The backpack Daryl told her to keep ready is next to her bed. She slides her journal in the side pocket and leans back on her pillows. It's then that she hears a muffled rumble. Like a freight train approaching from miles away. Her head swivels to her open window. She concentrates on the noise. Independent of the swarming rhythm, she can make out singular moans and growls. She sits back up, the rise of panic thrumming in her veins. "How could one of those things have gotten so close to the house?" A shotgun blast nearly knocks her off her bed. She propels herself through the door and takes off down the stairs.
Beth nearly slams into Patricia on the way down. "Beth! Beth, they're here… Your Daddy… I… I." Beth grabs her hand and pulls her to the front door. Shotgun blast after shotgun blast rings in Beth's ears.
"Hershel! Hershel! We have to go! We have to go now!" Lori is crushing Carl to her side, screaming for Hershel to stop shooting and run. There are too many of them. The dead are everywhere, snapping and growling. The roar is so loud, Beth can hardly think. She looks out across the farm. The barn is on fire. Shots are coming from every direction. She thinks about Daryl. "Get a pack together. Be ready to run." Beth spins on her toes and takes off upstairs. She grabs a sweatshirt and yanks it over her head. Snatches the backpack and the tightly rolled sleeping bag and blanket next to it. Her eyes land on her guitar. She wants so badly to grab it too, but it isn't practical, and another piece of her heart breaks.
Beth secures the backpack in place on her way back down and yanks her hair up into a messy bun. When she reaches the porch, Lori and Carl are running for the old, blue, farm truck. T-dog is behind the wheel. Lori is screaming for Hershel and Patricia to follow. Daddy refuses. This is his farm. Has been his family's farm for generations. He won't let it go without a fight. Patricia is unmoving, paralyzed by fear. Beth grabs her hand and yanks her down the steps. Two walkers find a burst of speed and Patricia is jerked away by her hair. Beth lurches forward, reaching for Patricia. She can't help the screams that tear from her chest. She has seen what the monsters can do, the aftermath. But the scene has never unfolded in front of her like this. Patricia is reaching back for Beth, eyes wide with terror. Her mouth opens and closes, but no sound makes its way out. She finds purchase on Beth's wrist. Reflex tightens her hold to a vice like grip. Her nails are cutting into Beth's skin. The attack is gruesome. Far beyond anything Beth could have ever imagined. They're fast and efficient, these monsters. The ones at the barn had moved so slowly. Almost lazy in their pursuit. A part of her had felt sorry for them then. Not these. These monsters are frenzied and vicious. Single-minded in their mission to kill. One bite and Patricia's neck is nothing more than a bloody, gaping hole. There is no way to help her now. It's a struggle, but Beth finally pulls herself free. She loses her balance. Stumbles back. It is T-dog that catches her.
"Get in!" he screams. Beth takes off for the passenger side door. She calls to her daddy, begging him to come with her, but her pleas fall on deaf ears. She slides into the truck and slams the door. Somehow, she has managed to hang on to her sleeping bag roll. Lori and Carl are huddled together in the front seat. She grabs Carl's hand and waits to see what Hershel will do. T-Dog calls to Hershel again, begging him to leave. Hershel is unwavering in his mission to protect the farm. T-Dog can't wait any longer. He jumps in behind the wheel and they are off. They dodge walker after walker on their way across the yard. Beth can't bring herself to look out the back window. She can't watch her daddy disappear the same way Patricia did.
She is scouring the farm, looking for Daryl. Looking for Maggie. Looking through the passenger side window for any movement from the living. She is caught completely off guard when the truck slips and slams to a sudden stop. Her shoulder rams the dashboard, and her head slams into the oh-shit handle. They've slipped into the culvert that runs parallel to the barbed wire fence. Beth opens the door and pulls Carl with her. Lori and T-Dog are next. She sees the big red suburban pulling away from the barn. She climbs on top of the truck and starts waving her arms. Carl goes with her. The suburban makes and abrupt turn and heads in their direction. It is then that she hears the deep rumble of a motorcycle. Daryl is on the other side of the fence.
"Beth! Come on!" His arms are outstretched in front of him and he's waving his hands wildly. Beth half hops, half slides from the roof of truck to the bed. She tosses her bedroll to Daryl then climbs on top of the fence post. She bends her knees and reaches for him. He grabs her about the waist and hauls her down to him. His big hands fly to either side of her face. He is everywhere, all at once, eyes scanning her for injury… for bites. "You hurt?!"
She grabs his forearms. "No… I… I'm good."
Daryl remembers to breath. His forehead drops to hers for the briefest of moments. "You're with me," he says. He grabs her hand and pulls her toward his motorcycle.
"Wait!" she shouts and turns back for her bedroll. She grabs it and runs for the bike. Daryl is popping the kick stand up, looking over his shoulder, watching her every move. Beth throws her leg over the seat, secures the bedroll over her lap, and scoots in close behind Daryl. They watch T-Dog, Lori and Carl pile into the suburban with Rick, Carol, and Hershel. "Thank, God," Beth whispers when she sees the white wisps of her Daddy's hair.
The suburban takes off, headed for the main road. "Hold on," Daryl calls over his shoulder. Beth balls the hem of his shirt into each fist and presses her knuckles to his sides. When Daryl kicks it in gear, Beth's arms slip around his middle and her cheek presses to his back. She won't look at the farm… her home in ruin… she can't. When they get to the end of road, Maggie and Glenn are waiting. Daryl doesn't slow the bike as they approach the small, mint green Hyundai. They fall in line behind the suburban, Daryl and Beth leading the way.
Beth isn't sure how long they've been on the road when she sees the suburban pass and feels the bike slowing to a stop. Maggie and Glenn pull up next to the bike. Maggie reaches for Beth through the window. The sisters' fingers interlace, and Beth squeezes Maggie's hand. "We're okay," Beth says. "We're gonna' be okay."