Hello, my dears!

Soooo I'm thinking I'll try to update this weekly. If it turns out shorter or longer in between updates, my apologies.

Thanks for reading and being sweet!

XOXO,

OceansAria

Joy was reluctant to give us free reign of her pantry, though she ended up giving us a fair amount of food and water to take along. She bid us nothing more than a "Good luck" before shutting her door for good.

I carried the food in my pack since Daryl's carried whatever weapons and ammo we'd scavenged. He set out for the highway again, knowing it led northwest, thinking we could follow it for a while.

"Maybe we'll find another car," I called ahead to him. "Or maybe, if we find a camp, we could stop for a few days."

"We ain't stoppin' at no camp."

"What if they were at the camp and we just passed by?" I protested. "Daryl, they could be anywhere. We have to check out every thing in between we come across."

He was back to grunting for answers. For the first mile or so, as Joy had told us, there wasn't a walker—other than those caught in her snares—in sight. By the time we set foot on the asphalt of the highway, my clean skin was soiled with drying blood from a small herd we'd come across halfway there. I swiped the back of my hand across my cheek, feeling the gore smudge.

What I wouldn't give for another bath and clean clothes.

"C'mon," Daryl urged. He restrung his crossbow, picked it up and settled it on his shoulder. "We gotta keep movin'."

I gulped down a taste of fresh air before I even thought of going after him. Distant moans reached my ears, growing closer and closer. I trotted after my partner, attempting to grab his arm to slow him down—only for him to shake me off with another guttural noise.

"Are we gonna follow this all the way to the end?" I asked.

"Maybe."

"What if we get detoured by a herd or somethin'?"

"Then we'll find 'nother path."

"But we came from the prison that way." I hung a thumb in the opposite direction over my shoulder. "They couldn't have gotten this far yet, right?"

Daryl shrugged. "If Rick's alive, he would get as far from that hellhole as possible."

"And Maggie? Glenn? Michonne? You think they would head this far north?"

"Dunno. Coulda gone south."

"So what are we doin' exactly?"

He glared at me out of the corner of his eye. "Look. You don't wanna follow my lead, you ain't gotta. Ain't nobody told you to stick with me, girl."

"We could already be in South Carolina for all we know, Daryl, and they could be in Florida."
"Naw. We're crossed the North Carolina border fifty miles back."

"What?"

"You didn't see the signs?"

I tossed my hands in the air. "Um, no!"

"Pay attention," he chuffed.

"So, what? We keep goin' north till we cross the border into Canada?"

He kicked at a rock with the toe of his boot aimlessly. "Dunno. Maybe the situation ain't as screwed up there."

"I doubt it."

"So we back to you not wantin' to come with me?"

I bit my lip. "It's not that. Really, it ain't. I just don't wanna lose their trail." Adjusting my backpack, I looked everywhere but at his face. "I'm just so scared that we're gonna the further we get from Georgia."

"The trail went dead while we were in Georgia," he snapped.

"No, it didn't!"

"There won't no point stickin' round when there won't no tracks. We needed to find someplace else."

"Maybe you did, but I would've liked to—"

He stomped his foot, "Dammit, Beth!"

I felt my lips come together with a pop! It was one of the few times he actually cared to address me by my true calling other than 'girl' or 'you'. This seemed to happen more and more lately. His voice scraped against his throat and his eyes pierced mine through the greasy veil of hair falling over his cheeks. He hovered over me, chest bobbing, jaw clamped, until I stopped trying to protest.

I hated those silent hours that followed when he refused to speak to me. By the time the sun had started to lean towards the west, I was completely fed up.

"Are we thinkin' long term camp or short term? Because I'm thinkin' we find either a basement or a really tall building, secure it, get supplies, and make do for a while."

Daryl retorted, "How many times I gotta tell you? We need to keep movin."

"But didn't you like havin' a roof over our heads last night? It doesn't have to be for a long time, Daryl. Three days, tops." I raised my voice to catch his full attention. "That way we can make a couple of runs and keep goin. Sound good to you?"

He didn't bother to answer to any of my suggestions.

"Just keep up."

When we weren't fighting for our lives or scavenging for supplies, and we were simply walking along for hours on end, I drifted into a world of memories.

My favorites to revisit always involved Maggie, Mama, Daddy, or Shawn. Jimmy was a fleeting one. Mostly, I didn't remember too much about him other than the fact that he had been my first real boyfriend, and that he'd been terrified to kiss me until we'd dated for three months.

I liked to recall meeting Daryl a lot. I guess it was because he was the only person I got to look at endlessly, and that I had nearly memorized every square inch of the man's face-or maybe it was because it wasn't a pleasant memory and sometimes the pleasant ones made me sick to my stomach they were so sweet.

Rick, of course, I met in a flurry of urgency and panic. Shane, too. I knew immediately that for some reason I wouldn't be very fond of Shane, however, I could tell that Rick was a good man with a moral compass that had simply been shocked by the state of the world a bit. My gut twisted the longer I was around Shane—Shawn always said I had good instincts, I just didn't always put them to use as I should.

I learned that Daryl was different not long after we met. Not the cliche kind of different, just different. I'd met plenty of hicks and rednecks in my life because of the town I lived in—but none were reserved like Daryl. None of those other men listened to a sheriff who had taken it upon himself to lead practical strangers to safety. None cared about others like Daryl did.

Daddy didn't want me to mess with "the group" setting up camp on our front lawn. "Give 'em their space, Bethie," he'd urged. "Besides, no point in makin' friends. They're gonna be movin' along the minute Rick's boy can walk."

I didn't necessarily want to get close with any of them. Maggie hung around the Asian boy and a few of the others, mostly helping out when she could because she was bored otherwise. Patricia needed me to keep things running normally about the farm. Jimmy needed me to be the same old sweet, caring, patient girlfriend he'd known all along.

Overhearing bits of conversation from Rick's group turned my insides green. They'd obviously done many things already that you couldn't come back from. They'd seen enough gore and death already to last them decades. Apparently they'd lost a member recently, for they were constantly trekking off into the woods to search for her.

Daddy and Patricia didn't know that I went out to the stream every day. Not to think or to cry, only to sit. To listen, and to pray. The breeze in the trees, the calls of the mockingbirds, and the laughing essence of the water allowed me to lose myself long enough that when I stumbled back up to the fields surrounding the house, I could've sworn I saw Shawn on the porch and heard Mama yelling my name for supper. Sometimes I'd see one of those sick people. Rick and the others called them "walkers", but Daddy refused to think that they were anything but unwell, and needed curing. I never told him that one came after me.

The sun was still noon-high when I decided to leave the stream and make my way back to Patricia. She would want to be planning out what meager meal we could cook for supper. The cellar was quickly emptying itself of our preserves and pickled eggs. Soon, we'd have to send someone else out to hunt since we didn't have Otis around anymore.

I stopped walking to lean against a tree so that I could slip my knife back into the side of my boot—another thing my father didn't know about—when a whiz! erupted past my ear and struck the bark by my cheek. "Oh my God!" I screamed and stumbled back, losing my footing. I plopped hard flat on my butt to catch sight of a squirrel scuttling off into the highest branches of the old oak.

"Hey!" Pissed footsteps followed by an equally angered voice, rough with a backwoods accent and what seemed to be his custom growl. "What the hell are you doin' in my way, girl?!"

My hands wouldn't cooperate and my legs refused to get under me so when the strange man my sister had told me not to even talk to got close enough to stand directly over me, his boots on either side of my ankles, all I could do was shakily retort:

"I was walkin' 'round on my family's land because despite the world goin' nuts it's still a free country, thank you very much, mister."

My snarky little punchline didn't do much to faze him. He yanked the bolt out of the tree with a jerk of his hand and another grunt, tilting his head back to peer up into the greenery where the squirrel hid.

"Dammit!" He stomped his foot, running his free hand over his tangled mess of hair roughly. "Shit."

Thanks for helping me up, jerk. I got to my feet, attempting to get the soil off my jeans and where it'd ground into the grooves of my elbows. My stomach was doing that funny queasy thing that it did when I was scared. "Sorry about your dinner."

He shot me the most sour look I'd ever seen over his shoulder as he bent to pull the crossbow's string taught. "Best be sorry. First squirrel I seen all day and you go and scare the damn thing off."

Just walk away. You don't have to be nice to him. He certainly ain't been nice to you.

I sighed. "My name's Beth."

"Yeah, I know your name, girl."

"Oh. Well, what's your name?"

"Daryl," he mumbled. His dirty hair fell over his eyes when he straightened; he cleared his vision by blowing the stray lock away with a quick gust from his mouth.

"Daryl what?"

The more questions I asked, the more hostile he got. Like a cornered mountain lion.

"Dixon."

I stuck my hands in my back pockets to keep them from fidgeting. "Want me to call you Daryl or Mr. Dixon?"

"Why would you need to call me anythin'?"
"Because you're livin' on my land and I think we should know each other's names." I gave him the friendliest smile I could manage. "Plus I'm goin' to help you get some dinner."

He glared.

"There's a creek nearby, Mr. Dixon." I withdrew a hand and pointed in the direction I'd come. "Plenty of frogs this time of year. I figured since you eat squirrel, you wouldn't mind frog legs for dinner."

His upper lip curled. "I ain't the official frog gigger of the group. That'd be Shane."

He moved in way I directed anyway.

"I can teach you," I offered, following him though I didn't really want to. "I honestly hate giggin' for frogs but I don't mind teachin' you."

"You think I'm retarded or sumthin'?" he scoffed.

"No. Please, Mr. Dixon—"

"Look." He stopped so hard and so fast I nearly took a second buttplanting. "Stop callin' me 'Mr. Dixon' and stop buggin' me, girl. Go run home to your daddy and your sister. I don't need some kid tellin' me how to do things I already know how to do. I never said I won't good at it myself."
I froze. Some kid. I could feel the fire tingling in my cheeks, my tongue lashing against the seams of my mouth. They all thought I had a sweet nature through and through, but God, there were times when all I wanted to do was scream. I'm not 'some kid' or 'girl'! I'm almost nineteen years old and I can take care of myself!

"Fine," I whispered. "Sorry I bothered you, Mr.—Daryl."

His hideously tart glower softened to the degree that I believed he almost felt guilty for being a total ass to me. His mouth bobbed open and close. My heart beat unsteadily in my chest—the thrill of adrenaline leaving me with nothing but a weak flutter.

"Hope you catch some good ones," I called over my shoulder as I left him behind to try to go back to the house a second time.

He was already stomping towards the creek. But I could've sworn my ears caught a muttered "thanks".

"Hey."

Daryl hissed a low whistle. I knew instantly to yank my head out of the clouds and get focused. Trotting up behind him to where he'd taken quick cover in the trees, I drew my knife and whispered, "You see something?"

"Heard somethin' moan over there. Didn't think much of it until the whole choir started singin'."

I nodded. "We gonna go straight at 'em or try to go around?"

"We need to keep to the highway-and from the howls, that's where they're headin' to."

I peeked out around his shoulder to watch as a single walker waded out onto the faded asphalt, shortly thereafter followed by another. Then one by one, another biter came to light and shuffled aimlessly across the road.

"We could wait them out," I suggested.

Daryl shook his head; he pointed at one, a woman in a torn and shoddy business suit, who was veering away from her herd and straight towards them, her moans growing louder and louder the closer she got to her supper.

"Doesn't look like that's an option."

I squirmed next to him. The blood from our last encounter with walkers had dried, leaving crusted splatters on my shirt and arms. I took them down because it was necessary, not because I necessarily enjoyed it, like the others did. The female walker only got closer, and her departure began to draw some of her comrades along with her as well.

Daryl readied his bow and set his sights on the walker's forehead. Dead center.

"When I say go," he grunted. "You scatter, ya hear?"

"I'm not leavin' you again," I protested-fleetingly, I recalled the last time he'd made me run while he took on a herd by himself. He'd barely gotten away.

"Girl," he threatened.

"Man," I hissed back, raising my knife and locking my stance. He shot me an appraising glare. "Go on. Take her down. I got the next one."

With a roll of his shoulders and a huff, he pulled the trigger, and the arrow hit home on the walker's temple. Her grotesquely deformed body cluttered to the ground. Her comrades quickly trampled her, raising their arms and moaning even louder. Daryl shoved at my shoulder, pushing me back as a walker came out of nowhere on the opposite side of the tree - arms winding, teeth slashing. He bashed its head in against the rough bark just as the walker's fingernails scraped over my elbow.

"Go, go, go!" Daryl shot the next walker after that and pushed me harder. "Shit, go!"

I stumbled back, righted myself, and jerked forward to stab another female under the chin. They were coming fast and hard now; every single walker in the herd had sniffed out the feast and was coming for their early bird supper.

"Beth!" Daryl hollered. He was fighting off three at a time, using nothing the butt of his bow and his bare hands. "Beth, run!"

I gritted my teeth as the thick, gooey blood of my third kill splashed across my face. There was no time to wipe it off or to run away from this situation. I slashed and kicked and stabbed almost robotically, keeping my pace between a walk and a run as the herd pushed us further into the woods and from our path. I lost sight of Daryl in all the commotion - my stomach twisted in panic at the thought of a walker chowing down - but I couldn't stop.

In the middle of it all, with a walker trying to take me down from the front and another tugging at shirt from the side, I felt water pool in my boots. The herd had cornered us at a pond, surrounded by drooping willows and very little daylight. I sheathed my gore-covered knife and grabbed for a broken, huge branch at the lip of the pond and started hacking away with that.

"Beth!"

My heart soared into my throat at Daryl's yell. I finished off the biters and fell into the pool doing so, the freezing wet seeping through my clothes and hiding me from their sight.

"Beth!"

More dead hands with black and purple fingernails sliced through the water. I swam deeper until my back hit the shallow bottom. Walkers couldn't swim, but they could float. Desperate bubbles floated from my nose the longer I stayed under, twisting away from their reach the best I could.

Suddenly, the hands were yanked away. I heard violent splashing, the tearing of water around feet, and bodies struggling against each other. Shoving off the sandy bottom, I broke the surface to find the ground surrounding the pond littered with festering corpses. At the water's edge, Daryl was struggling to keep a walker from taking a munch.

"Daryl!" I frantically waded his way, my waterlogged boots and jeans doing nothing to help my speed. The walker - a pudgy man in life, it looked like - had Daryl's head submerged, while my partner's arms were steadily keeping the biter's maw at bay. "Daryl, hold on!"

The walker took notice of me just as I plunged my blade through it's squishy cranium. It gave one last gurgling moan as I heaved it off of Daryl with a weak kick, sending it to lie by the remainder of its herd.

"Daryl!"

He hadn't resurfaced. His arms had fallen and he had sunken beneath the dark pool. I scrambled to scoop him up-he was far heavier than he looked with that crossbow on his back-my knees breaking beneath me as I lugged him out of the pond. We plopped in a disgraceful heap next to the fallen walker, his back at my chest and his elbows grinding into my thighs. I grabbed his chin, turned his head to face me, and shoved the dripping hair back from his closed eyes. "Hey, hey, hey. You gotta wake up. You gotta wake up."

I'd never really seen Daryl Dixon in a weak state. He'd taken down dozens of undead on his own, saved lives, hunted, tracked, and survived for years on end in this hell. But now his cheeks and lips were turning indigo and his soaking clothes clung to his slowly starving frame, and it hit me that he could die. Then, there.

I ain't gonna give up on you.

A small cough sputtered from his blue lips. I started to determinedly pat his back, encouraging him. "C'mon. C'mon." A spew of water left his lips, his coughs growing into heavy hacks, and I just barely had enough time to turn him to his stomach before he puked brine and our last meal everywhere. "That's it, that's it. You're okay."

His eyes fluttered opened blearily. "Beth?"

"We're okay. It's okay. You - We got 'em all."

His head lolled before I could finish. He passed out - whether from his almost drowning or from sheer exhaustion, I couldn't tell. I hugged him tight to my chest and pressed my chin against the crown of his wet hair. "Thank God." I stripped him of his vest and hurriedly undid the laces of his boots, hoping to get as many saturated items off before he caught pneumonia. Evening was falling around us, which would only bring lower temperatures and more threats now that we were weakened and had nothing to warn us about another attack.

I sniffed back the tears, stopping myself from crying no matter how bad the burning at the back of my eyes got. Swaddling him with my arms, I pressed my legs against his sides, pushing as much of my own body heat into his body as I could. "Thank God. Thank God."

I don't know what I would've done if I lost you too.