A/N: From the results of the poll and comments, it seems like most people want to see what's going on with the other characters for a bit. And I say, give the people what they want! This chapter will be split into two. Here is part one.
"She's sick," Mika said grimly, pressing a cool cloth to the older girl's forehead. "I knew she looked way paler than usual."
"What do we do?" Judith asked, her tiny brows knitted in worry. She often felt much older than her five years, more mature, like her big brother told her sometimes. But right now, all she wanted was her daddy. He could fix this. She couldn't.
"Beth? Beth?" Mika shook her shoulder gently and stared at the girl's face. "I think she's totally unconscious." Judith burst into tears and Mika got down on her knees so she was on her level. "No, don't cry, Judith," she said in soothing tones. "She'll be all right. I promise. She's just sleeping. We need to get Daryl, though. He'll know what to do." Judith nodded and Mika wiped the tears from the little girl's face with her fingers. "C'mon, let's go."
All was calm and quiet as the girls headed out in search of Daryl. Both had been taught basic tracking, and Carol had continued her self-defense lessons (with Rick's blessing) after they'd settled in the cul-de-sac. Mika felt all of her knowledge flying out of her head, though. She knew it was a very bad sign that Beth had apparently lost consciousness. Sure, there was every chance the older girl could be perfectly fine, but Mika had a sinking feeling when she thought about what they'd find upon their return to the cottage. Would Beth still be alive, or would some awful creature have already taken her place? She confessed none of her fears to Judith, however. The little girl shouldn't have to bear the burden of Mika's trepidation.
She gripped the tiny brunette's hand as they headed into the forest, looking for clues that Daryl had recently come through the area. Luckily, the man thought ahead and had left subtle signs of the direction he'd gone, his careful planning ensuring that the girls would be able to find him if something happened to Beth. A stick was broken in two here and there, or a bright red clump of berries caught their eyes, or a torn-off piece of bark jutted out from a tree. Mika concentrated hard, zeroing in on every tree trunk, each foot of forest floor, so she wouldn't miss anything. "This way," she occasionally muttered, and Judith would follow, all of her trust put in this girl who was only ten years older than her. Once, she tripped, but managed not to cry out or whine about the scrape on her knee. She'd been taught from the very beginning that noise could get you hurt.
"Stop," Mika whispered after about a half an hour of trailing. She held up a hand and cocked her head. "You hear that?" Judith shook her head, but Mika could just barely make out the rumbling sounds of voices. "I bet Daryl found everybody else," she said excitedly, smiling at the younger girl. "Come on, we have to find them." As they drew closer to the source of the voices, Judith started to hear them too, and the two girls soon could make out every word that was said, plain as day.
"Why can't we just kill them?" were the first words they heard properly. Mika grabbed Judith and hauled both herself and the girl behind a wide tree trunk, clapping a hand over Judith's mouth.
"You know why, Brother," someone else, someone with a very deep voice, said. "We need them."
"Yeah," the more nasal voice said reluctantly. "The black one's a fighter, though." Michonne? Mika asked silently. "The lesbian's just quiet." Mika cocked her head again. Who was he talking about now? Carol?
"I'm not a lesbian," a woman said flatly. Judith jerked in Mika's arms, her eyes widening at the sound of her Aunt Carol's voice, but Mika held fast, waiting. The voices sounded like they were headed in their direction. She didn't want to think about what would happen if they were discovered. A clump of yellow wildflowers growing at the base of the tree in front of them caught her eye, and she stared at them as she tried to steady her breathing. The slightest sound could give them away. Luckily, Judith was a smart cookie, and followed her cue. Mika hardly dared to move her gaze to the group trudging through the forest, just a few meters from where they stood.
Two men led Carol and Michonne, whose hands were bound behind them with twine. Michonne had a handkerchief stuffed in her mouth. Carol just looked irritated. The men were both tall and lanky, one with a heavy beard and one without. They wore all black clothing, though it was faded and dingy from years of use, and black hats. They each also carried a revolver.
"What is our purpose, Brother?" the bearded man asked as they walked along. His was the deeper voice.
"To survive," the other recited as if from memory. The bearded man nodded, and they fell silent.
Mika didn't dare breathe until the group had moved a far enough distance away that they could no longer be heard. Glancing down at Judith, she hurriedly removed her hand from her mouth.
"Sorry."
"Who were they?" Judith asked, wiping at her face.
Mika shrugged. "I don't know. Nobody good." She rubbed her hands up and down her own arms. She was trembling and the fine hairs on her skin stood on end. "We have to keep looking," Mika said, taking Judith's hand again. At least those men hadn't gotten Daryl and the others.
Daryl held tight to the crossbow slung across his back, ready to aim, shoot, and fire at a moment's notice. His blood ran cold and his mouth was dry.
He'd reached the others with ease. They'd left pretty obvious clues to their whereabouts. Beth was in the back of his mind the entire time he'd tracked the group's path. What if she was sicker than he realized? What if something terrible happened in the small amount of time he was gone? What if someone else found Mika, Judith, and Beth? He loved those girls like he never imagined he could have loved anyone – in different ways, of course. Beth was his, but Mika and Judith were as close to daughters as he thought he'd ever get.
Like his worst nightmares were coming true, only moments after he'd reunited with Rick, Carl, Maggie, Glenn, and the others, they'd had to throw themselves flat to the ground and collectively hold their breath. A group of black-clad men in hats walked single-file only yards away from them. It was a miracle they hadn't been spotted. Daryl's blue gaze followed the men as they trailed through the forest, calm as could be, as if they were taking a stroll through the park on a Sunday afternoon after church. His puzzled expression quickly gave way to one of utter revulsion as a whole troupe of walkers staggered their way into view. The group of men was leading them by ropes, as Michonne once had, only Daryl didn't think they were doing it for protection. All of the walkers were intact (well, as intact as any walker was) – their jaws still attached, their arms still reaching ahead, stretching to snatch at the living flesh before them. Daryl could do nothing but hang onto his bow and pray that they couldn't smell him. He knew the walkers' vision was poor as piss, but their sense of smell was decent, and they could hear better than your average human too. His skin crawled as the creatures passed them by, growling and snarling as they went. Moving only his eyes, Daryl glanced over at Rick, who was only inches away. Rick held his gaze steadily, passing a silent message between them. These men were to be feared.
Daryl's pulse sped up as he watched the ragtag group turn slightly and head in the direction of the cul-de-sac. No! he thought, certain that his presence would be given away by his impossibly loud heartbeat. He could feel it in his ears. Jaw clenched, he glanced at Rick again, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. Daryl squeezed his eyes closed and concentrated on staying still, even though all he wanted to do at that moment was leap up and shoot down every last one of them, man and walker alike. He'd never had a panic attack before – closest he ever got was when he'd had to take down his brother – but his chest felt like it would burst and his breath was coming in short gasps. They were headed for Beth. He'd left her unprotected. He already had Sophia on his conscience. He could not be responsible for Beth's demise, too. He'd sooner sacrifice himself and what little he had to offer.
"Well, ain't this a nice little home-sweet-home," drawled one of the men with Carol and Michonne as they approached the cul-de-sac. "Aww, cute." He bent his head slightly to look in one of Rick's windows. "Oh, look, they even have a garden," he almost cooed, making Carol's skin crawl. "Russell, grab me some of them veggies, would ya?" He bent his head to Carol's ear conspiratorially. "I do so love early-winter vegetables." Carol just stared at him steadily. Her wrists were wrapped behind her with rough twine that chafed whenever she moved. Otherwise, Jackson – the tall bearded man – hadn't seen fit to bind her or gag her. Michonne hadn't been so lucky. Carol resisted exchanging glances with her friend; she didn't want the Survivors to think they had any special connection; she wanted to appear invincible.
The Survivors – that's what this group called themselves. They claimed to be a group just like any other in this world, just like Rick's group, but there were stark differences. We don't wear matching clothes, Carol thought. We don't kidnap women. We don't keep the walkers we find. The two women had been horrified to find that the Survivors traveled with walkers. It was the first thing they'd noticed when they stumbled up to the camp. Carol and Michonne had been on an innocent early-morning stroll when a beat-up car screeched alongside them and they were hauled violently into the trunk. Michonne was pissed off because she'd dropped her katana. Of course, the Survivors had relieved them of all weaponry, so she would have lost it anyway, but Michonne without her katana was like Daryl without his crossbow – it just wasn't right. Carol felt naked too, without her knife. She hated feeling vulnerable. It reminded her too much of Ed.
Carol snapped out of her thoughts as Jackson spoke again. "Let's just see if we can't find anythin' useful in here, shall we?" He tugged Carol toward the back of Rick's house. Please let everybody be gone, she prayed. The camp looked abandoned, and she knew that usually meant one of two things: the group had gotten spooked by something and was traveling, or…she didn't want to think about the alternative. Didn't want to imagine a Daryl-shaped walker or a Maggie with blood streaked across her face, a Rick with half his torso torn off. She squeezed her eyes shut to try and banish the image.
Jackson wrapped his hand in a kerchief and easily smashed the back room window, brushing away the glass like it was sand. "Well, that was easy, wasn't it?" he smirked. Carol hated him. She hated him so much.
"Walkers loose!" a panicked voice called from the middle of the cul-de-sac. Jackson rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Incompetent fools," he said under his breath. Carol turned around to see two walkers stumbling their way to the window. The noise of the glass breaking must have drawn them. "Ah, shit," Jackson muttered. He tugged her through the next door right as the walkers reached the broken window, crashing into the side of the house and using the momentum to launch themselves into the back room. Jackson slammed the door shut just in time, locking it behind him. He started to move further into the house, but Carol stopped him.
"Wait," she said. "Uh…with my group, we always marked the door when a walker was locked inside. It was for safety." Jackson raised a skeptical eyebrow and she was quick to add, "But it could work for you – us too." She loathed grouping herself together with these men, but it was for safety's sake. "We don't have time to grab them right now, but if we mark the door, we'll remember they're back there and get them before we leave. You don't want to lose two, do you?" She waited nervously. Eventually Jackson nodded.
"Good thinkin', missy. Tell you what – you can even do it yourself." He reached behind her and cut through her bindings with his pocketknife. "Ah, ah, ah. I'll be right here watching. Don't you go nowhere." He winked at her and Carol felt another wave of revulsion wash over her.
"What about paint," she asked flatly.
Jackson shrugged. "Don't see none around here, and you say we can't go into the house until we mark the door, so…" He smirked again. "Want me to help you out?" He raised the pocketknife and mimed scraping it across her arm. Carol sniffed. What did she have to lose? She held out her arm obediently. She'd thought about doing this herself a million times. The pain wasn't so bad. It was messy, though. Her instinct was to stem the flow, but she needed it to write. She breathed evenly and slowly, willing herself not to pass out as she formed letters on the door.
"Good," Jackson said with satisfaction when she was done. "Here." He threw his handkerchief at her. "I'm pretty sure there's no glass in there still." Carol didn't care. She snatched it and wrapped it around her arm as tightly as she could stand. The instinct to survive was stronger than the will to die.
Someone called Jackson's name from outside. "We'd best get going. Let's take a quick look around first, though, huh?" He seemed to sense that Carol didn't want him to explore the rest of the house, and relished the idea of going against her wishes.
He tugged her – injured arm first – through to the living room. Carol's heart sank when she saw a thin form wrapped in blankets on the sofa.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" Jackson grinned. He started to lean toward Beth, who was clearly just sleeping – clearly to Carol, anyway.
"No!" she jumped in. "That's – that's how we wrap up the people who get bit. After we shoot them." She held Jackson's stare, willing herself not to blink.
"Oh?" he said, glancing at Beth, who mercifully hadn't shifted in her sleep – Is she unconscious? Carol wondered – then back to Carol. She nodded.
"No use investigating. She's done for. Wasn't much use to us, anyhow." After an agonizing pause that seemed to last hours, Jackson nodded and led the way to the front door, back out to the rest of his group. Although she wasn't a religious woman, Carol said a quick prayer for Beth as she shut the door behind them.