A/N: Another fairly short chapter for you all. I have to cut it off where it feels right. I hope you enjoy it! Seems we're getting closer to some answers here.
Beth stirred as a droplet of water landed precisely in the center of her forehead. She frowned, eyes still closed, and waved a hand, ushering away the disturbance. Then it happened again. And again. Bright blue eyes popped open and as Beth sat up, the rain dripped down her face. "Ugh," she muttered, wiping it away. Then she looked up wistfully, hoping that a few drops might, by chance, land in her dry mouth. She'd run out of water the day before and hadn't been able to find another source. Nothing but damp branches, their bark dyed almost black, stared back at her. She stretched, even her young bones feeling stiff from sleeping against a tree trunk. At least there were no signs that she'd been disturbed during the night. All of the empty cans strung around her were exactly as she'd left them, and besides, she would have woken at the sound of their rattling if something – or someone – had approached her.
It had been three days since Beth fled the cul-de-sac. She was as cautious as cautious could be, trying to channel the old, never-took-a-risk, sheltered version of herself. Before the outbreak. Before the prison. Before her father. Finding the remains of that fire had spooked her, and she feared that the signs she hoped were from Daryl were really from…whoever else was out there. She'd gotten so used to it being just them, just her and Daryl and Rick and Maggie and everyone. No strangers, all safety. Apparently, those days were gone now. A tear trickled down her cheek and she angrily wiped it away. Drawing in a deep breath, Beth gathered up her supplies, including the string of cans, and pressed on. To where, she knew not.
When it was getting close to dusk, the sky darkening and the air cooling around her, Beth scouted out a good place for her to camp out for the night. She was never certain of which direction she was moving in, but so far she hadn't come across the same place twice, so she hoped she wasn't going in Sisyphean circles. As she was unpacking her bag, resigning herself to a half-empty bag of chips for dinner, a distinctly human sound reached her ears. Her head snapped up. Someone was talking.
Knocking a hand into her ear a few times, just to be sure she wasn't hallucinating, Beth listened harder. Definitely human. Definitely speech. Almost definitely not her group. She stuffed what little she had unpacked back into her bag and clambered up a low-branched tree, thanking God she'd been a tomboy as a kid. It was somewhere around early November, so the bare branches did little to hide her presence. She could only hope that whoever was approaching didn't look up. She found herself hoping for a lot of near-impossible things these days.
"This seems like a good place to set up," were the first intelligible words she could distinguish. It was a low, gruff voice. Several footsteps followed.
"I wish we could fix that dang car," another voice whined. Beth held herself as still as she could, hardly daring to breathe.
"If wishes were horses…" someone else chuckled. "It was leaking oil for weeks, Brother, how long could you expect to keep it goin' without a decent mechanic?" The group continued to murmur about the broken-down car while Beth's heart sank into her toes at the realization of who these people were. On some level she'd known as soon as she'd found the fire, but she'd hoped for the best: maybe another group like hers, good people in a bad situation, but no. These were the people who'd taken Michonne and Carol. She was sure of it. As this passed through her head, Beth nearly fell out of the tree at the sight of the very women she'd been thinking about. She clamped her lips shut just in time to silence a gasp and steadied herself on a branch, her stinging, scraped-up palms notwithstanding.
Both women walked with heads bowed, Michonne's hands bound behind her back. The warrior was limping and Beth winced in sympathy; her twisted ankle had never gotten the chance to heal. Carol was unrestricted but looked like she'd had the spirit knocked right out of her. Beth noticed a dirty bandage wrapped around one forearm and bit her lip. At least they're alive, she thought, longing to call out to them. For a moment, Beth considered drawing attention to herself to distract these ominous-looking men, to give Carol and Michonne a precious opportunity to get away. They were far more valuable to the group than she was. She took several silent deep breaths, but just as she was about to whistle – intending for all those below to look up and notice her – Michonne happened to glance skyward.
The warrior's eyes widened, but she gave no other sign that she'd spotted her. The older woman simply retrained her gaze on the leaf-coated ground. It happened so quickly that Beth immediately doubted that it had happened at all. She was still feeling ill and it could be a hallucination; in fact, she could very well still be lying on the couch in a house surrounded by walkers at this very moment. But before she could slide too deep into the rabbit hole, Michonne glanced up again and locked eyes with her, squinting slightly with a barely perceptible shake of her head. Silent message received: Stay there. Don't move. Beth nodded and held on tight.
As the evening pressed on, the men below built a fire – rather poorly, Beth thought – and feasted on cans of baked beans, the scent wafting up temptingly to her nose. Neither Michonne nor Carol was offered any food. With little else to do, Beth made herself as comfortable as she could, perched precariously in the tree as she was, and listened to the men talk.
"How far do you think we'll be able to get tomorrow, Brother?" the whiny one who complained about the car earlier asked. Beth watched the tallest man in the group, who had a thick beard covering most of his face, shrug a shoulder.
"Can't be sure, 'specially if this weather keeps actin' up, but if nothing holds us back…not too long." Here he turned his head toward a third individual in the group, who had the good sense to lower his gaze in what Beth thought was probably shame. He must have caused some kind of obstacle. "And if we don't have any run-ins with biters," the bearded man added, still staring. "Lord knows we lost our protection." Beth tilted her head quizzically. What protection? Guns? No, she could clearly see revolvers strapped to several of the men's sides. They must have some other form of defense against the walkers.
"We can always keep 'em, Jackson," someone suggested timidly. "Like the others."
"That worked once, ain't sure it's gonna work again…" Here the man called Jackson gave another pointed look to a now-cowering individual. Beth almost felt bad for him. Almost. "We'll see," Jackson muttered eventually. Soon after, the men began to unpack and settle in for the night, rolling out sleeping mats and blankets.
"Keep the fire burnin'!" someone announced, far too loudly, in Beth's opinion. "We wanna stay warm." Beth almost snorted. They were all going to sleep at the same time around a fire? This wasn't Girl Scout camp. They clearly had no idea how to defend themselves. How had they managed to kidnap Carol and Michonne? Dumb luck and the element of surprise, she supposed.
Beth settled in too, as best she could, anyway. She didn't plan on sleeping much, too wary of how easy it would be to fall out of the tree in her unconscious state. The sight of Michonne and Carol alive, if not entirely unharmed, was a comfort, but she couldn't help wishing she had run into Daryl instead. Her heart ached as she thought about him – everything they'd both lost over the years, and now it seemed they'd lost each other. She had to keep herself convinced that Daryl was fine, most likely looking for her, and thinking of her too. Maybe even at that very moment. Wrapping one arm around a branch to secure herself, Beth stared at the stars through the filmy clouds above and wondered if Daryl was looking at them too.