Reluctantly, she went into the kitchen and began to rummage through the cupboards. There wasn't much, but she did find a tin of coffee, some cans of broth, bottled water and tuna. The broth would be good for Daryl if they could warm it, and Daddy would love to have coffee. In the back of the cupboard she even found a few herbal tea bags for herself. Mice had gotten into anything in a cardboard box, and she frightened one small mouse who was nesting in the breadbox. So she gathered all the empty cereal and cracker boxes to use for tinder.

"What the fuck?"

Beth dropped the cardboard she had been collecting when she heard Daryl's sudden exclamation. She was only feet from the living room door and was by his side in seconds. She found him struggling with the tangle of blankets they had wrapped around him, disoriented and wild eyed.

"What the fuck is going on," he snapped at her, continuing to fight to sit up even as she pressed her his shoulders back down on to the floor.

"Daryl, no, stop fighting. You need to stay quiet."

"No," he hissed back pushing against her.

"Daryl," she said sharply, as she tried to pin his shoulders to the ground. "Look at me. It's Beth. Please." The struggle would have been one sided had Daryl been fully aware of what he was doing. As it was, Beth had a hard time keeping him still and ended up with her body thrown across his as she attempted to keep him down. Finally she took his head in both her hands and made him look at her face. "It's me. Beth."

Slowly Daryl subsided as he attempted to focus on her face. "What the hell."

Beth relaxed her grip, not wanting to agitate him more than he already was. "You crashed your bike on the ice. Hit your head." She spoke in short, breathless sentences.

She felt a shiver run through him, then he gathered the blankets around himself as though he realized he was naked. There was a wild confused look on his face as he pulled away from her.

"Daryl, it's just me Beth."

It's like talking to a stone, Beth thought. She held up both hands in a calming gesture. "You need to lay back down and try to stay calm."

Daryl closed his eyes his face pale, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the cold. He opened his eyes moments before he rolled to his side and retched violently. He continued to heave even though there was little in his stomach to vomit. Beth felt completely helpless so she did the only thing she could think of and gently rubbed his shoulders through the blanket still wrapped around him. He lay on his side, propped on one elbow, head hanging abjectly, both hands clenched into white knuckled fists. Even without words, Beth knew he was in pain.

"Daryl," she said encouragingly, "Daddy needs to figure out how badly you got hurt. You need to tell us where it hurts."

Daryl jerked away from her touch. "Ain't nothin'." He said through gritted teeth.

Beth knew he was lying. She also knew that hiding the pain was not going to help. Before she could say another word, she heard the front door open and a few minutes later, the clump of firewood being set on the entry way floor. She jumped up to find her father pushing the cedar chest from the bedroom in front of the door.

"Daryl's conscious," she said quickly, moving to her father's side. Ice crusted his hair and had frozen on is beard and for one crazy second her dad reminded her of Santa Clause.

"Good," said her dad, moving towards the living room. Daryl remained as Beth had left him, on his side half curled into a ball. "Any other changes in our patient?" Hershel asked.

"He was nauseated. But just dry heaves."

"Good Job, Bethy," he said approvingly, before kneeling next to Daryl.

"I think he may be in pain," Beth added.

"Would be surprised if he wasn't," Hershel said.

"I ain't dead," Daryl said gruffly. "Can hear what you're saying."

"Good," said Hershel, "then you can tell me what hurts. I need to look at the bruising on your back. I think you may have damaged a kidney and possibly your ribs."

Hershel turned to his daughter. "See if you can find a small clear glass container of any sort in the kitchen."

Beth nodded and did as asked returning in a few moments with a small mason jar.

"Now," said Hershel to Daryl, "I'm going to palpate your back. You need to tell me where the pain is."

Daryl reluctantly allowed Hershel to pull the blankets from his shoulders, but he hung his head and turned away from both of them. As gently as possible Hershel probed the area around the bruise. Beth heard Daryl's breath hiss as Hershel hit particularly tender spot. Hershel shook his head. "Do you still feel nauseous?"

Daryl nodded.

"I believe you have bruised your kidney as well as cracked at least one rib. The most severe pain may be due to bleeding in that kidney causing pressure. I'll need to collect a urine sample to determine if you are passing any blood."

"Ain't pissin' in no bottle," Daryl said though tightly clenched teeth.

"Yes. You are," Hershel said with equal firmness. "And I have the bottle you're pissin' into." He handed Daryl the jar Beth had brought from the kitchen.

"Gonna need a bigger jar."

"There is a bathroom off the hallway. As soon as you are able I'll help you get there. Beth found dry clothes for all of us. If you feel up to it you can dress. You need to keep as warm as possible. "

Daryl didn't answer but Beth thought she saw the barest nod of his head. He pushed himself to a sitting position. Beth was glad to see that the bluish cast was gone from his lips and his skin had lost the ghastly pallor from half an hour ago. He was definitely warmer. "Let's get this over with." he said.

Hershel helped Daryl to his feet, steadying the younger man when he suddenly grew pale and began to sway. After a few seconds they made their way into the hallway and across to the bathroom. Beth turned her back not wanting to make Daryl any more uncomfortable.

Grabbing several pieces of the drier wood from the entryway, she hurried back to the living room. She opened the wood stove door. Carefully she piled in the dry paper she had found, followed by the slivers of wood her father had thought to split off one of the pieces of firewood, added the larger split logs and carefully lit the pile.. She breathed on the flames encouraging them to grow and did not close the door until the tinder and kindling was ablaze. By that time her father and Daryl had entered the room, both wearing the dry, if ill-fitting clothing she had laid out for them. Hershel helped Daryl to the sofa and when he was settled covered him with the blankets he had been wrapped in. By the time he was finished the heat from the little wood stove had begun to cut the chill in the room. Beth knew it would not take long to dispel the cold from the small living room, and for the first time since Daryl's accident she felt herself begin to relax. She could feel her cheeks flush with the heat and it felt so good.

Her stomach chose that precise time to growl loudly. Both her dad and Daryl looked at her and this time her cheeks reddened again, but not from the heat.

"Come with me," Hershel said softly, a slight smile on his face. Beth followed him out into the entranceway. "Help me move this," he said indicating the cedar chest he had pushed against the door.

"You're not going out again," Beth said. "We have enough wood to last through the night and more."

"I'm not going far." Hershel pulled his damp jacket back on and winked at her. "You just keep an eye out for any walkers sneaking out of the woods.

Beth knew there was no arguing with her father. She stood in the doorway scanning the yard and trees, hand on the grip of Daryl's knife, which she had not yet returned. She tried not to look at the body of the walker she had killed. It didn't matter how many of them she had seen die, or how gruesome their appearance, part of her still remembered that once they had all been people with lives and families. Some of them had been her mom, and her brother. She quickly blanked those thoughts from her mind. That was the past and it was not coming back. She still had her dad and her sister and her new family. The cold had begun to seep through her clothing again and she silently urged he father to hurry. No sooner had she made her silent wish, she heard movement from the corner of the house and she raised the knife to shoulder level prepared to strike if needed. A sigh of relief escaped her as her dad rounded the corner of the house, a sack over his back, ice once again beginning to crust his hair and beard and for the second time she thought how much he reminded her of Santa Claus.

Hershel's face wore a broad grin as he climbed the steps and shoed her inside with a wave of his free hand.

Beth did not relax until they were both inside and the cedar chest was once again braced against the door. Her dad finally spoke as he shook the ice out of his coat and hung it over the doorknob to dry. "I heard your stomach, Bethy. It's been a long day and we're all hungry."

"I found some food in the kitchen," Beth said quickly. In their rush to start a fire and tend to Daryl, she hadn't gotten to tell her father. "Bottled water, canned broth – that will be good for Daryl if he can keep it down - coffee for you, some canned tuna, and tea."

"That's wonderful," Hershel said grinning. "Combined with this we can have a regular feast." Bending over he emptied the sack. Inside was a pumpkin, bright orange and crusted with ice, carrots, beets, and a few potatoes. "The old man had a garden out back. It was pretty overgrown, but he must have died before he got to harvest much of it."

"Oh, daddy, this is wonderful." Maybe her dad really was Santa she thought as she helped him carry his treasure into the kitchen.

The small wood stove had warmed the living room and the heat had begun to spread to the other rooms as well. It wouldn't heat the entire house completely, but the living room and kitchen were all they really needed. Beth glanced in Daryl's direction as they passed through the living room. His eyes were closed and for a second she thought he was unconscious again, then she realized he was asleep, basked in the heat from the stove. There was a rosy flush on his cheeks which looked much healthier than the bluish pallor that it replaced. Hershel nodded to her that all was well with their patient and they both went to work in the kitchen. Soon they had a roasting pan full of vegetables on top of the stove and the smell was wonderful even if it was just beets, and carrots and pumpkin.

"How long do you think we'll be able to stay here?" Beth finally asked her father.

"I hope for at least 48 hours," Hershel replied. "I'd like Daryl to rest at least that long."

"We're never going to catch up to Rick and the others." It was not something Beth wanted to discuss, but it had been on her mind since they had gotten separated. "And the herds we saw. If they're moving the way Rick thought they were." She didn't want to finish that possibility. The thought of being permanently separated from the rest of the group scared her more than she wanted to think. She didn't know if three people alone out here could survive. Even if one of those people was Daryl Dixon.

"Nothing we can do about that now. So there's no sense worrying about it, Hershel said calmly.

But Beth could see that her father was concerned too. The herds seemed to be getting larger, and if Rick's guess was right, and they usually were, the groups they had been keeping track of were going to merge, and this farmhouse was too close. That was why they had been trying to leave this area.

She felt her father's hand on her shoulder and she looked up into his eyes. "I said no worrying and I meant it. We'll worry when Daryl is fit to travel. For now we need to sit tight and I think this is as good a place as any."

Beth nodded, lifting her chin and trying her best to stay calm.

"Besides," her father continued. "Looks like these vegetables are hot and ready to eat."

"Good, cuz I'm starved."

Beth looked up to where Daryl lay on the sofa and grinned. "You're awake," she said, stating the obvious.

"Pretty much. You said there was food?"

Beth jumped to her feet, grabbed a cup from the kitchen and ladled some warm broth into it, holding it out to Daryl. He wrinkled his nose.

"Said I was hungry not thirsty," he complained.

"Well complaining is a good sign," Hershel said getting to his feet and walking over to where Daryl sat, still wrapped in blankets. He quickly examined the wound on his head, checked his eyes to make sure they were properly dilated, then took the younger man's wrist to check his pulse with one hand while laying the other on Daryl's forehead to check his temperature. Daryl tried to pull away, but Hershel was not going to be defied, "You took a hard knock to the head, and were pretty nauseous earlier," Hershel said firmly. "Broth first. If it stays down. You'll get more."

Daryl grunted, but took the cup Beth offered, cradling it in his hands, savoring the heat and the smell before sipping at the hot liquid. He shrugged and grunted again. "Pretty good for vegetable juice," he said as he sipped again. Beth smiled then turned to ladle the hot vegetable stew into plates for herself and her father.

~oOo~

Nothing like a belly full of food and the toasty warmth of a good fire to make a person drowsy. They had all eaten their full and there was enough stew for tomorrow, carefully covered and placed in the room farthest from the fire where it would remain cool. Hershel had settled into the armchair in the living room, pushing himself backwards until the foot rest had risen and he reclined almost flat. There was a rosy glow on his cheeks and he sighed contentedly, visibly relaxed. Beth was glad he was resting, but would be happier if he were sleeping. He had worked hard in the sharp cold and rest would do him good. Daryl had finally settled, protesting that he didn't need to be fussed over, but Beth let him know that it wasn't fussing, it was doctor's orders. She was glad to see that his color had returned to normal. He still moved as though he were stiff and bruised, but the nausea had passed

Beth yawned and stretched, then gathered the dishes they had used and took them to the kitchen. She did her best to wipe them clean without wasting any of their precious water. Daddy said there was a hand pump outside. In the morning she planned on seeing if the well it was set in was still good. Because she knew it was something Daryl would do were he feeling better, she made a circuit of the house checking the doors and all of the windows making sure they were all secure and completely covered before returning to the living room. There was a shelf of books along one end of the room and she studied the titles. Most were non-fiction, references and how-too books. But there was a small selection of fiction, several romance novels, mysteries, one or two fantasy. Tucked in between the romances and the mysteries was a paper copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Beth remembered Maggie reading this the summer after her first year of college. Maggie told her she was too little for the book the, but she remembered how much Maggie laughed as she had read the story. Taking her find back close to the wood stove, she tossed a blanket and pillow on the floor and settled cross-legged where she could keep an eye on both her father and Daryl.

"What did you find to read, Bethy?" Hershel asked, his voice sluggish as though he were already half asleep.

Beth held up the novel for her dad to see. "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," Beth answered.

"Why don't you read out loud a bit?"

Beth hesitated. Glancing a Daryl to see how he had reacted to the request. "I don't want to bother you." She said hesitantly,

"Pretty good book I hear." Daryl said quietly.

Beth shrugged, opened the worn paper cover, the pages were beginning to yellow a bit and the edges were dog-eared from use. She began to read. "Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun. "

~oOo~

Hershel leaned back into the worn cushions of the recliner, more tired than he wanted to admit to himself or his daughter. Every bone in his body ached in tune with the deteriorating weather. The whistle of the wind and the splatter of ice against the window panes, a chilling backdrop to the softness of Beth's voice as she read. When the day had been most difficult, he had done his best to hide his concerns from Beth but he feared she was dealing with the same concerns. Being separated from Rick and the rest of the group was his worst nightmare come true. They had shelter, for now, but it could prove to be most tenuous. Forcing the negative thoughts from his mind, Hershel willed himself to relax. This might be the last time for a long while that they had any modicum of security and they should all take time to rest. Even if only for this one evening. Watching Beth as she read out loud, Hershel could not be more proud of his youngest daughter. Weeks ago, when they had first been forced off the farm she had been a terrified teenager, unskilled and, he had to admit, a liability to the group. He had urged her to learn from Rick and his people. She had taken his words to heart and had proven herself more than once today. She was strong. She was a survivor.

Daryl made a comment Hershel could not hear, but Beth laughed shyly at his words. It must have been something about the book she was reading. Hershel never wanted his children to fear for him. He knew they did. He knew why. He was an old man in a world that would not be kind to old men. His chances for surviving long term without permanent sanctuary were slim. His greatest hope before that inevitable time came, was that Beth would find someone who would be as loyal to her as Glenn was to her sister Maggie. But then, he thought, maybe she had. He had watched Daryl Dixon watching his daughter as she read and there was the hint of something in Daryl's expression when he thought no one was looking. Something that had not been there before. Call it curiosity for now, but Hershel sensed a growing respect as well. Hershel knew Beth was not ready for Daryl Dixon yet. But if he had to pick a man out of this group of survivors to protect his little girl Daryl would be that man. Daryl did not give himself a lot of credit, but Hershel knew he had a good heart buried inside his tough exterior. He had been a survivor all his life. He was going to beat this world if anyone could.

Beth giggled again, and Hershel smiled. It was good to hear his youngest laugh. Closing his eyes he settled into the comfortably worn cushions of the armchair and listened to her soft, melodic voice, not really hearing the words she spoke. And let his mind drift.

~oOo~

Before she reached the end of the first chapter, Beth could hear her father snoring gently. By the end of the second chapter, Daryl had stopped making comments and his breathing had slowed into the gentle rhythm of sleep. Closing the book, Beth rose to her feet, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. She went into the kitchen and picked up the long butcher knife she had used earlier to chop up the pumpkin for their dinner hefting it experimentally in her hand. Until this afternoon, she had been afraid of getting close enough to a walker to use a knife on one. She had preferred the long pike that let her stay well away from their gnashing teeth and tearing claw like hands. The butcher knife was not as well balanced as Daryl's hunting knife, but it would do until she found one more suited to her grip.

Once again she made a circuit of the house, checking every window and the back door before settling on the trunk they had moved against the front door. Beth peeked through the narrow crack in the boards covering the window next to the door. She could feel the cold seeping through the single paned glass. The only window not covered by a glaze of ice was this one looking out onto the front porch. The ice had finally stopped falling and the clouds had parted. In the pale wash of moonlight through the broken clouds, the world outside was literally frozen in place. There was no wind and the tall grass in the yard as well as the trees and shrubs along its edges were crusted with a glaze of ice. The world so hushed it seemed a surreal fantasy kingdom, all crystal and shadow. She imagined how the morning sunlight's glorious rays would play along the icy branches dancing in rainbow spectrums, as ethereal as a dream. Nothing disturbed the magical silence. She scanned the tree line watching for any hint of movement but saw nothing. Maybe Daddy was right about them, she thought. Hershel had theorized that the cold blooded walkers might react to the freezing weather in much the same any reptile might, by slowing down and becoming sluggish. They certainly were drawn to fire, but that might only be the light and movement.

She should sleep, but she felt compelled to stand guard. There was really only one way walkers could threaten them and that was if they massed against the front door. As long as they kept the front door clear they should be safe. Settling with her back against the wall, she watched.

~oOo~

The clatter of tin cans against tin brought Hershel bolt upright in his chair, wide awake and reaching for the shotgun beside him. Daryl was two steps ahead of him, knife in hand as he rushed out into the entryway. Beth stood in front of the doorway her left hand extended backward warning them both to silence while in her right hand she gripped the kitchen butcher knife. Both the men froze in their tracks, weapons ready, waiting for the sound to repeat itself. But instead of the sound of their makeshift alarm they heard a fist striking the wooden door in a sharp rapid pounding. A few seconds later the knocking repeated. Cautiously Daryl stepped around Beth to peak through the boards covering the window.

"Shit, it's Rick!" he said.

Daryl shoved the trunk away from the door and pulled the door open. Rick stood, gun at ready. Glenn was a few feet behind him scanning the edge of the woods for walkers.

"Daryl!" Rick holstered his weapon and clapped Daryl on the shoulder. "You're alive man! We found your bike and thought we'd lost you. Hershel and Beth?"

"Both here," Daryl said, stepping aside to allow Rick to enter. Rick's grin broadened as he saw Hershel and Beth.

"Maggie and Glenn?" Hershel asked.

"Waiting for a signal. Everyone is okay. What happened? We thought the worst when we found Daryl's bike, but couldn't find you or the truck." Rick nodded to Glenn who took off down the driveway to gather the others.

"Long story," Daryl commented.

"Well, I'm just glad we found you. We never made it to Darlington. The herds have shifted. Forced us back in this direction. The cold seem to have slowed them down some. Looks like you done good here," Rick said to Daryl.

Daryl looked to the floor, then looked up at Beth and her father. "Weren't me," he said. "I was pretty much out on my ass most of the time. Was Beth done the saving this time."

Rick raised an eyebrow, and Hershel could tell he was anxious for more details. "Beth did kill a walker to save Daryl," Hershel said proudly. He could see his daughter blushing and he laughed. "But you need to get everyone in out of the cold. We have food to share, and stories."

~oOo~

Beth stood aside as the rest of their family entered a few minutes later. Maggie was deliriously happy to see her and their father, hugging them both until Beth thought she would be squeezed to death. Once the door was again secured everyone started talking at once, asking questions. They were all cold and hungry and soon the leftover stew was bubbling on the wood stove. Hershel ordered Daryl off his feet and back on the couch and got little argument from him. Beth could see the color slowly leeching from Daryl's complexion and new he was still in some pain. After he was settled once more, Beth found herself stifling a yawn. It had been a long 24 hours. Grabbing her blanket, she sunk into the worn recliner aware of how truly tired she was. As she drifted off to sleep she could her father telling Rick about their exploits and she smiled. Her daddy was bragging.

end