It wasn't as if everyone had disappeared at once. For a while after Beth had escaped she attempted to use her paltry tracking skills to try to find Michonne. She could still remember the two men, exactly what they had looked like, standing outside an abandoned hardware store. Beth had kept to the shadows and ducked behind a totaled car, waiting for them to leave, hoping to find some sort of weapon - knowing it was probably useless.
"What a crazy bitch," said the shorter of the two. He adjusted his red baseball cap and kept an eye down the road. Were the two standing guard? It was Beth's best guess. She silently cursed herself, hoping they hadn't already taken everything worth stealing.
"Walking them around like pets," said the other man, laughing harshly. "Biters! Seriously. Who does that?"
Beth's ears had perked up immediately. Her heart said Michonne, but she knew it could be any of the women, really. Every member of the group adopted the somewhat unsavory protection method at one time or another. While hard to stomach, it had gotten them out of some pretty sticky situations and they all had Michonne to thank for it.
"Did you see her take them out? Must've been at least ten of them. That sword, man!" the guy groaned dramatically. "If she wasn't scarier than your mom I would've taken it from her."
Beth almost laughed. Definitely Michonne! Immediately she wanted to jump out from behind the car. She wanted to ask them WHERE? WHERE DID YOU SEE HER? but Beth didn't do anything. She knew too much about men now; about their needs and their lack of humanity, and how easy it was to lose to their strength and almost fade away.
For weeks after Beth had followed a couple of trails that led her to camps, and herds, and once (much to her shame) herself. It became obvious that tracking Michonne was like trying to track a flying bird. She left no prints. No clues. Or maybe you're just too dumb to find them, Beth often thought to herself. Either way, eventually she had given up. If Michonne didn't want to be found, she wouldn't be - Beth would have more luck being discovered by Michonne than discovering her.
Then later that year during the middle of a hard winter she had heard about a man - a good man - and his son; how they had lost their people and had been traveling just the two of them, looking for any survivors. Beth had to gently talk herself out of knowing in her bones that it was Rick. She could't afford to get her hopes up like she did with Michonne. Beth didn't try to track them, but kept her eyes open, willing herself to see the sheriff's hat and the boy who always accompanied it, but she never did.
It was Spring when she saw Tyreese. Beth had spent so long by then hardening her heart. Practicing the word dead. Letting go. And when she saw him, all muscle and anger, jamming a shovel through the skull of a walker her stomach clenched with fear. Part of her knew Tyreese was a decent person - could remember his smile and his laughter - but she could remember other things, too. Like being held down. Being touched. And broken. She said nothing. Backed away slowly, praying to God he wouldn't look up at her.
Alone was easier. She missed Maggie and Glenn. Missed Judith. Carol. She even missed Merle sometimes - mostly when thinking about how having a knife for a hand would be, well, handy. Pun not intended. But alone was easier, if you were careful and quiet and smart. You didn't have to lose anyone, and when you were lost, no one was hurt. No one had to put you down. Or bury you. Or mourn you.
Beth had been walking all day. Spring was just starting to turn into summer - her blond hair was sticking against the sweat on her face. She desperately wished for a shower, even a lake would do. Something to wash off the stink and the blood and the grime. She was down to her last bottle of water; gritting her teeth, Beth knew she had to go into whatever town was closest.
Beth fingered the map in her pocket. She only kept them for moments like this. For needing to know, for needing to survive. She pulled it out and looked at it curiously. The next town wouldn't been too far. Maybe a night. She could make it before sunrise, but she wasn't fond of traveling in the dark. She could kill walkers, kill them as easy as anyone else - but she didn't like to. She'd rather trick them, outsmart them, and generally stay out of their path.
As she set up a meager camp, rigging traps to alert her of predators, she couldn't help but to think she missed Daryl too. Almost everything she did was threaded with his phantom touch- he had taught her to hunt, to start fires, to set traps and throw a punch - she remembered how he had laughed when she tucked her thumb in, telling her she would break it that way.
"Didn't your brother ever teach you to hit before?" he asked.
"No," Beth said quietly. "To be honest, that was always more Maggie's department."
He smiled and she thought, Daryl Dixon is a beautiful man sometimes.
Was.
Daryl Dixon was a beautiful man.