"You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon," Beth said.
"Can't you just stay put, girl?" he asked.
Around them the house burned to the ground. They sat on the porch, watching everything turn to ash. The moonshine in his hand turned to torn-out journal pages. He uncrumpled them. Smoothed them out. The lines were blank and he threw them into the fire.
"We don't always get to choose," Beth told him.
He thought that her hair looked white against the flames. That her eyes were bluer than usual. She rested her chin in her hand and regarded him seriously. Her brows drew together until a line creased the skin of her forehead. He thought about smoothing it away with his thumb, but his hands were always dirty.
"You ain't gotta go," he said.
"I do," she said. "But you'll find me."
"Can't we just stay here?" he asked.
"No," she said sadly. "It's already gone."
Daryl woke with a force, as though he was dropped from a great distance onto the bed. He didn't know how long he had been out, but the fuzziness in his head had finally begun to fade away. He blinked blearily, trying to undo the knot in his stomach that the dream had left him with.
He knew he had to find Beth. It had killed Daryl to know he was too weak to track her the moment he 'd realized she was missing. Had it been a few years ago, he would've tore through the forest looking for her, delirious with fever and bones aching with flu. What good would you be to the girl dead, Dixon? he had asked himself.
It had proven to be the right decision because despite his fear and worry and anxiety, he had passed out almost immediately. He could not remember waking once during the night. He may not be better yet, but he was well enough now. Idle hands were the devil's work, and he had done the devil's work long enough.
Chugging the bottled water Beth had left next to the bed, he got up, stretching his stiff muscles. He went over what he knew, though the facts were so few it was depressing. She had woken him when it was still light out - maybe ten or eleven in the morning. When he realized she was gone, it was almost dusk. And now, it was probably around one or two in the afternoon.
While he gathered their supplies, he tried to calculate just how far someone could've gotten in that time. Though he was shit at math, and had always been, this wasn't no 'one train departing at whatever o'clock' problems. This was a real situation, with real variables, and for some reason his brain was always quick with that. Would they be on foot? Would they have a car? Hell, was it even a 'they'?
Still, something in his gut told him it was.
He grabbed his bow and made his way into the kitchen. He stuffed as much water and food as he could manage into his pack. He looked out into the yard, towards the treeline. Where are ya, Beth? he wondered for the millioth time. Quickly, he made his way outside towards the forest. Daryl examined the ground with a critical eye; he walked around in a complete circle before he found it.
On the ground, next to hard tracks in a pile on pine needles, was a scrap of denim. The shade looked to be about the same as Beth's jeans. He picked it up, clenching it in his fist. From the scene around him, it was easy to tell something had went wrong pretty quickly. His best guess was she had either tripped, or had been thrown, but given the complete absence of Beth, he guessed the latter.
Daryl felt anger clawing its way up his entire body. He wanted to lash out. To kick, swing, hit something. To scream. There wasn't time though. No time to lose his shit. No time to flip out. No time to swing golf clubs at walkers. He had to find Beth. The more time passed, potentially the more distance was put between them.
Daryl picked up three sets of footprints. They appeared to belong to two men, and Beth. He kept the piece of denim clenched in his fist. He told himself not to think of it. Find Beth first. Then kill. Then destroy. Find Beth first. She's what's important. As long as she's alive. As long as she's alive. Find. Beth. First. Find her before...
He found himself on the road they had taken only a couple days ago. He looked both ways, praying for some sort of sign. Right or left. Maybe even straight across. Which way? Damn it, Beth, which way? He circled a small distance around, looking for hints or clue when he stumbled across a hair-band. Beth was always picking those things up, and now she had dropped one.
Good girl, Daryl thought. Smart girl.
He picked up the scrap of elastic and pocketed it. Maybe it had been dropped accidentally. Hell, maybe it wasn't even hers. Maybe he was a fool for even hoping, but it looked like Beth's - and almost nothin' about that girl was an accident, definitely not anymore. He squinted against the sun. At least it gave him a direction. A flicker of optimism. Something that felt a lot like Beth, but wasn't.
Daryl began jogging, pushing his body immediately into discomfort. This is no time to be a pussy, Merle's voice said in the back of his mind. You ready for a war, little brother? Despite the stitch in his side, despite the remnants of his illness, despite his pounding head - Daryl was ready. And Daryl wasn't going to lose.
Not this time.