Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

A/N: Well, here is the next chapter. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter so I really hope that you enjoy reading it. Be sure to review when you're done. I crave the feedback. It is essential to me! ;-)

Hunted

Chapter Three

The boys found a house to hole up in for the night, but not for a while. Not before Beth got to witness firsthand the kind of men that Daryl had been living with for the past week. He kept a firm grip on her elbow the entire time. He could feel her trembling as she watched as two of Joe's boys, Steven and Thomas, shoved one of the stranger's face into the fire and held it there. The smell of melting body fat and burning flesh permeated the air around the campsite. Another man, Leon, pulled the body of the man whom had had his throat slit by Joe over to the row of crates. He shoved it in with one woman and then locked the cage door again.

"Don't worry, darlin'," he taunted the hysterical woman, "he'll take real good care of you once he wakes up."

Another one of the women they left in the crate. Just left her there; like an animal in a trap. Joe set a bottle of water on the ground just beyond the reach of her arm and laughed as he walked away.

Another of the strangers they stripped down naked and—did things to him. Daryl whispered for Beth to close her eyes. She stared down at the ground but she couldn't block the sound of the high pitched shrieking that seemed to echo and vibrate in her ears.

Daryl didn't feel much sympathy. He usually could drudge up sympathy for a fellow human being, but these bastards he didn't consider human; not after what they had done to these women; what they had intended to do to Beth. The only people in that camp that he felt bad for were those women. Joe and the boys wouldn't look after them. Hell, they had already proven that. Of the two women left in the crate, they mercifully shot one in head. Too ugly and used up, they had said. The shell-shocked little brunette that had been in the crate next to Beth's; her they took with them.

Daryl had managed to sneak a few looks into her face. There was nothing behind her eyes. No fear. No hope. Nothing. She had shut down inside. Daryl felt a little part of himself die inside at the realization that there was nothing he could do for her. The most he could hope for the girl was that she wouldn't make it through the night. He honestly didn't think that she would. It was triage and Beth was his only priority. He wanted to get her away from the strangers, away from Joe and his boys. He wanted to protect her.

He wanted for it to be just them; to have her all to himself again.

After spotting the house that they wanted for the night, the broke in, did a quick sweep and secured it. After, Daryl watched as the catatonic little brunette was hauled into what had once been a living room. He felt a nibble of sorrow, but turned away and all thoughts of the brunette left his head forever. Steven had Beth backed against the wall and was trying to shove his hand between her legs.

"Hey!" Daryl barked, but it was Joe that grabbed Steven by the scruff of his neck and tossed him away from her.

"Play nice, boys," Joe said on a chuckle, "don't break your toys."

"Joe," Daryl said, stepping forward and discreetly putting himself between the gray haired man and Beth, "you'll understand if I want my own room tonight."

"Course."

"Good." Daryl responded and nudged Beth toward the stairs.

"What just a damn minute!" Steven bellowed, earning himself the patented Dixon glare, "What the hell is this? She's fair game!"

"The hell she is!" Daryl snarled, "We discussed this once already, Joe."

Joe, calm and patient, the consummate benevolent leader, said, "Now, Steven. I promised Daryl that we would abstain from Blondie here for a while. Give him a chance to—break her in. It's only for a night or two. Isn't that right, Daryl?"

That wasn't the conversation that Daryl recalled, but what the hell ever. "Yeah."

"This is bullshit." Steven sulked.

Daryl pulled Beth to the bottom of the stairs and dragged the tattered gray sweater from her arms. He held the material to his nose and took a deep breath. It smelled of dirt and sweat and blood with just an underlying feminine scent that was all Beth. He tossed the garment into Steven's face, "Here. Jerk off to that. The rest is mine." He shoved Beth up the first few stairs, "Get upstairs, girl."

He guided Beth into the first bedroom that they came to and shut the door behind them. He flipped the lock for all the good it would do if the boys decided they were coming in and then turned to face Beth. He was expecting the cold shoulder or a glare or at least a good solid slap for his behavior. Instead, he found himself enveloped in one hundred and ten pounds of blonde. No sooner had he turned around than Beth had thrown herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. Daryl wasn't a hugger, but he grabbed onto that little girl and held tight. She was all he had left in the world. He wouldn't lose her again.

He gave her one last squeeze of affection before taking her by the upper arms and setting her away from him to look her in the eyes. He needed her to understand the seriousness of their situation. "Beth, we gotta get outta here." He whispered.

Her whole body shuddered as she frantically shook her head, "But it's night. You said we never travel at night."

"Beth, if we stay, these guys, they'll take you away from me. They'll find a way. And then they'll make what you saw happen to that girl look like a romantic high school date."

Beth crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. Daryl went to the window and looked out. The room was facing the back of the house. The roof of the back porch jutted out beneath their window. They could get out that way. First things first. "Okay. Okay," he turned back to Beth, pulled off his leather cut and the dark blue flannel he wore underneath and offered it to her before sliding the cut back over his own shoulders, "Put this on. We're gonna go out the window and head for the woods. There's a river not too far from here." He took a breath and scanned the room, "Gonna block the door first. Make some noise."

"Noise?"

Yeah, noise. You know—moan or somethin'."

"What are you talkin' about?"

"Ain't you never been with a guy before?"

"What!" Beth didn't know how she had managed to keep her voice soft as she thought she might choke at the question.

"Well," Daryl went on, tugging at the large brass bed to pull it in front of the doorway, "you had that guy at the farm? What's his face? Jimmy? Didn't you ever—"

"Daryl!" she could feel heat flooding her cheeks and was thankful for the lack of light in the room.

"That a no?"

"That's a no."

Daryl ceased in his efforts to move the bed and stared at her for a long moment. Such a long moment that Beth started to feel just a little discomfited by his scrutiny. She broke from his gaze, stared down at the floor to take a second to gather herself before looking back up at him. His jaw kept clenching and unclenching as he stared at her with an expression that she had never seen on his face before and didn't altogether understand. The sound of footsteps outside the door snapped them out of the trance.

Daryl darted around the foot of the bed, grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her hard. Her knees caught the mattress and she fell backward. The springs squeaked as they gave under her weight and the abrupt impact cause a small breathy gasp to escape her throat. Daryl lightly clapped his hands together once and then growled in a firm tone, "Dammit, girl, I said c'mere!"

This was met with a deep approving chuckle that sounded from down the hall a ways. Daryl nodded, seemingly satisfied with the performance and then went back to task of trying to move the heavy bed. Beth immediately sprang up from her prone position and began assisting him.

It seemed to take forever, but finally they had it positioned in front of the door. The bedroom door swung inward, so it wouldn't be an easy feat to get it open with that behemoth in front of it. Not impossible, but damn difficult. That accomplished, Daryl went to the window and carefully started to ease it open. He and Beth both winced as the swollen wood creaked with the movement. Beth sat down on the bed and bounced up and down in place to try and mask the window with the squeaking springs. She didn't know how effective her attempt was but it was the only thing she could come up with.

Daryl didn't try to open the window all the way; just enough that they could wedge themselves through it. He stepped out first and scanned the length of the field between the back of the house and the woods with his crossbow. They could make it. They would make it. He turned back to the window and Beth handed his bag out to him. He strapped it to his back before reaching a hand out to help her out onto the roof. Her steps were sure and light-footed behind him as they made their way down the slanted roof of the porch. Daryl felt something warm and tight deep in his belly. Pride. She wasn't that meek, scared little girl from the farm anymore. That girl would never have made it out of that cage. But this girl, this woman had made it out and she wasn't broken.

Hell, no. His girl was tough as they come.

Daryl peered over as they reached the edge of the roof. It was about a nine foot drop to the ground below and a hundred yard sprint to the tree line. No cover until there but he didn't see any other options.

"I'ma drop first. Make sure it's clear. I'll help you down then we're gonna run like hell for those trees." He whispered.

Beth nodded her understanding then couldn't do anything but watch as Daryl dropped out of view. Those were the longest few seconds of her life, standing alone on that rooftop. Even longer that the time she had spent with those men, and she used the term 'men' loosely here.

Sitting in that cage, she had formulated a plan. There was no way in hell that she would have let them do to her what they had done to that other girl. When they came for her, she had decided, she would fight. She didn't care what it cost her, what it took, what she had to do, she wouldn't stop fighting until she got hold of a weapon. And then—she would have turned that weapon on herself. She didn't want to die, but there are things that are worse than death and she had just witnessed them. And if she managed to give herself a fatal wound, there were two scenarios. They would either shoot her in the head and send her home—home to her momma and daddy—or—she would turn and tear the bastards to pieces with her teeth.

Either would have worked for her, really.

But something wonderful had happened instead. A miracle.

Daryl's light whistle brought her back to the present. She eased her way to the ledge and without the smallest hesitation dropped from the roof and into his outstretched arms.

Daryl set Beth on her feet, snatched up his crossbow and started hauling ass across that field, confident that she was keeping stride beside him. They had reached the halfway point and Daryl had just about convinced himself that they were going to get away clean when a gunshot ripped through the air and slammed into the ground at his feet. Without thought, he caught Beth by the elbow and shoved her unceremoniously to the grass. In the same movement, he swung back toward the house, crossbow at the ready.

It was Joe. At the edge of the porch steps. Alone. Aiming a gun right back at Daryl. "Where ya goin', son?"

"We just need us a little alone time." Daryl retorted.

"So, you just leave in the middle of the night? Why, I thought we were friends."

Beth shuddered at the sarcasm, the cold malice that seemed to line every word that came from this man's lips.

"Oh, yeah," Daryl chimed, "we're B.F.F.s."

"Weren't you even gonna say goodbye?"

"Thought I'd send you a postcard."

Joe burst with a loud cackle that reverberated in the airwaves around them and lowered his gun. Daryl did not lower the crossbow. But he did catch sight of Steven on the rooftop with a rifle trained on him. The same of Antony at the corner of the house.

"Ya know, I like you, Daryl," Joe went on, "I like your style. And you know how I feel about a bowman. So, tell you what, I could use a little excitement—."

Beth felt bile creep up the back of her throat as nausea sent her stomach rolling. The end of the world wasn't exciting enough for this guy? Who had Daryl gone and gotten himself tangled up with?

"—so I'm gonna you and your blonde little treat there a head start. You can have 'til sunrise. That's about six—seven hours. Make it count, son, 'cause I'm gonna hunt you down. When I find you, and I will find you, I'm gonna tie you down and make you watch everything we do to that pretty little girl of yours."

With that, Joe turned and headed back into the house. Daryl watched as Steven and Antony faded back into the shadows. Then he reached down and helped Beth up to her feet.

"This is bad." He said.

Beth nodded, "Yeah. I get that."

"We gotta go, Beth. We gotta run."

A/N: Well, again, that's all I have for now. I hope you enjoy it. Please, please, please read and review. Let me know what you think! Thanks!