A/N: So the original plan was to write the first six chapters and post all together, but I think I feed of reviews for my motivation so I will release them one or two at a time instead.

*Spoiler alert* This part of the story will contain some comic book spoilers. I have changed things up a little, and Daryl and Beth don't actually appear in the comic books anyway. But consider this your warning if you do not like spoilers.

The Walking Deth - Part IV

Here and Home - Chapter I

The other side

"You'll keep us safe, won't you Momma Beth?" Anna asked, looking up at me with uncertainty in her clear blue eyes.

"Yes." I had promised.

…

I could feel his handgun pressed into the back of my head, the recently fired metal hot and hard. I knew what he was going to do with it. I could accept it; I knew there was no other way.

I wrapped my arms around his waist, clutching to his back, feeling the strength of his body against mine for the last time, and waited for it all to end.

The gunshot cracked and echoed over the sound of a thousand hungry walkers, like heavy thunder clouds crashing together in the sky.

The spattering across my cheek felt thick and cold. It wasn't the spray-back from a living source, and it couldn't be from me; I was still alive. I opened my eyes and shot up from Daryl's lap, searching the sea of walkers for the source of the rapid gunfire that continued to shatter the air.

Walker heads were exploding all around us, showering us in cold brain matter and fragments of skull. I wiped at the clumps of congealed blood that interrupted my vision and twisted in my seat to see a large military truck with six huge wheels and a timber slatted cage surrounding the tray, sailing through the dead ocean.

The truck took a sudden turn, drifting to the side pulverising dead bodies into airborne splatter, and stopped with the rear facing the front of the bike. A wooden gate dropped down, flattening a huddle of walkers into a puddle of rotting flesh, and forming a ramp into the truck. Several men and women stood in the tray of the truck, firing into the crowd around us.

"Ride 'er up, Wyatt!" One of the men shouted, as he waved his arm forcefully through the air, his voice barely audible above the roar of walkers.

Daryl didn't hesitate; he dropped his weapons between his thighs, propelled the bike forward and straight up the ramp, with me gripping on to his waist to keep myself from slipping off.

…

"I'm scared, Miss Beth." Tommy C timidly ran his finger over the satin lining of his blanket.

"Of what?"

"Of going to Washington, what if they won't let us in?"

"Then we'll go somewhere else."

"All of us?"

"Yes, all of us." I had replied.

…

The tray of the truck rocked and bounced and tousled us about. My stomach had been churning ever since the bus had tumbled around me while I had been firmly strapped into the driver seat. And since I had seen all those little lifeless bodies. I vomited again at the thought, into the corner of the truck's tray, causing the boots of the strangers to dart away quickly.

As soon as we had come aboard, the four men and three women had turned their weapons on us and urged us off the bike. Now I was standing with my back pressed against the cracked and splintered wood of the ramp that had just been used to rescue us, with Daryl standing in front of me gun in hand and aimed at the largest looking man.

The people surrounding us looked rough. Real rough. Rougher than the people who had attacked the school, but also better fed, which made them more threatening. They were covered in scars, body piercings or tattoos, or all three together, and their clothing was all dirt and leather and torn denim. They didn't seem to be military, which would have been a relief to Daryl, but the way they were holding their guns on us and eyeing over the bike made me think our rescuers were not rescuers at all.

…

"Those bad men, what if they follow us, what if we get hurt?" Nathan asked as he edged his way into the bus seat.

"Daryl and I will make sure nothing happens to you." I had told him.

…

The man who had waved us aboard stepped forward and rubbed a hand over the handlebars of the bike. His arms and what could be seen of his chest were covered in tattoos and greying hair speckled with ginger. He looked to be much older than Daryl, but his sun tanned skin still strained against his bulging muscles.

"1998 Fatboy." He called over the rumble of the engine, with a pleased grin on his face. "My wife finally let me have one of these for my fiftieth birthday…She's long gone now." He turned his grey eyes towards us. "The bike…and my wife."

…

"I don't want Daryl to fall off, what if he gets hurt, or if he dies?" Tommy J's chubby chest started to heave, signifying the beginning of one of his panic attacks. I placed the usual comforting hand on his back and rubbed it in a circular motion.

"No-one else is going to die." I had told him.

…

The man walked around the bike and rubbed his hand over the bow and rummaged through the saddlebags to retrieve the empty gun. Daryl sneered and I could hear him growling like a wild animal when he touched the crossbow. The man's eyes glanced at Daryl and his shoulders shook as he laughed at him.

…

"Sometimes I think you're more bad-ass than Daryl, Beth." Austin, trudged through the damp grass to retrieve the arrow I had just fired into the tree. "You think one day I'll be able to use it as good as you guys?"

"One day you'll be even better." I had replied.

…

"Alright sweetheart, let me have a look at you." The man stepped towards me with his leathery hand reached out.

Daryl cocked the gun and held it only a few inches from the man's face, and six weapons were pointed at Daryl's head.

The man who approached me held his hands into the air. "Keep your cool, Wyatt. I'm not gonna hurt her, just gotta check for bites."

"She ain't bit." Daryl growled. His ice cold glare was terrifying even to me.

…

"Momma Beth?" I turned from my book to see Lyra was holding on to her arm, her hand covered in blood.

My heart in my throat, I scanned the fence quickly to see where the walker who bit her was, but I couldn't see anything.

"What happened?" I asked as I pulled her fingers away to examine the wound.

"I hurt myself on the wire." She replied, dropping her eyes to the ground guiltily.

"I told you to be careful around the fence." I scolded as I drew her into my chest for a relieved hug. "I don't think I could handle losing one of you kids."

…

"So you say, but she's been vomiting, may have the fever, and either way I gotta do my job."

Daryl didn't drop the weapon or the glare, but he allowed the man to edge closer to me and tug up the sleeves of my sweater and then examine my neck.

"Got a nasty bruise there, you get into a fight?"

I tried to speak but all that came out was a choked gurgle.

"Car accident." Daryl answered for me, his gun still aimed at the man.

…

"Won't we need seatbelts, Momma Beth?" Jovan asked while he searched around on the seat for the non-existent belt.

"School buses don't have seatbelts." I told him.

"That's silly." He screwed up his little face.

"It is." I agreed.

…

The man hummed thoughtfully and took a step back.

"Your turn, Wyatt." He turned back to Daryl.

Daryl forced the gun into my hand, and then slipped of his poncho, his vest and his shirt and threw them between his legs.

If our lives weren't under threat I may have been bothered by the stupid grins that grew on the faces of the women as they eyed over his muscular arms and shoulders. But our lives were under threat, and the only thing I really cared about was all the kids I had just lost.

The man examined Daryl's chest, shoulder and back.

"You done it tough out there, huh?" He asked as he prodded at the scars on Daryl's back.

"None of 'y business." Daryl retorted, grabbing at his shirt and pulling it back over his head.

…

"What happened to him?" Lawson asked, nodding towards Daryl. He had seen his scars when his shirt had lifted while trying to put the ball in the hoop.

"A bad man hurt him." I replied.

"Who was it?"

"Someone who was supposed to keep him safe."

His lip turned out in a thoughtful pout. "You wouldn't hurt us, would you?"

"No. Never." I had told him.

…

"The name's Wallace." He held out a genial hand for Daryl to shake.

Daryl reluctantly took it, gave it a firm shake and then turned to grab the gun from my hand.

"And your name is?...Unless you want me to keep callin' you Wyatt?"

"Wyatt is fine." Daryl grunted.

Wallace's eyes turned back to me.

"And your daughter, shall I call her 'the kid'?"

Daryl didn't correct him about the name, or about me being his daughter, he just nodded his head slowly.

"Okay easy riders, I take it you plan on comin' with us?"

Daryl gave his head a single firm shake. "We're headin' into DC, got some people in there."

Wallace doubled over and started howling like a hyena as he slapped against his knee in an over-exaggerated display of amusement. "Didn't you see the mass of gnashers surrounding the city? It's like that the whole way 'round. No-one's gettin' in or out of that place."

My stomach churned again, and I gagged and choked back another mouthful of stomach fluid.

We had lost those children for nothing; we weren't even going to be able to get into DC. Without a confirmed location there was no way we would be able to find the others. My knees started to buckle and I gripped on to the timber slats to keep my balance as my head spun, exaggerated as I continued to be thrown from side to side by the movement of the truck.

"So you're comin'?"

Daryl glared in response.

"Or would you rather we open the truck and let you out, with your…"He pointed at the gun in Daryl's hand. "…no more than ten rounds."

The gun twitched slightly in Daryl's hand. I knew there were less than ten bullets left in the thing.

Wallace had made it clear that if we were leaving, we were leaving without the bike and bows. We didn't need to discuss our choices.

"Guess we are." Daryl flicked the safety up and lowered the gun.

"Good. Then you won't mind me asking you a few questions…three to be exact."

His words sent a jolt of hope through my chest. If they were the same three questions that the prison council had come up with, then maybe Rick and the others were with these people.

"The first one is can you fight? But that's kinda redundant; we saw the way you were stabbing your way through those gnashers." He pointed to the outside of the truck, which was now walker free, the view now replaced with lifeless buildings. "So we'll move on to the second one. Will you fight?"

Daryl nodded his head. "There's no choice in that."

"Last question. Will you kill?"

These were not the prison questions.

Daryl's hand twitched against the gun by his side. "Kill for what?"

"To survive."

Daryl's eyes darkened as he stared Wallace down.

"There's no choice in that either."

I spent the rest of the journey with my face pressed up against the gaps between the wooden slats, watching my surroundings go past. We had been driving for around thirty minutes, and we seemed to have circled around Washington, driving down streets that looked as if they had been cleared of vehicles some time recently.

We turned down a road that looped around back on to itself, and was surrounded by three multi story sprawling buildings. The first one looked to be the office for some kind of petroleum company. The second was a medical clinic. And the third was a hotel.

The first two buildings looked to be relatively clear, but the hotel was swarming with Walkers, moaning and groaning and crawling over each other trying to get to the steel rent- a-fence that surrounded the hotel. I suppressed a gag as the scent of sun baked rot hit my nostrils.

When the truck turned to head through the herd of walkers I turned around and looked at Wallace wondering why we were going to the most dangerous building.

He noticed my inquisitive look. "It's okay sweetheart, they're all chained up."

I looked back out the gaps to see he was right. They were all chained to the fence, or to poles dug into the ground. Some had the poles impaled right through them. It looked like the wall to a medieval kingdom after a mass execution.

The truck approached an under croft that skimmed against the top of the cage as we passed under it. I expected it to be dim under there, but there was light coming from several long lamps spaced apart on the wall.

The truck came to a stop, and Daryl and I both shifted to the side, squeezing between two of the other seven bodies in the truck so we could see outside.

There was a gate directly in front of us with two men standing by it. One of them produced what looked like a white card, swiped it against the wall and the gate slowly rolled open.

"You still have power?" Daryl looked back over his shoulder at Wallace.

"We got a few generators, and a solar hook-up, but the card readers are about the only thing you can rely on."

I felt Daryl's hand twitch against mine as if he wanted me to hold it. I didn't move, but after a moment he grabbed it anyway.

" 'least it's somethin'." He murmured into my ear.

We left the truck and the bike in the car bay, only being permitted to take Daryl's bag and our weapons, which made me feel a little less nervous. We passed by several people who were working on the numerous other vehicles parked under there, who glanced up at us, but didn't seem surprised or bothered by the appearance of strangers.

"Got a bike for you to check out." Wallace called to one of the guys while thumbing over his shoulder back to the truck.

The man waved a spanner in the air in acknowledgment and then went back to working on the car.

We took the emergency stairs up to the foyer, still lined with expensive looking artwork on the walls and rugs on the floor. Wallace said something to one of the men we had come in with, and he raced past us back to the stairwell.

We stopped in the middle of the hotel foyer and the sight before me would have made me smile, if I didn't feel so awfully empty inside.

There were children chasing each other through the halls, climbing over chairs and using hotel trolleys to race each other, and there were small huddles of women and children in groups sitting on the floor with books and pencils, as if they were in school.

…

"I think I'll be a teacher when I grow up Momma Beth, like you." Marie smiled wistfully towards the white board at the front of the room. "Do you think I'll be able to?"

"Of course you will." I had said.

…

The majority of people looked rough, just like the ones who had rescued us from the herd, but the rest of them just looked like normal everyday people, a little weary from survival if anything.

"How long things been like this for?" Daryl asked as he followed after Wallace, eyes passing over our surroundings.

"We've been here for over a year now. We had to work hard to get what we got, but it was worth it. We've never had a breach in the wall. Got a decent greenhouse out back, but whatever we can't grow, we barter for. Enough water supply to shower once a week." He grinned back at us. "Better than anything you would find in Washington."

"Is there anyone here named Rick? Police officer, has a son named Carl? "Daryl kept the pace with Wallace. I stumbled along after them, my legs still feeling like Jell-O.

Wallace shook his head. "No-one like that here."

"A big guy with red hair, and a geeky lookin' thing with a mullet?"

"Nope."

I stopped in the middle of the hallway, feeling like I was going to be sick again. Daryl grabbed my wrist and dragged me along behind him.

…

"Momma?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Winnie."

…

We turned into an office behind the reservation desk, and Wallace offered us seats by a large desk. He introduced us to two men, who appeared to be paper pushers, looking through books and wearing glasses.

"How're we for supplies?" Wallace asked when he was done with introductions.

"Getting low on pork. Will have to go out again in the next few days. Might need to do another medical run too." The man named Paul replied.

Wallace turned back to Daryl and I. "We run a pretty smooth ship here. I think you'll like it once you get used to the way we do things."

Daryl nodded his head slowly in acceptance and then glanced back to me. I tried to force a smile, but it was like my muscles were set in a permanent frown, so I just dropped my eyes to the desk in front of me.

"We'll work out where you two can help us out and where you'll be sleeping when the boss gets in."

"The boss?" Daryl raised a brow in mild surprise. "That ain't you?"

"Hell no! I don't have the balls to run somethin' like this, plus I'm too old." Wallace chuckled lightly to himself.

"Where is he?"

"He's probably with Mandy…or Candy…"

"Or Sandy." Paul added.

Daryl shifted uncomfortably in his chair and glanced over at me.

I knew what he was thinking. This boss was obviously a womaniser. I could see him and Daryl having a clash of personalities already.

"It was Sherry, the wife, actually." Came a confident voice from behind us.

I turned in my seat and examined the man standing in the doorway. He was tall. About a foot taller than Daryl, and he had shoulders wider than Daryl's too. He was dressed in a clean cotton tee that clung to his meaty chest, and a neat pair of jeans. His short black hair was slicked down at the sides, and mounded up in the middle. His jaw was strong and chiselled and when he grinned, as he was now, his cheeks raised and pointed, making his face look like a problem on a geometry paper.

I heard scuffling behind me and turned to see Paul and Mark had come of their chairs and gone down to a knee like they were before a king. Wallace simply nodded his head towards the man.

"Sir." They all mumbled together.

The man walked in, with his eyes locked on me, and perched himself on the end of the desk, he extended a strong looking hand out to me.

"I'm Negan."

A/N: So if you know the comic books you are probably pooping your pants right now! This Negan is based on a character I came up with back when I was writing part II, and before I had read the comic books. I have now read up to issue 115, and Negan was so similar to my OC that I decided to just amalgamate them. Hope you like him (or like to hate him).

Hope the mini flashbacks weren't to confusing. I'm experimenting here.