Take Me as I Am
Chapter 2 [Into the Darkness]

A gentle breeze picked up in the small clearing at the intersection of the road and the train tracks as he sat there on the dirt, numb. He wanted to keep going—he didn't want to stop until he knew she was safe and by his side. He'd be a damn liar if he said he didn't miss her already. He usually wasn't a person for feels or any other emotion other than stoicism, sarcasm or anger.

At least, not until the world had gone to hell. People assumed that people like him, rugged and rough would love the chaos, anarchy and destruction penetrating the world now. No, not him. How many times in the past year did he wish the world hadn't gone to hell? Well, about too damn many times.

Contrary to his rough exterior, and tough life—he valued life. He's a survivalist—it's what he does best after escaping the angry throes of his abusive father. Dare he say it; he even misses the rough housing he and Merle used to get into. It often ended him being bruised and sore for the next several days, but it was the way these two brothers' bonded. And now, he's gone. Zombified and dead.

He'd be damned if he'll let Beth die too.

"Well, look'et here," Daryl could hear the smirk in the stranger's voice. Distant footsteps drew closer, surrounding him in a circle, trying to trap him. They drew closer, and the leader, Daryl presumed stepped in front of him. Not bothering to spare another second, Daryl shot up from the ground and launched a punch into the man's face—effectively knocking him to the ground. He gripped his trusted crossbow at hand, and aimed at the fallen fellow.

"Damnit, hold up!" the man shouted from the ground, sounding a bit winded.

"I'm claiming the vest," one of the other fellows behind him with the black compound bow sneered. "I like'em wings."

The older man on the ground leered at Daryl, wiping the blood dripping from his nose, "Hold up." Noticing the large amount of blood on his finger, he laughed in what Daryl assumed was being pleasantly surprised.

"A bowman?" the fellow let out a strangled sigh. "See, I respect that. A man with a rifle could'a been some photographer… soccer coach back in the day but… a bowman is a bowman through and through." He took a step closer to Daryl, despite the crossbow aiming straight at his head.

Daryl kept silent, studying this stranger and his posse. He was outnumbered, but if it's a fight they want he'll fight to the death before giving up. And he's damn sure he'll take out at least half of this group before he goes down under.

"What you got there, an hundred-fifty pound draw weight? I'll be darned if that thing don't fire at least three hundred feet per second. I've been looking for a weapon like that," he continued with an arrogant smile on his face. "'course ah, one with a bit more ammo."

The bowman behind him snickered, and leered in his southern drawl, "You got yourself some trouble there, partner?"

"You pull that trigger, these boys will drop you several times over," the man with the pepper grey and white hair continued, confidence unwavering. "That what'chu want? Come on fella, suicide is stupid." A sadistic grin grew on his face, a sinful look. "Why hurt yourself, when you can hurt other people?"

Daryl didn't answer him—he was contemplating. The odds are, this fellow here was right. He wouldn't come out of this fight alive if he resisted. And they weren't going to take no for an answer. He met people like them… in fact; he was a lot like them before the shit hit the fan.

"Name's Joe," he supplied, knowing that Daryl will not resist.

Daryl slowly lowered his crossbow and exchanged his name in return, "Daryl." If he was going to survive and rescue Beth, he has to be accepted into this group first. "Where are you guys heading?"

Joe grinned, "Well son, there's a story to that. You see these tracks here?" he pointed along the railroad tracks leading to what seems like a never ending track. "We found these tracks and some map saying there's a safe place down yonder. We figured we would go give it a try after we left the house we were just in."

"A house? Was it safe?" That peaked his interest, if there was a house nearby; there was a good chance Beth was there. Wherever she is, he'll find her. He'll find her.

"Nawh, some fucker killed one'o our own back there and he turned to a fucking walker. Nearly bit my fucking head off," the one with the compound bow snarled, spitting at the ground in disgust.

"Ain't nobody there?"

"No, all that ruckus dumbass here made," Joe nodded at the bowman behind Daryl, "attracted more walkers. We hightailed outta there before it was too late. Now come on we're burning daylight. Make no sense waiting around for walkers to catch up to us or somethin'." He turned from the group and headed down the tracks, not caring who followed. Sure enough, all five men followed without another word, except the bowman, grumbling under his breath.

Daryl fell behind them, looking at the forest around the tracks to calculate an escape route. He knew without a doubt in his body that this group of particular group of men are up to no good. Before he could get a good look of his surroundings, Joe called to him.

"Son, get your young ass up here and talk to me. I want know to know how the hell you ended up on that road, sitting there like fresh bait," he waved his arm, motioning him to catch up next to him.

Concealing his hesitance, Daryl walked alongside Joe in silence. He ran through potential answers through his head before answering—making sure he didn't give too much away. There was a chance that Rick and the others were alive… a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless. And Beth. He sure as hell didn't want to say anything that'll put her in danger. These men, especially the man with the compound bow would hurt her in ways a man shouldn't hurt a woman in a heartbeat.

"So?" Joe looked up expectantly, wanting for an answer.

Daryl wasn't going to give up information so easily. "So, what?" The conversation seemed strangely familiar, he almost didn't remember until Beth's smiling face popped up in his mind. Oh, right. Before he stupidly opened the damn door without checking what's outside, he was in the kitchen with Beth. He watched the recognition spread on her face when she realized it was she who changed his mind about the finding good in people.

Throughout the entire time she was teasing him, he couldn't get over the fact that she was there—with him. Whether it was a choice by God or his own… he silently vowed to protect her. To protect the faith in her, to protect her sanity and the very thing she made him believe—goodness. A quirked smirk appeared on his face as he thought of her. The things she would say now, about these people, and how there must be goodness in them too. That had to be what she would say… it was so… Beth.

"Are you thinking about your woman?" Joe let out a loud snort of laughter. "'Cus only the thought of a woman can make a man smile like you just did right that second ago."

Stunned, Daryl shook his head and denied vehemently, "She ain't mine."

"Oh, so there is a lady love, eh? Where she at?"

Fuck. Daryl inwardly grimaced at his slip-up. Leave it to him to give away that there was a female with him. Currently though, it might not be a bad situation, considering she is missing. This may work out to his advantage; deceive them to find Beth and hightail it the hell out of there before they can hurt either one of them.

"She ain't 'round here. Gone missing," Daryl drawled out nonchalantly, calculating the next steps to take.

"That's too bad, young fellar. It's good to have a woman by your side in these hard times. Harder to keep 'em safe but you know what, at least they serve us a good purpose," Joe shouted merrily to the rest of the group so they can hear. They returned with snickers and raunchy agreements.

Daryl's hands clenched into fists, one around his crossbow, the other at his side. He had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something stupid to them. But how dare they speak so poorly of Beth? They see women as a source of entertainment—an outlet of pleasure to use and then discard. Not him, though. He never saw Beth as such. A part of him did wonder though, if the walkers hadn't caved into the funeral home, would he and Beth have gone a different route. God, the way she stared at him made his insides stir alive. She looked so damn angelic and beautiful by the candlelight—it was hard to erase that ethereal image of her, not that he wanted to.

He'll remember her. He'll never forget her face even if she died, or he. Whichever came first.

"Well I don't know about you fellars, but I need to take a piss and rest my legs. I ain't as young as you guys. Randy, go fetch us somethin' to eat why don'cha? Your loud ass mouth done and got us run out of that nice house we were in," Joe turned and started to bark orders. Surprisingly, the men followed it with albeit little to no objections.

The other bowman, Randy, the one who made the snide remark about his jacket stalked deeper into the forest as the rest of the group prepared a campsite for the night. Daryl had noticed then, that it was well into the afternoon. How long had he been chasing after the tire tracks? How long had he been walking with these group of bandits? His body ached, and his head pounded in his ears. He was beyond exhausted.

He kept a hawk's eye on each and every single one of the guys in this group, safe for Randy. He had yet come across two guys' name; they seem like an outcast of the group. One of them is significantly older than the rest, but he didn't seem to be as old as Joe—early fifties perhaps. The only evidence of his age is his large stomach and the bald spot on the crown of his head. The other, is a younger fellow, wearing a green cap backwards—a younger, innocent looking face. He was perhaps in his mid to late twenties. The other three, including Randy seemed to be in friendly relations with Joe.

He had to formulate a plan, to turn them against each other.

They each took a spot in the campsite; the younger male took the first shift in guarding. The sky had darkened into night, and Randy had yet to come back. Joe muttered under his voice about the lousiness of his friend, "If it weren't for his daddy telling me 'a take care of him. I would'a shot his ass and moved on!" he laughed and joked with the other two. The male with the balding head looked slightly uncomfortable, and the younger male turned away—pretending to ignore the conversation.

He was so damn exhausted, his spot under the tree felt mighty comfortable. Despite his better judgment, Daryl dozed off to sleep while resting against the trunk, clutching his crossbow to his body and a hand on his knife.

Morning came too quickly; Daryl awoke to sounds of rustling in the background. His eyes shot open to find a squirrel racing between trees. His stomach grumbled, as if reminding him he had not had a meal since the walkers invaded the funeral home. Grabbing his crossbow, he stalked into the woods, following the escaping rodent.

It hadn't taken him too long to find the squirrel on the tree of its nest. Hell, it wasn't hard for him to track at all. He aimed his crossbow and took his shot. Target hit. He could feel his stomach doing flips of joy at the notion of having something to eat. He thought of where to cook it, since a small rodent like such would hardly fill even one grown man up.

"That there squirrel is claimed." Daryl heard a voice behind him. Randy, the other bow man.

"Been out here since the sun came up. You see, the rules of the hunt don't mean jack around here," his posture was tense and annoyed, as if ready to strike. "Now that rabbit 'chu holding, is claimed, Boy." He purposely degraded him, trying to get him riled up.

"Claimed, whether you like it or not. So, if I's your, I'd hand it over. Now. Before you get a wishing you ain't never get out of bed this morning," Randy straightened his back, appearing taller than Daryl.

Daryl looked at him for a brief moment, studying him. "It ain't yours," he grounded out before brushing past him.

"No, I bet this bitch," Randy began, with a goading smirk on his face. "… got you all messed up. Hmm? Am I right?" He let out a raunchy laugh when he saw Daryl stop walking away from him. "Got 'chu walking 'round here like a dead man, who just lost hisself a piece of tail. Must'a been a good'un."

"Tell me somethin', was it one of the little ones?" A knowing smile plastered over his face. "Cuz, they don't last too long out here, if you know what I'm saying."

Daryl's hand hovered over his knife in its sheath, the suppressed every muscle in his body to not turn around and slit this guy's throat and cut out his tongue. He was damn tired of hearing these crude remarks about women, about Beth. So help him God, if this damn idiot said another word to him about Beth…

"Where can I find 'er? Since I see 'chu being all tense like that, she must be one sweet fuck," Randy taunted on, grabbing his package in his hand for emphasize.

He saw red. Fury burned in his blood, wanting to murder the man right here, right now. He dropped the dead squirrel and his crossbow onto the ground before launching at Randy, with his knife clutched in his hand. The poor fellow never saw the attack coming. He stumbled backwards and fell onto his back with a loud thud as branches snapped under him.

Daryl gripped his neck with one hand, and the other, with the knife, curled around the handle and punched his face repeatedly until Randy's blood began pooling in his mouth and nose. He gurgled for him to stop, his arms frantically pounding it against Daryl's shoulders in futile attempts to make him release his throat.

"You better fucking watch your mouth, boy," Daryl hissed after he leaned in closer to Randy's face, their nose only inches apart. "You're damn lucky that I ain't going to kill you right now. You better thank your daddy's friend in the camp over there." He punched Randy's battered face a few more times for emphasize, and shoved himself onto his feet.

He grabbed his squirrel and crossbow and left the idiot bleeding there.

Daryl stalked back into the camp, his mind still sour from the situation with Randy earlier. A part of him wanted to leave and go search for Beth on his own, but he knew there was safety in numbers. Even if the numbers included a few psychopathic rednecks. He made a fire quickly and consumed his cook squirrel before he decided he should return.

His defenses were up, knowing Joe wouldn't be too happy about one of his own returning with a broken nose and possible, a broken jaw. He didn't care too much.

"Well son, you done and got his face all broken up," Joe quirked a smirk on his face. "What happened?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes at the older man's reaction. He couldn't detect if he was being serious or waiting for the right moment to strike. It was better to be on the cautious side. "He shouldn'ta been talking about my girl like that," he growled. His hands instinctively prepared his crossbow for a fight.

"Your girl? I thought you said she ain't yours?" Joe raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

"Well I lied; you got a problem with that?" Daryl decided it was best to play the role of the overprotective, worried boyfriend. If these were good people, which clearly they're not, they would back off and hopefully, keep their dirty paws off of Beth if they ever found her. Daryl didn't even bother to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Silence ensued between Joe and Daryl. The younger man, who was on guard last night, spoke up to break the tension. "We better start getting out of there, judging by the sun, it's nearly noon. We need to put as much space as we can between us and the walkers. The blood will attract them," he nodded at the puddle of blood on the dirt floor beside Randy.

Apparently his nose stopped bleeding. Well, damn.

Joe narrowed his eyes at Daryl, taking a long look at him—as if sizing him up. He hacked a cough and spit into the ground before turning his gaze away, beginning to direct orders for the men to clear out. He turned around and pointed a finger at Daryl, "You walk in front of me where I can keep my eyes on you."

"Like hell I'll do that. You'll fucking shoot me point blank," Daryl raised his crossbow and aimed it at Joe, ready for a standoff.

"Son, I ain't got time for this shit. Put that damn thing down and you can walk next to me like yesterday. Let's just pretend this shit ain't never happened. You don't get hurt, I don't get hurt. Deal?"

At some point, after the long, intense stare Daryl gave him, he relented and walked up to Joe. The group of six began heading towards the tracks again, with the younger fellow supporting Randy with his shoulders.

It had been a good few hours before they noticed something in the distance. A tunnel. As dark as a blackhole itself. As they got closer, an uneasy feeling in Daryl's chest began to bubble.

"Would 'chu look at that, there some tire tracks right there!" Joe pointed at the dirt covered patch beyond the rock and gravel of the train tracks.

Daryl's heart leaped in his chest—hope began to take hold of him and he grew anxious. With adrenaline pumping in his body, he soared over to the tracks. "They're the same," he whispered to no one in particular. The tire tracks were the same ones he was following earlier. It had to be Beth.

It had to be.

"Get your flashlights ready boys, we're going in for a fun-ride," a merciless smile appeared on Joe's face. He was eager, almost itching to be in a fight.

Daryl leaped back up onto the tracks and loaded his crossbow, ready to take on what's within the tunnel. As they stepped closer, the darkness began to engulf them. With the diminishing daylight, they had to hurry. As they inched closer to the entrance, then slowly step by step into it they heard a sudden class of metal against concrete.

A loud horn sounded through the tunnel—a car's horn. And within, a scream was echoed down the dark passage… the sound of a female's scream.

"Beth!" Daryl's eyes widen minutely in shock, before throwing all caution aside, snatching a flashlight and darted into the dark depths.

/

JR- Chapter two done! Woohoo! Thanks for the reviews guys! Special thanks to Slytherin-Princess! I'm glad you made it out of nursing school alive! Now if only I can!

Next up: Beth's side!

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