The vehicle crawls forward at a snail's pace, the headlights and running lights already shut off. Some considerable miles back they'd been forced off the main road by a pileup they couldn't get around. There was no circumventing the macabre vignette of trapped walkers caged within vehicles and grotesquely splayed between the wreckages of years-old collisions. With more cars and pinned-down walkers than just they three could safely dispatch, and with no known destination at the other end of it, they chose to waste the gas and mileage rather than risk the risk of the effort of pushing through going sideways. Instead, they'd doubled back some distance and turned onto a remote country road which had led them back into thick woods interrupted by nothing but uneven terrain and the occasional brook or turnoff, overgrown and long-forgotten. Turning back had slowed their pace some, which hadn't been high to begin with. Speed serves best those with a destination, or with an enemy at one's back; neither case fitting them, they did not race. They were searching – taking the world as it stands under consideration. This though in front of them, had not been for what they had been searching.
Some ways back they'd started spotting roamers on the road or just within the treelines. After the count surpassed a dozen or so, Daryl had stopped the car. With the engine running, they weighed their options. "Could be nothin'," he'd assessed, "could be signs there 're more up ahead."
"We could go back," Beth had whispered.
"Be another big blow to our progress," Daryl opined. Already twice something or other had turned them back in their paths. By no means had their hours in the car resembled anything like a straight path. They'd switched back, doubled back, taken side roads and back roads. They might well have been near out of Georgia by now if not for false starts and bad roads that all had eventually lead to the dead. "Not that it matters," he'd rejoined. They never had set a fixed destination.
"There could be a lot more," Beth spoke as she'd looked out the window, scanning the darkness.
"We turn back," Daryl weighed, "it's not j'st goin' back down this road: it's miles still down the highway. With that pile up there's no movin' forward, so we're heading back, pretty far till we come 'cross another option." He'd looked soberly at each of them, "We good with that?"
Beth considered this. "Least we know what we'd be facin'."
"We don't know for sure what's down there," Simon had posited. "Could mean nothing seeing these."
"What we know," Daryl laid out, "is we didn't see shit worth stopping for on that whole stretch of road we just come down."
"We're more visible at night," Beth argued.
"Tail lights're already out," Daryl answered. "We c'n cut the headlights and our speed – take our chances we get through." He'd glanced at the both of them. When it was agreed they'd push on, Daryl shut off the lights and edged the vehicle forward.
Now he stops again, a half mile or more down that same road. In the darkness, though not distinguishable one by one, a horde is near upon them, milling and gnashing, growling and snarling en masse. Their number, incalculable in the dark, is formidable, evidenced by the massive shifting of what before had seemed solid on the horizon. It is not the moving of individual bodies but the slow current of a collective body, a tidal storm, ebbing and waxing as it shuffles and stumbles thoughtlessly, driven blindly this way or that until some prey presents itself for the slaughter. Daryl breaks, and looks. They're thickest on the road, orbited by stray roamers spilling into the woods on either side. The wind picks up again, audible over the sound of the dead.
Simon leans forward, straining his eyes to see in the darkness. "They on the road, or crossing?" All three occupants scan the windows. "They're on it, yeah," the boy says, answering his own question. "But looks like they're densest on th' left. Could be comin' from the woods."
"With the wind hard at their backs, could be they keep crossin'." Daryl's hands stay ready at the wheel. "We get lucky, they'll pass us by."
"But our luck's been shit," interjects Simon. Daryl glances at him where he leans forward from the back between him and Beth. "We can't come up against tha'," Simon breathes. "No way."
Daryl nods and shifts into reverse. His arm flung around the back of Beth's seat he narrows his eyes to reverse as best he can in the darkness. The car rolls backward, slow, so as not to disturb or pull attention. Through the darkness Daryl navigates, keeping his wits, keeping cool—
"Daryl, stop–" Simon commands in hushed urgency.
The car stops and, just visible beyond, in the darkness not three more car lengths from their rear bumper, lies in wait the same oblique scuffling and dragging. "Shit." As they'd deliberated their route the tide had changed and the dead still in the trees had migrated onto the road behind, cutting them off. The tension in the car mounts and intensifies. If Daryl had not removed their tail lights before their departure the dead might already be upon them. As it is, they do not have time to squander; they three grit their teeth, dig in, and calculate.
"We just come through," Simon argues huskily, "can't be too many behind us— C'n we j'st push through? Go now and push through?" He leans to peer out the rear window, determined to make a way out.
"Could try," Daryl weighs. "But we risk gettin' grounded on th' carnage. Then we're stuck, and a fixed target; won't last unnoticed too long."
"Wait it out?" Beth posits with urgency.
Daryl shakes his head, evaluating. "Too high a risk.'
"No more than what we'd be takin' out there," Simon counters.
"We've waited them out before in cars." Their words come speedily, bandying across the small space of the car as mortal immediacy pushes them to a decision.
Daryl glances at Beth then out the window, scanning the numbers they're up against — every minute more visible in number as their eyes adjust to no light. "This many, we'd never make it. Got too many windows. We wait for them to storm us, an' we get overrun: it'll be too late t' run."
"So we what? Run?" Simon asks. "We don't have a clear path to drive, d'we have a clear path t' run?"
"We're running out 'f time–" The SUV reverberates with a sudden thud as the first walker collides into it. "Right," Daryl grunts. Nimbly he unlatches the cylinder and checks the chambers of his revolver; satisfied he shuts it close. "Leave ev'rything; we'll make for the treeline, keep downwind. Looks like the ground could be elevated; go up th' ridge – if they follow the incline'll thin 'em out. We'll circle back once they've passed." He eyes both Beth and Simon, "Ready?" Each reaches for their blades and firearms, Daryl his crossbow. "Greene, you first, out your door. Kid, climb up, you follow." Another thud hits the vehicle. Simon, eyes narrowed on the path he'll make, nods and steels himself. Beth breathes, her hand gripping tightly the door handle. They've survived worse than this. She looks to Daryl; resolutely he nods. "Go, now."
Beth – a Beretta and hunting knife at her hips, a cane knife ready in her hand – grips the handle. She waits to be sure Simon is poised to follow, then she pulls the latch, swings open the door, jumps down and runs. By the time she fells the first walker in her path Simon's out and running. Simon pushes a lunging biter into another then drives his blade into the broken face of a third. Making way for his own exit, Daryl kicks a clawing rotting corpse out of the open doorway then slams the passenger door on another, catching it at the shoulders allowing him the time to drive his blade up and through the back of the thing's neck. Daryl shoves the dispatched rotter to the ground then shuts the car door and follows after the others. Noting the wind direction as he runs, Daryl knives another walker then deftly raises his bow and fires, shooting down one gaining on Beth. The herd being thinner on their side of the vehicle, the path they cut through the darkness to the trees is won without too much peril. They make it, and do so without firing a shot. Once within the treeline they keep going, traversing the uneven ground at an unbroken pace. Simon looks behind them to the car, already surrounded at least three deep on all sides. "Keep movin'," Daryl growls. They'd made it to the cover of the trees, but their escape had not gone unnoted; there are walkers in pursuit, and while they're most formidable in number on the road, there's no reason to doubt there are outliers here among the trees. Keeping quiet, they move fleetly through the woods, keeping clear of tree roots and underbrush that might take them down. The coverage of the woods breaks the wind some, but it is cold, and neither the adrenaline nor the running is enough to dull its bite. They keep moving, not risking being caught for carelessness or a change in the wind. Behind them they can hear the herd advancing. The walkers flood onto the road and splinter at the vehicle, forking like a river around a sandspit, running above and below, careening off the obstruction of the abandoned automobile. Walkers surround the car and keep coming, the building blockage diverting others into the woods and onto the road in both directions.
Fallen branches and leaves crunch and snap beneath their feet as the trio runs. Above them, the night sky is cloudless, swept clear by the wind. The stars burn overhead but under the cover of the trees the three running figures strain their eyes as they keep moving, looking for a place to take cover and wait out the dead. So far there's nothing, just trees too small in diameter to shield any of them, and not much else. They push on – keeping their pace faster than the amassing creatures on the road – both evading and taking down the ones already ahead of them in the woods. Beneath them the terrain underfoot changes in grade, sloping up as Daryl had said it would. Now, instead of dirt and leafy ground coverage, they'd transitioned to a rocky crumbling underfooting difficult to scale. Daryl braces himself and starts the climb then reaches back for Beth's hand to help her secure her footing. Simon follows but Beth stumbles, and then so too does Simon. They right themselves quickly and try again to follow Daryl's toeholds further up the grade. Simon switches his blade to his other hand and grips her elbow to push her up. The cold air chills Beth's lower back where her layers have lifted at her bent waist and left her exposed. Simon turns to mark the distance between them and two walkers on their trail: Far enough that if they make the ascent they'll be okay, but too close if they linger long. Above them, Daryl raises his loaded bow and swiftly shoots to take one out. Struck dead on, it stumbles and teeters over as the other advances. "Com'on," the archer growls his urging and turns back to take broad, surefooted steps up the climb. In the darkness the earthen gravel breaks and splits apart. Daryl's footing slips and loose rocks and upturned dirt skid downhill to his companions below. Beth stumbles to her hands and knees again.
"Daryl–" Simon calls, "it's too steep, she shouldn't do it." Even as he speaks sandstone and packed sediment skid out from beneath their feet. "She can't climb this." Hearing the snarling close upon them, Simon turns and kicks back the other walker, the motion of doing so nearly knocks him off his feet again.
Daryl looks to Beth. "Y'alright?"
Beth's fortitude makes her nod and try again. "I'h c'n do it."
Daryl grimaces. His eyes move quickly over both her and their surroundings. The kid's not wrong; even at this stage her balance may likely be off, and the crumbling incline is proving unforgiving. He assesses the road behind them before he makes his call, then brusquely Daryl nods. "We're okay here." Reworking their plan, Daryl retreats back down. Quickly he steps his worn boot into the crossbow stirrup, pulls hard and reloads his weapon. With hardly a glance he shoots down the closest walker then pushes Simon and Beth ahead of him. "Keep moving." Taking a direct path from the road, keeping the wind at their backs and putting bad terrain between them and the herd had been a good plan – better than moving along more or less parallel to it. But if they cannot scale the grade they'll only lose time trying to, exerting wasted energy and risking Beth falling too hard. They're not doing that again. The road behind them continues to swarm with roamers spilling over from the woods on the opposite side and from the unmeasurable mass that'd first been their cause for stopping.
The walkers mostly follow the current of their own making, with what looks to be the majority of them still heading down the road. But the swell is not over — they keep coming — and there have already been roamers and a significant splintering-off taking to the road in the direction the car had driven in from. With numbers that size anything could trigger a breaking away of enough of them to be a threat. Together the three of them will have to move fast and undetected; they need to get to someplace where they can wait it out, as far from the threat of danger as they can.
No longer able to move directly away from the car and herd, Simon turns them back – just as seven or so of the dead aim their direction on them – through the trees along the road, retracing the path they'd driven in on. A walker, still fresh by a couple of days, converges on them from the opposite direction, staggering and clawing at them. Simon rushes forward and cleaves it down with his blade. They redouble their pace again. Walkers tail them, fracturing off in clumps and hordes to give chase even as the trio encounters more already ahead of them on their path. They three skirt and veer away from the dead when they can and dispatch them when a clash is inescapable. The urgency is real, the flight is imperative, but as they run, even as more and more dead splinter off in their pursuit, survival feels within grasp. They keep their pace fast and calculated. When on their left the incline eventually breaks down, they again hook left and turn deeper into the woods. Now again under the coverage of trees they have more to conceal them but also more to hinder their progress. Now there are trunks to evade, roots to overstep, and branches to dodge. Daryl takes a strike to his face from a dead branch he'd counted on having more give. There's no telling how much of the herd they have on their tail but enough that they can hear them crashing through the brush. The hook left had helped, but they aren't clear. With the road behind them, they look now for a course. "There!" Simon points and calls. The path they'd been striking through the woods had been sloping downward and now they traverse into a dried gully. They keep their speed as they scramble down the eroded fissure, which the further down they go digs deeper into the earth. In little time steep walls of sediment and groundless roots grow on either side of them. They use the water-cut tracks as a guide forward, never thinking if it's a path they can retrace. There's a crashing and a thudding as first one walker and then another stumble and plummet after them. Just in time, Beth jumps out of range then drives down hard her massive blade into the nearest biting skull. The other's head implodes by the impact of the butt end of Daryl's crossbow. Some measures further they're out of the gully, now nine feet lower than the road and deeper into the woods than they'd anticipated before making a break for it from the car.
With some distance between them and anything in pursuit, they look now for cover. Their pace eases, though their movement's all that's keeping them warm. As cold as the night is the car had been more than comfortable; there hadn't been time to grab extra layers before making their quick escape. They trudge on, chilled and aimless. "Think we're good?" Simon breaks the silence in a hushed tone. "Think we c'n wait 'em out here?"
Holding the bow in one hand, Daryl touches first his palm then the back of his hand to Beth's flushed but icy face. "Y'alright?"
Beth nods, her eyes active as she remains alert to their circumstances. They appraise their surroundings. "M'ybe–" Simon breathes through the cold, "m'ybe we c'n get some coverage from th' wind at least. We'd cover our six if we could go in further and cut back to the other side of that grade."
In response, Daryl raises his bow and lets fly a bolt straight past his companions into the cavernous skull of another stray walker suddenly upon them. The thing jerks at impact then crumples in on itself. Knife at the ready, Daryl steps forward – poised to react – as for the first time since the car he's able to retrieve a bolt. For the moment the woods are still again but where there is one others could soon follow. Stepping down on the thing, Daryl's boot supplies the steadying pressure as from the skull he pulls hard to yank free the arrow, a squished liquid sound oozing with it from the crushed fragments of bone. With a nod from Daryl they move again, following Simon's suggestion of circling back around the land formation that before had obstructed their progress. Treading downhill, the slope takes them lower and lower until the forest floor gives way to a rocky uneven ground, chiseled through by a sharp wall of rock, arcing more than twenty feet over them into a sort of broken vaulted arch. Eyes straining through the night, they soon recognize they're at the bottom of a ravine, standing in what in rainy seasons might be a riverbed. Had they made that initial climb, they had better have hoped the walkers wouldn't have made it up after them – from where they stand it is clear the ground above cuts off dramatically, curving under in long jagged rock formations, curving under like the hollowed out rib cage of some great ancient beast. The drop would have been sudden if unseen, landing them on the rocky rubble they now stand on. Cane knife still at the ready and gory from use, Beth blows on her hands and rubs them together. Looking up past the ravine's open break, Beth's watchful eyes find the stars burning clearly through the windswept sky. She stomps her feet and rubs her arms.
"Can't be much longer," Daryl remarks. "Wait 'em out then circle back to th' car. We time it right, we c'n slip in and get out unnoticed."
Simon swipes his hand past his running nose, "We got 'nough gas to backtrack all that way?"
"Got no other choice," Daryl grunts. "Can't follow 'em; we'll j'st keep runnin' into them. Could be days or longer till they shift off the road." No one says anything more. Daryl spits. "Should 've enough siphoned. We'll go as far as it takes us." The wind howls.
Grateful for the shielding from the wind but not not ill at ease, Beth looks around, turning her head in every direction, her breath discernable in the cold air as she does. "Are we okay here?" She turns her attention further into the ravine where the earth above seemingly closes in on itself. "There's no way out but the way we came in." Now Simon looks. He'd thought having their backs covered would be an improvement to their circumstances, but she has a point.
Wordlessly Daryl readies his weapon then steps out into the woods, tuning his ears to hear beyond the wind and the shifting of rocks beneath his own steps. Out there in the raucous quiet of the wind and night sounds of the forest, Daryl scans for any unnatural moving thing. In his absence Simon winks bolsteringly at Beth, but she isn't worried so much as she's ready. Though beyond what they can clearly make out in the darkness Daryl has not gone far. The wind cries out, making strange sounds as it whistles down through the rocks and hollows. Then Daryl's footsteps return. "Clear," he grunts, wiping away the streak of blood from his stinging cheek. "F'r now. Any 'f 'em make it down here, should get 'nough 'f a warning with th' forerunners t' clear out." They cluster together, the warmth of their breath visibly filling the space between them. Shifting the weight of his bow to one hand, Daryl rubs firmly the sides of Beth's arms and her upper back to warm her. They move further into the gorge and stand there, waiting. Eventually Simon leans against the quartz and sandstone wall and Beth sits down, tucking her legs within her arms. She drops her head to her knees with the vague hope her breath may provide some approximation of heat. The effect, if anything, is minimal, but she remains this way, curled in on herself, closing in what parts of her are exposed to the elements. Ill at ease in recline, Simon moves into action again, picking up dried leaves and twigs. When he's exhausted what can be found in their small area he journeys past Daryl back into the open of the woods, scouring for wood to light a fire. Observing passively as Simon slips out past his range of vision, Daryl bounces on the balls of his feet to keep the blood flowing. The wind gusts and blows. Beth keeps her mind trained on the moment she'll need to either rise to fight or rise to run. Likely she shouldn't be letting her muscles rest like this, but all the same, she isn't going to move until there's a need. Beyond the walls of their alcove sounds the thuds and upheavals of a skirmish. Beth's head shoots up. Daryl stiffens, he grips the bow and waits. When he doesn't hear anything more he whistles a slow sparrow call and waits. Beth holds her breath.
The call comes back to them and then through the darkness emerges Simon, returning with a modest armload of kindling. "Got two'f 'em," he says, letting the twigs and branches fall to the ground beside the gathered tinder. "Neither dead long." He sniffs in the cold air as he looks to both of his companions. "There's a dirt road out there."
"Could lead to a cabin," Beth offers, not really bothering to lift her face from where it again hangs between the shelter of her knees.
"Don't need a cabin." Daryl wipes his nose in the elbow of his sleeve then flexes his frozen fingers where they stiffly grip the foregrip and trigger of the crossbow. "We head for the car; get back on the road." Again the wind howls.
Simon looks up from the work of breaking apart branches. "Think we c'n head back?"
"Naw." Daryl shifts his bow to one hand and gestures at the makings of their fire. "Hasn't even been twenty minutes. That herd's still out there. We hold up here."
Beth lifts her head, then shifts her weight to rise and help with the fire. Simon waves her off, "You're good there, I've got it." Simon lifts a selection of jagged rocks from the ravine bottom and forms a circle with a taller flatter rock at one end and an open gap opposite it. Pulling the lighter from his pocket and shielding the tinder from the wind, Simon lights the handful of leaves and blows on them to help the fire spark. Once it catches he adds the kindling and watches it ignite. The fire's small, without an ample supply of fuel to keep it going long, but it's some warmth at least. As the fire snaps and cracks, Beth scooches closer and Daryl too steps nearer. They're quiet as they wait, keeping their minds on flight and not on the temperature. "I've never seen so many of 'em at once," Simon mulls. "Not out on the road like that – moving altogether. Biggest herd I've seen was maybe half that size." A cold blast of wind gusts through from the ravine mouth above, biting at their necks and flesh, flickering the licking flames of the fire. "How many you think're out there?"
Daryl grunts. "Too many to t' take on."
In the distance a commotion sounds. A crashing and tumbling of brush, rubble, and bodies. All three start. Beth clambers to her feet. "They're coming down the gully."
"Some of 'em, anyway." Daryl hoists his bow and edges to the mouth of the gorge, signaling for the others to stay behind. He can make them out – a tangle of rotten limbs and gnashing jaws – above them more, teetering toward the edge of the gully like lemmings. Daryl glances back at the others, signaling to be quiet and to hold their positions. He can't make out the numbers; maybe no more than a dozen, but at this range he has no way of knowing. Daryl fires a bolt into one already on his feet at the bottom of the shoal, then takes his hunting knife to two others before retreating back to Beth and Simon. "More 'f 'em up there," he breathes huskily. "This spot here still could be alright for waitin', but don't think we're making it back that way."
Simon looks back and up through the closing-in of the gorge above them. "Then we go around, out through the mouth, break left and circle back around the gorge; we make for the road that way and then back to the car."
Daryl nods, weighing the alternatives. Beth speaks up. "Th' herd was thickest on that stretch of the road. We won't have any way of tellin' if it's clear till we're already there."
Daryl grunts in agreement. He too looks up, as Simon just had done. "We go up. We c'n do it. It'll be hard for us but they won't make it. We wait 'em out there; get a full survey of their numbers and migration."
Simon side glances at Beth. "You think you c'n make it?"
"She's good," Daryl's assurance barrels over Beth's ability to consider or answer for herself.
Right hand resting on her holstered Beretta, Beth nods her own affirmation. "I'm okay; I'll be fine."
"Right," Daryl grunts. "There's time before they're on us, but we need the head start. Eyes open. Move fast till we get to slope."
"What'd y'all think?" Simon asks. "Leave the fire?"
Daryl flexes his grip on the crossbow and jerks his head toward the opening for them to follow, "Could delay 'em if they make it this far. Let's move."
Once again they're on the move, leaving behind the small campfire and relative shelter of the sandstone walls. They follow the footprint of the gorge, tracing it back further into the woods, further from the road until it seems to at last have brought them to a direction of what it feels to them must be somewhat parallel to the road and the grade on the other side. They push on a bit further, estimating where their ascent will take them to the ridge, past where the gorge seals itself into the earth.
"Here," Daryl judges. "We'll try here. Lean into th' hillside an' point your downhill foot out. Test th' stability 'f your foot placement b'fore grounding your weight. Stay nimble — if somethin' shifts underfoot, move. Use your hands t' scramble. Mind the machetes. Greene," he gestures with his bow, "you first."
Beth harnesses her cane blade, breathes in, and climbs. The hillside is rocky and crumbles around her footholds, but this time, with both hands free, with no walkers directly at her back, with more of the mindset to do it, Beth climbs. The wind blows stronger as she ascends, piercing through the thin layers of her clothes, biting her face and howling past her ears. She nears the top. "There y'go," Daryl nods. "Now you." Daryl presses Simon towards the pitch. Turning his back to the grade, Daryl scans the path they've taken, tracking his sightlines for walkers over the scope of his ready crossbow. Satisfied they're good for the moment, Daryl turns back around and tests his first foothold to follow after Simon. At the top, Beth hugs her arms to her chest, ducking her ears closer between her shoulders as she awaits the other two. Simon, too, is nearing ridge, using his blade to help balance his climb.
Suddenly all eyes look up – big and alarmed. Simon straightens and Daryl stops advancing. What they'd heard they knew right away it wasn't walkers. They all three look around. That wasn't the wind. Probably hadn't been all this time. That was a scream, undeniably. All three tense and turn to look straight into the outer darkness. It's Beth who breaks the silence in its aftermath. "That was a scream. Somebody's out there..."
My sincere apologies. I never imagined it would take this long to post again after my last chapter. Honestly. This whole next sequence has been in my mind since long before I took such an extended hiatus, but I've had a rough time working it out in my head, where it's always been mulling around in the background, all this time I haven't been writing it. I've also really been trying to avoid the black hole of ff in which I tend to let other responsibilities totally slide to the wayside when I really fall into it. Anyway, I have a start on the next chapter, but at most it's only half drafted and still needs a lot of orchestrating. As I've said before, I do have the final chapter already written and most of the remaining significant beats already plotted and somewhat drafted in pieces. (I don't know if that's any assurance or just a greater frustration, given how long it took me to come back to this story). That said though, there is still a significant amount of writing still to be done, and then there are the cycles of revisions. Mostly it's the problem of taking the fragments of writing I already do have and the various plot points I want, and finding a way to bring them together logically and cohesively. I want to thank everyone who waited and who is still around, everyone who has been so supportive of this story in the past. If you're still around, or newly finding the story, THANK YOU! I would so truly LOVE to hear from you. I hope you are all well!