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The woods were surprisingly empty. No other survivors that Daryl could see any sign of, and fewer walkers than he would have expected. At least that meant they didn't have to see any of their people walking. He could handle that, he could … but he'd rather not if he didn't have to.

The morning had worn on pretty far by the time he found the first tracks he could even pretend might have been from a living person. He tried not to let Beth get her hopes up, but she was determined to save something. Someone.

She followed the tracks pretty well, leaving Daryl to meander along behind her, trying not to let her get his hopes up, either.

Then he found where the person they were following had run into trouble. He stopped and pointed that out to her, telling her things had gone bad, but she was having none of it.

"Wouldn't kill you to have a little faith," she snapped.

"Yeah, faith. Faith ain't done shit for us. Sure as hell didn't do nothing for your father." He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. She didn't deserve that. But then, neither had Hershel. Or any of them. And it had happened anyway. She'd have to toughen up if she was going to survive any longer.

They stared at each other, Beth accusing, Daryl apologetic but trying not to show it.

Without a word, she turned and starting picking berries off a bush. "They'll be hungry when we find them."

He pulled a bandana out of his pocket, shaking the dirt off it, and held it out to her as a bag to carry the food in. Then they moved off in search of the person they were following.

At the railroad tracks, they found what Daryl had been expecting: a group of walkers making a meal of someone who had been alive that morning.

He took out the walkers, collected his arrows, and started to move on.

Behind him, Beth cried. For herself, for her father, for her sister … for everyone. All the tears she had been holding back all day. He started to walk off without her, but—he couldn't. He owed Hershel. And Rick. And Glenn and Maggie and Michonne and Carl and … everyone he had lost. All of them would want him to protect this little girl who was so not ready for the world she was trapped in.

So he went back, and he drew her away as gently as he knew how, and they moved on.

They kept moving, despite the lack of food and rest. Nowhere felt safe. The few houses they passed had been picked over and were in stages of dilapidation that kept them from being good shelter. Night closed in and they were still moving, every nerve strained by keeping their eyes and ears open for walkers. (Or for friends. Little as Daryl believed they were going to find their people, he couldn't help hoping, and he knew Beth couldn't, either.)

Above their heads, thunder rumbled. A storm was coming. Being out in it wouldn't be safe.

They found a car by the side of the road. Beth stepped over the body lying half in and half out of the door, climbing into the driver's seat and turning the key.

Even as he watched for danger, Daryl was proud of her. A few months ago … hell, a few days ago, he wasn't sure if she could have stepped over that body so easily.

He heard the empty click of the ignition just before he heard the growl of oncoming walkers. Beth shook her head at him, and he gestured toward the trunk of the car, popping it open and helping her in. It was an old make and model, with a roomy enough trunk for both of them. It wasn't great shelter, but it would keep them safe from both walkers and weather.

Beth climbed in and Daryl climbed after her, pulling the trunk down. He tied it off with his bandana instead of latching it, to make sure they were able to get out again. In the sliver of light that left, they could see the shadows of walkers moving past. They growled and thumped against the car. Beth was holding herself together as tightly as she could, but Daryl could feel her fear. He even shared it. There were a lot more of the assholes than he had thought there might be. He could hear them even over the rumble of thunder.

He held the crossbow ready, so that if any of the dead tried to open the trunk, they'd get a nasty surprise. Next to him, Beth held tightly on to her knife.

The growling and the thunder were sounds out of nightmare, out of a horror movie, back when life wasn't its own horror movie, and the flashes of lightning brightening the inside of the trunk felt like strobes.

Daryl wanted to scream and run and get the hell out of there; he could only imagine how Beth might be feeling. But there wasn't a sound. Not a whimper, not even a gasp of fear. She'd grown up a lot since they'd both lost everything.

The lid of the trunk shook as the walkers passed, and Daryl and Beth held steady. They stayed that way all through the night, until the morning sun lit up the space the trunk lid left and all they could hear was the chirping of birds. Beth unwound the bandana and slowly pushed the trunk lid open. They blinked against the light, slowly climbing out and stretching cramped muscles.

Nothing. No walkers, nothing but the car and the still dead body in the road.

They scavenged everything off the car that might possibly be useful, stuffing it into a black garbage bag they'd found in the trunk. Daryl hefted it over his shoulder, and he and Beth exchanged a long look.

Without a word, he turned and walked down the road, and behind him, just as silent, she followed.