Beyond Terminus (Book Two)

Chapter 18: Smashing in the Deep

"Let's see what we see," Daryl says as we sit near the window sill.

His arm stays around my waist, and my head rests on his shoulder. We're eating potato chips, Old Dutch. They aren't the pop-tarts I was craving earlier, but hey, it's food.

My legs ache horribly when they aren't moving. My jeans are cut off, and it feels weird to be wearing shorts. Good thing my legs are covered in bandages. According to Carol and Daryl, there were little bits of glass embedded in them. I'm lucky to be alive.

I smirk. There's another reason to believe that there's a God; I survived that kamikaze moment.

"You said I ain't like how I was before?" Daryl asks.

"Yeah," Carol says, swallowing a chip.

"How was I?"

"It's like you were a kid. Now you're a man, a husband." She smirks.

"Wonder how that happened," he mumbles, nudging my arm.

"Hope, you went from a girl just trying to make it to a strong young woman. Struggler to survivor."

"All of us did that...You two were survivors long before the apocalypse." I pause. "What about you Carol? Can I know?"

"Sophia and I stayed at that shelter for a day and a half before I went running back to Ed. I went home, I got beat up, life went on, and I just kept praying for something to happen. But I didn't do anything. Not a damn thing. Who I was with him...she got burned away, and I was happy about that," she says. After a moment, she continues, "I mean, not happy, but at the prison...I got to be who I always thought I should be, thought I should've been, and then she got burned away too. Everything now just consumes you."

"Well, hey, we ain't ashes," Daryl says, shrugging.

After another moment, we hear thumping coming from the hall. Daryl gets up, readying his machete, and I stand.

"You good?" he asks.

"Fine. It'll be better once I'm moving," I respond.

We head down the hall. I limp a little, but at least I can keep up. A broken leg would've been much much worse. A walker with an arrow stuck in its neck growls at us, pinned to the wall. Daryl stabs it and grabs the arrow.

"Is that yours?" I ask.

"Yeah."

We hear shots going off and rush towards it. As I round the corner, I get a glimpse of the same boy from before. Then, a walker is shoved onto me. The sudden weight causes me to collapse, and I grunt in pain as I fight against its snapping jaws.

Daryl sinks his machete into its brain, and Carol tries to help me up. She groans and grabs her side, and I push myself up.

He grasps my arm and starts to pull, but I push him away.

"We'll be right there," I say, and he nods, taking off.

I stand up again, wrapping an arm around Carol's shoulders. She does the same for me, and we help each other walk down the hall. I hear something large hit the ground and the sharp squeal of surprise from the boy.

We enter, where we can see a walker growling against the door and the boy trapped beneath a cabinet.

"Pl-please," he begs. "I had to protect myself."

"Why you followin' us?!" Daryl demands, snatching up his beloved crossbow and tossing me my pistol.

I release Carol and snag it, re-holstering the weapon.

"I-I didn't, I swear! I thought you followed me," the boy stammers, panting.

"Bullshit," he spits.

"Come on, man. Please."

Daryl doesn't respond as he grabs a box of cigarettes, pulling one out and lighting it.

"Nah, I already helped you once. It ain't happenin' again," he says as he blows some smoke out. "Have fun with Hoss over there."

"No! No, no, no!" the boy cries as Daryl walks away. "No, no, no! Please! Please! I'm sorry, please! Please, please, please!"

"Daryl!" I call after him. "Daryl! Stop!"

"You almost died 'cause of him!" he yells, turning back to face me.

"But I didn't," I counter.

"Nah, let him be."

"I'm sorry. Please, I'm sorry!" he keeps begging.

I bite my lip. I can't stand here and let this boy die. The walker is getting closer to him, and Carol looks about as indecisive as I feel.

Just as I go to kill the walker, and arrow pierces its skull. Daryl lowers his crossbow, another puff of smoke exiting his mouth.

"Oh, thank you. Thank you," the boy pants as we shove the shelf off of him.

He limps towards the window, his eyes wide.

"You okay?" Daryl asks me. "You okay?" he repeats to Carol.

"I'm still here," I reply, and Carol nods.

He presses a kiss to my forehead, and we pick up our fallen stuff, ready to leave.

"I gotta go. I gotta go. They're gonna come. They probably heard the shot," the boy mutters. "If they find me-"

"Who?" Carol asks.

"Them, people at the hospital," the boy replies, turning to us.

"Wait, wait, wait, just tell us-" Daryl says, grasping the boy's shoulder. "-is there a blonde girl there? You see a blonde girl?"

"Beth?"

I feel a surge of happiness, and our mouths fall open in simultaneous shock. Who would've thought that one name would feel so fulfilling right now.

"You know her? She helped me get out, but she's still there," the boy says, looking around.

"They're coming," Carol says, motioning to the car driving outside.

"We gotta go, now," the boy commands.

"Can we get your name?" I ask.

"Noah. It's Noah."

"Alright Noah. Lead the way," Carol says.

We head out again, Noah in the lead.

"The building next door has a basement," he explains. "It's clear. We'll be safe."

We run as fast as we can, which isn't very fast considering Noah and I are both limping. He trips, falling to the ground.

"Go, I got him," Daryl says to Carol. She nods and dashes ahead. "Come on, get up."

We each grab his arm and help him up as we continue to follow Carol.

Just as we're about to get into the open city streets again, the car appears out of nowhere, sending Carol rolling across the hood and onto the pavement. Her body goes completely limp.

I muffle a scream, and Daryl and I both try to reach her in a desperate dash for the road.

"No, no, no! Wait, wait!" Noah begs, pulling at both of us, keeping us away.

"Let go of me!" Daryl demands.

"Wait! They can help her. They're the only ones who can. They have medicine, machines, a doctor. You go out there, you'll have to kill them, okay? And then she can't get their help," Noah says. We stop, watching from the shadows as two police officers put Carol's limp form onto a stretcher. "Is that what you want? We can get her back. We can get Beth back."

"What's it gonna take?" I ask.

"A lot. They've got guns...people...." Noah says.

We watch as they drive away, and Daryl shifts his crossbow in his hand.

"So do we."