Zedler, M.D. // Daryl Dixon

Chapter Sixty-Nine: Rotating Chicken Drum Stick at the County Fair

sixty-nine

Beatrix

Lucas and I walk for minutes, hours, maybe even a day, I am honestly not sure, before we finally find somewhere to stop. It's a small house in the actual middle of nowhere, with absolutely no supplies inside. We work together to shove all of the furniture in front of the only door to the place before I finally give in to my exhaustion and collapse on the couch.

"Let me look at your injuries," Lucas' voice is soft as he crouches down beside of me, running his fingers over the wounds on my face. "I'll get some water to clean those off with. I'll be right back."

He returns only a few moments later with a bowl of water and a washcloth. I have no idea where he got the water, but I don't have the energy to ask. He dabs the rag on my face and in the water several times before the water turns completely red with my blood. He then tries to life up my shirt, but I instinctively slap his hand out of the way.

"I need to make sure your wounds are clean, Bea," Lucas calmly explains before trying to life my shirt again. This time, I let him, and he rolls it up to my chest before working on cleaning my still healing bite wound. "I'm sorry it has to be like this."

"It's not your fault," I mutter, staring off into the distance, fixating my eyes on one of the family pictures sitting on the mantle. "I shouldn't have gone down with Rick. I should have stayed with Daryl. Maybe then he wouldn't be dead."

"Dead? Beatrix, Daryl isn't dead," Lucas frowns, sitting the bowl to the side and rolling my shirt back down.

"Yes he is. If he wasn't dead, he would have came to me, but he didn't. So that's how I know he's dead," I explain, tears dripping down my cheeks, but I don't move. It's one of those wet cries that you know you're crying, but you don't have the energy to do all of the sniffling or sobbing that comes with it. You just let it happen. "I've been married for all of one day, and I'm already a widow."

"Come here," Lucas mutters, opening his arms to me. I scoot over on the couch to take him up on his offer, laying my head on his chest as he wraps his arms around me. "I'm here, Bea. We're going to be okay. We're going to find the rest of our people, and we will be okay."

If I had to be stuck with somebody, I'm glad it's Lucas. I know that he and I have had our issues in the past, but Lucas is my family. I still love him, just not in a romantic way anymore, and I know that he loves me. We will take care of each other.

"Lucas, I'm scared. I am so scared," I mutter into his chest, grabbing a handful of his shirt in my hand.

"I know, Bea. I am too," he whispers back, running his hands over my hair. "But we'll be okay. Just go to sleep, and we'll figure out a plan tomorrow."

I don't say anything else. Instead, I close my eyes and let the darkness consume me.

//////////

"Well it's about time," Lucas laughs a little as I blink my eyes, trying to push myself up off the couch. He's sitting beside of me on a chair he pulled from the kitchen.

"How long?" I groan, finally sitting up on the couch.

"About a day and a half," he answers.

"Jesus," I frown. "Well, I needed it. At least I feel a little better."

"That's good. I've been checking your wounds, and they're healing nicely," he explains, rolling my shirt up to show me the almost fully healed bite mark. "I found some food nearby, too. You hungry?"

"Not really," I mutter, looking down at the bite. "We need to go. If any of our people are alive, they wouldn't just be sitting around. They would be looking for us. Rick and Baxly would be looking for me."