The desolate woods amplify the weight of silence as Beth and Daryl sit together, sparse daylight filtering through the thick canopy overhead. They dine on a meager meal of snake that Daryl has managed to hunt down. Lost in her thoughts, Beth gazes downward at her feet, contemplating the sequence of events that led them to this shared moment of solitude.
"I need a drink," Beth breaks the silence, her voice laced with longing and frustration. She tosses aside the bottle of water she holds, seeking some acknowledgment from Daryl, who remains focused on his meal, seemingly indifferent to her words. "No, I mean a real drink," she clarifies, setting the bottle aside as she continues speaking. "As in alcohol. I've never had one because of my dad. But he's not exactly around anymore, so..." Her voice trails off into the silence, met only by the sound of Daryl's steady chewing. Beth sighs softly, understanding that her attempt at conversation isn't landing as she hoped. "I thought we could go find some," she suggests, her tone a mix of invitation and resignation, but there's no response from the stoic man. "Okay then," Beth mutters to herself, rising to her feet with a hint of exasperation. "Well... enjoy your snake jerky."
She turns to walk away, frustration simmering beneath her skin. As she ventures further into the woods, her words echo off the trees. However, the serenity of her departure quickly dissipates when the distant, guttural groans of walkers echo through the woods. Beth halts abruptly, fear crossing her features as she instinctively seeks cover behind the nearest tree, her heartbeat quickening in response to the impending danger.
Cautiously crouching down, Beth grabs a nearby rock and tosses it to the side, creating a diversion. The walkers are drawn to the noise and slowly shuffle in the direction of the sound. As they amble away, Beth takes a deep breath, her hand clutching a knife she has retrieved from her belt in readiness for defense.
Suddenly, a walker approaches closer, startling Beth. Before it gets too near, the presence of Daryl with his crossbow appears by her side, offering her an unspoken assurance of support. Their eyes meet briefly, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. With a protective stance, Daryl prepares to assist her if the situation escalates.
A shared understanding seems to pass between them before Daryl turns away, his footsteps leading the way, and Beth follows closely behind him, a glint of gratitude shimmering in her eyes.
"I think we made it away. I'm pretty sure we've got to head that way to find the booze," she points out, kicking a few cans that clang noisily. She shoots Daryl a glare. "What the hell brought me back? I'm not staying in this sick-ass camp," she flips him off, attempting to walk away, but Daryl forcefully grabs her arm.
"Hey! You had your fun," he warns with a dangerous tone.
Beth yanks her arm out of his grip. Daryl points a finger at her face as she turns towards him. "What the hell is wrong with you? Do you feel anything?" she snaps, but Daryl only stares back. "Yeah, you think everything's screwed. I guess that's a feeling. So, you want to spend the rest of our lives staring into a fire and eating mud snakes? Screw that. We might as well do something. I can take care of myself, and I'm gonna get a damn drink," she walks away, and Daryl pauses for a moment. He kneels down to pick up the bandana, placing it in his pocket, and follows her.
A young woman, around 18 years old, hurriedly traverses through the forest, catching sight of the bus and scattered walker bodies in its vicinity. Startled by the growling sounds of approaching walkers, she flees deeper into the woods.
Looking back anxiously, she searches for the marker she left behind to identify the spot where she camped the previous night. Spotting a ribbon tied to a nearby tree, she retrieves it and carefully tucks it away in her pocket. Picking up her backpack, she hurries onwards, keeping to a straight path until she notices another marker tied to a tree, prompting her to change direction and run leftward.
The young woman clutches the knife tightly as she sprints ahead, following a straight path for a brief moment until she spots another ribbon tied to a tree. Quickly grabbing it, she veers to the right, running with increased urgency.
Gasping for breath, she exhales with relief at the sight of her belongings. She leans against a nearby tree, trying to catch her breath when she detects movement nearby. Alarmed, she ducks behind the tree and cautiously peers around its edge.
Her eyes widen as she spots the woman she had seen before running in a hasty, unsteady gait, blood trailing from her injured leg. Without warning, the woman stumbles and falls into a nearby ditch. Reacting swiftly, the young girl wastes no time and rushes towards her without hesitation. Disposing of two walkers trailing the injured woman, she swiftly descends into the ditch.
Worried about the woman's severe wounds, she tries to assist her immediately. "Are you okay?" she asks Madeleine, who mumbles something before losing consciousness.
The young girl, checking for any signs of life, finds a faint but discernible pulse in the unconscious woman. With swift determination, she reaches into her backpack, retrieving a pair of scissors. She promptly tears open the woman's trousers, carefully unwinding the makeshift bandage she discovers.
Quickly emptying her backpack on the ground, she sifts through her belongings until she retrieves a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Pouring it over the wound, she works deftly, grabbing the necessary supplies to begin stitching up the injury. With a practiced hand, she sets to work, meticulously closing the wound before tightly bandaging it. A sense of relief washes over her as she completes the task.
After attending to the woman's wound, she moistens a cloth with a little water from her supplies. Gently, she wipes the sweat and dirt from the woman's face, cleaning her up as best she can. Then, taking a new shirt from her pack, she carefully arranges it over the woman's torn clothes, hoping to provide her some comfort.
In the dense silence of the woods, Beth attempts to strike up a conversation with Daryl. "A motorcycle mechanic," she ventures.
Daryl furrows his brow, "Huh?"
"That's my guess. For what you were doing before all this." Beth explains, a soft smile gracing her lips, but Daryl remains stoic. "Did Zack ever make that guess?"
Daryl offers a nonchalant shrug, brushing off her words, his focus fixed on scanning the ground for any sign of tracks. "Doesn't matter. Hasn't for a while."
"It's just something people talk about, you know, to try to hold onto a semblance of normalcy," Beth points out with a knowing look.
"Yeah, well, that never felt normal to me." Daryl answers as they approach an abandoned house. "Found this place with..." he trails off, swallowing the lump in his throat. "her."
In the abandoned house, shadows cast eerie shapes across the walls as Beth and Daryl navigate the silent spaces, seeking refuge from the relentless world outside.
Observing the grim surroundings, Beth breaks the uneasy silence. "I was expecting a liquor store," she comments, noting the absence of familiar comforts.
Daryl dismisses the notion with a shake of his head. "No, this is better."
Their exploration leads them to a shed where Daryl scours the shelves, gathering jars and bottles, assembling them into a makeshift crate filled with moonshine.
"What's that?" Beth inquires, eyeing the collection curiously.
"Moonshine. Come on," Daryl responds, handing her the crate.
With Daryl leading the way through the house, Beth follows, the weight of the crate a tangible reminder of their discovery. As Daryl ensures the safety of their temporary haven, Beth places the crate down in a room, the floorboards creaking softly under its weight.
Daryl, swift and methodical, prepares a drink from the crate, presenting it to Beth, who hesitates before accepting the glass. "All right. That's a real first drink right there," he comments, noting her uncertainty.
Beth's fingers lightly grip the glass, her hesitation tinged with the cautionary words of her father. "Nothing. It's just... my dad always said bad moonshine can make you go blind," she explains, a tinge of concern in her voice.
Daryl's terse retort echoes through the room. "Ain't nothing worth seeing out there anymore anyway," he declares, reclining as he watches Beth gulp down her drink with a grim resolve.
Her face twists in distaste at the potent liquid. "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted," Beth grimaces, a forced chuckle escaping her lips as she finishes her drink. "Second round's better," she notes, pouring another.
"Slow down." Daryl warns.
"This one's for you," Beth insists with a smile, offering him a drink.
"No, I'm good," Daryl declines, a hint of avoidance in his demeanor.
Beth, sensing the deviation from Daryl's usual behavior, furrows her brow in suspicion. "Why?" she probes, aware of his previous openness to alcohol.
Daryl, concealing his true motives, shrugs nonchalantly. "Someone's got to keep watch," he says, a fabricated reason that masks his deeper feelings.
Beth throws a sarcastic remark at Daryl, arching an eyebrow in disbelief. "So, what, you're like my chaperone now?"
Daryl, his mind preoccupied with haunting memories, brushes off her comment, moving around the house. "Just drink lots of water," he advises, a hint of detachment in his tone.
"Yes, Mr. Dixon," Beth replies sarcastically, playfully saluting him as she swivels on her chair to face him. Her gaze wanders around the room, and she chuckles upon discovering an unexpected object—a bra fashioned into an ashtray. Daryl turns to see her amusement. "Who'd go into a store and walk out with this?" she wonders aloud, her face alight with amusement at the quirky discovery.
Daryl shares a story, his voice tinged with a mix of humor and ruefulness. "My dad, that's who. Oh, he's a dumbass. He'd set those up on top of the TV set, use them as target practice," he explains, gesturing toward the TV with a shake of his head.
Beth's expression softens, recognizing the stark contrast between his past experiences and hers. "He shot things inside your house?" she asks, her tone carrying a note of astonishment, hinting at the divergence of their upbringing.
Daryl nods somberly, his gaze fixed on the remnants of his childhood memories. "It was just a bunch of junk anyway. That's how I knew what this place was. That shed out there, my dad had a place just like this. You got your Dumpster chair. That's for sitting in..." His voice trails off, focusing on the chair, triggering memories of sharing his past with Madeleine, a moment of vulnerability they had spent together, immersed in their histories. "...and your drawers all summer drinking. Got your fancy buckets. That's for spitting chaw in after your old lady tells you to stop smoking," he continues, gesturing to various objects scattered around the room, each item sparking a vivid recollection. Spotting newspapers strewn about, Daryl picks one up, displaying it to Beth. "You got your internet," he remarks with a trace of wryness.
Beth's faint smile fades as the growl of a walker outside grabs their attention. Daryl signals for silence, cautiously peering through the boarded window, noticing a lone walker patrolling the perimeter.
"It's just one of 'em," Daryl reports quietly.
"Should we get it?" Beth inquires, her voice hushed.
Daryl shakes his head, turning to face her. "If he keeps making too much noise, yeah," he responds, the weight of survival and caution evident in his decision, each move a calculated risk in their perilous existence.
"Well, if we're gonna be trapped again, we might as well make the best of it," Beth suggests, extending the jar of moonshine toward Daryl. "Unless you're too busy chaperoning, Mr. Dixon."
Daryl, with a resigned sigh, takes the jar from her grasp, contemplating it for a moment. "Hell, might as well make the best of it," he concedes, settling onto the couch, sensing Beth's intense gaze upon him as he raises his drink. "Home, sweet home," he mutters, downing the liquid with a solemn nod.
Beth takes a modest sip of her drink before a playful idea strikes her. She scavenges for a makeshift table, positioning it in front of the sofa where Daryl sits. His quizzical expression prompts her to settle on the floor, opposite him.
"Let's play a drinking game," she proposes cheerfully, noticing his reluctance as he joins her on the floor. "So, first, I say something I've never done, and if you have done it, you drink. If you haven't, I drink. Then we switch. You really don't know this game?" Beth explains, pouring them both another drink, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Daryl shrugs dismissively. "I never needed a game to get lit before."
Beth's brow furrows in confusion. "Wait, are we starting?"
Daryl fixes her with a narrowed gaze. "How do you know this game?"
"My friends played. I watched," she explains, a fleeting wistful expression crossing her face at the memory of her friends. "Okay, I'll start. I've never shot a crossbow. So now you drink."
"Ain't much of a game," Daryl comments, taking a small sip of his drink.
"That was a warm-up. Now it's your turn."
Daryl hesitates, raking a hand through his hair. "I don't know."
"Just say the first thing that pops into your head," Beth encourages.
"I've never been out of Georgia."
"Really?" Beth queries, tilting her head slightly. "Okay, good one." She takes a sip of her drink. "I've never... been drunk and did something I regretted."
Daryl takes a long, contemplative sip. "I've done a lot of things."
"Your turn," Beth prompts.
"I've never been on vacation."
"What about camping?" Beth probes, her curiosity piqued about Daryl's past experiences.
Daryl shakes his head, a finger lightly touching his lip as he recalls. "No, that was just something I had to learn to hunt."
Beth inquires further, "Your dad teach you?"
"Mm-hmm," he affirms.
"Okay. I've never..." Beth trails off, lost in thought for a moment. "been in jail. I mean, as a prisoner," she clarifies with a smile, prompting an unamused scoff from Daryl.
"Is that what you think of me?" Daryl retorts, his gaze intense and fixed on her.
Beth, unfazed, shakes her head calmly. "I didn't mean anything serious. I just thought, you know, like the drunk tank. Even my dad got locked up for that back in the day."
"Drink up," Daryl replies curtly, clearly unamused by the assumption.
"Wait. Prison guard," Beth tries to redirect the conversation. "Were you a prison guard before?"
"No."
"It's your turn again," she prompts, trying to shift away from the discomfort of the previous exchange.
"I'm gonna take a piss." Daryl rises abruptly, clenching his drink tightly as he heads to the other side of the cabin, accidentally dropping and shattering his jar.
Beth jerks her head towards him, urgently cautioning him. "You have to be quiet."
"Can't hear you! I'm taking a piss!" Daryl responds loudly, the effects of alcohol clouding his judgment as memories of a conversation with Madeleine flood his mind. "I get why she didn't like to drink. Maybe, it's better I can't find her. She doesn't need me."
"Daryl, don't talk so loud," Beth demands, rising from the ground.
"What, are you my chaperone now?" Daryl retorts, finishing and zipping up his jeans. "Oh, wait. It's my turn, right?" He turns to face her with a bitter edge, his anger palpable. "I've never- never eaten frozen yogurt. Never had a pet pony. Never got nothing from Santa Claus." In a fit of rage, he pushes a chair down which breaks at the impact. "Never relied on anyone for protection before. Hell, I don't think I've ever relied on anyone for anything."
"Daryl," Beth tries to interject, but his mounting anger overrides her attempts as he advances closer, the tension in the air thickening.
"Never sung out in front of a big group out in public like everything was fun. Like everything was a big game. I sure as hell never cut my wrists looking for attention," he lashes out, his bitter remarks aimed at her, mirroring the belittlement he felt during the drinking game. A thump from outside disrupts the tense moment, diverting Daryl's attention. "Sounds like our friend out there is trying to call all of his buddies," he chuckles dryly, kicking a pot on the ground.
"Daryl, just shut up," Beth urges, extending her hand as if trying to calm a raging beast.
"Hey, you never shot a crossbow before?" he counters, seizing his crossbow and then grabbing her hand. "I'm gonna teach you right now. Come on. It's gonna be fun," he insists, dragging her out of the cabin despite her protests.
"We should stay inside," Beth tries to reason, but Daryl, in his drunken state, continues pulling her towards the approaching walker. "Daryl, cut it out! Daryl!"
They turn a corner and confront the walker, stumbling towards them with sluggish steps, drawn by Daryl's loud presence.
"Dumbass. Come here, dumbass," Daryl calls out, aiming his crossbow at the walker and firing an arrow, pinning the walker against a tree but not killing it.
"Daryl," Beth pleads, her voice tinged with concern and urgency.
Daryl grabs another arrow, loading it onto the crossbow. "You want to shoot?" he asks, offering Beth the weapon in a moment tinged with both tension and reckless bravado.
In the tense moment, Beth shakes her head, expressing uncertainty. "I don't know how."
Daryl, inebriated but insistent, guides her, pulling her close against his chest, positioning the crossbow. "Right corner," he instructs, firing the arrow and hitting the walker's chest before releasing her.
"Let's practice later," Beth pleads, her voice tinged with urgency as Daryl reloads the crossbow.
Amidst his drunken amusement, Daryl persists, "Come on, it's fun."
"Just stop it, Daryl!" Beth demands.
"Come here," he insists, again drawing her close and offering the crossbow. Another arrow misses its mark. "Eight ball," he mutters in disappointment.
"Just kill it!" Beth urges urgently.
Ignoring her plea, Daryl gets closer to the walker. "Come here, Greene. Let's pull these out," he calls out distractedly, removing the arrows from the walker, tracing Madeleine's initials on them. Beth, seizing the opportunity, approaches the walker and swiftly ends its existence with her knife. "What the hell did you do that for? I was having fun," Daryl snaps angrily, frustrated by her actions.
"No, you were being a jackass. If anyone found my dad-," Beth begins, trying to explain.
Daryl interrupts, his tone firm. "Don't. That ain't remotely the same." His words hang in the air, a tense barrier between them, their emotions raw and the air thick with unresolved tension.
As tension mounts, Beth confronts Daryl. "Killing them is not supposed to be fun," she asserts, matching his tone and anger.
Daryl retorts furiously, "What do you want from me, girl, huh?"
"I want you to stop acting like you don't give a crap about anything. Like nothing we went through matters," Beth yells back, both of them stepping closer, their emotions palpable in the charged atmosphere. "Like none of the people we lost meant anything to you. It's bullshit!"
"Is that what you think?" He snaps back.
"That's what I know," Beth states firmly.
Daryl shakes his head, locking eyes with her. "You don't know nothing."
Raising her voice, Beth holds back her tears. "I know you look at me and you just see another dead girl. I'm not Michonne. I'm not Carol. I'm not Maggie. I'm not Mads."
Daryl groans, his gaze dropping to his feet, his grip tight on the arrows. "Don't say her name," he pleads, the pain in his voice revealing the depth of his anguish and regret.
Tensions escalate as Beth stands her ground. "I've survived, and you don't get it 'cause I'm not like you or them. But I made it, and you don't get to treat me like crap just because you're afraid," she concludes, her glare unwavering.
Daryl steps closer, a dangerous intensity in his eyes. "I ain't afraid of nothing."
"I remember," Beth begins, a momentary pause in their locked gaze. "When that little girl came out of the barn after my mom. You were like me." His eyes avert at her words. "When we saw Mads in that lineup, when the fences fell, you were running around trying to find her. You were like me. And now, God forbid you ever let anybody get too close."
"Too close, huh?" He retorts sharply, gesturing emphatically. "You know all about that. You lost two boyfriends; you can't even shed a tear."
"Not like you shed a tear for Mads either!" Beth counters sharply.
"Your whole family's gone, all you can do is just go out looking for hooch like some dumb college bitch," he yells, the hurtful words cutting deep.
"Screw you. You don't get it," Beth retorts, frustration lacing her voice.
"No, you don't get it! Everyone we know is dead!" Daryl exclaims, the weight of loss and pain evident in his words, both of them bearing the burden of their grief in different ways, their emotions raw and volatile.
In the midst of their heated exchange, Beth interjects desperately, "You don't know that!"
Daryl scoffs bitterly, "Might as well be, 'cause you ain't never gonna see 'em again. Rick. You ain't never gonna see Maggie again."
"Daryl, just stop," she pleads, her voice strained as she fights back her tears.
"No! The Governor rolled right up to our gates. He had her! Maybe if I wouldn't have stopped looking. Maybe 'cause I gave up. That's on me," Daryl confesses, poking his own chest as he turns away, tears streaming down his cheeks, haunted by his past decisions and the haunting memories of their losses.
"Daryl," Beth's voice softens, and she reaches out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"No-." He forcefully shoves her hand away. "And your dad. Maybe- maybe I could have done something," he chokes out, fighting back sobs.
Beth disregards his resistance, stepping closer and enveloping him in a tight embrace, offering solace and understanding as he surrenders to the overwhelming sorrow. Daryl, overcome by grief, leans into her embrace, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability and seeking comfort in the presence of the only person who understands his pain.
As Madeleine gradually awakens, she finds herself tended to by a stranger, dressed in a new shirt, and surrounded by supplies. Perplexed, she gazes at the young girl, noting her bandaged hand and leg which she assumes the stranger tended to it. Accepting the offered water, Madeleine observes the stranger, who doesn't seem much older than 18.
"Why did you save me?" Madeleine inquires, tilting her head as she assesses her.
"Why wouldn't I save you? You were dying," the stranger responds, eyeing Madeleine with her own inquiries.
"Not a lot of people would do the same these days. It's kill or be killed, didn't you read the memo?" Madeleine remarks, taking a long drink of the water as the stranger observes her closely.
"You're right; the world has turned cruel. It shouldn't mean we have to be cruel as well. We should still have morals and beliefs. We shouldn't forget we're still human," the stranger counters with a small smile, tending to the fire despite the impending nightfall.
"Right," Madeleine responds tersely.
"Name's Marigold," the girl offers after a brief pause. "Well, it's my second name. No one can ever pronounce my first name and, actually, most people used to just call me Marie, it's a nickna-."
Interrupting her, Madeleine asks pointedly, "Why are you alone? Where's your group? There's no way a girl like you has survived all of this time alone."
Marie fidgets with her fingers, avoiding eye contact. "I got separated from my group. There were 5 of us."
Madeleine's suspicions deepen as she surveys the amount of supplies around them, considering the possibility that Marie might have taken them and fled. "What happened?"
"We were camping a few days ago, the dead appeared out of nowhere, and... I ran," Marie admits, bowing her head in shame, haunted by the memory of fleeing and leaving her group behind, feeling immense guilt for freezing when faced with the herd. "After I managed to lose the dead following me, I tried to return to camp, but I got lost," she explains, locking eyes with Madeleine. "What about you? Are you alone?"
Madeleine looks away, resting her head against the tree with her eyes closed. When she opens them, she gazes at the sky before returning her focus to Marie.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Marie offers sympathetically, recognizing the deep sorrow reflected in Madeleine's expression.
Madeleine stares at her for a moment. "Thanks for saving me, but I gotta go," she states, attempting to stand, but Marie stops her.
"Hold on. You'll rip your stitches."
"Stitches?" Madeleine questions in surprise.
"Yeah, the cut on your leg was really deep. That fall did not help; you nearly bled to death. So, you need to take it easy for a few days," Marie insists, pointing out that Madeleine's jeans were cut off up to her thigh where the wound was.
Madeleine shakes her head, feeling the urgency to keep moving. "I don't have a few days. We're too exposed out here."
"I've planted some cans around a perimeter. If there are any dead walking around, we'll hear them in time to pack up and run." She places a comforting hand atop Madeleine's, seeking to reassure her. "Trust me."
Madeleine withdraws her hand with an accusatory tone, "Trust you? I don't know you."
Marie raises an eyebrow, "I saved your life."
"So, I'm supposed to trust you because of that?!" Madeleine retorts sharply.
Marie chuckles wryly, shaking her head, which only intensifies Madeleine's glare. "You're one of them, aren't you?"
"One of who?"
"Those types of people who 'don't trust their own shadow and think everyone is out to get them'," Marie says, mimicking air quotes, locking eyes with Madeleine. "If I wanted to kill you, I would've left you to bleed out to death. We're stuck together for now. I don't care what you say, you'll have to trust me," Marie declares with conviction.
Both women hold each other's gaze for a moment before Madeleine mutters sarcastically under her breath, eliciting confusion from Marie.
"Great. I landed with Miss Sunshine. The type of people who 'see the positive in the negative and think everything happens for a reason'," Madeleine mocks, employing air quotes, sighing in frustration under her breath. "Lovely."
Marie remains unamused, maintaining her steady gaze at Madeleine, who challenges her with her eyes, prompting Marie to speak up. "You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to. But we're stuck for now. Like it or not, we both know no one can make it in this new world alone."
Madeleine looks down at her words, then asks, "You got any food?"
Marie tosses an apple to Madeleine, who catches it easily. "Apples are all I can offer. I found an apple tree a couple of miles from here and got as many as I could."
Madeleine takes a bite of the apple, maintaining a cautious eye on the girl. "Why were you following me?"
Marie's eyes widen, as if caught doing something she shouldn't have. "I wasn't."
"You're a bad liar."
Marie sighs, running a hand through her hair while fidgeting with her fingers, unable to meet Madeleine's gaze as she speaks. "I noticed you. I heard you speak... to the dead." Madeleine's memory is hazy from the fall, leaving her confused about why she would be talking alone to the dead. "I noticed you were bleeding, so I set up camp in case you stumbled upon it, and I went to get supplies."
"Why?"
"I thought you'd kill me. You weren't lucid. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't," Marie admits, feeling regretful for not revealing herself sooner but admits her fear. "That's why I waited."
"Ummm."
Feeling slighted by Madeleine's lack of words and her dismissiveness, Marie fires back, "Just because I wouldn't kill the living, doesn't mean the living won't try to kill me. I had to make sure."
Madeleine shrugs, taking another bite from the apple. "Glad I passed your test."
Marie rolls her eyes at Madeleine's sarcasm, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. "How long have you been out here alone?"
Madeleine remains silent, her focus diverted as she takes a bite of the apple. Marie settles herself in front of Madeleine, the crackling fire lending a sense of warmth as the night envelopes them in its darkness.
"You should put the fire out," Madeleine suggests, a note of caution in her voice.
"It's freezing," Marie defends, steadfast in her decision.
"It'll be dark soon, it will attract them," Madeleine presses, a hint of urgency coloring her words.
Marie holds her ground, locking eyes with Madeleine in determination. "I set camp here yesterday. I haven't seen any dead ones other than the ones we killed. I think we can leave it for just a little bit longer."
Madeleine rolls her eyes in frustration, finishing her apple and casually discarding it. Marie observes Madeleine, her gaze lingering on the scar etched across Madeleine's face, now more pronounced in the daylight.
"Stop staring," Madeleine growls, irritation clear in her voice.
The fire crackles, casting playful shadows as it dances on the ground, creating a hushed symphony with the night. Silence settles uncomfortably between the two women, the tension hanging thick in the air, akin to the smoke swirling from the fire.
Marie debates between extinguishing the fire and trusting its safety for a little longer, pondering Madeleine's warning about drawing unwanted attention from the dead.
Marie inches closer to Madeleine, a hopeful glint in her eyes. "What's your name?"
Madeleine scrutinizes the girl, her guarded demeanor unwavering. "Can't I at least have your name? You're not the easiest person to get along with, are you?"
Madeleine rolls her eyes. "Will it make you stop talking?"
Marie shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "Sure."
"Mads."
"Mads? What's that short for?" Marie begins to inquire, but Madeleine interrupts with an irritated sigh.
"I thought you'd shut up if I told you my name."
"Sorry." Marie falls silent, her gaze flitting to the flower by the tree where they're seated. "It's a Lily."
Madeleine sharply redirects her attention. "What?"
"The flower you're staring at. It's a Lily. Is it your favorite flower?" Marie asks, observing Madeleine's contemplative touch on the flower, stirring distant memories. "Cherokee roses are my favorite," Marie shares, reclining on the ground and gazing up at the sky. "Do you know their story?" She queries, turning her head to find Madeleine, who seems disinterested. "Fine, I'll stop talking."
The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows on the ground, while the sounds of the night slowly attacks through the air. A silent tension lingers between the two, an unspoken barrier refusing to dissolve.
Madeleine's eyes linger on the Lily, the soft moonlight illuminating the delicate petals. Memories flood her mind, but she remains silent, lost in her thoughts.
Marie glances at Madeleine, her expression softens slightly at the look in her eyes. "You seem lost in thought. You know, my mom used to say that flowers have stories to tell. That they hold memories."
Madeleine's gaze flickers from the flower to Marie, a flicker of intrigue crossing her face, yet she remains reticent, her guard firmly in place.
The cool breeze rustles the leaves overhead, a stark contrast to the warmth of the crackling fire. Marie watches Madeleine, hoping for a glimpse past her guarded exterior, yet finding herself met with only silence.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
After Daryl had cried in Beth's arms for about an hour, they settled in front of the house, the silence becoming their only companion. Seated near the entrance, Daryl holds the bandana that Madeleine gave him, while Beth continues to drink, her gaze fixed on it.
Observing him closely, Beth notices his strained gaze on the bandana. "She gave that to you?"
Daryl nods, clutching the bandana tightly in his hand. "Yeah, she did."
"Why can't you believe she's alive? She's the strongest person we both know. She knows how to fight. She knows how to survive," Beth reasons, trying to inject some hope into Daryl's thoughts. However, he turns away, unwilling to grasp onto the possibility of hope when he's unsure how to even begin finding her again. Beth understands his reluctance and changes the subject, "I get why my dad stopped drinking."
"You feel sick?" Daryl inquires, concern coloring his voice.
Beth shakes her head, a tipsy smile playing on her lips. "Nope. I wish I could feel like this all the time. That's bad."
Daryl nods slowly. "Hmm. You're lucky you're a happy drunk."
"Yeah, I'm lucky. Some people can be real jerks when they drink," Beth teases, noticing a faint smile on Daryl's lips as he slips the bandana into his pocket.
"Yeah, I'm a dick when I'm drunk," he admits, their eyes locked in an intense exchange. "I stopped drinking for a reason. Mads always said drinking brings out the worst in people."
"Not everyone," Beth counters softly.
There's a palpable silence as he looks at her, while she absently draws with her fingers on the ground. "Merle had this dealer. This janky little white guy. A tweaker. One day we were over at his house watching TV. Wasn't even noon yet and we were all wasted. Merle was high. We were watching this show and Merle was talking all this dumb stuff about it. And he wouldn't let up. Merle never could. Turns out it was the tweaker's kids' favorite show. And he never sees his kids, so he felt guilty about it or something. So he punches Merle in the face. So I started hitting the tweaker, like, hard. As hard as I can. Then he pulls a gun, sticks it right here." He points at his temple. "He says, 'I'm gonna kill you, bitch.' So Merle pulls his gun on him. Everyone's yelling. I'm yelling. I thought I was dead. Over a dumb cartoon about a talking dog."
Beth's expression shifts to one of concern, "How'd you get out of it?"
"The tweaker punched me in the gut. I puked. They both started laughing and forgot all about it," he narrates, his tone reflecting a mix of disbelief and grim amusement. Then, with a hint of self-deprecation, he continues, "You want to know what I was before all this? I was just drifting around with Merle... doing whatever he said we were gonna be doing that day. I was nobody. Nothing. Some redneck asshole and an even bigger asshole for a brother." He expresses, acknowledging that Madeleine would probably disagree and highlight how those experiences shaped him into the man he is today.
Beth smiles softly at him, "You miss him, don't you? I miss Maggie. I miss her bossing me around." Beth chuckles at the memories. "I miss my big brother Shawn. He was so annoying and overprotective." She giggles again, continuing, "And my dad. I thought—I hoped he'd just live the rest of his life in peace, you know? I thought Maggie and Glenn would have a baby. And he'd get to be a grandpa. And we'd have birthdays and holidays and summer picnics. And he'd get really old. And it'd happen, but it'd be quiet. It'd be okay. He'd be surrounded by people he loved." She smiles, reflecting on her idealistic visions. "That's how unbelievably stupid I am. He loved Mads, you know. He cared about her too. We all did even though she kept away from everyone. Everyone but you. I thought we'd get to see your wedding too."
"That's how it was supposed to be," Daryl quietly mutters, his demeanor shifting as Beth's emotions flow and she begins to cry, taking a sip of her drink.
"I wish I could just... change."
"You did."
Beth shakes her head in disagreement, "Not enough. Not like you. It's like you were made for how things are now."
"I'm just used to it, things being ugly. Growing up in a place like this," Daryl remarks with a dismissive shrug.
"Well, you got away from it," Beth insists.
Daryl shakes his head, "I didn't."
"You did," Beth persists, observing his somber expression. "And she helped, too."
Daryl blinks away the memory of her, doing his utmost not to let her take over his mind again. "Maybe you got to keep on reminding me sometimes."
Beth shakes her head, "No. You can't depend on anybody for anything, right? I'll be gone someday."
"Stop." He stares at her with a warning tone.
"I will," Beth says with a soft smile, taking a small pause. "You're gonna be the last man standing. You are." Her words prompt him to look away. "You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon."
Daryl notes, "You ain't a happy drunk at all."
"Yeah, I'm happy. I'm just not blind," Beth chuckles. "You got to stay who you are, not who you were. Places like this, you have to put it away."
"What if you can't?" He asks, knowing it was easier when Madeleine was around him and the group.
"You have to. Or it kills you," she points out, handing him the drink. "Here."
Daryl refuses, looking off into the distance. "We should go inside."
"We should burn it down," Beth proposes with a small chuckle.
Daryl stands up from the ground, turning to face her. "We're gonna need more booze."
Beth and Daryl pour the booze all over the cabin, breaking a few things and watching the flames grow, a sense of release washes over Daryl. The fire dances wildly as they stare at each other, their shared understanding evident in the destruction around them. They walk out of the burning cabin, and Daryl offers the lighter and money they used to set the place aflame, but Beth refuses. Igniting the money, he tosses it towards the cabin, and it quickly catches fire. They take a few steps away, turning to give the cabin a defiant gesture before walking away.
"Is that smoke?" Marie notes, catching Madeleine's attention, as a column of smoke rises not far from where they're camping. "It's not far from here. Should we check it out?"
Madeleine shakes her head, leaning back against the tree as she shuts her eyes. "No, could be a trap, could be walkers, could be a whole bunch of things."
"What if it's my friends?" Marie questions, hoping for a glimmer of familiarity in the midst of chaos.
Madeleine, still cautious, ignores Marie's concern, instead focusing on the rustling sound emanating from behind. She slowly stands up, bracing herself against the tree for support. "You heard that?"
Marie nods, ready to offer her assistance, but Madeleine holds her hand out, signaling for her to stay back. "Hopefully, it's a bunny. We could eat it. I'm starving. I haven't had anything but apples for the last few days."
Madeleine's remark prompts a glare from Marie. "Little miss sunshine ain't scared to kill bunnies?"
Marie, growing irritated, returns a stern look. "You need to stop underestimating me just because I don't act the way you do."
Madeleine dismisses her comments, focusing on the immediate situation. "You got any weapons?"
"I have knives and an empty clip."
Madeleine lets out a tired sigh as she notices her sword lying on the ground. Limping over to it, she brushes off the leaves before picking it up. "We should find the camp you were at. Even if they're dead, there might be supplies, weapons, or food."
Marie's voice trembles with emotion as she confronts Madeleine, her eyes filled with desperation. "They can't be dead, they were stronger than me," she insists, her tone rising in frustration. "I ran, but they stayed and fought. They'll be alive."
Madeleine, her expression stern and resolute, wipes the sword on her sleeve and stares back at Marie with a blank expression. "It's been days. Do you really think they're still alive?" Her words carry the weight of grim reality.
Refusing to yield, Marie stands her ground. "They were all I had left. They can't be dead."
With a firm grip on her weapon, Madeleine looks away, already moving forward. "Let's go," she calls out, prompting Marie to hastily pack her essentials and follow. "We leave now. We can't see much during the night, but if we keep moving, we'll find something," Madeleine notes, stealing a glance back at Marie. Madeleine's tone turns grave. "You should ready yourself for when we reach that camp and you have to kill the walkers."
"I've killed walkers before," Marie retorts defensively.
"Not walkers you knew," Madeleine counters, her words cutting through Marie's denial.
Marie halts abruptly, her anger boiling over. "Stop saying they're dead. They can't be dead!" Her voice echoes with a mix of desperation and anguish, unable to accept the possibility of losing those she holds dear.
In a tense silence, Madeleine heaves a frustrated sigh, pivoting to face Marie, their gazes locking in a charged confrontation.
"How many walkers have you killed anyway?" Madeleine's question hangs heavy in the air, causing Marie to cast her eyes downward in shame.
"Twelve. I counted every single one of them," Marie admits, her voice carrying a mixture of guilt and defiance.
"How many people have you killed?" Madeleine's inquiry pierces the charged atmosphere.
Marie's eyes widen in alarm at the abruptness of the question. "What? None. Why? Have you killed a person?"
"Why have you not?" Madeleine fires back, her tone unwavering.
"Because this world has lost enough people. Good people!" Marie's retort is laced with fear and conviction. "Why have you killed people before?"
With a nonchalant shrug, Madeleine replies, "I had to."
Marie's confusion deepens. "Why don't you believe your family is alive?"
Madeleine's laughter fills the air, a bitter sound that only stokes Marie's growing anger, their eyes locking in a fierce standoff.
"I'm not you. I don't hold onto a fantasy because it's been days and I haven't found any of them or any clues of them being alive. They're dead. I accepted it," Madeleine asserts, striding closer to Marie, intensifying the tension between them. "It's time you grow up, Miss sunshine. Everyone dies, even the invincible."
Brushing past Marie, Madeleine heads in the opposite direction, but her movement halts as something catches her attention in the woods, a slight movement that disrupts the charged atmosphere between the two women.
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'Marie' (18)
Thank you for reading ❤️