Chapter Text
Beth didn’t dare look back as she ran. She kept her eyes trained on the path ahead, pumped her arms wildly, and prayed. If she wasn’t fast enough, she knew either the walkers or someone from Grady Memorial Hospital would kill her.
For precious minutes, the main street was clear of walkers and major debris. Her boots clapped against the concrete as she sprinted, lungs burning. Her mind was sharply focused on survival now. The rest could wait.
Beth turned down another street, launching herself over the chunks of concrete and crumpled buildings that once stood tall. But they’d been blasted apart and now spilled into the road like some kind of sick rockslide. She could hear the wet, gasping groans that meant walkers were close. Gripping the still bloody scissors in her good hand more tightly, she ducked behind a rusted-out Volvo, slowing for the first time in what felt like years.
Her heart pounded wildly. Her lungs burned. Her legs were on fire. She could taste a metallic tang in her mouth as small blood vessels in her lungs burst with the effort to keep moving. But she had to stay focused.
Carefully, still crouched behind the car, she peeked through the dirty, cracked car windows to scan her surroundings. She spotted a small horde of walkers across the street as they emerged from an alleyway. Their stiff legs shuffled awkwardly as they wandered looking for their next meal. They weren’t coming for her, so they hadn’t heard or smelled her yet. Yet.
The roar of an engine cut through the relative quiet as a car sped somewhere in the distance. Then another. Then another.
Beth squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, praying she got far enough away that she had a chance – however small.
For now, her pursuers were tearing up the wrong street.
Beth desperately wanted to put more distance between herself and the hospital. But she knew she wasn’t fast enough to outrun three patrols. Or the growing hordes the night might bring.
She pressed her bandaged hand against her forehead for a moment before angrily pushing loose strands of hair out of her face. Pieces of her dirty blonde hair had worked their way out of the ponytail she’d put them in this morning. They clung to her face, curling slightly as her skin grew more and more damp with sweat.
What would Maggie do?
Maggie would fight. Maggie would win. Maggie would know how to find everyone.
What would Daryl do?
He’d fight too. And he’d save everyone else.
She felt a burst of self-loathing ignite in her chest. If she could be even half the person they were, she wouldn’t be here at all. What she wouldn’t give to have her sister here. Or Glenn. Or Daryl. Or Rick. Any of her newfound family. They were strong. They were fighters. They’d know how to get out of this mess alive. They’d save the others trapped in that hellhole because they were good and decent people.
But they weren’t here. And Beth couldn’t fight like that. If she somehow managed to save herself, it would be a miracle.
Beth squeezed her eyes shut again. It would be smarter to find a place to hide for now, she decided. She needed to get her bearings anyway. If she kept running, she might run into unexpected trouble she couldn’t afford.
She scanned the street again. The small horde of walkers had retreated through the alleyway, drawn by the sound of the cars a couple blocks over. As far as she could tell, her pursuers hadn’t quite caught up to her yet. A hot Atlanta breeze kicked up bits of trash, flinging it down the street. A rat skittered across the rubble a couple feet to her left. It was as good a time as any to get moving.
Beth took a deep breath, grasping at the dredges of her courage before she willed herself back into a run. She remained crouched, darting from car to car for cover, her knuckles white as she gripped the scissors.
She made her way toward an apartment building. It may have looked expensive once. Grand, even. But another building had toppled into it, crushing the higher levels. Much of the brick on the crushed side had been scorched and blackened. Many of the windows had been blown out, more had cracks stretching across like malignant spiderwebs.
Carefully, quietly, she approached the entrance. She pressed her ear against the door, straining to hear sounds of the dead. She didn’t. She brought her scissors, her only weapon, up to eye level, like she’d seen Daryl do a thousand times before. She used her bandaged hand to throw open the door just wide enough for her to slip inside. She pulled the door shut behind her silently.
Her blue eyes flared for a moment when she saw a pile of bodies in the lobby. But they didn’t so much as twitch. She swallowed, forcing herself not to retch as the scent of death and decay washed over her. Better this than another living soul to contend with, for now.
She spotted a doorway to what she hoped was the stairwell deeper inside the lobby, past the bodies. She needed a better vantage point, she knew that. She also knew that any person or walker in the stairwell would have the high ground. She took another deep breath to steady herself, eyes burning with the stench, before she forced herself toward the door.
Once again, she pressed her ear to it, listening. She heard the thrum of her own heartbeat, but nothing else. A small, choked laugh clawed its way out of her throat. Maybe this was her lucky day after all.
She opened the door and crept through, scissors and fists up. Empty. She bolted, taking advantage of the clear path before her. She cleared three steps at a time, the most she dared skip to ensure her footsteps fell softly. Her thighs screamed in protest, but she did not slow down. Three flights. Four. Six. Nine. Ten. Fourteen. At sixteen, she collapsed. The cold concrete bit into her knees, and the scissors flew out of her grip for the first time since she drove them through Dawn’s eye socket. Her arms trembled as her palms pressed into the ground, bucking against her own bodyweight.
She was beyond exhausted. The sixteenth floor would have to be good enough. She stretched out to retrieve the scissors, grasping them with shaking hands before she pulled herself back up to her feet with the handrail.
Again, she pressed her ear to the door. Silence. She pushed the door open and moved into the hallway. She tried the apartments one by one until a doorknob twisted open. Scissors up again, she made her way through the apartment to ensure she was alone. Safe.
After she cleared the last room, a small, musty bedroom outfitted with a bare mattress, a small dresser that had clearly been ransacked, picture frames hanging at odd angles on the walls, and a large window, she leaned against the wall and slid down it until she hit the floor.
Finally, she allowed a small flicker of relief warm the icy terror that gripped her.
She was safe. For now. She’d escaped Grady Memorial. For now. Noah had escaped. She didn’t know if he was alive, but he was free. For now. She had fought and killed and ran and won. For now.
And that was enough.
Her stomach growled, but Beth was too exhausted to venture back to the small kitchen to search for food. She couldn’t stand. She doubted she could crawl. So, she remained on the floor, her back pressed against the wall while her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.