Chapter Text
Beth was not giving up without a fight. She was slender, but she was strong, and she had survived eight months on the road after the farm had been overrun by walkers. During that time she had learned a lot about herself and those around her. The most important lesson was to never go down passively. So when her kidnappers opened the rear door of the car, expecting to find a docile, terrified girl, they found a twisting, struggling, she-cat. She was still terrified, but they were not going to know that. It took both of them to manhandle her into the funeral home, and upstairs to the bedroom. By the time they threw her on the bed, she had connected more than once with her head and her feet. She would have bitten them had she not been gagged.
“Is this really necessary?” The whiny-voiced one asked.
“If ya can’t stomach it, get the hell out.” Said his companion as he dragged her arms over her head and secured them to the headboard of the bed. The bed creaked as he leaned on it She heard the door to the room slam and knew she was alone with her assailant, the one with the coarse voice. Unable to see him because of the blindfold, his ominous presence was doubly threatening.
“Little bitch. Fightin’s not gonna save ya nothin’. Ya just pissed me off. Gonna make this that much more fun.”
Beth wrenched against her bonds with all her might, but the ropes only bit deeper into her bruised wrists. Terror surged through her gut, and she felt her arms and legs begin to tremble as adrenalin fueled her need to defend herself. Tears burned, and she was glad for the blindfold so he could not see - he would never see her cry. Her clenched teeth ground into the rag they had jammed in her mouth for a gag stifling the sob building in her throat. Then she felt his rough fingers slide under the tattered hem of her shirt, felt them hot against her skin as he ran his hand over her belly,
“Let’s see what ya got under all them rags.”
Beth felt the cold steel of a knife blade against her stomach, heard the rending sound as the fabric of her shirt was slit up to her neck and cool air brushed across her body. His coarse hands roughly grabbing her shocked her into action. Before he could go further she pulled both knees to her chest and kicked out with all her might. Her feet connected. She heard him grunt and felt his weight lift off the bed. He wheezed as he tried to catch his breath. It was only a brief respite. Within seconds his hands grabbed her ankles and she kicked out again with all her strength.
“Bitch,” he cursed, pinning her ankles to the bed with both hands.
Struggling to free her legs, she was startled by a crash as the door to the room was forcefully opened, slamming into the wall hard enough to make the window rattle.
“You’re not going to do this,” said the man with the nasal voice.
“Oh shut up you little fagot. I tole you ya sound just like a jilted lover.”
“Well you know what they say about jilted lovers…”
“Later, asshole. I got a different…”
The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the small bedroom. Something hot and wet splattered across Beth’s exposed skin seconds before her assailant’s dead weight fell across the bed and her lower body. Beth froze as the sound reverberated through the small area. Warm wetness pooled on her stomach and dribbled down her ribs to the bed. The sharp metallic tang of blood filled the air. She tried to buck the weight off her legs, and as she did his body was suddenly dragged off her. Her clothing was sticky with blood, and she tried to wriggle away from the source. She heard a loud thump as he was pulled off the bed and dumped on the ground. Grunting, the nasal voiced man dragged the body out of the room, muttering snatches of words she could barely understand, followed by a heart wrenching sob.
“It was good. We were good,” the whiny voice mumbled. “You ruined it. Made me do it. Made me shoot you. Now I have to take care of you. Burn the others.”
The voice moved down the hallway. The dragging the dead weight of the body muffled his words. Then Beth heard him at the door again. The drawers to the dresser slid open then shut, footsteps came nearer and she tensed, prepared to lash out. Something, soft and warm was draped over her naked torso. The knife slid between the ropes securing her wrists and severed her bonds.
“That’ll have to do for now.” Muttering he left the room, the door creaking behind him, then latching.
Slowly Beth drew her knees up to her chest and rolled over on her side, clutching the cloth to her chest, shaking uncontrollably. She did not try to stop the tears or the wracking sobs. Tears were better than the empty numbness that threatened to engulf her. But she could not afford the luxury of wallowing in overwhelming emotions. She could not give in. She had to move, and she had to do it now if she hoped to escape and ever be re-united with Daryl and the rest of her family. With shaking hands she pulled the blindfold from her eyes and gag out of her mouth. Her lips were raw and tongue swollen from the coarse fabric that had been jammed into her mouth. Pushing herself into a sitting position, she began picking at the ropes that still bound her ankles. As the pressure of the ropes eased, the pain in her ankle throbbed in time to the frantic beating of her heart.
Pulling off the remains of her blouse, she used its remnants to wipe as much blood off her skin as she could, and shrugged into the oversized flannel shirt he had left her. Her hands continued to shake uncontrollably. Standing gingerly, her knees weak, she tested her ankle. Walking sent spikes of pain up her leg, but she forced herself to the door. Looking around, she knew she was in the bedroom at the top of the stairs, the one she had slept in the first night she and Daryl had been here. For one playful moment that night she had fancied herself as Goldilocks, testing all the bear’s beds. She had picked the one she pretended belonged to the Papa Bear. The clean white bedding of Papa Bear’s bed was now saturated with blood and a bloody trail stained the floor.
Taking a deep breath, she carefully opened the bedroom door and listened. She could hear no sounds from the ground floor. She hoped that meant no walkers, and no men. The main entrance was down the stairs, past the kitchen and to the right. The thought of running out into the woods with no weapon or food was terrifying, but staying here was even more frightening. She would rather take her chances with the walkers. If she was lucky, the kitchen would be empty and she could steal a knife and some supplies. She had barely reached the bottom of the stairs when he stepped behind her and placed a knife to her throat