Out of sight, Beth braces herself for what comes next.

Maybe it will be good.

They can't hear her, because they're talking to each other. Can't smell her, because they're already sick on the smell of a dying boy's blood and sweat.

"If he reacts the same as before, I'll sever an artery and he'll be dead in minutes." Her father speaks slowly, though he must know that every moment is vital. It's just as important that Rick understand. Really, understand. Carl is dying. "To even try this, I have to put him under. But if I do, he won't be able to breathe on his own. Same bad results."

"What'll it take?" Rick couldn't quite clean all the red off his face and out of his hairline. She remembers that about him. Remembers true desperation in his voice.

"You need a respirator." Otis picks up on what Hershel is saying, what he's implying needs to happen, he steps forward, closing a little bit of the space in the living room, already volunteering himself in his mind. "What else?"

"The tube that goes with it, extra surgical supplies, drapes, sutures." Hershel doesn't spare them. There's that precious time to think about.

"If you had all that, you could save him?" Rick is on the edge.

"If I had all that, I could try." Hershel wants to promise more, but her daddy is no kind of liar.

"Nearest hospital went up in flames a month ago." Otis just needs to look at Hershel to know what the next step is. "The high school."

"That's what I was thinkin'. They set up a FEMA shelter there. They would have everything we need." Does daddy know what he's asking?

"Place was overrun last time I saw it. You couldn't get near it—maybe it's better now." Otis always was too optimistic.

"I said, leave the rest to me." She'd almost forgotten everything about Shane, but hearing his voice again brings with it a whole gush of memories. "Is it too late to take that back?"

"I hate you goin' alone."

Oh Rick, you really mean that, don't you? Beth draws in a lungful of air and clutches the doorframe, pulling herself into view, just under the archway and steps inside the living room.

"Come on." Shane tries to brush off Rick's concern. He hasn't seen Beth yet, but Maggie's looking up with stunned eyes and a dropped jaw.

Shane says, "Doc, why don't you do me a list, draw me a map—" and stops dead. They all stand like statues, finally seeing her.

From the crown of her head, to the toes of her cowboy boots, Beth Greene is smeared with walker gore. Flakey, congealed blood is under her fingernails, stuck in dangling chunks of her hair, ground into her clothing and painting her skin. Some of it is still warm and sticky.

No one speaks, even to cuss.

Beth drops Shawn's old gym-bag on the ground; inside the bag is a respirator, the tube that goes with it, drapes, sutures and everything else she could carry from inside the FEMA shelter outside her old high school.

"I get it now." Aim for the jugular. Even as she thinks it, she feels her hand slip. Too much sweat. Too little time. She's only ever killed by going for the head. Right between the eyes, with a bullet or a blade or broken glass, that's how it's done. Shit. THE SHOULDER? She barely registers how far her hand fell, how badly her nerves shook her in that crucial moment, barely notices that Dawn had drawn her gun and then it's just loud and black and her head falls back.

It's over so fast. It starts so fast.

Beth wakes up.

She blinks her eyes open, vision blurry with light, body soft and warm. Her hair is a halo of gold around the white pillow. Sitting up immediately, it takes several shallow, tense breaths before she accepts what is before her eyes. Her room. Her own room, back home.

Throwing the covers back, her whole body feels flushed. Her sore ankle is gone, and in its place is a strong one. Her legs are soft and pale, free from the scratches, scrapes and scars that she's grown so used to. She climbs out of bed, feet trembling against the floor. I'm dead. This is heaven. Gun blast still rings through her head, heart still pounds. The shoulder?! Who knew you'd still have regrets in heaven. But she does. She regrets. They were right there. The door was right there.

She hadn't even gotten to speak to Daryl.

That thought freezes her in place. Until, she realizes that those velvety soft murmurs she hears through the floorboards belong to her father. Her father who she last saw as he was on his knees, being murdered by a psychopath with a stolen sword. "Daddy, DAD!" bolting out the door, she hits the railing of the staircase hard, immediately bruising her hip bone, before she tumbles down the staircase.

"Bethy? Everything alright, oof!" He meets her in the doorway of the kitchen, taken aback, even before she flies into his chest and pushes him back a full three feet until he hits the table. He nearly chuckles, but he's too concerned to make laughter last, "What's wrong?"

Her eyes are too wet to see and mostly buried in his shirt, but she can feel he's standing upright and strong. "You got both legs."

With a little necessary force he pushes her back, pressing the back of his hand against her forehead and looking into her eyes. She swallows and blinks, and as she looks deep into his eyes she realizes she was wrong about something. He's confused. "What are you saying? You're shaking, Bethy, when was the last time you ate something?"

"You awake, finally?" Maggie's voice interrupts them as she stomps into the kitchen, mud already on her boots, a few fluffs from chicken feathers clinging to the cuffs of her jeans.

First comes a rush of sadness. She'd hoped Maggie was alive out there somewhere. She starts to pull away from her dad, intent on, once again, pulling Maggie into her arms, but stops short.

It hits her, all at once. There's no sign, no sudden flash of light, there's just something about the scene of her father, being doctor daddy and concerned in their kitchen that smells so perfectly like lemon, and the foreboding sky outside, and the way the barn looms at Maggie's rounded back. There's a burden in that barn. There's something shadowy in the corner of all their eyes. They can't look at it straight on, even when it's right in front of them.

"C'mon, get dressed," Maggie doesn't seem excited to see her either. "Patricia and Jimmy need help with the peaches, and Otis just went hunting—"

Hershel interrupts Maggie with a shake of his head, "I don't think she's well, Maggie, can you help them?"

Maggie sighs heavily, but manages not to roll her eyes as she agrees with a subtle nod. She turns on her heel and leaves.

Beth is still stranded and wordless in the kitchen, looking back and forth between them. Slowly, she sits down. Not even in a chair, just on the ground.

"Beth?" Her father takes a hold of her wrists, stooping down. "How do you feel? Faint?"

"Yeah," she answers vaguely. "I just… I had a strange dream. Got up too quick." She speaks in a toneless, slow voice.

I remember this day. Not the details, but the big picture.

Her father pours her a glass of orange juice, and hands it too her, "Might just be low blood sugar."

She wants to just stare at them, wants to bask in their presence. They are already looking at her like she's crazy. "Maybe, I oughta go back to bed. Just for a little while."

"I think that's a good idea. Go lie down. I'll come check on you in a bit." He helps her stand up, takes the empty glass from her after she downs it.

Much slower than she arrived, Beth retreats back to her room, glancing back over her shoulder to see his face. Just as she remembers him.

Otis went hunting. Maggie fed the walkers in the barn. Beth helped Jimmy and Patricia pick peaches and fix the fence. They made it back to the house for lunch and then there was shouting in the distance. A man running across their property with a dying boy in his arms. His son.

She gets back in bed, but doesn't lie down. Her mouth is dry, suddenly, in spite of the citrus bite of orange juice still lingering on her tongue. She closes her eyes tight, then reopens them. It's all still the same.

Reading about a couple of Near Death Experiences, she knows that sometimes you see things that happened in your life, before you die. But this is different, and wrong, and too late. It just keeps going, every second an eternity of the past. Her mother is already gone. She should have gone back far enough to see her. She's not picking peaches with Patricia and Jimmy. Maggie took her place.

It's different.

It's the past.

Otis ain't even shot Carl yet. Her stomach drops as she realizes that. How long ago did he leave? She looks at the clock on the wall, a second hand pulling slowly towards the ten. She doesn't even know where he went. Probably can't stop it from happening. Carl will get shot. Then, Shane and Otis will go to the high school to get the respirator so that Carl can survive his surgery, and Otis will die.

Before she even realizes what she's doing, Beth is tugging her jeans on, and her cowboy boots and throwing her hair up in a ponytail. Don't know what's happening. Don't know what this is. But if I can fix it, I will.

They're not losing Otis.

She's almost ready to go when she realizes she'll need weapons. Her daddy doesn't like guns much, but they still have them. Otis mostly uses hunting rifles, but she's sure there's a shotgun and at least one revolver in his stash as well. She probably can't get to any of that without his keys.

She finds her brother's old gym-bag, tries not to think about what she might've done to save him and instead recites a short plan under her breath. "Get a weapon, start a fire, grab what you need, drive back, maybe before they even notice you're gone," if she was very slick, she could manage it. "Daddy will just be surprised that he's got a respirator after all!" she adds brightly.

This can work.

Beth only snuck out of the house a couple of times in her whole life, and typically for the very innocent and boring reason of wanting to see the stars. Maggie is better at this kind of thing. Maggie wouldn't be silly enough to leave a note, but that's exactly what Beth does, because the last thing she needs is for them to worry about her while she's off doing what needs to get done.

Be back soon. She leaves the note on her pillow. Maybe they won't notice the missing car right away. Maybe her dad won't come check on her until lunch—until he's got something more pressing to worry about, like a dying little boy named Carl. Maybe she can buy herself enough time.

Her dad is outside, heading to the stables. She watches him until she's sure that's where he's going, then plucks Maggie's car keys from where they dangle enticingly on the hook. Before she heads out, Beth makes a side-trip to the shed out back for an axe.

She's well aware that two grown men went to do this job last time, and one of them lost his life. That's not happening today. She fires the car engine to life, scared, but more sure of her ability to do this than theirs.

Otis and Shane never had a chance. They didn't know what they were doing yet, and that was why they both met their end so quick. They didn't know, any better than a sixteen year old Beth did, way back when the world first ended. The only difference between them was that Beth knew she needed help. She knew she would die without someone watching her back. She knew she could be dead any second, even if someone was watching her back.

Otis and Shane thought they could survive this.

Otis and Shane didn't even know what this was yet.

We're just getting started and I'm expecting that average chapter length will be longer than this... these first two chapters are more of an introduction to the story and the setting. Bethyl to come:)

Regina Spektor - The Call