Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.

Chapter One:

"What's your name?" he asks with a gun pointed in my direction. Absentmindedly, I wipe my hands off on my shirt—blood was the least of my concern at this point.

"Alex," I call out, my voice trembling slightly with the idea of another person standing before me. It wasn't until… all this that I realized just how dangerous people were.

"Well, Alex," he says, his eyes staring intensely at me, "my name's Rick." He nudges his head over to a woman, her hair tied back loosely. "That's Tara—," his gun then nudges to the man on his right, "—and Glenn."

Once more, my hands try to rub the dried blood off on my shirt. It was never a good situation when there were more of them than there was of you. I look at each of them; my heart racing and legs restless and wishing to run, but their guns would make it a very quick catch and, most likely, painful on my part.

"Hi," I nearly whisper as I attempted a wave of my hand. With the sudden movement, each of them readjusts their guns, three fingers far too eager to pull their triggers and be over with this confrontation. "Okay," I say, lowering my eyes to the ground. I knew better than to wander during the day. I knew I should have stayed in my tree and slept—but I needed to find water. Searching for a stream at night was never safe.

"What are you doing out here?" other man asks, his almond eyes looking down at the bag at my feet.

I give a half grin to him. "Surviving," I say. Rick's eyes narrow. "Or," I add, "trying to."

"Are there any more of you?" Rick asks, his eyes looking over my shoulder and into the trees behind.

I shake my head. "N-no," I answer, my voice almost lost. I look over my shoulder as he cocks his head. "I've been alone for a long time," I say as I turn back to the pack. The woman furrows her brow deeply as her hands fiddle with her gun. "If this is your turf, I can leave…" I look back to the grass, my jaw slacked and lips parted. "I don't want any trouble—but," I cut myself off, my voice rising almost excitedly as I look back up at them. When I see their eyes, however, I shake my head. "Never mind," I murmur.

"Let's hear you out, boy," Rick says with a nod of his head, his gun still steadily aimed at my head.

It is a long shot, but I have to ask. "I have a picture," I say as I reach for my pocket and suddenly stop as they show unease. "I can show it to you if you want."

Rick looks to Glenn and then to Tara, both giving a slight nod. "Go ahead," he says, his arms relaxing slightly.

I reach into my pocket and take out the one thing I have grown to care for most in this world. I look down at the face and swallow back the lump in my throat. Nearly three months out here and still no sign of the face in my photo. "It's a bit blurry, but—," I take a step forward.

"Put it on the ground and take tens steps back," Rick demands over my voice. My body stiffens at the words and, slowly, I lower the picture and take my paces back, a part of me thinking it may be the last time I see the blurred image.

I watch carefully as Rick approaches the picture, his gun still drawn. "His name is Truett." I take a step forward.

"Get back to your spot," Rick hollers, his gun once again aimed at my head. I look at him, my heart pounding and hands up. "Now!" he barks. Quickly, I back up.

The man examines the picture; my eyes waiting to see the spark of familiarity no one has yet shown. "Is he your brother?" he asks, his eyes looking back at me. I nod. His eyes soften slightly. "You look like him," he says. "He's older too, isn't he?" Again, I nod. I am too afraid to speak, too afraid to have my hopes dashed.

He takes a few steps back to the other two and hands the picture over to the woman. "Have you seen him?" he asks. My heart sinks. She looks at the picture and furrows her brow again, her bangs falling from behind her ears as she shakes her head. "Glenn—," Rick looks to the man, "have you seen him?"

Glenn looks at the picture and then he looks to me. "You know, it's kind of hard to tell. We've seen so many people… their faces kind of start to look the same." I lower my head and give a weak nod. "I mean—we could have seen him—all of us—but he might not have been how you remember him," he says. I feel my throat burn and eyes sting with tears threatening to fall. "He could still be alive," he adds as if trying to lessen the sting of his words.

Rick looks back down at the photo and takes three steps. "Are you armed?' he asks before coming any closer.

I shake my head, fighting back the urge to cry. "I don't believe in guns."

"A knife or anything on you?" he asks. I shake my head again. The last people I had a run in with took everything I had—canned goods and all. Rick looks back down at the ripped and smudged picture. "Where was he?"

I keep my eyes downcast. "He was visiting our uncle in Grovetown," I say quietly.

"Everyone headed to Atlanta," Glenn calls. "He probably went there."

I shake my head. "The place is nothing but a living grave yard." I look across at him. "My brother is smart. He wouldn't have stayed long if that was how it looked—,"

"It didn't look like that all the time," Rick says. "My wife and son were headed there. They were lucky enough not to be in the city when it got taken over."

"He wasn't there," I say through gritted teeth.

Tara's eyes widen. "You went in the city?"

"He doesn't like large groups of people. He hates cities—and he always said he would find a way to survive if something like this were to happen." I shake my head; funny how things had a way of working out.

"He would have gone anywhere to keep away from walkers," Rick says as he holsters his gun. "The promise of a safe city can make people do things they don't want to do." I shake my head and roll my eyes. They were the same as the rest; I could see their disbelief—their sympathetic looks. I am not crazy. I know he's alive.

"The way I see it," Rick says after clearing his throat, "is you have two choices." I narrow my eyes. "You can keep going on your own. Look for your brother—none of us are going to stop you, you have my word on that. Or," he says, his blue eyes narrowed, "you can answer me three questions and then decide what you want to do."

I lift my beanie and scratch at the overgrown Mohawk beneath. "What are your questions?"

"How many walkers have you killed?"

I shrug. The number was too high to count—but it wasn't because I was trying to search them out. When a person traveled, they were bound to run into a few of the sick. "A lot," I say with a sigh as my hand drops back down to my side. "Too many," I add.

Rick arches an eyebrow. "Alright, how many people have you killed?"

I shift my eyes and focus on the bark of a tree. This was never something I thought I would have to answer. I bite my lip. "Six—,"

"Six people," Tara repeats with a gasp.

"Hold on," Rick says, turning partway to her with his hand rose as if to stop her from going on. "Times have changed. We all know that." He looks back at me. "Why?" his third and final question.

I shake my head as Glenn and Tara seem less at ease. "Do you want the long answer or the short?"

"Whatever one you feel best about."

I take a deep breath and release it with a sigh. "I've run into a lot of trouble on my way here," I begin. "There are a lot of bad people out there—some good, others dodgy… but a lot of bad." I cross my arms. "I'm not exactly strong. People see it as a weakness... and it kind of is," I say with a slight grin as I wipe the sweat beading on my forehead. My brow furrows as I struggle to keep the memories far enough away to not feel them anymore. "They think that just because I don't have the muscle mass of a bodybuilder they can do things to me that no one should ever do… to anyone. "They think that because I'm small I can't do anything… I can't fight back." Tara's eyes soften for a moment.

"I killed because I was in danger. I wouldn't have done it if I thought there was another way out." I press my lips together making them flatten into a thin line. "Five were men—two bigger than yourself—," I nod my head to Rick, "another was a woman. She was bat-shit crazy and took after me with a butcher's knife." I try to read them as they listen. "I didn't want to do it—not to any of them." I palm my forehead. "That's a fucking lie. Those men, they deserved it—but I never planned it. It just happened."

"Okay," he says with a single nod. "Now, here are your options, Alex; you can either continue on your own, or you can come with us. We have food; we have shelter." Glenn rolls his eyes as he hangs his gun on his belt. "It's a close knit group. We look after each other."

I start shaking my head, but he cuts me off, "There's safety in numbers, Alex. Believe me, if anyone should know that, we do."

My arms lower back to my sides. "What about my brother?"

"You can keep looking for him—just don't lead any walkers back to the camp. I respect your wishes, but it cannot be over other priorities. If someone needs help with gathering supplies, I don't want to hear about how you never go. If laundry needs to be done, you need to help out." I furrow my brow at the man's words. "Like I said, the choice is yours."

"How many of you are there?"

"Enough," he says followed by a moment of silence filled with anticipation.

Tara finally lowers her gun and steps forward. "You know how you said there were a lot of bad people?" I look at her. "Well, Rick and his group probably the last good people you'll ever meet."

I look down at my torn shoes. "What difference would it make if I came or stayed?"

"It's give me peace at mind," Rick says with a slight grin. "I have a son; he's about the same age as you. If he was out on his own, I would hope he would find people. For the sake of your parents, you should come with us." His hands rest on his hips. "We might even have a few of our own willing to help you in your search. It won't be easy, though. You'll have to gain their trust—maybe even become friends with them," he says with a chuckle.

I clench my jaw. "I don't do 'friends'."

"That's okay. Just come with us; stay the night and if you like it best on your own, leave. No one will hold you back." Rick shifts his footing. "What do you say?"

I bend at my waist and lift my bag. "I can leave whenever I want?" He nods. I toss the bag over my shoulder and shrug. "Where is it?"

This is my first Walking Dead fanfic, so I am sorry if I don't capture the characters too well. I am trying my best and hopefully it will get better with each update.

Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!

~MsBBSue