A/N: I recently rented The Walking Dead from Netflix. I'd never seen the show before and the next day I went out and bought my own copy. One of the best zombie stories every, and it's on TV! I'm totally dismayed there aren't more fanfics about this show, so I decided to make my own contribution. I'm sure you can guess which is my favorite character.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead in any way, shape, or form. I certainly don't own Daryl Dixon, though I wouldn't mind borrowing him for a day. ;-)

Jessie saw a walker nosing around the bikes.

"Just one?" Lia asked, joining the thirteen-year-old at the grimy store window. She stared at the girl's profile from the corner of her eye, at the yellowing bruises that marred her delicate features. If only the emotional wounds could heal so quickly.

"Yeah. Don't see any others," Jessie said, unaware of the woman's scrutiny. Lia turned her focus to the shambling figure outside.

In life the walking dead man was a successful African-American businessman. Now his tailored suit hung from his emaciated frame in tatters, as did his decaying skin. He wasn't so much checking out the bikes as he was pausing in his aimless shuffling beside them. Lia had never known one of those creatures to show anything like curiosity.

"'Kay, you and Marco get everything to the door so we can load up fast. I'll take care of this." She hefted her weapon of choice, an aluminum club she found under the counter of an abandoned bar. Light and strong, easily swung one-handed, its knobby end weighted, probably with lead shot or something equally heavy. It had served her well in the months after the world ended.

When all this insanity started, Lia would have panicked at the mere sight of the animated corpse. Would have huddled in some corner wondering what to do. Now, she didn't hesitate to step outside. After a surreptitious glance to be sure there weren't any other walkers lurking around, she lunged forward and bludgeoned the unsuspecting creature before it could do more than utter a groan, cut short by the heavy thwack of Lia's weapon. The walker toppled onto the pavement. She struck it a couple more times for good measure, cracking its skull open like a rancid egg, spilling its horrid contents all over the sidewalk. Lia wrinkled her nose at the stench, but that was all. She'd developed a strong stomach in recent times.

"Sorry," she murmured, the closest her atheist sensibilities could get to offering a prayer for the poor creature that was once a man.

After a quick look around to make sure the coast was clear, Lia hurried back into the little out-of-the-way mom 'n' pop store. Jessie and twelve-year-old Marco had all the supplies stacked by the door. They each snatched up a box and stepped out, placed the boxes in the small trailers hitched to each of their bicycles. It took three trips to load all the supplies they'd gathered.

Lia had lucked out when she stumbled upon this place during her last scouting trip into town. The little grocery store was so out of the way and nondescript that it was overlooked during the initial panic when the outbreak occurred, as well as the frantic looting afterwards. The owners had apparently abandoned the place early on; Lia found the door padlocked and the shop empty of people, living or otherwise. She only wished they could take more of this treasure-trove home, but the bike trailers could only hold so much, and overloading them would only slow everyone down. There were plenty of cars around, many of which still had full tanks of gas, but cars made noise, and noise attracted walkers. Even if they couldn't keep up, they were persistent and tireless enough to trail a vehicle all the way to its destination. Lia decided it wasn't worth the risk. The bikes would just have to do. And if worse came to worst, the trailers could be unhitched with the jerk of a pin to allow them to speed away.

The last of the boxes were wedged in and covered thick blankets to muffle any rattling, then tied securely down. Anything Lia deemed especially vital she placed within her backpack; medicines and bandages, hydrogen peroxide and rubbing alcohol. Infections and diseases could prove every bit as deadly in these uncertain times as walkers. Cuts could become infected, colds worsen to pneumonia. Nobody could afford to treat their health casually anymore.

Lia hurried to secure the door with a new padlock, pocketed the key, and turned to her waiting bike.

"Gnuuuh."

The woman's and two kids' heads jerked towards the sound. A couple of walkers were shuffling across the street towards them. One was a fat woman in a ghastly bloodstained muumuu, the other a ragged scarecrow too far decayed for its gender to be discerned. Lia calmly placed her club in the clamp she'd attached to the right side of the bike, then reached over to retrieve her small compound bow from the other side. She nocked an arrow and let it fly in one smooth movement, followed an instant later with a second. The first arrow went through the fat woman's left eye, while the other penetrated the scarecrow's gaping mouth. Both walkers fell almost in unison. Lia muttered an apology to each of them and replaced her bow in its clamp. She didn't bother to retrieve the arrows, unwilling to make even the shortest delay. She and the kids mounted their bikes and pedaled for home.

Home was situated on the outskirts of town, in what used to be an industrial park. All the neighboring structures had already been torn down in the name of urban renewal, leaving a single three-story building that was spared when the apocalypse occurred. Erected in a time when buildings were designed to last, it was constructed from large blocks of solid masonry, its narrow windows secured behind wrought-iron bars, and its front and back doors steel-reinforced. The place was like a fortress, and its location in the midst of a wide empty space allowed the roof lookouts to spot intruders long before they approached. It had been used for a variety of businesses over the years, most recently a small advertising company. When Lia and her charges took over, they cleared out all the desks, computers, drafting tables, and sundry office equipment and spent the next several weeks gradually converting all the rooms into living spaces. They were as safe and comfortable as they could hope to be.

Lia, Jessie, and Marco were swarmed by children eager to welcome them back and help unload the supplies. Nana Shino, the spunky old Japanese-American woman, trailed behind the chattering mob with baby Aidan in her arms and little Sally toddling beside her, clutching her skirt. Lia dismounted and retrieved a case of powdered formula from her trailer, grinning as she approached the older woman. "Told ya I'd pull through."

"Thank the Lord," Nana sighed, "I'm sure Aidan would voice his gratitude if he could."

The infant gurgled. At just six weeks, Aidan was alert and engaging, surrounded as he was by attentive siblings in his adoptive family. Aidan was born to a young girl who'd stumbled out of the city, thin and sickly, chased by half a dozen hungry walkers. Lia and the older kids got rid of the creatures and took the poor girl in. She'd given birth within hours of her rescue, but her poor abused body just couldn't take the strain. She'd died uttering Aidan's name, having never given her own.

"I also brought some medicine," Lia shrugged, jostling her backpack, "How's Bobby?"

"The same," Nana replied, "Griping over being stuck in bed all day."

Lia chuckled. "I'll go take care of him." She went inside. After depositing the formula in the former employee break room-now kitchen, she trotted up the stairs to the second floor. The name plates that once adorned the doors that lined either side of the hall were long gone. The hallway was dim, lit only by the narrow, barred windows at either end. Nearly all the windows in the building were open to alleviate the stifling summer heat. An errant breeze stirred the numerous braids on Lia's head. She knocked on the door to Bobby's room before entering. The freckled eight-year-old lay on a futon mattress, beneath a pile of blankets. His face was ruddy and sheened with fever-sweat. He let out a raspy cough.

"Hey, Lia."

"Hey, kiddo." She seated herself on the edge of the mattress, unslung her backpack and rummaged inside, producing a narrow box labeled "Children's Tylenol Cold & Cough." "Mission accomplished. Got you some medicine."

The boy grimaced. "Do I hafta take it?"

"If you wanna get better, yeah."

Bobby heaved a theatrical sigh, coughed. "Oh-kay."

Lia poured a dose into the little plastic cup and tipped it into the boy's mouth. His mouth puckered in disgust. "Blech!"

"If it tastes that bad, it's gotta work," the woman reasoned. She reached into her pack with a grin. "I also brought you something that might help get that nasty taste out." She pulled out a small plastic bag with a flourish.

Bobby's eyes widened as he read the label. "Gummy worms!"

"Yep. All yours." Lia tossed the packet onto his lap. Bobby immediately snatched it up and tore it open, stuffing colorful gelatin worms into his mouth. "Go easy on those!" Lia chuckled, "No telling when I might get my hands on more."

The boy forced himself to chew slower. "See any walkers?" he mumbled around the candy.

"A couple," Lia said, "Not as many around anymore. I think they might be leaving the city."

"How come?"

"Well," she said carefully, "They're probably running low on...stuff to eat."

Bobby's expression grew solemn. "That mean we're the only people left?"

"No, of course not! It just means the people left are all like us, too darn clever for the walkers to find. The walkers are probably all gonna wind up in the woods eating possums and squirrels."

"Possums? Eww!"

"No argument here," Lia chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair.

Seven-year-old Joey suddenly appeared in the doorway clutching one of their precious walkie-talkies. "Casey says there's a buncha cars comin'!"

Both woman and boy tensed at this news. "You tell Nana?" Lia asked.

Joey nodded. "She's gettin' everybody inside."

"Okay. Stay here with Bobby. Keep the walkie close. If you hear the signal to go to the basement, you'll need to help Bobby get downstairs."

"O-okay," the child stammered, obviously nervous.

Lia mustered a reassuring smile for both boys. "Don't fret. They'll think this place is empty and just pass us by, most likely." She kissed Bobby's forehead, stood and squeezed Joey's shoulder in passing.

She went to her own room to get her other, larger bow and a brace of arrows. In the hall, the older kids scurried here and there with their own bows and arrows, taking up key positions throughout the building. Despite their anxiety, they hurried to their places with quiet efficiency. Lia was proud of them. So far, they'd only had to set up a defense once before, a month ago when a hungry mob of walkers showed up. They managed to kill every one of them without ever having to set foot out of the building, but there was still a cost to pay. Many of the kids still suffered nightmares from that awful day. Lia could just imagine how much worse it would be if they had to kill living, breathing people. She hoped with all her heart it wouldn't come to that.

Lia's room was situated towards the front of the building, facing the road that passed through the old industrial park. She crouched down at her window and peered between the iron bars. A warm breeze caressed her face. She had a perfect view of the approaching vehicles, a regular caravan. Heading the procession was an ancient Winnebago, followed by an off-yellow truck with a camper shell on the back, then a white utility van, a battered pickup with a motorcycle in the bed, and an open-topped Jeep bringing up the rear. Lia watched this motley collection make its way down the deserted road. "Keep going," she murmured, "There's nothing worth looking at here."

As if fate chose to mock her, the boxy RV slowed and carefully turned off the road, followed by the rest of the vehicles. The convoy was now headed straight for them.

"Damn."

"Gettin' late," Dale remarked casually from the behind the wheel of his Winnebago.

Rick, seated in the passenger seat, nodded wearily. "Yeah." How many days since they escaped the CDC facility? Five? Six? And they'd hardly stopped moving since then. Every time they thought they found a place of safety, it was either already occupied by hostile survivors or quickly overrun by the dead. Everyone was exhausted and hungry.

"What's say we check out that old office building over there," Dale suggested, "Might be a nice change of pace, sleepin' under an actual roof for once."

Rick snorted. "Sure. Let's check it out."

The older man steered the RV off the nearly empty road, confident that the others would follow his lead. As they neared the old, square building, Rick leaned forward, his brow creased in a thoughtful frown.

"What?" Dale asked.

Rick shook his head. "Not sure. Thought I saw movement."

"Possible somebody's already holed up in there."

"Or it could be geeks." Rick wasn't sure which prospect troubled him more.

The convoy rumbled to a halt. Lori, sprawled in one of the RV's beds with Carl, roused from her uneasy sleep. "Whuz goin' on?"

"There's a building we wanna check out, baby. Might get to spend the night in there, if it's safe enough," Rick explained. He rose from his seat, picked up his rifle, and got out of the vehicle. Outside, he placed his wide-brimmed hat on his head and waited for the others to gather around. After a couple of minutes discussion, he, Shane, T-Dog, Glenn, and Daryl forged ahead while the rest of the group waited by the cars. The men were armed, as usual, and as they neared the building they pushed aside their tiredness and became more alert to possible danger. It was hard to see anything; the building's interior was dark and it looked like the first floor windows were all draped with heavy curtains. The place was eerily quiet. The men drew to a halt about a hundred yards away from the door.

"Hello!" Rick called out, "Is anybody in there?"

Silence.

"We're not here to bring trouble. We just need a place to stay for the night. Hello?"

At first the silence continued. Then, faintly, a thin wail pierced the evening. The men exchanged shocked looks.

"Jesus," Shane hissed, "Sounds like a baby cryin'."

Rick took a step closer- and an arrow suddenly streaked down from a second story window and embedded itself in the ground inches from the toe of his shoe. The startled former deputy jumped back and everyone raised their weapons, though they still couldn't see anyone to aim at.

A woman's voice called down. "Take another step and the next one goes in your eye."

Rick yelled back, "We're not lookin' for a fight, ma'am."

"Then turn around and leave."

"There's women and children in our group."

"Same here. What's your point?"

Daryl had been fidgeting throughout the exchange. He finally lost his notoriously thin patience. "Listen, you uppity bitch, we can't go no further! We're low on gas, we're barely gettin' any sleep, and we ain't had nuthin' to eat in two days!"

"Daryl," Shane snapped, "Callin' her a bitch ain't exactly the best way to gain the lady's sympathies."

"Please," Rick implored, "Just tell me what it'll take to prove our good intentions."

The silence stretched for several beats. Then, "Put your weapons on the ground."

"Like hell we will," Daryl snarled.

"Daryl," Rick glared, "Keep your mouth shut."

The woman continued, "I want to be able to talk to you face to face, and to do that you'll have to put your weapons down. Otherwise, you can go back to your cars and see how far you can drive on fumes."

"How d' we know you won't shoot us once we're unarmed?" T-Dog asked, mostly because somebody had to.

"You don't. But then again, I don't know you're not here to kill us and take what we have. Guess we'll just hafta show some faith."

It surprised no one that Rick was the first to disarm. He set his rifle on the ground, then drew his Python from its holster and set it down beside the larger gun. The others reluctantly did the same. Daryl, naturally, was the only holdout. The others turned their stern eyes on him. His scowl deepened. "Sonuvabitch," he grumbled, setting his crossbow at his feet.

"The knife as well," the woman said.

Rick frowned in puzzlement. "Knife?"

"Yes, that big-ass hunting knife your crossbow-wielding guy's got strapped to his hip. Kinda hard to miss."

"Daryl," Rick's tone was pitched as an order.

Daryl snarled and yanked the blade from its sheath, flinging it down point-first so it stood upright in the dirt. "Happy now?" he shouted up at the unseen woman, flinging his arms wide in challenge.

"Now, back away. I want at least twenty paces between you and the guns."

The men did so. Moments later the front door swung open and the woman appeared, bow at the ready and pointed at them. At first, Rick thought she was black, mostly due to her bronze skin and her long hair hanging down in numerous thin braids. But as she drew nearer he realized her features weren't quite what he'd expect from an African-American. She looked like something more exotic, Indian or Arabic, maybe Hispanic. She was dressed in a dark blue T-shirt, faded jeans, and hiking boots. A metal club hung from her belt loop like an old-fashioned cop's nightstick. She came to a halt beside the discarded weapons, her dark eyes regarding them levelly.

"I have to admit," she said, "that uniform of yours kinda threw me. What are you, Highway Patrol?"

"Sheriff's Deputy," Rick answered, "Least, I used to be."

"Yet you still wear the clothes. You're either on some delusional power trip, or you're trying to play the white knight."

The former deputy considered his response. "I guess...I'm just tryin' to remind myself there's more to life than just surviving."

"Some might find that attitude debatable." She lowered her bow, its string no longer taut, but the arrow remained nocked and ready. "What's your name, Deputy?"

"Rick. Rick Grimes. These other fellas are Shane Walsh, Glenn, T-Dog, and Daryl Dixon."

"Talia Desai," she said, "Everybody calls me Lia."

"Lia. We put our weapons aside like you asked. We're trustin' you with our lives right now." Some more than others, he thought, casting a sidelong glance Daryl's way. "All we're askin' for is a night's rest. Just one night, then we'll move on."

Lia pursed her lips. "You do look like hell," she conceded.

T-Dog snorted. "Been through hell."

"Yeah, well, who hasn't." Lia peered over their shoulders towards the parked vehicles and the rest of the group waiting for the men to return. She saw the elderly Dale, the women and two young children huddled together. She looked at the men before her, their wan faces and bloodshot eyes, how they all swayed on their feet. She sighed. "Okay. You can stay the night, but you're not coming inside. You can camp out in your vehicles."

"Alright," Rick nodded.

"I'll bring some food out to you. Keep clear of your guns 'til I'm back inside, then take everything out to the rest of your group. This building's off limits to you, got it?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Lia turned and started back towards the building. Behind her, Daryl's voice suddenly rose in an angry mutter, "...takin' orders from a damn sand-nigger..."

The woman slowed to a halt and spun on her heel to face them once again, features set in an expressionless mask. She stared until the men began to fidget. The tension was a palpable thing. Then Lia abruptly smiled. "Just so you know, Desai is not an Arabic name. My father was from India."

She bent down to pick up Daryl's hunting knife, held it up so the blade gleamed in the waning daylight. "I'm keeping this," she said calmly, "Consider it a trade." And with that, she turned and disappeared through the door.

"God dammit!" Daryl spat, "She took my best huntin' knife!"

"You're lucky that's all she took, dipshit," Shane growled.

"Do you have any sense at all?" Rick asked in weary frustration, "The only thing between us and another day without food is that woman's good graces."

"Good graces my ass! The bitch's bluffin'. There ain't more 'n two or three people in there, I betcha."

"Well, if you're so confident, smartass," T-Dog retorted, "then why don't you go on over and try t' get your crossbow. Go on, tough guy. I dare ya."

"T-Dog," Rick sighed, "Don't egg him on like that."

"Yeah," Glenn muttered, "Not like he needs any help to make an ass of himself."

Daryl barrelled towards him. "Say that t' my face, you little Chinese prick!"

"I'm Korean!" the younger man snapped as the others moved to block Daryl.

At that moment the heavy door clanked open again and Lia stepped out carrying a cardboard box full of canned goods and bottled water.

"Nice to see you're confident enough in us to leave your bow inside," Shane said.

Lia smirked. "There's a dozen arrows pointed at you all right now. Good intentions only go so far these days." She set the box down beside their weapons, then headed back. "You can pick everything up when the door closes behind me. I expect you all to be gone tomorrow morning."

"We will," Rick promised, "Thank you again."

The door slammed shut.

"That went well," Glenn remarked as they moved to retrieve their weapons and food.