Rick Grimes pulled the visor of his beat-up police car down in front of his face and stared at the old family photo strapped down to its fabric. It was old and worn, the corners bent, and you could see a fold mark or two, but it was an otherwise decent picture. One of his favorites. His whole family was dressed for the occasion, his wife's long brown hair was pulled up in a nice, neat fashion, her smile as radiant as anything he'd ever seen. And his son, looking all spick and span, with his pearly white teeth glowing bright under the florescent lighting. They were happy then. He touched the glossy finish, thinking of how much he missed his family. His beautiful wife and his little boy. It made him even more determined to find them. With newfound steam, he slid the picture inside his coat and popped the trunk of the car, grabbing his bag as he stepped out of the vehicle. He was completely out of gas and needed to find some soon or he wasn't going to make it very much longer. He still had quite a few more hours before dark, but it made him nervous, nonetheless. It wasn't safe outside anymore, not with those things wandering the streets. He looked down the road ahead of him, spotting a little white country house. Hoping maybe the people there had some gas they could spare him, he trudged up the driveway, two bags slung over his back and a red gas can in hand.

"Hello?" he called once he was in shouting distance. He dropped his burden in the gravel, adjusting his hat and took a few more steps toward the house, "Police officer out here. Can I borrow some gas?"

When there was no answer, he abandoned the gas can and made his way up the wooden steps to the front door, peering inside. He rapped on the door a few times and called out to anyone who might hear him, still to no reply. He looked around; cupping his hand to the other windows so he could see inside, but what he found wasn't exactly what he was looking for. Two bodies lay decaying in the back room. Flies and bugs surrounded them along with the blood that had poured out of their bodies after the gunshot that obviously killed them. It looked like the man had killed his wife before pulling the trigger on his own life. Rick shook his head in dismay and took a quick step away from the house, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. He was obviously not going to find gas or shelter here. He sat down on one of the garden benches when he noticed a pickup truck not too far from where he was sitting. Thinking he had nothing to lose he stood and pulled open the front door and checked for a key with no luck. Giving up, he started back for his bags, thinking he was probably going to have to walk till he found another means of transportation when a noise grabbed his attention. He froze where he was walking and stared at the bushes. He slowly pulled a gun from its holster and held it out in front of him, taking slow, silent steps towards the sound. Just before he got close enough, a gun was thrust into his vision. He jumped back in surprise, holding his own weapon out in front of him in self- defense, but his attacker stopped him with a low, harsh voice, "Hey! You keep your hands where I can see them."

Rick stopped and slowly lifted his hands above his head. The voice was female. A young female it sounded like. He slowly let his eyes follow her form up to her face. She was young, early twenties probably, with blonde hair down to her waist and piercing blue eyes. She was lanky, and her hands shook, but she stood her ground. Her crooked jaw was clenched in false confidence, but Rick had to admit that he was impressed. She had a good stance and he could tell that her small handgun had the safety off and she was prepared to shoot, even if she didn't want to.

"Are you bit?" she finally said. He hesitated at first, but he finally shook his head.

"No, I'm not bit." When she didn't respond, he shifted his weight and continued, "…

"I'm not going to hurt you." He took a step forward and she didn't move, but she watched him like a hawk. He held out his hand to her and she just stared at him, unwavering. She looked positively terrified and exhausted and Rick wondered what all this poor girl had been through. He was anxious to get moving, but happy that he'd found someone else with a heartbeat. He didn't have it in him to just leave her here alone. They could help each other out.

"I promise." He gave a reassuring smile. She gave him another once over and slowly let the gun fall to her side. They lingered there for a moment and he waited patiently. He really did think they could help each other. He looked around where they stood and saw nothing that was keeping her here. She seemed to be alone, no vehicle, no pets, not anything. It concerned him that she was so young and by herself, even in the state of things. It was almost worse because of the state of things. Walkers could be anywhere.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but-"

"Isabella." She breathed, cutting him off.

"I'm sorry, what-?"

"Isabella. My name is Isabella Watson." She gave him one more once over before shoving her gun in the waistband of her jeans. She started back for the bushes behind them, "And I'm sorry about that. But you're the first person we've seen that was alive in weeks."

"We?"

It seemed as if she was ignoring him, but she bent down into the bushes and lifted an arm, a little bit tanner than her own skin, over her shoulders, hauling another young woman about her age up off the ground. Rick was a little shocked. He never imagined he'd find one person, let alone two alive and well out here. Well, 'well' being a relative term in this situation. Isabella's friend gave him a hard look, obviously in pain and he could see why in looking at her ankle. She was only wearing one shoe, probably because her ankle was so bruised and swollen she couldn't get it on.

"Here, let me have a look at that."

"I'm fine, do you have a car?" The girl said.

Rick was quiet, contemplating. She looked like she was in serious pain. If she was trying to hide it, she wasn't doing a very good job. She looked just as rough as her friend did – the freckles on her tanned cheeks barely visible through all the dirt and grime and her long red hair was a matted mess. She was tough, they both were, but they were obviously on their last leg. It looked like neither of them had eaten anything decent in days, and the deep bags under their eyes could tell a story of their own. Rick sighed and shook his head.

"Where were you headed?" he said.

"Atlanta." Isabella said, "I'd heard there was a refugee center there."

"Yeah, me too. That was the direction I was going. We could travel together?"

The girls were silent, obviously weary of traveling with a strange man, policeman or not.

"Look, I'm not leaving you both out here by yourselves. Do you have any bags or anything?"

They glanced at each other, debating on whether to trust this man. They really didn't have an option. They were alone with no food, one of them was injured, and no shelter. Isabella let the redhead steady herself before letting go to turn back to the bushes. Rick immediately stepped in to help the girl, but she pulled away. The two of them had obviously been through a lot and they had lost all trust in people. Rick didn't blame them a bit. He had been in a coma when all of this started so he missed all the panic and chaos before the world ended up like this. He couldn't imagine what had made them like this.

"Millie has her bow, and we've each got a backpack." Isabella called from behind them.

"Is that all you've got?"

"Yeah, was that your car we heard pull up?"

"There's no gas. We'll have to find another mode of transportation."

About that time, the sound of hooves in the dirt reached their ears and Rick peeked around the corner of the house. A full grown, chestnut colored horse was right behind a wooden fence munching on some grass. Bella came up behind him and leaned around the corner to see was he was looking at. She blinked at the animal and looked up at him. He sighed, "Either of you ever ridden a horse before?"