Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, or anywhere, or any crossbows you recognize. I'm just playing.

Prologue. Pre-season 4

I might've been able to ignore the pacifier. It was the teething ring that fucked me over.

See, here's the thing, I ain't surprised by people's kinks and perversions. Maybe, with the world gone to shit an' all, it'd make more sense for them to concentrate on something other than what gets 'em off, but people are still people, I guess.

By which I mean men.

By which I mean living men.

So, a pacifier. Pink, Minnie Mouse, if I wasn't mistaken. That could've been for him even if he looked like your run of the mill thug; all guns-out, 'leather is my natural covering'. Still, the tougher they come, the harder they sometimes like to bawl.

But the teething ring seemed like overkill.

I'd already watched the Asian dude hit up the personal care aisle like he was a six year old filling a plastic pumpkin with candy. Condoms had plenty uses, other than the obvious, true; but any guy who was that pleased to find tampons had a girl to go home to.

And now I was thinking maybe Guns had a baby too.

Shit.

They didn't know I was here, no more'n the others did. So, it was my choice.

Shitshitshit.

Turn around, Guns, collect your sensitive little friend and turn...

I threw one of my M&M's at his head.

It had the required effect of stopping him in his tracks before he got close enough to turn the handle on the office door. It also had the less desirable result of finding a fuckin' crossbow trained on my face.

I was up in the rafters. Someone had decided that 'steel frame warehouse chic' was the way to go for this hick town Kwik-E-Mart. Or maybe it was genuinely a warehouse before they made it a supermarket. Either way, it was one big jungle gym of a structure and—understandably, given that these days most of the things that wanna kill you are at ground level—people never look up.

Guns was about ready to let fly at me. I pointed at the door in front of him and shook my head, putting my finger on my lips.

His body language went all like, What?

Asiandude showed up at the other end of the aisle. Guns held up one hand—without losing his bead on me—and Asiandude froze.

The hell, tough guy? You can give signals, but you can't read 'em? I rolled my eyes at him—you getting that, babe? Universal sign for 'Jesus H Christ, you idiot'—and pointed at the door again, going for a dramatic throat-cutting gesture this time. He got it.

He mouthed the words, 'How many?' and I held up my hand, fingers spread. Even thugs can count five. He couldn't stop himself glancing at the door. I knew the window was covered by a poster on the inside, there wasn't nothing for him to see. But, right as he started backing down the aisle, there was a crash from inside the office that proved I ain't no liar.

Guns pointed at me and then towards the exit.

Fuck.

I knew what he saw, a scruffy chick about half his size. No threat. No problem.

But I had options. I still had options. I didn't haveta follow him. Wouldn't be the first time I slept on a ledge somewhere. Only I happened to know there was a whole stack of food cans in that frigging office, plus the rest, so I might be looking at more than one day. And maybe these two mystery shoppers were one of my options.

I crawled along until I was a couple of aisles further away before I swung down. An' I made sure to pick one where both ends of the aisle were open, giving me at least a chance of an exit strategy, because I ain't no idiot. Although it turned out my reception committee was still mighty suspicious. With crossbow. Maybe I wasn't so non-threatening, after all.

I woulda thought it gave him cramp, or at least crossed eyes, looking at everything through that thing.

Weighing up my chances of outrunning an arrow, I decided on 'slim to shit all'. All because of a fucking teething ring.

Asiandude kept his voice just the right side of a whisper as he spoke to me. "Are there any more walkers?"

"Say what?"

"The dead ones? Are they all trapped in the office?"

"They ain't dead."

So, that news produced a different kind of wary and I didn't blame 'em, although I could see they was both packing some serious firepower. I indicated their holsters. "You could take 'em. Easy." Easy, by now. I thought about the cases of booze in the office, with no little regret.

For a second, it seemed like Guns was keen to help me clean house, but when Asiandude shook his head and said they didn't need no hassle, they had other stuff to be doing, he fell into line. Interesting.

We made our way to the front of the empty produce section, stopping shy of the expanse of dirt-streaked glass.

"You got a car?" Whatever they decided to tell me, at the very least, they had transport. I would even lay money they had somewhere to live. Asiandude was clean. Relatively. And so were his clothes. Not in a 'just knocked off some store' kind of way. Hell, we can all get a new wardrobe like that, these days. His shirt was worn, but recently washed.

Even Guns looked...less grungy than he could've. He was what he was. A type I knew. I coulda told you what his favorite food would be, what brand of beer he'd choose. What cigarettes he'd smoke. I knew how he'd sound when he eventually opened his mouth. Filth already came natural to him, before the world went to shit. Hell, if it walks like a hick and quacks like a hick...

Asiandude nodded. "Yeah, you?"

I shook my head. "Ran outta gas just before town. You got any spare?"

"Nah," Guns supplied real quick, cutting across his friend, who said, "Daryl," like he woulda let me have some.

I opened my mouth to suggest a mutually beneficial deal and all hell broke loose in the office, in back. Shouting. Stuff breaking. Loud enough to attract the attention of the wandering corpse bastards in the parking lot. They started battering the windows like some kind of freaky undead Black Friday mob.

Talk about your rock and your fucking hard place.

"Let's get out of here."

I didn't need telling twice, but I had stuff to collect. I'd stashed my pack under one of the display counters, before hiding in the rafters when company came calling.

By the time I'd kicked the panel aside and retrieved my stash, the dead fuckers were in; one of the windows over by the registers had given way. The nearest door also now had no glass, although the one that did it wasn't getting no early bird bargains; she'd fallen onto the jagged shards and was making progress only inch by inch as she dragged herself across the door frame.

Christ, but they stink when the guts come out.

Asiandude pulled out a wicked knife and put a stop to her and then we were through and dodging across the lot. Even firing—and retrieving the arrow—didn't slow Guns down, he barely broke stride to rip it out of a shattered skull, as he sprinted past me. I was nearly cut off by a dead 'un, but I'd slung my bag over my shoulder so it wasn't no more'n muscle memory to whip out a stick and take care of it.

A burst of gunfire and more yelling from inside the supermarket made me smile.

I followed the two guys because they were heading in the most sane direction; out of sight of the supermarket lot, around the end of the building opposite, past the sign still claiming: 'The Best Coffee in Town'. Where the hell else you might have expected to get coffee in this fly speck on the map, I had no clue. Sure wasn't appetizing now, with the blood stains smeared across the lettering. Anyway, I'd checked the coffee shop first, it was picked clean. I didn't know why the supermarket had still had non perishables – hell, one of the registers had still had candy set out, for Chrissakes.

But then, not much about the world these days made any fucking sense.

"So, which way you heading, boys?" There was a reason they'd stopped by this particular pale blue pickup. Beat up bodywork but clean windows equaled 'driven real recent', to my way of thinking. I dug in my jacket pocket and offered them the M&Ms, just to keep lines of communication open.

Asiandude took one—one! This guy was a cutie under the efficient stabbiness—but all I got from the other one was a glare like I was trying to poison him.

"What the hell was all that back there? You with that group?" he asked.

"Hey, didn't I just save your ass?" I snapped back. "You're welcome, by the way."

"We need to get going. Can we discuss it on the way?" Asiandude opened the driver's door. "I'm Glenn, that's Daryl. You are?"

I told him my name was Sarah. "And 'on the way' where? I need to find some gas and get back to my wheels."

Guns—Daryl—growled at me, "Get in, then."

I gave him a level stare. "Get in yourself. I'mma sit by the door."

"The hell you are."

"Guys." Glenn nodded further along the back of the stores, where a dead 'un was now shuffling towards us from behind a dumpster. "It's okay," he said to me, "you can trust us."

"Oh, please. You think I don't know that?"

He blinked at me in surprise.

"I'm still sitting by the door. It'll be cozy. An' I wanna spot where I left my ride. It's just a coupla miles that way." I pointed the way the pickup was almost facing, past the burned out Post Office up ahead.

"Fuck that." Daryl dropped his bow into the flat bed and jumped on up himself. He waved away his friend's objection that he'd be safer inside, with a pointed glance at me. "Just for a coupla miles, right?"

I shrugged. "Give or take."

"I meant what I said." Glenn smiled, as we left the two-store Metropolis behind. "We have somewhere safe." He attempted a joke, "You don't have to worry about getting in the car with 'strange men'."

"Hell, I know plenty about strange men," I drawled, "getting in a car with 'em ain't even top five. 'Sides, I'd just tell your girlfriend if you put the moves on me."

That made him splutter.

I'd ducked off the road and through the trees, on my way into town, but I thought I was beginning to recognize landmarks when Glenn suddenly swung the truck onto a dirt lot fronting a couple of low buildings; an auto shop and a unit bearing the legend 'Hanson Pool Installation and Supplies.'

"This is what we were looking for," he explained. "The supermarket was a spur of the moment thing." He opened the door to climb out. "You wanna wait in the truck?"

"Or not," Daryl cut in from the window next to me, shooting him a look of disbelief; Glenn had left the key in the ignition. I guessed that usually that made sense. If the person carrying the key went down, everyone else would be stuck. Only this time, 'everyone else' didn't automatically mean people from their group.

I raised an eyebrow. "I look like a car thief?"

"Everybody's a car thief now."

"Well, yeah, but not from actual live people, I ain't." I shoved the door open, so he had to shift out the way. "An' you should probably get some help with your trust issues. For your information, me an' Glenn are like this—" I demonstrated twisted fingers. He narrowed his eyes and started for the building. I'd expected more come back, to be honest.

I pulled a stick out of my backpack and Glenn's curiosity got the better of him.

"Are they golf clubs?"

I showed him how the heads were filed off, sharp. "Yup. Some rich kid's pride an' joy, probably. Leather grips, light but strong." It was like carrying a bag of stakes that fit my hand perfectly. He nodded approvingly.

There were three dead 'uns inside, in total. The one that lurched right out of the door practically fell onto Daryl's knife, although its buddy was slow enough that Glenn had time to choose exactly when and at what angle to strike. Most likely they'd been inside since day one. Corpses trapped without any means of feeding tended to be the slower, weaker kind. That left one which was pinned under a fallen shelving rack. I took care of it anyway as it made a feeble grab for their legs while they searched the stock.

They grabbed some tubing and machine parts that they threw in the flat bed.

"Where are you guys holed up?" I demanded. Such specific shopping was a luxury.

"We need to ask you some questions," was Daryl's response, which made no sense.

I indicated the auto shop. "Can we see if there's any gas around, first?" The place wasn't shut up, like the repair unit, so I wasn't real hopeful. But there was no sign of corpses and the very first tarp that I pulled back revealed a can — half full.

"Hallelujah!" I grinned.

"Seconded!" Glenn had found an even fuller can. I couldn't help but be a little pissed at that. It seemed like they already had a real sweet set up, wherever they were living. I needed the gas more.

Back at the truck, I hesitated. "Look, I can walk from here. I appreciate the ride an' all—"

"You think we're leavin' ya, out here, alone?"

I stared at the archer. "I think it ain't your decision." Or business. "Boy howdy, Robin Hood. Just 'cause you can keep it up all day, don't mean every damsel's gonna fall for you." I raised my hands in imitation of his stance with the bow and winked at him.

Swear to God, the man had no sense of humor. He shook his head, like the subject was closed. "Nah."

"Excuse me?" I felt my hackles rise.

"Hey, why don't we get this to your car, and then you can follow us." Glenn held up his gas can. I didn't correct him, but I didn't argue neither. If I was getting all the fuel, I could put up with them a little longer. He let me direct him another half mile, until I was sure I knew where I was. The clearing was just a little ways back from the road.

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me." Daryl stared at the Scrambler. I shrugged modestly. I wondered why they'd thought I was wearing a motorcycle jacket. Just this season's 'hot off the catwalk' anti-bite accessory, maybe.

I let them fill the tank for me. I was perfectly capable, I just preferred not to smell of spilt gasoline for days.

"We can put the bike in the truck anyway," Glenn suggested, "it's a long ride back to the prison."

"The what now?" I stared at them. They talked a little about how safe a place they had, without specifically saying where it was. But they didn't have no overnight gear with them, not that I'd seen. So, even if it was fucking Alcatraz, it was too fucking close.

"Need to ask ya, first, though," said Daryl. He looked right at me. "How many walkers you killed?"

"Counting those last ones? That was two for me, including the one back at the supermarket, right?" I challenged. "Well, I'm just checking, you might have short term memory issues, for all I know." I shot a smile Glenn's way as he chuckled, then continued, "I dunno. Mostly there's a few gets in the way, but I hide when I can." I was checking the 'bike as I talked. "I dunno how many total, I lost count. Why'd you wanna know?"

"How many people you killed?" He ignored my question entirely. I wished he hadn't.

I stood up slowly, working out how to get the Scrambler between me an' them. Options.

"I been with people who died. Just got sick and died. I hadda...y'know."

Glenn wasn't smiling anymore and I figured he'd hadda do the same. 'Y'know' seemed so little, to cover what had to be done for people, to stop them from turning.

Daryl though, just repeated the fucking question, adding 'actual live people' this time, in a mockery of what I'd said earlier.

My hand went slowly to my belt knife. "Personally? Just one."

"Why?"

I was on my toes now, knife out, backing away from the two of 'em. "You think I can't take care of myself? You think the fuckin' dead 'uns are the only threat out here? You tryin' to see if I'll stand up to you, or something?"

"No. Wait. Stop." Glenn spoke across the tension. "Sarah, it's just a way to find out what kind of people we're dealing with."

I hated that I hadda struggle to get my breathing back under control, to pull back from the fight or flight response that curdled my stomach. "So what's the right fucking answer? I ain't sorry I killed him. World's better off without."

He nodded. "Okay. That's okay."

"Well, thank you an' all, but I don't need your approval, sweetie." I climbed on the motorcycle and started the engine. She fired just perfect. Sometimes I fucking loved that machine. "You 'n Robin Hood can go on home. I ain't going that direction."