Hello! There probably aren't many of you Walking Dead fans out there that read fan-fiction, but to those of you who are out there, hi! I hope you enjoy this!

Now, I think this starts out kind of slow, but I've already got a good chunk of this story done with, written down, it should speed up here considerably once the actual story line does. I just wanted to go ahead and get this out there for y'all to see.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize!

Thanks again! Enjoy!

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 all the 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. 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 startled him. 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 where he thought the noise had come from. When he got close enough, he slowly pulled the greenery back and almost jumped when a pair of pale, thin, freckled arms was thrown in the air.

"Please, don't shoot!" a small, red headed girl was crouched in the dirt, shaking so bad he thought she would break. He let out a relieved breath.

"Please, I'm not armed and I'm not bit! Don't shoot, don't shoot!" she repeated. That was when he noticed he still had his gun pointed at her. He replaced it to his rightful place and held up his hands, signaling he meant no harm. She didn't move she just sat there, shaking; face turned away and arms up. Rick took this time to look her over. She looked young, late teens and extremely thin, as if she had not eaten more than a few pieces of bread in a week or two. Her strawberry blond hair was a mess, but he could see the loose curls that fell down her back. More freckles than he could count dotted her arms and legs that he could see from her forest green cargo shorts. Her ankle high, suede boots were worn and dirty like her loose fitting flannel shirt. When he didn't say anything, she reluctantly lifted her head to look at him, her hazel eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying and her freckles could hardly be seen under the layer of dirt that was all over her face. Rick's conclusion: she looked as if she had been through the Vietnam War and was never told it had ended. Her eyes were still watery and her hands trembled above her head. The girl was terrified, not that he could blame her.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Rick finally said. 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 it as if she'd never seen one in her entire life.

"I promise." He gave a reassuring smile. She looked up at him in awe and slowly let her arms fall to her side, one hand falling into his. They lingered there for a moment and he waited patiently. This girl needed help, and he would be the one to give it to her. He helped her to her feet and their hands still connected them. She stared down at the grass then to his face, her eyes locked onto his when she completely broke down, tears streaming down her dirt covered cheeks. He hesitated, but wrapped his arms around her, patting her back and shushing her as semi-silent sobs wracked her fragile looking frame. He looked around where they stood and saw nothing that was keeping her here. She seemed to be alone, no vehicle, no pets, no weapons, 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. He hated to ask while she was so torn up, but he was afraid to stay in one place out in the open too long. Walkers could be anywhere.

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

"Rose." She breathed, cutting him off.

"I'm sorry, what-?"

"Rose. My name is Rose. Roslyn Kinsley. And I'm so sorry about this. But you're the first person I've seen that was alive in weeks."

"No, I understand. Times are hard. Is there anybody with you? Brother, sister? Parents?"

"They're dead. All of them, I'm the only one left." Her eyes flickered away for a moment, so he backed away from the subject of family.

"I see. Where were you headed?" he started looking around for any supplies he was going to need. If she didn't have anyone with her, he wasn't about to leave her alone. She needed to come with him before something really bad happened to her.

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

"Yeah, me too. That was the direction I was going. Why don't you tag along? Nobody needs to be out her by themselves like this."

"I don't want to be a burden."

"No, you won't. Do you have any bags or anything?"

"Just my backpack." She walked back to the bushes and reached in, pulling out a simple, navy colored pack and slipped her arms through the straps.

"Is that all you've got?"

"Yeah, I'll just put it in the car." She started for the vehicle but Rick put out a hand to stop her.

"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. Rose 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, "Ever ridden a horse before, Rosie?"

I would just like to let you guys know that I do not take flames what. So. Ever. If I end up getting too many of them, I will take this down, whether I have people who like it or not. If I have enough people who want me to keep it up, then I will. But I do not deal with flames kindly.

This has been a public service announcement.