He'd stopped when music had suddenly blared from a nearby building, his heartbeat suddenly in his ears. Every walker from miles around would be attracted to the sound. Looking around hastily for high ground, he felt the hair rise up on the back of his neck. Turning quickly, he had his weapon poised – but saw nothing.

Daryl stood up straighter, forcing himself to breath. It felt as though every moment of his life was a continual loop of adrenaline high and PTSD triggers.

Something snapped beside him and he felt every muscle move defensively as his eyes adjusted to the form in front of him – and he pried his finger off the trigger.

A woman clad in black gestured for him to follow, and he did - after a moment. There was nothing threatening about her. She wore a leather jacket, black pants, and wraps on areas the walkers might want to bite on. This woman also moved quickly through the streets, weaving her way through rubble and streets without slowing down.

The building she led him too was heavily fortified. The front door had been cemented shut, windows boarded and the fence had been turned into a spiked warning to anyone going by. There were some people waiting by an SUV, and Daryl felt anxious again – but the woman waved and fished something out of her jacket pocket, removing the face mask she wore.

It was a family she was addressing, or at least what resembled a family. A man and a woman with two teenage children standing beside them.

"The music should distract them long enough for you to have an uneventful drive out. Just use the marked areas on the map," her voice was young sounding, but it was the lack of hardness in her face that surprised him the most. "Good luck."

"Thanks," the man replied, offering her a hug. "Stay safe."

The pleasantries ended there, with the family getting into the vehicle and driving away, leaving Daryl and this stranger alone.

"Sorry about that," she said, breaking the silence. "I didn't see you when I turned on the music, or I would have waited until you passed."

"Why do you care?" he asked, feeling the bitterness of soul leaking into his voice.

She was surprised, blinking at him, and he took a moment to study her face. It was soft, with freckles everywhere, and dark, cold, eyes that were the only indication that she'd seen things. The rest of her was, at first glance, lovely. She was well muscled, he could see the bulge of her arms even under the bulk of the leather, and her legs reminded him of how strong people had once been.

"You're here looking for supplies, right?" she countered and Daryl saw no change in her expression. He nodded. "Then be glad I did let you drown under a pile of the undead. All the major stores worth hitting are east of us, the opposite direction the walkers are headed in."

It still didn't answer his question, but he felt a prick of guilt at being suspicious of her. In his own silence, she too was sizing him up – but she did it more discreetly than he had.

"Look, don't bother wondering when penny is going to drop," she crossed her arms and cocked her hip as she spoke, and it was then he noticed the ice pick and climbing tool trucked into her belt. "It's just me out here. Think of me as the good fairy. I help survivors passing through get supplies, and in return, all I ask is that they help me get what I need. It's win-win. They get a place to stay that is safe and we can all eat regularly."

"That's it?"

"Yup."

He squinted at her, wondering why she could offer something so altruistic in a world so blatantly designed to favor the wicked. "I'm good thanks."

Raising an eyebrow, she shrugged. "Suit yourself. The music ends in two hours, just as a heads up."

Turning away from him, she started jogging towards the back fence near this house – which looked to be as heavily fortified as the front.

Standing, he pondered how long it would take him to get everything on his own: find a place with enough supplies for the group, get gas for his car – the list only went on. It would be faster with another person – and he didn't want to be out in a strange city in the dark.

"Hold on," he called out, watching her stop and turn to look at him. "I –

"Come on," she cut him off, saving him from trying to take back his words. "we can head out early tomorrow."

He felt himself smile to himself once her back was turned, jogging forward to see where she led him. The back fence also had zombies spiked as a warning, but as she leapt up and over the fence like she was a rabbit – it suddenly seemed far less threatening.

The backyard was huge, in fact it was the size of three yards combined into one. There was a chicken coop on the far side, a garden area and an area for other things he couldn't exactly say what they were as he jogged after her.

The woman stopped at a metal door in the ground, unlocking a padlock before pulling the heavy door upwards. She held up open for him as he climbed down, waiting for him to reach the bottom before coming down herself.

/

The smell of rice and oil made his stomach growl. They weren't exactly starving in Alexandra, but there were some things they just didn't have – and rice, spices, and red meat weren't one of them.

As he sat, smelling the food she was cooking, he took a moment to really take in the bunker. It was a living room that had been expanded deeper underground, and there was a lot of space. He didn't know who had redesigned the space, but he found the space safe. Curtains had been strung up in the ceiling, in between were mattresses and blankets along with books and other things scattered in each little area.

The sofa that had been in the bunker had been pushed to the far wall, near the TV and other things that were no longer usable without a generator. The kitchen items were hooked up to solar powered units, but weren't being used. Instead, the stranger was using a portable cooktop stove, which worked just as well and took less power.

There was a room nearby he guessed was hers, since she went in and out of it often enough. All her food was stored in the main area, in handmade cupboards with her pot and pans. Solar powered lamps, along with battery powered lamps, were hung from strategically placed hooks. Candles burned too, but only a few, and it looked like they didn't burn very often.

A heavy metal door was the only thing that was locked in the whole place, which he found unsettling, but she had just asked for it to remain as is. That was her only stipulation, don't bother with that door. There weren't any weird noises coming from behind it, so he didn't feel particularly worried. Yet.

She wasn't asking any questions either. Not his name or where he was from, and he hadn't offered.

First thing she'd done was change out of her outdoor clothes and into sweats and a t-shirt. It was odd in his mind to see someone dressed so casually, but he supposed that she didn't really have much to worry about down here.

The freezer was the best item in the whole place, which was plugged into to the largest generator there. Inside was a variety of meats she'd managed to keep, mostly chicken and deer, but he wasn't going to complain.

"How did you make all this?" he asked finally, sitting on a cushion near her.

"I didn't."

"You just found it?"

There was a pause as she stirred the meat and checked the pot of rice. "Sort of. You could say it came to me. I've made a lot of adjustments, but otherwise it's the same."

"What made you stay here instead of trying to find other survivors?"

Shaking her head, she smiled absently at the food. "I don't have anywhere to go, I guess."

He found that odd, but he didn't press her. "Would you mind grabbing bowls? It's the first shelf there."

/

Her name, as it turned out, was Laura.

Their conversation had gotten easier as the evening turned into night, with the meal had really hit the spot for him and having company turned out to be very nice – for once.

She was from Canada, as it turned out, having come to the States for one reason or another, and had been trapped here ever since. Even with the end of the world, Laura had shown herself to be clever – building a small life in the wasteland.

They played cards, told stories, and simply enjoyed being alone in a place they were both protected from everything above ground.

He'd gone to bed feeling somewhat safe, but in the darkness of his nightmares – nothing was as it seemed.

A darkened room.

Glenn's face.

Carol's voice calling out to him.

Negan's laughter.

A cold, unspeakable pain.

A touch startled him awake, and he shot upright; his hands clawing for whatever was out there. Blinking, he pulled his hand away from where he'd grabbed her – wincing at his own marks on her shoulder. In the dim light, her face registered in his mind.

She didn't ask if he was ok, instead, Laura sat beside him, gripping his hand as she waited for him to breath normally again. When he finally relaxed, his breathing fixed once more, she offered him water – which he took – and sat gently on the mattress beside him. All the while he kept one hand on his body to let him know he wasn't alone.

After some time, Laura got up to leave, but he reached out for her hand. He wasn't sure why, or what he wanted, but he also didn't want her to leave. Both of them didn't speak – and didn't need to – as Laura sank beside him, putting her hands out for him to take as they both drifted into slumber.