Disclaimer: Yeah… so I don't own the Walking Dead. Yay me, right?

Season four is out, whoop! However, here's a little blast from the past. It's a story set in season one.

Hope you enjoy!

"Dave?" she called in a meek voice. She backed up against the wall, the brick wall halting her movements. It felt cool in the shady alleyway, so contrary to the stifling weather outside. "Dave?" she tried again desperately. One of the quicker moving zombies reached her. She took it out with a knife, gasping as two more instantly filled its place. "Dave!"

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking!" her companion hissed, his back hitting the gate at the exact same time hers hit the brick. He stood only a few feet away from her, but with the grabbers separating them and surrounding them, it seemed like a hundred.

"Can we fight our way through them?" she questioned. They were taking out grabbers right and left, trying not use their guns until absolutely necessary.

"Too many, escape is our only option," he informed, this time in a yell. The growls and hisses filled her ears, cutting off all other noise. With a slightly terrified squeak, she pulled out another knife, throwing it at a grabber that had come up from behind Dave, his back no longer against the gate as he turned to deal with a two vicious zombies. As always, her mark hit true and precise. He whipped around, staring at her grimly. "Thanks."

Glancing at the second wave of zombies making their way into the alleyway, she shook her head. "Don't thank me yet," she warned.

The dead end they had run into, belatedly realizing it had no escape, was being filled with grabbers of every shape and size, all in different stages of decay. She knew more and more would keep coming, but didn't know what to do about it.

She heard a telltale hiss by her right ear and with a startled yelp, whirled around and jammed her knife into the eye socket of a zombie. Just as a small sigh of relief had left her lips she felt her backpack being tugged on, knocking her back a few steps. "Rachael!"

"Dave!" she screamed.

He wouldn't use a bullet unless completely necessary and with so many more grabbers coming, she knew that this wouldn't be counted as necessary. He couldn't throw knives worth shit and the chance of him reaching her before the grabber took a bite out of her neck was slim. But she didn't need him, she could take care of herself.

She would have to if she wanted to survive.

With a deep breath of preparation, she yanked her pack off. She took out an oncoming zombie before whirling around, her eyes settling onto the grabber that had seized her bag. It still had the pack grasped securely between its rotting fingers as it lunged at her.

Rachael felt herself being knocked to the ground, the rough cement scraping against her back as she landed on it. Her hands came up, a knife in one hand, aiming toward the brain, but unable to get at it from her position. The other arm trying to keep the gaping jaws from biting her as she leaned away, attempting to escape the rotting teeth. Her whole body was stuck like that, unable to move without the thing diving straight for her esophagus.

Her eyes hardened and narrowed as she realized what she had to do.

Her hand fell slack, dropping away from in front of her, no longer protecting her vitals from the infecting bite. The grabber lurched for her throat, spittle and saliva leaking onto her neck and shirt.

At that exact moment, her other hand came forward forcefully, ramming straight into the decaying brain of the zombie. She felt the hilt come to a stop as it hit the skull, the skin of the scalp flaking off onto her hand. She pushed the corpse aside, the knife sliding smoothly out of the cranium as she leaped to her feet. Dave had turned to deal with the grabbers that had gathered around him and she felt a little bit betrayed. Wasn't he worried for her in the least? At all? Did he even try to help her?

She brushed those thoughts aside, focusing on attempting to stop the endless of flow of grabbers. Dave did what he had to do in a moment of crisis. It was logical to think she had already been bitten or scratched – to think she had been beyond help.

Her thoughts were confirmed as she saw him turn around, surprise coating his features. A bit of relief tainted the disbelief as he smiled briefly at her. She nodded back in acknowledgement, letting him know that her health hadn't been compromised by a bite or scratch.

She had two knives left on her, one in her hand and one in her belt. Her last one, lodged in a zombie brain, lay too far away to retrieve. She wouldn't be able throw again, not without losing her remaining weapons.

She finally made her way to her partner, taking out two grabbers, her hand being stained with more blood. One after the other they fell as she made her way to him. She inched closer to the back gate. When she finally reached Dave's side, it stood tall and proud against both their backs. What would normally be protecting the alley from civilians, had blocked them in with the zombies. If they could manage it, they might be able to climb it and get away.

She glanced at the swarm of zombies coming from left and right, more piling in from the back entrance. No, they would get yanked back down before they even got a foot onto the gate. There were too many to turn her back to. Too many to escape from.

Dave seemed to also notice this as he scanned the gate.

"I have an idea!" be informed her. She stole a look at him before grabbing ahold of a grabber and shoving her knife in its brain. He kicked one zombie away as he thrust his own knife into another.

"Well? What is it?" she yelled exasperatedly, trying not to let any fear creep into her voice. "We don't have all day!"

"I think I can get over this gate, but I need you to cover me!" She took out a second knife. Her last knife.

Glancing at him, Rachael furrowed her eyebrows. "How? There's too many of them!" Just as she said this, one grabbed onto Dave's arm. Her eyes widened. "Kill it!" she screamed shrilly. She wanted to help him, but she couldn't waste another knife. She already had three zombies to deal with around her.

He spun around. Just as the zombie ducked its head down to take a bite out of Dave's arm, he forced it against the fence and stuck a knife into its head. She breathed a sigh of relief, knocking down a grabber in triumph.

She smiled at him as he turned back around, but something in his eyes made her drop it. They were wild and crazed with the realization of death. His chest rose and fell with his erratic breathing. She saw his eyes flick to her then to the fence. "Cover me!" he yelled frantically, trying to escape the massive horde coming at them.

"Dave! No!" For the first time, she felt panic. She'd felt fear before. She had been feeling it. Hell, she'd felt it before she'd been cornered in an alleyway with flesh eating monsters coming at her. She knew the cold sensation of terror that ran through someone's body at being afraid, but she had never felt true panic. The kind that grips at your heart and pulls your insides apart. She froze for a moment, just a quick second, as warning bells sounded in her head and the feeling of panic thrashed around inside of her. She could hear his gear clanging against the metal as he made his way up the gate. A sudden realization came over her. "Dave! Don't leave me!"

She had known what was happening as soon as she saw that wild, irrational insanity in his eyes-had known he would do anything to survive. It was one of those moments that determined whether you were a loyal soldier or a spineless deserter. She just didn't think he would ever become the latter.

She shook out of her horror filled daze, finally exchanging her knives for a gun.

Take down one here. Take down another there. One to your right. Another to the left.

She heard feet hitting pavement. She didn't turn around. "Dave, please! Help me! Do something!" she pleaded, knowing that if he didn't stay, she would die.

She would die.

"I'm sorry!" His voice rung out desperately, as if he was trying to make her understand. The breath left her as she heard footsteps on cement, pounding away from her.

"Dammit!" she cursed, not even trying to keep the alarm out of her voice.

Fear consumed her as she kept hopelessly fighting, wasting bullets on grabbers. She would take one down and another would replace it.

It came to the point that when she pulled the trigger, all she received was an unresponsive click.

Rachael used the gun to bash a nearby zombie's head in. Spotting one only inches away from her to her left, she stuffed the gun into the back of her pants. Just as she was reaching for her knife again, the zombie collapsed.

She noticed the bullet hole in its head and hope sparked in her heart.

Had he come back for her? Maybe it was out of guilt or maybe it was something else, it didn't matter. It just meant that she could get out of this. That she had the chance to survive.

"Go!" she heard an unfamiliar voice shout.

She didn't need to be told twice. With a wary glance at the ravenous zombies, she dug a foot into a rung on the fence. She felt a grabber clutch at her ankle, but another shot went off and the hand fell away. Scaling the tall fence, more than twice her height, wasn't difficult, but she had to use a lot of upper body strength and focus. She went quickly at first, escaping the dangerous clutches of the flesh eating monsters below her, before slowing down as she reached the top.

She had never been good with heights. An irrational fear when the world was filled with zombies, but a fear all the same. She was frightened of them. They didn't render her immobile like some people. She didn't have severe acrophobia, but still, that didn't mean she liked heights.

She sucked in a deep breath, hitching a leg over the side and started her journey back down. About halfway, she closed her eyes and let go of the gate, cursing quietly as fear rushed through her veins.

As soon as her feet hit the ground, a shock reverberated her legs and knocked her over, forcing her to stick out a hand so she wouldn't fall.

"Hurry!" Her eyes found a dark skinned anxious man waving a hand at her frantically. A tall man with scruff and worry in every feature held a gun in his hands, aimed carefully at the ground now that she was over the fence. He was dressed in a sheriff's outfit and he wore it with a certain sense of pride and ownership. She knew he must have been one at one point. He swiveled his head from side to side, scanning for a threat.

Rachael gained her balance quickly and jerked to her feet, glancing quickly behind her at the zombies that had all gathered at the gate. Pushing at it and crowding against it, growling desperately at her. She repressed the fear, looking away and swallowing the dread.

As soon as she was upright, they took off, motioning for her to follow. She ran quickly, pursuing the people, her saviors. They seemed to work well together. They watched each other's back, occasionally peering at her as she trailed hastily after them.

They entered another alley. She followed hurriedly behind. She didn't know if they were trustworthy or not, she didn't know what they'd want in return for saving her, but she chose not to think about it. They saved her and she owed them. People who could have easily left her behind, not wasted ammo, had chosen to rescue her. They couldn't be all that bad, so she followed after them blindly, trusting they weren't leading her somewhere unsafe.

"¡Ayúdeme!" a high pitched male voice screamed out. Suddenly her saviors veered left and she sprinted after them. "¡Ayúdeme!"

"Come on," the armed man in the sheriff's outfit shouted as they rounded a corner. She followed just in time to see an angry man with a goatee and a dangerous looking crossbow shove a teenage boy into a wall. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stop it!"

The sheriff backed the furious man up. A group of grabbers rattled at the gates, trying to get through them. She could barely hear the words being said with all the shouting from the men and the groaning from the zombies, but she heard the booming threats clearly.

"I'm gonna kick yer nuts up in yer throat!" a distinctly southern voice threatened. "They took Glen, this little bastard and his little bastard, homie friends!" He pointed a finger at the frightened minor. "I'm gonna stomp yer ass!"

"What the hell?" she questioned, keeping her fingers around the knife now in her hand, unsure of how to view the situation. She turned to the dark skinned man. She noted how he was keeping the scrawny teenager, with various tattoos across his neck, up against the wall and immobile. "Rachael," she informed in a yell.

"T-Dog," he acknowledged before turning to the sheriff. "We're cut off!"

The sheriff took a quick glance around before, gesturing his gun to the back of the alley. "Get to the ladder! Go!"

T-Dog thrust the teenager forward, keeping a firm hold on the collar of his wife beater. Rachael rocked back onto her left heel, unsure of whether to follow or wait and get the hell out of there. As the hissing and growls got louder from the gate, reminding her of the predicament she had just been saved from, she chose to follow the sheriff's orders.

At a run, she took off after T-Dog, keeping her eyes on him at the end of the alley. He was pushing the boy up a rusty, white ladder. She shook her head as she skid to a stop beside them, waiting only a moment before gripping the bars and pulling herself up. A chill ran down her spine as her feet took her further and further from the ground, but she ignored the anxiety. With all the chaos that was going on, her little fear seemed insignificant. Speaking of the commotion that had just gone on…

What the hell had she gotten into?

Before she could panic or convince herself to get away, she reminded herself. She owed these people. They saved her life. She was on their side until her debt was paid.

The climb was long, but not difficult, and once T-Dog made the kid look down at how high they were, it forced him to climb a little faster. She could hear grunts further down below her – human grunts. The sheriff and crossbow guy were slowly but surely making their way up as well.

They made it to a roof, and she managed to hold her tongue and not ask any questions. From there they entered into a building from a hatch on the roof, and then made their way to an unfamiliar room.

One everyone had gathered into the room, she surveyed the area. A desk, a few chairs, and a group of angry men.

She shrugged off the curious and angry stares, sticking her hand out to the sheriff only. "Rachael Adams, thanks for what you did back there," she smiled, trying to ease the tension.

He didn't appear to be calmed, but he took her hand in a quick shake. "It was nothing," he assured reflexively. "Rick Grimes," he informed after a moment of gathering himself, not even making eye contact with her as he turned to crossbow guy. "Daryl, what happened out there?"

T-Dog slammed the kid down into a chair before backing away. And the man she now knew as Daryl, motioned to the culprit. "He and his little douchebag friends jumped me!"

Before anyone could comment, the teenager glared at him and growled, "You're the one that jumped me, puta." He leaned back in the chair. "Screaming about his brother like it's my damn fault," he muttered.

Daryl paced, tension rolling off him in waves as he flexed his arms and breathed in deep breaths. "Took Glen, coulda taken Merle too," Daryl pointed out, thinly veiled anger in his voice.

"What kind of hick name is that? I wouldn't name my dog Merle," the teenager taunted. Quicker than she could process, Daryl was aiming his body toward the kid, swinging at him. Anger made him sloppy though, and Rick was able to stop him before he could touch him.

"Dammit Daryl!"

Rachael took a step back and suddenly Daryl's attention was on her. "Who're you? How do we know yer not involved in all this," he snarled, nearly spitting at her as he yanked himself away from Rick. T-Dog stepped in front of her.

"Calm down! We found her cornered by some geeks. Got to her just in time. No way she was involved in any of this," the large man assured in calm voice, only the edge of a threat in his tone. She took a deep breath before pushing herself out from behind T-Dog.

She stood a couple of inches shorter than Daryl, but his anger and rough demeanor made him seem ten feet tall. She pulled herself up to her full height, broadening her shoulders and widening her stance.

"You seen m' brother?" he questioned impatiently, bright blue eyes burning into her. She knew he would be able to tell if she was lying. She was glad she didn't have to.

"No, I'm sorry, I haven't seen anyone new, besides you all, since entering the city," she answered truthfully, meeting his harsh stare and trying not to back down.

It took a few judging moments, but he turned away from her and strode over to his bag. She took this as confirmation that he believed her. She relaxed, feeling the tension in her shoulders melt away.

It was short lived as she tensed back up again. Daryl flung a bloody, dirty hand into the teenager's lap. The kid screamed, absolutely terrified. She felt her heart stop beating and immediately stepped forward as the boy scrambled to escape the severed limb. Daryl wrapped his hands around his throat when the kid reached the wall. "I'll start with the feet this time," Daryl hissed.

Who had she gotten involved with? She would not stick with this group if they hurt others willingly – if they cut off people's hands when they got angry – no matter how deep her debt was.

She had no way of knowing whether this group was being real or not as they scowled threateningly at the young man, but the hand she saw was enough proof for her to be wary.

Rick pulled Daryl away. She stepped up before anyone could get close to the teenager. She glared at them all, leaning down in front of the boy, protecting him with her body. "What's your name, kid?" she asked in a soft voice. She was unable to take sides. She didn't want to offend this group. Not if they were the kind of people to start severing limbs when they got angry, but she couldn't let them hurt this kid. He had to be seventeen, maybe younger.

The teenager eyed the men behind her and she didn't bother to turn around, knowing they were all staring daggers at both her and the teenager. His eyes focused back on her. "Miguel," he responded softly, his voice steady though his eyes were round and scared.

She rocked back onto her haunches, studying him. She didn't feel comfortable with her back to these new people, but they had saved when they could've let her die, so she would have to trust them not to literally stab her in the back. "I want to help you, okay Miguel?" He nodded slowly, but stopped, his eyes once again staring behind her. She turned her head around.

"Back off now," she whispered menacingly, eyeing them all. She owed them, it was true. They saved her life, but she wouldn't watch someone be tortured in front of her, no matter what these people had done for her. She was going to try to diffuse the situation in any way she could.

T-Dog stepped back, but Rick stood still, his hand coming up to stop Daryl from coming at her. Daryl was positively fuming and clearly didn't trust her. However, Rick met her eyes, his light blue trusting and threatening at the same time. He was testing her. The hand not holding Daryl back rested on his gun.

They had only just met, but in a world like this, first impressions were everything. She had to prove she wasn't against them.

She murmured soothing things in a calm tone, unsure of what to say, what they needed to know. She sighed. "Look, just tell them what they want to know. Help them find this…" she struggled to remember the name they used, "Glen, and nothing will happen to you." Miguel stared wide eyed at her and swallowed loudly. "Look, I don't know these people, but from what I've seen of them, they won't hesitate to kill you, or me, or anyone who gets in their way," she whispered, sure the other men could hear her as she said this, but speaking only to Miguel. "Just… talk."

It took him a minute to respond. His eyes flicked from Rachael, to Rick and his group, and back to her warily. He glanced fearfully at the gray skinned and bloody hand, before finally looking back at her as if she was his only escape.

Knowing this might be his only chance to survive with all of his body parts, Miguel slowly nodded.

She couldn't help but smile.

Translations:

¡Ayúdeme! = Help me!

Puta = Bitch/Whore/Slut

A/N: I know this is sort of long for a first chapter, but I really wanted to get it all out. In recent news, I just updated my story Captured! I encourage everyone to read it. It's a Merle/OC. If that's not your cup of tea, I get it, but I personally love both brothers. R.I.P. Merle, but you can live on in my story! Tell me what you thought of this one, it came to me in between my writer's block and busy schedule. It will be a Daryl/OC by the way. I hope everyone liked it! Thanks for reading!