Author's Note: So, here's my new story! Enjoy!

xoxo —Holly

"I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference."

— Robert Frost, 'The Road Not Taken'

It would be a long ride into Atlanta from where he was currently; astride a horse in the Georgian countryside with naught but a bag of weaponry across his back and sheer determination to find his family. Nothing would prevent him from reaching that goal, no matter how long it took. If it took days, weeks, and months or — heaven forbid — years, he would never give up. Even if all he found was their graves or their wandering corpses, he would find them, at whatever the cost.

Rick Grimes would never stop looking.

The afternoon heat wasn't too bad. There was barely a cloud in the sky to block the sun which was beating down, but it still was a bad of a day as it normally could be in the South. He wasn't sure on the date anymore, having lost track of time due to the weeks he spent in a coma at that hospital back in King County, but the arc of the sun and how long the day was lasting gave Rick the impression it was still summer out, though possibly late summer. Early or mid-August perhaps? Maybe it was closer to September? He should've asked Morgan if he knew before they parted ways that morning.

What Rick really wanted at that very moment was for the horse to go a bit faster so he could reach the city by nightfall; but with what little water he had to spare, he didn't want to overwork the horse and then be forced to walk the rest of the way. Though, he would if he absolutely had to.

Traveling along at a slow to moderate pace, Rick was still trying to shake the image of the dead woman missing her lower half that he had killed that very morning from his memory, as well as, more recently, the dead couple inside the house from where he'd acquired the horse. Instead, Rick tried to focus on happy thoughts, as if Peter Pan was encouraging him to fly. So, he thought about his wife Lori and their son Carl. He thought about Sunday mornings, waking up to the smell of coffee and bacon and trying to stomach Lori's terrible pancakes. Though it was a weekly tradition and Lori was aware her pancakes were no good and was equally aware that Rick and Carl didn't like them, they ate them regardless, because they knew how much having a family breakfast like that meant to her. Sometimes, though, and much to Rick and Carl's pleasure, Lori would toss everything into the trash and they would just go to the nearest Waffle House or IHOP.

Shit.

Rick's stomach growled.

Even Lori's cooking sounded good right about now.

The quiet of the ride droned on for a couple miles more, with Rick's mind slipping into different daydreams here and there. The only sounds were that of the horse's hooves on the pavement and the slight jostling of guns and boxes of ammo in the bag on his back.

At least, those were the only sounds.

With burning lungs, she ran at full speed without daring to look back once. Through the trees and other overgrowth, she zigzagged in her path in some attempt to throw her pursuers off her trail and, thankfully, it seemed to be working so far. She refused to slow down, though. She'd seen all the horror movies. Just when the heroine thinks she's safe and the coast is finally clear, only then does the villain emerge and she wasn't going to be any damsel in distress. At least, she didn't want to be although that's pretty much what she was.

Running from a half dozen armed assholes, without any weaponry of her own left at her disposal, made her in serious need of a knight in shining armor. Had she the time to take a moment and think about the position she was in from an outsider's prospective, she would surely blanch in disgust at herself. That idea of being "a strong, independent woman who didn't need a man" had been drilled into her head by her mother for as long as she could remember and now, here she was, in desperate need of one. Or anyone, to be honest, as long as they had guns who could help her get away, hide or fight back.

Instead, running was the only option available to her at the moment and she was really starting to wish she'd taken part in physical sports in school or actually bothered to utilize that damn gym membership. She was not used to running so long and so hard, without stopping for breath. She was by no means out of shape, but she wasn't exactly fit either. She also wished she had better shoes on. The boots she wore, while practical for walking through tall grass and kept her feet protected and warm, were in no way or shape made for this kind of activity. By the time she would finally manage to find a proper place to hide or find shelter in for the night, she was sure she would find blisters galore once she took the damn boots off.

Not only did she not have the time to catch her breath, but she also didn't have time to fully deal with her recent loss; that grief and anger she could contribute to the men after her.

She was a believer in karma, though, and believed they would get what was coming to them eventually.

Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday.

Coming to a large tree, the path she was on forked in one of two directions; one that continued north through the woods, into terrain she knew would likely grow steeper, and one that would soon come out to a road that would at some point lead to I-85. The latter was a tricky option. Open roads meant being out in the open, which could make her a veritable sitting duck, and it also meant the likelihood of abandoned cars and the dead moving together en masse.

Her legs and feet couldn't handle steep, rugged terrain anymore. Risking going north, further through the woods was putting her life at further risk. At least on an open road, she might be able to find an abandoned car and possibly hide out in a backseat or, better yet, in a trunk.

So, that was the choice she made.

She chose the path in front of her.

After a bend in the road, Rick happened upon a sign that indicated he was entering the city limits of some town. On his right was a large open field that was fenced off with woven wire fencing and covered with vines and other overgrowth in spots. On his left was some train tracks and beyond it a smaller open field surrounded by more immediate woods. There were a few buildings here and there, mainly farmhouses and barns, so Rick kept his eyes peeled for any signs of the dead that might come out of the woodwork at the sound of the horse's hooves clopping on the pavement.

As Rick passed out into the open between both fields on either side of the road, a familiar sound wafted easily through the air.

A voice—specifically female—and, if he didn't know any better, he'd say it was calling to him.

For a moment, Rick's heart swelled with hope.

Turning to look over his shoulder, he reined the horse in to get it to stop and focused on the trees lining the train tracks at his left. There, stumbling mid-run, was a brunette woman whose light, army green jacket was flapping wildly behind her from the speed with which she was running because there sure as hell wasn't a breeze.

Because of that moment of hope, Rick's first thought was that it was Lori running to him but, upon narrowing his blue eyes, he could tell the woman had slightly wider hips and a fuller chest as well.

"Hey!" the woman shouted to him, waving her arms. "Please, stop! Wait!"

Already stopped, Rick frowned and then decided to turn the horse around to meet her halfway as she began to clamber over the tracks; damn near losing her footing in the process. Throwing her hands out before her to steady herself, the woman continued on; barely missing a beat and looking up at Rick with widened, panicked eyes.

"Hey—you okay?" Rick asked. Obviously, she wasn't, but he was a gentleman and making sure she was okay was the instinctually polite thing to do.

"I need help," she gasped, struggling to catch her breath as she hunched forward and braced her knees. "There's these guys who are after me. I have no weapons to protect myself and I'm pretty sure I might've just twisted my ankle a bit on those tracks. I can't outrun those bastards for much longer." Looking up at Rick, and still breathing heavily, her brow knitted together in pain and her eyes were pleading. "Please, can you get me out of here?"

Scanning the trees from whence she came, Rick ignored the sounds of her wheezing breath and listened in on anything else. It was very, very faint but he was positive he could hear more voices; the sound came across like distant echoes coming from deep within the woods and had no doubt this woman was telling the truth that there were men nearby. Because he couldn't make out anything they were actually saying, he knew they weren't too close, but if they were running, they would be soon.

With a quick glimpse at the surrounding area, Rick sighed and nodded down at the woman.

From what he could tell, from where he sat atop the horse, the pockets of her pants weren't deep enough to hold a weapon of any sort; not even a measly pocket knife. A memory of Lori complaining to him about women's pants and small pockets came to him suddenly. This woman's jacket also hung straight down on her with no lumps to indicate any sort of hidden weapons there either so he believed her tale to be true, or at least true enough that she didn't pose a threat to him.

Tightening his grip on the reins, Rick held his left hand out to her.

With a large smile of relief, the woman took the hand offered and allowed him to help pull her up onto the horse. She gripped the horn of the saddle with her free hand and was given the space to hook her foot into the stirrup so she could climb up when he removed his own foot. Scooting back a few inches, Rick gave her enough room to throw her right leg over and be able to sit in front of him on the saddle with him. It was a tight fit, but they would have to make do so they could get out of there as quickly as possible.

"Thank you so much," the woman uttered, not daring to complain about the saddle's horn pressing painfully into her crotch.

"Don't worry about it," Rick muttered into her hair as he tried looking around her head. Slipping his right arm around her waist, he held her in place so she didn't fall off, while shaking the reins with his left hand and signaling for the horse to get a move on. "Hold on," he urged the woman as the horse broke into a gallop with little provocation.

At the sound of increasingly louder voices, both Rick and the woman looked back over their shoulders toward the woods beyond the train tracks in time to see a man stepping out from between the trees with a rifle.

"Oh, shit," Rick mumbled, as two more men appeared in tow.

As the horse carrying them took off at a pretty decent pace, the men from the trees seemed to notice Rick and the woman's retreating forms atop the horse and suddenly rallied together.

Rick stole another look back, barely making out the image of what looked to be five or six men aiming their guns in his and the woman's direction. With his eyes going wide, Rick kicked his heels at the horse's middle to urge it along faster and harder just as a single shot rang out from behind them but thankfully missed them.

"Why the hell are those men after you? Why are they shooting at us?" Rick demanded.

"Is it really important right now?" she asked, tensing against him as she gripped both the horn and his arm that was around her waist with each of her hands.

"I'd like to know why I'm risking my life for a stranger."

"I promise to go into detail as soon as we put distance between us and them. Right now, let's just get out of here alive."

Not having any qualms with that, Rick focused on guiding the horse to continue forward at more of a gallop and not go off course from being spooked by the extra gunfire that followed.

Within minutes, with having literal horse power available to them, they were able to put enough distance between them and those armed men. The woman urged Rick to slow down, reminding him that the dead would come wandering out at the sound of the horse clopping so hard and loud upon the pavement. They turned off the state road they'd been on and onto the more rustic main thoroughfare of the town, which was considerably smaller than Rick's hometown, and his hometown was quite small to begin with. The few businesses in this town didn't even have a second story. Everything was on one level.

"That bar has sturdy-lookin' posts. We can hitch up the horse there and take shelter inside," Rick suggested, pointing out the building hosting two abandoned businesses; Shrugg's Hardware on the left and The Carriage Bar, a local tavern, on the right.

"This horse is our only mode of transportation and it's a living creature. Leaving it out in the open is like a welcome buffet to any passing walkers," the woman retorted. "We lose the horse and we're stuck on foot, unless we find a car with plenty of gas."

Rick frowned, but she wasn't wrong. "So what do you suggest?"

"Bring the horse inside with us?" the woman shrugged.

"Sounds like the beginning of a few jokes I know."

The woman smirked. "A horse walks into a bar and the bartender asks—"

"—'Why the long face?'"

As both chuckled for a moment, Rick brought the horse nearer to the front of the tavern and then braced himself to get down off the horse first. Once he'd succeeded in that task, he held up his hand to assist the woman with getting down as well; maintaining the obvious fact that he was ever the gentleman. Both winced as they stood on the ground beside the horse, but for different reasons. For Rick, he had just gotten used to riding the horse and now his thighs were a bit sore.

"You okay?" he asked her, noticing the way she grimaced.

"My feet are sore as fuck and I probably got blisters up the ass. I was running through the woods for a good while. Not exactly smooth terrain and I've never been much of a runner, but when push comes to shove..."

"I hear ya."

Grabbing onto the horse's reins he gestured for the woman to take them. When she obliged him, Rick removed his Colt Python from the holster at his right hip and approached the tavern's double doors. Turning one of the handles, he found it was unlocked. Pushing the door on the right slowly open, he moved to step right in but the woman grabbed onto his short shirt sleeve and pulled him back.

"What are you—new? Make a noise," she urged. "Draw out anything that might be lurking inside. Never just walk right in. That's how you get bit and die."

Looking over his shoulder at her, Rick nodded slightly and resumed his frown as he turned his attention back toward the interior of the tavern. He felt like an idiot, having been called out on not grasping the nuances of this new world he had woken up in, literally only a day ago. After all, there he was, dressed in his uniform, hat and all — a figure of authority, no less — and he hadn't the experience anyone else had.

With a muted sighed, Rick whistled and tapped the barrel of his Colt upon the doorframe. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," he muttered, a good deal more audibly than his sigh. When nothing happened, when no sounds or movements from anything dead or alive echoed from within the tavern, Rick looked over his shoulder again at the woman and raised an eyebrow. "I think the coast is clear."

Lowering his colt, Rick stepped back from the door and took the reins back from the woman and let her step inside first. As she slowly and carefully disappeared into the dark interior, Rick coaxed the horse to follow him inside as well after opening up the door on the left; thankful both doors were tall and wide enough to accommodate the horse's stature. Once they were all fully inside, Rick noted two loadbearing posts off to the left where he could tie up the horse while the woman quickly shut the doors behind them and then closed the curtains to the only one of the three sets of windows that was open. As Rick brought the horse over to the post, he first pushed aside a small, round table and its accompanying chairs; all of which were covered in a layer of dust. In fact, every surface inside the tavern was covered in a layer of dust.

"Thanks again," the woman spoke, "for earlier."

Rick shrugged as he looped the reigns around the post. "Don't worry about it."

"My mama raised me to never rely on a man; that I never had to be some damsel in distress," she continued, looking around and taking a seat at the bar, but facing Rick and the horse. "She taught me how to talk, walk, tie my shoelaces, how to cook, how to shoot a gun, how to hunt, how to change my own oil and change a tire. But most importantly, she taught me how to rely on myself first and foremost. And yet, here I am now, having had no choice but be that damned damsel in distress who lucked out in relying on a knight in shining armor who happened to be passing by at the right time. Though, actually, I s'pose you're less knight in shining armor and more lawman in a cotton-polyester blend uniform."

Rick smirked and removed his hat; setting it on the table. Casting a look toward the doors, he gestured in their direction. "So what's the story with those thugs? Why were they chasing you? More importantly, why were they shooting?"

"I'd seen 'em before, a couple days ago. I was scavenging some house nearby my mama's property. I don't think they saw me, but they must've noticed someone that wasn't them had been there. I guess they followed my tracks or something. I mean, it rained that day before so maybe I left footprints," the woman began to explain with a shrug. "There were more of them then. I'm not exactly sure on the number, but either way I could tell they weren't the good kind of survivors. They weren't no knights in shining armor, that's for sure. This morning they found my mama's house, where I'd been staying since almost the beginning of all this. It was just a trailer home on two acres of land, but it was home. It's where I grew up and where I felt I could be safest. So, this morning, those men found my mama's house, as I was sayin', and they must've known people were inside. They started hollerin'; just making a general racket that would've drawn out walkers. They shot out the windows of my mama's truck, so she opened a window and aimed a rifle at them and told them to get off her property or she'd shoot. When they began to taunt her, she shot one of 'em in the chest."

"Damn," Rick murmured, taking a seat at the table.

"My mama's never been one to be fucked with. She tended bar all her adult life, not here, so she knew how to handle assholes from sober to drunk as a skunk. She had brass ball, my mama." The woman smiled ruefully. "She could be so intimidating and took shit from no one. I make her sound like a hard-ass, and she was. Lord Jesus was she ever. But my mama had a heart of gold, too, and would give you the shirt off her back in an instant if you were deserving of it." With a sigh, the woman hung her head. "But I digress…."

"It's okay."

"That trailer and that measly two acres of land, and that truck, were the only possessions in this world that my mama owned, and like any God-fearing redneck, she was gonna defend her shit. Basically, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition," she carried on, slowly beginning to lean forward and massage her aching thighs from all that running. "So, mama shot first and she was within her rights. They were trespassing and destroying personal property, after all. But then they shot back. Mama ducked and told me to grab the other shotgun from above the couch."

The woman fell silent and stared off.

Rick was not blind to how her face seemed to contort into utter grief. "You don't gotta go into detail of whatever happened next."

Either she didn't hear him or didn't mind talking about it, because the woman continued on. "Just as I turned around and was about to ask my mama where the box of ammo was, because the second shotgun was never loaded, I watched as a bullet pierced through the trailer and shot my mom right in the face."

Rick finally noticed some of red spots staining her shirt and determined it must be arterial spray.

"Back of her head just exploded like a volcano across the wall directly behind her; ruined her favorite velvet painting of Dolly Parton. I just froze. I'd just watched my mama die and I suddenly forgot how to use a gun. I could've picked up hers and continued to shoot at those assholes in her place. But I froze. I was scared. I didn't want to die, too. I could tell they were moving closer to the trailer, so I ducked down and basically crawled to the bathroom and then climbed out the bathroom window. As soon as my feet touched ground, I took off running and I barely looked back." Finally looking back up, she glanced over at Rick and found a sympathetic frown ingrained on his face. "Obviously, they realized someone escaped the house and followed me. And, well, there you have it. That's how my day's gone so far."

After a moment, Rick leaned forward with his hands clasped between his knees. "I'm so sorry for your loss," he remarked; not really knowing what else to say other than to fall back on the tried and true expression he'd given, several times in the past while on the job, to those who had lost their loved ones in an accident, suicide, or to acts of violence.

"What about you?" she asked, gesturing to him. "What's a lawman doin' riding off into the sunset with an arsenal on his back?"

"I'm looking for my family," Rick replied, without missing a beat.

"When was the last time you saw them?"

"I dunno. Two months ago?" He shrugged. "I wasn't able to keep track of time, where I was."

"And where was that?"

"In a coma."

The woman knitted her brow together. "Seriously?"

Rick nodded. "Seriously," he confirmed. "I was shot on the job; bleeding out by the side of the road. I don't much remember anything after that. I mean, at some point I was aware that my best friend, who was also my partner, was leaning over me with flowers in hand. The next thing I know, I'm waking up in this hospital room and there's this vase full of dead flowers on the table beside me."

"Holy shit."

"The world ended and I was asleep during all of it," Rick remarked, almost bitterly. "When I made it home, my family was gone. Clothes were missing, even family albums. I have no idea where they went and then I met this man named Morgan and his son Duane who were squatting in my neighbor's house. Morgan changed my bandage, gave me food to eat and explained how the world had changed. This morning I got us all hot showers and the police station, since it has its own backup generator. Then I grabbed this clean uniform, enough weapons I could carry and gave others to Morgan and his son. Morgan said the radios were telling people to go to Atlanta. Survivor camps were being set up there, so my wife and son might've gone there."

The woman chuckled under her breath and shook her head.

"What's so funny?" Rick demanded; narrowing his gaze at her.

"How long ago did you wake up from your coma?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

She chuckled a bit more audibly. "Shit, you really are brand new, aren't you?"

"Why? What do you know?"

"If your family somehow made it to Atlanta, they're probably dead. I'm not trying to be a heartless asshole about, but that's the truth."

"And why is that the truth?"

"Because Atlanta was bombed," she replied, matter-of-factly. "Military planes flew over the city and dropped fucking napalm on it. Anyone stuck inside the city when it happened is dead or dead and turned. If your wife and son were lucky, they would've been caught outside the city and turned around to go someplace else."

"And how do you know this?" Rick questioned; suddenly on the defensive. He stood up abruptly, startling the horse a little. "You said yourself you were at your mama's trailer since the beginning. I know from Morgan the radio broadcasts eventually stopped."

"I said I was at my mama's since almost the beginning," she replied, just as defensively. "I lived in Atlanta up until a month ago. I saw how bad it was getting. The soldiers sent to guard the refugee camps were bailing to get home to their own families. The amount of walking dead was growing. Camps were getting overrun, family were literally getting torn apart. FEMA dropped the ball worse than when Katrina hit New Orleans five years ago. My mama did raise a fool. I knew shit was only gonna get worse so I got out of there as quick as I could. When my car got stuck in a traffic jam on the I-85 along with a shit ton of others trying to flee the city, I got out of my car and continued on foot. As soon as I cleared the highway, I hotwired a car I found abandoned and drove the rest of the way to my mama's."

Rick's shoulders slumped and he sighed heavily. "I don't know where else my family might've gone," he admitted. "My wife was an only child and her parents moved to Mesa years ago for her father's health because of the dry air. My parents are gone and my brother went traveling abroad before I got shot. In fact, he called me a week before I was shot to say he'd arrived in Barcelona." Rick shook his head and began to wander over toward one of the windows. Pushing aside the curtain slightly, he peered outside for a moment and then looked back at the woman whose name he still didn't know. Though, to be fair, she didn't know his name yet either. "If what you say really is true, and if my family got away from Atlanta before it was bombed, then I don't know where to begin to look for them."

With a sigh of her own, she slid slowly off the bar stool; wincing at the soreness in her feet. "Well, whichever way you choose to go, I'll go with you," she offered. "I mean, we just met, but you're quite literally all I got now. You and the horse, actually." Off Rick's smirk, she added, "You helped me when you could've kept on going, so I'd say I owe you one."

"I appreciate that," he replied, giving her a nod of thanks.

"So, what do I call you anyway, besides The Lawman?"

Rick smirked. "I was just thinking the same thing. I've been calling you 'The Woman' in my head."

"That's a lot nicer than some things I've been called in the past."

Raising his hand, still ever the gentleman, Rick held it out to her. "I'm Rick. Rick Grimes."

Looking at his hand for a moment and then accepting his handshake, she replied, "I'm Charlotte Reid. But you can call me Charlie."

"Well, despite these circumstances, it's nice to meet you, Charlie," Rick murmured with a polite smile before stealing a discreet glance out the window again. "Now," he continued, growing serious and looking back at her, "what do we do about these thugs that have followed us here?"