"Now listen to me Shane." Rick was talking to him, but Shane could not hear him over the pounding of blood in his ears. His heart was going a million miles a minute, and he was breathing heavily.

" There is still a way back from this. Nothing has happened here. We're gonna lay down our guns. And we're gonna walk back to the farm, together. Back to Lori. Back to Carl. Put this all behind us." Shane began to lower his gun, doubt seeping into his brain. They could go back to the way it was, couldn't they? Before he let this vengeful monster take over?

Rick snaked his hand back to the knife, he had in his belt, slowly brandishing it. He could see Shane lowering his defenses. He slowly began to raise it….

"DAD!" Carl's shout startled them both. They turned.

"Walkers!" Carl pointed past them to a herd of about fifty. Shane and Rick looked back at each other. Shane noticed the glint of metal in the moonlight. He began to shake his head, tears seeping out of his eyes.

"No, no, no. You didn't mean it!" Shane shouted, raising his weapon again. He began to weigh his options. Kill Rick and take on the walkers. Take off with both his and Rick's gun into the night, with little chance of being followed. Shane chose the latter. He began to take off, but before he did, he looked to Carl.

"I'm sorry." He said.

Gena was running. She had been for hours, maintaining a steady pace that she learned back in high school on the cross country team. She could hear the walkers closing in behind her, but that didn't concern her as much as the sigh ahead did: she saw a house.

It was a weathered two story, painted in a forest green. There was a garden running on the side, trying valiantly to produce some tomatoes. The house, while astonishing to see in the middle of a nowhere like this, was not what she was focused on: there were lights inside. She could make out a lamp shining through a boarded up window on the second floor. Lights meant people, and people had the potential to help.

Gena was so focused on running she forgot to look down, where a line of razor wire with bells attached ran. She tripped, feeling the skewers dig into her legs, past skin and lodging into the muscle. The bells beat at an obnoxious rhythm, stirring the walkers into even more of a frenzy. Gena saw the light in the house turn off.

"No, no, Lord, please no!" Gena frantically pulled the wire out of her shin, biting down on her lip at the pain. About five walkers were coming out of the bush and into the clearing, much too close for comfort. Gena stood up and hitched her bags over her shoulder, hobbling the rest of the way. She cursed her dimming vision and the biting pain in her legs. She would not pass out; she would not give up when she was so close to salvation.

Finally, she reached the front porch. Sinking to the ground, she began to bang on the door.

"Hello?! Somebody, please help. PLEASE!" Gena could feel herself slipping in and out of consciousness. Her frantic pounding on the door turned into faint raps. She saw the door open, and she was dragged into the house. A man in jeans and a black shirt put his hand over her mouth.

"Shut UP. You want any more to hear you? Jesus, there's already a herd forming outside."

"I'm sorry. I just…." Gena felt a slap on her face, startling her enough to finish her sentence.

"I need help. I just need to stay for one night, one night. I swear, I will leave after."

"Uh-uh. No way. Now get up, you're gonna get out through the back."

She felt the man pull on her arms. Even though she was telling her body to get up, she felt herself finally sink into the warm oblivion of sheer exhaustion.

"Please. If you have any humanity left…" her last words came out as a whisper.

Shane stared at the woman lying in his kitchen. Of course, any speck of trouble within a fifty mile radius seemed to find its way to him. He stared over the girl, hands on his hips. If you have any humanity left….Shane had humanity all right. What he was lacking in was morals. Still, he reasoned with himself, she's in bad shape. The worst, it seems like. She could use a nice bed and a warm meal. After, you can send her on her way. Shane picked her up and hoisted her over his shoulder, surprised at how light her form was. He carried her up the stairs without a problem and dumped her in the bedroom across from his. He undressed her, throwing her clothes in a pile to be dealt with later. Shane took his time looking at her. She was probably in her mid-twenties, on the shorter side and with curly brown hair. She was emaciated, so thin that he could count her ribs. Her feet were caked in blood and blisters, probably from wearing too small shoes. Her arms held countless scrapes and bruises, normal for being in the bush for a long time. Her legs were bleeding from his razor wire and her face about as much color as a piece of paper. Shane questioned why he was even taking this on. Because, a small voice whispered, you may be many things, but you are still a cop.

Gena woke up to the smell of food wafting from downstairs and sunlight in her eyes. She snuggled deeper into the covers and smiled softly. Mom's just putting on the bacon. Dad'll be reading the paper, and Dolly will be chewing on an old tennis ball. But as she came back into consciousness, she realized that it was all wishful thinking.

Gena slowly sat up, mindful of her swimming head, and looked around the room. It seemed to be a guest room, with frayed pink wallpaper and stitched pictures with happy sayings like "Home is where the heart is" scattered about. She lay in a queen bed in the middle, covered by a white comforter. She felt the wind on her body and quickly pulled the sheet up, looking for her clothing. She was exposed and defenseless in a home of somebody she didn't even know, and she had no one to blame but herself.

Before she could get up, she heard steps on the stairs. She put her head on the pillow and shut her eyes tight.

"Might as well open them. I know you're up."Gena looked up to see a man standing by the side of the bed, scowling. He was tall, with dark brown eyes and a strong nose. Attractive, she thought fleetingly.

"Where am I?"

"You're in my house. You came traipsing in two nights ago and collapsed in my kitchen. You've been sleeping ever since."

"Sleeping?"

"Yeah. You had a rough go of it." Gena smiled inwardly; if he only had an idea.

"Wanna tell me your name?" He asked.

"Iphigenia Peters. Yours?"

"Iphigenia?" He pronounced it like Iffy-geena. She smiled, used to the confusion. It slowly faded when she realized he wasn't going to return it.

"Iffy-jenIa. My parents were scholars." She said in way of explanation. "You can call me Gena. Yours?" She asked again, not missing that he bypassed that inquiry.

"Not important. How long have you been on your own, Gena?"

"Long enough." She replied. Two can play that game, she thought.

"What happened to the people you were with?"

"I broke off. Didn't agree with the leader's practices."

"And what practices were that?"

"Rape." Gena held the man's eye until he looked away.

"Well, I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be; I was lucky enough to leave in time."

"So you've been off by yourself for what? A month? With nothing but a change of clothes and a bag of books to sustain yourself?"

"You went through my stuff?"

The man sat there, not looking the least apologetic. Gena conceded, reasoning that it was only fair.

"About a month. And I had food and other supplies, but the cans ran out and my tent was ransacked by walkers. I was on the road for about a week before I came to this place."

"Jesus. One the road for a week with no weapon. Either you're lucky or just plain stupid."

Gena hitched her chin. "If we're done with twenty questions, I'd like to dress." She said coolly. The man just smiled and hitched his chin to the bedside table.

"Burned your clothes. Nothing but a pile of rags anyway. Those should fit; there seemed to a girl of your age living here as well."

"I'm twenty four, not much of a girl anymore."

"Hon, with your stature you look sixteen."

Gena glared and pointed at the door. He just smiled and walked out casually.

"Food's ready when you are. Call me Shane." He called over his shoulder.

Shane it is.

"The clothes do fit, thank you." Gena broke the silence after they finished their stew. Gena had three bowls, Shane.

Shane grunted and went back to cleaning his gun. Gena took their bowls and placed them in the sink, unsure of how he would wash them. She rubbed her hands, then leaned back on the counter.

"So, what does a girl do for fun around here?" She joked.

"The shower upstairs works. Should be enough hot water." Shane did not even look up. Gena was confused; where was the man who conversed so easily before?

"Great thank you. Afterward, do you mind if I look at your garden?" Shane grunted.

Gena headed towards the stairs, but stopped at the landing. "Why are you doing this, Shane? You seem to have a good routine going on here. Why help me out?"

Silence.

"Shane?" She prompted. He put down the gun and turned toward her, his profile shadowed.

"Haven't you been told to not look a gift horse in the mouth?" He replied harshly. Gena narrowed her eyes, but thought better of it; he did have a point. Besides, she had a hot shower to look forward to. She hastened up the steps.