Marcus sprinted up the rocky slope of the quarry. He clutched his side, feeling the blood trickling through his fingers, already soaking his shirt and part of his pants leg. Behind him, he could hear the rasping breathing of the walkers, about eight of them. He'd managed to lose the others in his mad dash through the woods outside that hellhole called Atlanta, but these few where persistent, and had stuck to his trail like a pack of bloodhounds. He laughed a little through the panting, his lungs burning. That wasn't even remotely funny, he thought, barreling his way through a patch of brush. He tripped, falling into the dirt. He yelped as a sharp rock bit into his knee, stabbing into the soft flesh beneath the kneecap. Behind him, he heard the walkers closing in, their horrid breathing, making sounds like they were drinking in the air, and their smell, where all so close that Marcus gagged, chocking on the bile that rose into his throat. This can't be, he thought. I've managed to survive almost two months in this hell, I can't die, not now. He rose to his feet, pulling the short blade from it's sheath on the back of his hip, while grabbing three of the throwing knifes he'd managed to salvage back in Rutledge county. The throwing knifes were thin and he was able to hold three at a time between his fingers.

He spread his legs, knees slightly bent, blade held at an angle in front of him. He wasn't about to go down without a fight.

Rick Grimes stretched his back, letting out a massive yawn and scratching his head. He glanced up at Dale, the old man reclining in a lawn chair on top of the RV. "How's it looking this morning Dale? See anything out there?" Dale brought the rifle to his shoulder, scanning the area around the camp slowly. "Seems quite enough. Glen went into the city to scavenger a little earlier. Shane seems edgy to get out hunting. Not sure what's gotten in to that boy...what the hell!?" Dale bolted up, shouting an alarm they all dreaded the thought of. "Walkers!" Rick pulled his pistol from it's holster. Shane ran to his side, shotgun in hand. "What's going on? Walkers?" Rick gave him a sidelong glance, nodding. "Yep. How far from camp Dale?" Dale shook his head murmuring under his breath. "It looks like they're chasing someone, but I can't be certain, Rick, Shane. You boy's need to get down there. If it's a survivor, they're in need of a serious rescue." Rick nodded and set off at a dead sprint. The flat ground ahead gave him a good view of the person. He watched as the boy tripped, falling flat. Rick speed up, running as fast as he could. It looked as if the walkers would be right on top off the boy, when he sprung to his feet, a sword in hand. Rick saw him throw something, and three of the walkers went down, knives in their foreheads. The boy leapt forward, cutting down two others, when a walker caught him from behind, knocking him down. The two walkers that were left standing moved in, reaching for the boy. Rick and Shane both fired in unison, taking them down before they could get the boy. Rick was worried they would be too late, but as they slowed to a trot by the spot where he lay, they saw that the walker that had tackled him was missing part of its head, from the jaw up. The boy sat kneeling on the ground, his sword held limply at his side. As Rick and Shane closed in, he could see the boy was bleeding badly from a wound in his side. "That a bite kid?" The boy looked up at him, eyes glazed. "If it is, then you better put that bullet in my head now." The boy lifted up his shirt, showing a long gash across his left rib cage. "But I don't think walkers can do this." The boy tried to stand, but instead fell forward. Rick caught the boys shoulders, holding him, and laying him down gently. Lori, Jim and Allen had just arrived when the kid passed out. Lori put a hand on Ricks shoulder, staring at him. "Let's get him in the RV, and see about patching him up." Lori nodded, as Rick picked the boy up in his arms. He was light, lighter then any boy should be, and his hair was ragged and long, unkept in all the chaos. "And let's see just what this poor kids been through."

Marcus felt weightless, and couldn't help thinking he was dead. He could feel the throbbing in his ribs from the cut in his side, and he was aware of sheets laying on his bare chest. Someone, maybe those guys who'd helped him, had brought him somewhere and patched him up. He did his best to remain still, relishing the softness of the bed, the warm sheets. It felt like a century since he'd last slept in a bed, much less anywhere remotely comfortable. He could feel a presence in the room as well, could hear two people whispering a few inches from the edge of the bed. "Is he alive?" It sounded like a little girl, a slight whimper in her voice as if she was scared. He was aware of a small hand poking his cheek. "Na, he ain't dead. My daddy said they saved him from a few walkers, and he was hurt bad." He suppressed a smile, he hadn't needed any saving, but he was still grateful. "Is he gonna be in a comba?" The girl sounded closer. "It's a coma, and dad said he wouldn't be." Marcus felt the bed rock, and heard someone walking into the room. "Carl, Sophia, what're you two doing in here? The poor boy's resting." Marcus felt his temper flare. Who were they to call him a boy? They didn't know anything about what he'd been through. He must've made some unconscious facial cue, because the woman who'd scolded the little boy and girl was at his side, sitting on the edge of the bed, the back of her hand was pressed against his forehead. "You awake finally?" Marcus opened his eyes, squinting in the light of the sun flowing through the window beside the bed. He was in what looked like the back of an RV, sleeping bags were on the floor, along with clothes and other stuff. The boy, Carl the woman had called him, stood at the doorway, blocking the path. The girl, Sophia, was peeking over his shoulder at him, part curious and part afraid. The woman on the edge of the bed was an attractive young woman, hair tied back and a kind face. He tried to sit up slowly, hand pressed into his side. It hurt like a bitch, but he managed to prop himself up against the wall of the RV. The woman smiled, offering him a can of what appeared to be beans. "Carl, go get Rick and the others, tell them the kids up. Sorry about those two." Carl dashed to the door of the R.V., grabbing Sophia's hand on the way out. Marcus took the offered beans, his stomach rumbling like a tank engine. Damn, he was hungry.

It was a few minutes before Rick and the others of his group had arrived, all gathered in the R.V., all staring at him intently. Rick had made some introductions, first his wife and son, Lori and Carl. Then a stern faced man named Shane, an older man named Dale, who owned the R.V. Next was a normal enough fellow named Jim, a pair of sisters, both in their mid twenties named Amy and Andrea. There was an Asian guy named Glenn, and a few others he hadn't got the names of. It turned out Amy was the younger woman who'd first woken him up. She sat at the edge of the bed again, smiling encouragingly at him. Marcus stared at them all, wondering how to begin. "I guess I should start with introducing myself. My names Marcus Finn, from New Hampshire. I'd been in Georgia for a kendo tournament with my high school team when all this went down." He stopped, looking around him for his sword. Where was it? Rick must've caught this, because he stood, holding Marcus's sword. "I'm sorry to be keeping this from you, but it's purely a safety precaution on our part." Marcus nodded in understanding, holding his hand out for it. "That belonged to my kendo master. We'd made it out of the tournament stadium when it began, but he'd been bitten. He gave it to me, ordering me to protect the others" he took a deep breath. "We'd just arrived in Atlanta yesterday from Rutledge county. Made it a few blocks in when we'd been ambushed, but not by those things." He saw every ones face turn to suspicion and disbelief. "A group of men popped out of a building to our right, firing guns into our group. Only myself and two others had escaped, but they followed us, shooting the whole way. When we finally ran into walkers, Greg went down, mobbed by a horde of the things. Myself and Shannon had tried to save him, but those trigger happy bastards flew around the corner. Still shooting. Monsters went after them, allowing me and Shannon to escape. We'd ducked down an alley, made it to some construction pit on the outskirts. One of the bastards followed, knife in hand. Snuck up on us and slit Shannon's throat, and lunged for me. Gotta good swipe in before I severed his head from his shoulders." Rick had handed him the sword back, and it trembled in his hands, his body shivering in rage. "Bastard handed them to us. I thought I could save Shannon, but by the time I'd managed to staunch the bleeding, they were on us. Tore her from my arms, and I ran, as fast as I could. They followed me, and that's when I ran into you guys." He looked up, not surprised at their expressions, and confident they'd all been through similar moments. Rick stood up, staring at him. "So your alone now." It wasn't a question. And Marcus grabbed at the opportunity. Survival was better succeeded in a group, as his master had always said. "I'd prefer not to be a burden, but if you let me join you, I can carry my own weight. I can hunt, fight, and cook." He stared at Rick, jaw set. Maybe now was a second chance at survival, and helping these people. He'd failed Shannon and his master, but he bet if he could be of help to these people, he wouldn't pass up the opportunity. "Welcome to this rag tag family, Marcus Finn. We'd be glad to get all the help we can, as well as all the fighters possible." Rick held out his hand to Marcus. They shook hands. Maybe, just maybe, he'd found a second chance. It was starting to look a little promising in this fucked up world.