Brandy had met almost everyone. There was Rick's long-haired wife who had an air of "boss lady" entitlement, and she could tell that Lori thought she was the head bitch of the group; Rick's son, Carl, who was allowed to wander around all over the place- Brandy thought someone should try to keep that little boy in the RV, before he became a Walker's snack; the blonde, Andrea, whose sister had just died, poor thing; the old man, Dale, with his fishing hat- it was clear he was the father of the group; the woman who reminded her of a scared deer, Carol, and her little girl, Sophia- apparently, her abusive husband had died the night before, too, during the walker attack; T-Dog and an older black lady named Jacqui- Brandy was relieved that there were other black people around. Also, there was the Asian boy named Glenn; once again, Brandy was happy there was another minority among them. She didn't want to be the only black person in a group of white people. She had never been a 'token' before. Even though the world had ended, it was hard to just forget social issues of the old world. Lastly, there was the poor bastard named Jim, who had been bitten, but Rick had hoped that they could get him to the CDC, and get this so called 'cure.'

Brandy had been alone almost the whole time since it all started, with the exception of a few young men who she had bumped into on her travels. Only giving herself a few moments of pleasure with them before moving on, she never had a pack, or a group. But these people, they wanted her to stay. She didn't understand why, or why it made her so annoyed, yet slightly relieved.

Everyone was all packed up and ready to go to the CDC. Brandy walked around and looked for a car that wasn't already full. She let out a sigh, and came to a blue and white old Ford pick up truck. She glanced up at a black motorcycle that was in the truck bed, and instantly she raised an eyebrow at the white 'S.S.' letters that decorated it.

"Wow… that's fuckin' retarded."

Brandy glanced over and saw Daryl walking towards the truck.

Fantastic, it just had to him.

He stopped and looked at her, holding that crossbow in his hand. Out of habit Brandy, chewed her bottom lip. It had been something she started doing in high school, because the boys thought it was sexy; now she did it out of nervousness, and uncomfortable uncertainty.

"Uh, ya got any room?" she asked him cautiously, clearing her throat and scratching the back of her neck. Glancing back to that bike, those white letters made her even more uncomfortable.

He narrowed his eyes and scoffed at the young woman, his eyes landing on the stitches under collarbone.

"You just gonna' stand there? Get in," Daryl grunted harshly, not in the least excited about her riding with him.

She pulled her machetes from her belt and slipped into the truck, setting her blades and her backpack on the floor of the car.

There was an awkward silence between them as they drove on the empty highway. She remembered a time when that stretch of expressway was full with cars during rush hours. Brandy was uncomfortable, to say the least, sitting there next to him, the silence was almost roaring.

She found herself going through her bag, finding a pack of cheap cigarettes at the bottom. American Spirits brand; they tasted horrible, but they were the only ones she could find. Slipping one in her mouth, she lit it with the white Bic lighter, sucking her teeth as she realized it was almost out of fluid. She glanced over at Daryl, who was focused on the road-or something else. Ever since the world went to shit, she had became perceptive to the people she bumped in to; it was obvious that there was something was on his mind. She thought about asking him, but decided against it.

"You want one?" she asked instead, breaking the silence between the two after a long drawn out hour.

He glanced over at her as she held out a cigarette in between two of her fingers. He just shook his head and looked back towards the open road. Brandy shrugged, and placed it back in the pack.

"Nice S.S bike," she spoke sarcastically.

Just talk about something, anything. She could not take another mile of nothing but the sound of the truck. He sucked his teeth and spat out of the window.

"It was my brother's," he said shortly.

Brandy shook her head. That's what it was, he was thinking about his brother. He must had been an asshole for having a Nazi bike. Brandy was happy that whoever he was, he wasn't there now.

"What the hell were ya doin' out there by yer' self?" Daryl asked, glancing back over at her.

"Nothin', just wanderin'."

"Yeah, that's stupid. Could of got yer'self chewed up."

"Well, then it's a good thing that I'm tougher than I look," she stated, running her fingers through her frizzy, dirty hair.

"Talk big, but I don't think yer' able to back it up," Daryl taunted.

Brandy let out a low laugh and rolled her eyes.

They had stopped for a while. There was something wrong with the RV, and Jim was not doing well. Everyone got out to talk about what to do about this damning turn of events, but Brandy stayed in the truck. It wasn't her place to voice any type of opinion on anything, seeing as she just met them.

"How's our newest girl?" Shane asked, stepping next to Daryl and glancing over to the tuck, and Brandy, who now had her boot covered feet resting on top of the glove compartment door. She was fanning herself off with one hand, and with the other she was examining the crossbow that lay next to her thick thighs. Daryl just shrugged at the question and rolled his eyes.

They had fixed the RV, and Jim had decided to stay behind and die in peace; with that they were back on the road.

Once again there was nothing but the sound of the old truck. They had been riding for while, and there still was no apology from Daryl for shooting her.

She expected something, anything. Who shoots someone, almost killing them, and doesn't even think of saying sorry? Brandy rolled her eyes at the thought. She went through her book bag again, pulling out an MP3 player that she had found while raiding houses for supplies. She turned it on; the battery was almost dead. She might have had maybe another half hour left on it.

Daryl glanced over at her, watching her untangle the white headphones and put them in her ears. She searched through the songs and settled on something to listen too. It was rap of course. He'd be damned if that nigger music was going to be played in his truck. Then again, he would have never let a black girl in his tuck, yet there she was, sitting there comfortably next to him. Her tight daisy dukes were cutting in to her thick thighs where the end of the fabric met them. Her dirty white halter-top tied in a knot, exposing her lightly chubby midriff. Her light brown curly hair was catching the sunlight from the window, even though it was grimy. A woman dressed like that was looking for attention. Did she really think that was proper clothing for the world they lived in? Daryl tightened his lips; did she have to play that shit so loud?

"Hey!" he yelled, trying to get her attention, but it was obvious that her music was way too loud to even notice.

"Hey! I'm talking to ya!" he hissed, this time flicking her in the knee. Brandy jumped and yanked out her headphones.

"What?" she snapped.

"Turn that shit down, I don't want to hear none of that ni-" Daryl stopped his sentence, catching himself before he could say the word 'nigger' to the young woman.

Brandy blinked and looked at him with a raised, over-plucked eyebrow.

"Ya don't want to hear any of my what music? What was it?" Brandy egged on.

"None of yer' rap music."

"No, no. You were goin' to say ya did not want to hear none of my nigger music. Word to the wise, if you're goin' to be racist, than be it, don't back track like a pussy. Fuckin' bigot," Brandy said defiantly.

"What the fuck did you say to me?" Daryl snapped back, his face growing red with anger.

But Brandy didn't flinch; she just looked at him with a tiny smile creeping into the corner of her full lips. He had shot her, so she need to call him out on his bullshit.

"Ya heard me, Dixon. "

"Yes, wisdom comin' from a hood-rat," he cut, before spitting out of the window.

Brandy let out a laugh. Not a chuckle, a full laugh. She touched her chest and ran her thumb over the injury that he had caused, from one of his arrows.

"You can learn somethin' from everyone. Hell I might learn somethin' from you. Redneck," Brandy said, adding the insult to her sentence, almost like a nickname.

"Maybe, Hood-Rat."

The rest of the way they had found something to talk about. That thing being weapons. Daryl was talking in detail about different models of crossbows, and Brandy was showing him her gun with its silencer.

"Ya gotta be pretty strong to pull back on it to load it," Daryl spoke, watching her lift his crossbow to her eye and looked through the scope.

"I don't think you could do it." he taunted.

She snapped her head towards him and narrowed her dark eyes.

"Fuck you, I bet I could," Brandy said. She tried to cock the bow, but she failed.

"Oh come on, Brandy, put that purse down," he teased.

She let out a growl at him and tried again. Fuck! She could not get it.

"Pssh. It's okay. You do have little girl arms."

"Fuck off."