Here's chapter 3 like promised. Its the least I can do for those that have been more than patient for me. I've been really into writing this story and I'm eager to await ya'lls comments. Any questions feel free to ask.

I don't own TWD, Red Canyon, or their respective characters. Norman Reedus is neither my love slave or knows of my existence but damn do I wish it was true. My characters and this story are my only possession, and my pride and joy.

Please review and thanks bunches.

Leah's morning started on a rare note, she woke up feeling…good? No. Fan-fuckin'-tastic. She felt boneless and for once, worry free, something she hadn't experienced in quite a while, even before the epidemic. Her only dilemma at the moment was choosing between having a long, back popping stretch or laying completely still in the comfort of her bedding. Her decision was made for her when her previous night's activities returned to her.

"Oh. My. God." Risking whiplash, she hurriedly looks to her side just to find…it empty? Did any of it really happen or was it just some incredibly realistic wet dream? With record breaking speed, she gets dressed for the day, mindful to change into a clean pair of panties, and is out to face the music. With her head held high, she walks to the others usual haunt, but what awaited her was not what she expected.

No one was there.

There was always someone around the fire pit, cooking, skinning, or just having a warm beer. Leah looks around her, hoping to see a Dixon or two, but discovered she was completely alone. They never left her alone; there was always a Dixon on watch or "guarding" her.

Felt safe.

Making sure to have a hunting knife in her thigh holster, Leah takes in the rare moment of tranquility and starts on a few chores around camp. Gathering their dirty clothes and piling them up to wash later when one of the men returned to escort her. She already knew not to even DARE to go on her own. Whatever had them acting so peculiar had her nerves riled up, and angering them was not at the top of her list of things to do. Cooking whatever cans of beans and vegetables they had left, hoping one of them had caught something to go along with it. She busied herself with other mundane chores in relative silence throughout most of the day. No boisterous remarks or actions from Merle. No arguing or pissing contests from Daryl and Mac. No usual Dixon behavior whatsoever.

God was it boring.

She didn't suffer much longer; the familiar cackles and swearing were heard from the trees. Merle's voice did tend to carry. Mac and Merle made their way towards the camp, shoving and punching each other as only a Dixon could; followed by a grumbling Daryl.

Her relief at seeing her boys became obvious as she waved at them excitedly but was dampened when she remembered the night before. Was it real or was it in her head? If it was, what next? So many questions ran through her mind. It was too good to have been in her imagination, and she still had the taste of him on her tongue so it had to have been one of them. The only problem now was figuring out who without outright asking or coming out like a whore. Though in society's eyes, what had transpired might have already labeled her one? She already knew it would happen at one point. Hell, she planned on it happening; she just wished she knew who it was. Maybe he would give out a hint or some sort of clue to show her who was the one that snuck in her tent and finger fucked her to heaven. She stopped her thoughts from taking over once more as the eldest Dixon called out to her.

"There's our girl. See Mac, told ya she could handle 'er own wit' us gone. A Dixon through an' through. Wish more girl's like 'er were livin' in town, tha's fer sure."

Mac licks his lips as he blatantly stares at her chest, "Fuck yeah, woulda came over ta visit more often too. 'Ave ourselves a good ol' time, ain't tha' right Cuz." Daryl had walked past his brother and cousin and was already elbow deep in squirrel guts. He scoffed at Mac's comment, "Who cares. They're all dead an' if you two assholes keep disappearin', ain't gonna be responsible fer yall's asses bein' bit. An' I'll be damned to be left takin' care of this lazy bitch."

Leah wasn't amused, but having them back had settled her nerves she hadn't realized were on edge. She'll figure out who it was later, right now she was going to enjoy the rest of her Dixon filled afternoon.

He woke up warm and relaxed; his balls tingling and slightly sticky. 'Fuckin' wet dream?' He hadn't had one of those since he was a teenager. The sun's first light had woken him, an odd sight since he was always awake much earlier, and ready to start the day. His head hurt and the familiar taste of Southern Comfort and beer on his tongue that lingered from the night before. He licked his dry lips, his mouth feeling like he swallowed a bunch of cotton balls. He knew the symptoms of a hangover when he saw them. He didn't have a chance to chastise himself when a slight movement, not his own, was made on his left. His body tensed and his right arm automatically reaches to his right to grab his trusty crossbow just to end up empty handed. How could he forget his weapon? It was the end of the world with the dead surrounding them! His mind screamed at his stupidity that could have just cost him his life and the lives of his family. Turning to see his offender, he is floored to see a disheveled Leah. Shirt lifted above her generous and perky breast, slightly pebbled nipples due to the morning air. Her panties still on her hips but lowered to the point of revealing the top her neatly trimmed mound.

'What the fuck happened?' He internally screamed at the evidence that last night was no wet dream, but a fantastically erotic and frightening night of release. Getting up from the sleeping bag, he makes sure to not wake the sleeping woman. He silently steps out and is met with the sounds of nature, but no Dixon to be seen. He rubs his hands down his face and groans. Her damn scent was still clinging to his fingers. He was tempted to lick them but the thought was abashed with the risks he has already taken. He could only wait and see what happens when she wakes. For sure Mac would let him know his thoughts on the subject when he catches wind that he touched 'his property'. Speaking of Mac, he had to go find his lazy ass brother and cousin before Leah wakes up and starts asking questions again. After what happened last night, he doubted he would be able to hold onto his tongue. He'd say something that would disrupt the dynamic of the group.

He sighs deeply. The things he did to keep the peace. If only the corpses didn't come back from the dead and start munching on the living, then he wouldn't be looking for these fucktards in the woods. But then, he wouldn't have met Leah; the only woman to ever talk to him and not end up asking for a ride to her boyfriend's trailer or a couple of bucks to pay off her dealer. Bringing his hand up to his face again, he closes his eyes as he inhaled the musky, tangy smell that is Leah. After a moment of just taking her in, he decides to not wash her off, a small act of rebellion to his possessive cousin. Grabbing his crossbow, promising to never leave her again, he sets off to find the rest of his kin.

The day had gone by fast. Merle and Mac had been in pretty jovial moods, so much energy that it was harder to keep up with them during practice, Mac especially. Their par fighting was more intense and rougher, and when she brought it up, he said it was to prepare her for a real fight with a man. It worried her that Daryl had seemed more withdrawn as Mac got more in her face. He knew something she didn't. When they made eye contact, he would see right through her than looking away as he normally did. She had decided earlier that she didn't care if she ever knew who it was last night. She was going to get there eventually; it was just a perk to being around two intense men with the bodies to match.

They sat in their usual spots around the fire. Merle is his old as dirt lawn chair, she sitting on a log across from him, in between Daryl and Mac.

"So where did ya'll sneak off to last night? Was lookin' everywhere for ya'll."

The men stayed quiet, only the crinkling of the fire to be heard. She didn't know why it was taking them so long to answer, didn't think it could be that deep of a secret. Merle was the one to break the ice.

"Aww, did ya miss Ol' Merle tha' much, girlie?" She laughed along with him. He was always the one to make her laugh when things got too serious. It had, that she could tell. She didn't know what to say or do to lighten up the mood. Truth be told, she didn't care what they were doing as long as she had some sort of location to pin point them at in case she ever needed them.

"Whatever Merle, as long as ya stayed safe is all I ask", she picks up a stick Daryl had discarded on the ground and started poking the fire. Looking down so as to hide her face from them, "Ya'll left ya'lls weapons so I was just curious as to what ya'll were using to kill the Dead-fucks".

She didn't bother to look up to know they had been giving her funny looks. It was no secret that neither of them did well with feelings, especially the sappy ones. If it didn't involve innuendos or discussions on bikes, pussy, and different ways to kill the infected, it became uncomfortable.

The sudden contact of Mac's arm around her shoulders gave her a jump, not expecting any kind of positive reactions from either man. Merle laughed at her, "Oh, Shuga. Tha' was one of the most pussiest things I ever heard". He settles down a bit, wiping an invisible tear from his eye. "Don' ya worry 'bout us. We Dixons, and nothing can kill a Dixon, but a Dixon. So when it happens again, an' it will, ya jus' go on 'bout yer business. We be back soon, jus' stay where Darylina can see ya."

She couldn't help but chuckle as he talked. Leave it to Merle to put her with a babysitter in the middle of the damn apocalypse. "Really, well my personal nanny had left me alone this morning. What would I do then, Merle?"

"Fuck you, woman. I had to go git these sorry asses before they got themselves in trouble." He mumbles to himself about always cleaning up messes or what not, but all Leah could get out of his words was that he had to get Merle and Mac from somewhere, meaning Mac never made it to camp. She found her mystery guest. She was quite shocked really. The thought that Daryl had the balls to sneak in the first place, even with liquid courage, she doubted he would of gone as far as he did. It explained a lot really. Mac didn't seem like the type to take it slow, to fumble a bit. He would have ripped her panties off and fucked her six ways from Sunday. Nah, it had Daryl written all over it. Wonder why it took her so long to realize it.

She catches Daryl's eye and gives him a small wink. He was seated too far to nudge his side so the wink will have to do. She honestly liked that it was him instead of Mac, proved that he was at least interested in her physically.

'It's a start'.

"You cannot go out there in your condition!" Morgan didn't want to see a good man like Rick fail before he had a chance to succeed. He was still weakened from his gunshot injury and would only make it worse if he left right now. Seeing the broken man determined to save his family, despite his condition, brought new hope that humanity wasn't a complete loss, that they would be able to trust again in their fellow man and rebuild an inkling of what life used to be. But for now, he had to put sense in this man so that he could get his family back. "What are you going to do when your body gives out on you before you even reach the city?" He sighs, "Your wife and son need you, not a man half dead. Wait a few more days at least to build your strength up; it isn't just the dead that you need to worry about anymore."

The ex-sheriff knew his friend was right. His wound might have closed but it felt too raw for him to even move properly. He'd wait a few more days, give his body time to heal more, and then he was off to find Carl and Lori.

"Mom, I miss Dad", Carl Grimes was in his mother's embrace as soon as he said those words. Small tears ran down his freckled cheeks as he remembered his last moments with his father. They weren't of him teaching him to ride a bike or sneaking him dessert at the dinner table or even of him singing his favorite songs. No, all he could see was his hero lying in bed, connected to so many machines. Rick Grimes, tough but fair, Sheriff of King County, Georgia was reduced to this; unable to move or do anything at all. The beeping from the machines and the slow, deep breathing coming from his father were the only sounds in the room but were always drowned by the sobs of his mother. Carl always hated going to see him, but his need to be with his father was stronger. He'd put up with his own pain and heart ache just to be able to see what could be his last moments with his father, how was he supposed to know that it would be. Not long after the good sheriff was shot did the dead begin to rise. He and his mother were taken to safety by his father's long-time friend, Shane Walsh, unable to save his father or say goodbye.

"It's going to be okay, baby", the tall, thin woman reassured her son, knowing fully well that she was not so certain herself. His sniffling confirmed that he was feeling better. She hated when her boy was feeling hurt in any way. She was never the one to help him when he was upset, never was good at it, not like Rick was. He always had a way with words, a gift she was envious of and grew to resent as the years past. Always calm and collected as they argued while she was yelling and wanting to throw objects at his head. Their marriage had been strained for the fast year or two; she could admit that she was mostly the one to blame. When she was younger, she had many dreams and goals that she did not accomplish and a large part of her would always picture Rick as the reason to her failure. She loved and continued to care for her husband, but they knew it wouldn't last. It wasn't until he got shot and fell into a coma that she realized just how much she loved and missed him. Having to leave him as they escaped the dead infested town had been one of the worst and hardest things she had ever done. She begged Shane to drive them back to the hospital, but he revealed that he had gone and that Rick was taken to a hospital in Atlanta, the refugee center. Her heart soared at the thought of being able to reunite with him just for it to be squashed into nothing as the city was napalmed by their only defense. Rick was officially dead.

And she was alone.

"Hey bud, why don't you go play with the other kids. I need to talk to your mother about something", Shane asked as he approached the widow and son. Wiping his tears, he nodded enthusiastically before running towards the other children. Having successfully distracted the boy Shane steps closer to the mother. "Something wrong, Lori?" Shane had seen her stricken face as she tried to soothe her son. Filled with guilt at what he had done, his mind quickly defended his actions as not just preservation for his safety, but for the remaining Grimes as well. Rick could not be saved. There was just no way he would have survived without those machines and he had less of a chance of making it out of the room without being spotted by the soldiers. He shakes his head. Yes, he made the right choice. He knew that his friend would forgive him if given the chance.

"I'm just worried about Carl. You know how close he was to Rick". She runs a hand through her tangled hair out of frustration. Why did this have to happen? Why couldn't they just go back to how it used to be? Her and Rick fighting over the simplest things, Carl worrying about them seeing his report card, the dead staying dead.

"You sure it's just Carl?" He didn't mean to sound accusative, but Rick had become a sensitive topic that neither could speak of without ending up fighting over. Rick was his best friend since high school, the go to guy when someone was in a bind. A natural born leader that became the youngest sheriff in King County, a position he had been working towards but settled to being his deputy, second best…as usual. Hell, he even had a family before he did, one that many in town envied. A son that was a chip off the old block and Lori, the most beautiful woman King County had to offer. She could have been with anyone she could have wanted so of course she chose Rick.

He looks down at the woman; he could still see the young woman whose beauty enchanted every man who'd laid eyes on her. She could have been mistaken for a model. And now she was stuck in the middle of the damn apocalypse with him. He couldn't have felt luckier.

That damn guilt returned as he sees her meddle with her necklace nervously. HIS ring still on it. His scoff gets her attention, quickly letting go of her hold on the last remaining object of her connection with her late husband.

"It's going to be alright, Lori" came Shane's voice as he grabbed her now free hand. Lori Grimes nods to keep him at ease, but knowing fully well that she was not so certain herself.

Three figures stood in the abandoned shack.

The smallest of the three quaked in fear.

She should have never trusted the rugged man, but times were rough. Trading one set of problems for a new set. No one could blame her for holding onto the idea of hope of survival in these dismal times. They had to take advantage at any possibility for another day of life…by any means necessary. Following a complete stranger into the woods was not very bright of her, but after being saved from a horde of the dead, she would take what she could get. Now she finds herself tied up in some old dusty shack with one evil butt-fuck hillbilly and his drugged up buddy.

"Please. I beg you, just let me go. I won't tell anybody, I swear!" This only seemed to please him more. He was the type of man to get off on other's pain and misery, preferably caused by him. She chocked on her tears and snot as she realized she was not going to live much longer. He was never letting her leave alive as he promised days ago.

She trusted him.

His hypnotizing blue eyes, anchored her to his side. She was always drawn to the rebels and he fit the bill perfectly. Her luck would have it that she would find her bad boy/knight in shining armor, every girl's dream, at the end of the world.

She told him everything he wanted to know about her; bared her soul and fears, only for him to use it against her. It was quite silly, but time was of the essence. There wasn't a waiting period to date and get to know each other anymore, and he was just too good to be true. It had started as trivial small talk, but when she began of her group, his interest was immediately piqued. Having your every word being listened to with such attentiveness was flattering; she just assumed he was a good listener. She should have known. No man is that perfect.

Before long she felt a sting in the back of her head and wakes up some time later tied up with rope to an old fashioned iron oven.

She didn't run into her knight, she was rescued by the villain.

"Now, now. Ain't gonna 'ave ya bringin' those Dead fucks in 'ere. Cain't 'ave ya screaming…yet." His laugh brings shivers down her spine, but not from pleasure, far from anything good. Evil resonated from his voice. "Be good, an' I'll think 'bout lettin' ya go back to yer camp".

That had been days ago. Weeks? The concept of time was lost to her. He would bring her meals from time to time, something she wasn't used to back with her camp, where she was fed at least two meals a day.

This visit was different though, had her more on edge. He entered as per usual, stomped inside and taking his time to make his way to her. A born predator. It was obvious that he has done this before. What was strange was that he wasn't alone.