Chapter Three: Safe, But Not Home

We're all fighting growing old
In the hopes of a few minutes more
To get on St. Peter's list
But you need to lower your standards
'Cause it's never getting any better than this

Rat a Tat, Fall Out Boy

Rick ran to the edge of the forest, his gun drawn, ready to shoot the walker before it made it any further. He came to a stop, six feet away from it and frowned. The walker looked like... Daryl.

"That's the third time ye've pointed that thing at my head. Ye gonna pull the trigger, or what?" Daryl snapped at him.

Rick lowered his gun, allowing the feeling of relief to spread over him. It was just Daryl. No sooner had he thought it, there was a crack of gunfire and Daryl fell to the ground. "No!" he yelled back at the RV behind him. "No! Stop!" he dropped down beside Daryl at the same time as Shane did, relieved to see he was still alive, the bullet grazing his head. Together, he and Shane pulled Daryl upright and began dragging him back to the farm.

"Oh my god, is he dead?" Andrea asked, running over.

"Unconscious," Rick replied. "The bullet just grazed him."

"Look at him," Glen cried. "What the hell happened to him? He's wearing ears."

Rick glanced up at the farm. Hershel and the others were already outside and making their way down to them. Whatever had happened, this was not something that should be shared with him. They were already on shaky ground with the farmer.

"Guys!" T-Dog called behind him. Rick turned, glancing back, first spotting the doll T-Dog was holding up, then an actual canine behind him. "Isn't this Sophia's?" The dog barked, causing T-Dog to look back at it. "Where the hell did that come from?" he asked.

"T-Dog, you take Daryl back to the house. Glen, you come with me," Rick said, handing Daryl over.

"You want me to come too?" Andrea offered.

Rick shook his head. "No, me and Glen will be fine." The look she gave him told him that she knew the reason she wasn't coming was because she'd just done exactly what he'd told her not to, but she nodded, hurrying off after the others.

"Just what has Daryl been doing?" Glen muttered as he and Rick followed the dog back into the woods. Rick didn't answer. It was a valid question, but the answer would have to wait until he could ask Daryl himself. The dog led them only a short way into the woods, stopping by a colourful heap on the floor. "Is that a girl?" Glen asked him.

"Looks like," Rick agreed, drawing his gun. His gut said that the dog would be reacting differently if it was a walker, but the woman was groaning and her movements on the ground were a little too disjointed for him to put the gun away yet. "You alright?" he called over as he slowly made his way to her. There was a flurry of movement and she was up on her feet, a sword out in front of her, then as quickly as she got up, she was back down again with a cry of pain. From the looks of things, her ankle was the cause of it, but there was a nasty looking cut on the side of her head which was most likely why she seemed so disorientated. "We're not going to hurt you," he told her as she struggled to get back up again. He saw an opening and took it dashing in and knocking her sword away. She looked at him, her eyes taking a moment to focus on his face, then she slumped to the ground.

"She alright?" Glen called over to him.

Rick studied her. His first impression told him very loudly that no, she shouldn't be alright. Hell, she shouldn't be alive. Actually, his first impression was more like he was hallucinating. Individually, the things he saw made sense: a medium sized, pull along suitcase decorated like a giant Union Jack; an oriental looking sword – a katana if he remembered rightly; a hunting dog; a fold away camping cot; and a pretty college girl dressed like she was on her way back from a night out. But put all that together, and his brain was trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. If it wasn't for the dirt, blood, swollen ankle, and, unless he was mistaken, the reaction to poison oak that she was experiencing, well he would be questioning his own sanity.

"Rick?" Glen asked again, joining his side.

"Let's get her back to the farm," Rick told him. "Can you manage her case?"

"Can you manage her?" Glen asked him, wide eyed.

Rick frowned, not sure he agreed with Glen's implications. She was tall, and sure she wasn't as slim as Lori, or Andrea, or any of the women in the camp, but there was nothing wrong with her curves. "I'll be fine," he assured him, returning his gun to its holster, before scooping her up in his arms.

They were halfway back, when his wife met them. "What have you got there?"

"Found her in the woods, just behind where Daryl came out. Is he alright?"

Lori nodded. "They took him into the house. Hershel is looking after him." She gave the girl another look. "You're bringing her in?"

"She's hurt," Rick told her. "We can't just leave her out there."

"But look at her!" Lori exclaimed.

"I'm not leaving her out there," Rick repeated, firmly. He carried on walking, taking her into the house.

. . .

After getting the girl settled in a spare room under Hershel's instruction, Rick went in to see how Daryl was getting on. "I found it washed up on the creek bed right there," Daryl was telling Shane, pointing at the map.

Rick glanced back at his friend. "Cuts the grid almost in half." Shane merely raised an eyebrow.

"Yer welcome," Daryl muttered, keeping the pressure applied to his head wound.

With a sigh, Rick turned back to Hershel. "How's he looking?"

"I had no idea we would be going through antibiotics so quickly," Hershel grunted. "The girl looks like she's gonna need 'em too."

"Ye been to check on her?" Daryl asked.

"No, I've been here treatin' to you," Hershel informed her. "Had her put in Beth's room," he said, looking pointedly at Rick.

"We'll move her out with us," Rick assured him. He turned his attention to Daryl. "So where'd she fit into all this?"

"She don't," Daryl told him. "Found her stuck on a roof, surround by geeks."

"Did you get her name?" Rick pressed.

Daryl shrugged, then winced at the effort. "Didn't get anythin' other than a laugh. Have ye seen what she's wearin'?"

Behind him, Shane made a noise in the back of his throat, and Rick glanced back at him. "It's a little impractical, I'll give you that, but we don't know what her story is."

"How 'bout you find that out while I ask Daryl here about my horse?" Hershel nodded. "Way I understand it, she was by herself carrying a sword."

Rick nodded, catching the implication, and left the room. He found Lori sat down outside the room she was in and walked over. "She up?"

Lori shook her head. "I've just checked on her. She's still out. How's Daryl?"

"He's alright. I'm going to go sit with Carl for a bit: let Hershel see to her first."

Lori got to her feet, just as Shane stepped out of the room. "Hershel thinks it's pointless to keep going out there. Not after this."

Rick gave him a surprised look. "You'd quit now? Daryl just risked his life to bring back the first hard evidence that we've had," Rick told him in a hushed tone as he walked back to Shane.

Shane shrugged. "That's one way to look at it. The way I see it, Daryl almost died today for a doll."

"Yeah, I know how you see it," Rick muttered. "Has it escaped your attention that we just found a girl out in them woods?"

"That girl is a bit older then Sophia," Shane retorted. Rick gave Shane a disgusted look and walked away.

. . .

It was a good hour before Lori poked her head around the door. "Hershel has done with her. She's still out though. He thinks she's got a concussion."

Rick nodded, staring at his son thoughtfully. "You want to take over?" he asked Lori. "I suppose I should see what I can find out about her."

Lori nodded and walked into the room. "Are you sure she's alright? We don't know a thing about her, and this is another person around Carl."

"I know," Rick agreed. "And I'm going to talk to her now. If I think she's dangerous, then I'll ask her to leave, but I don't think she is." He rose to his feet, stepping back to allow his wife to pass. He gave her a reassuring smile, placing his hand on her shoulder, before leaving and entering Beth's bedroom. He quietly shut the door and then shook his head. He took a breath and exhaled slowly, turning his attention to the girl in the bed.

As Lori said, she was still unconscious, but instead of looking peaceful as she rested, she was frowning. He wouldn't have been surprised if she hadn't been able to sleep much, considering the fact that her only companion seemed to be a dog. He gave the dog a nod. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked it, indicating to the chair.

The dog cocked his head and whined, but allowed Rick to sit. It got up from and walked over to him, resting his head in its lap. "Hey there, fella," Rick muttered, stroking its head as it looked up at him with big, baleful eyes.

"Matilda," a soft voice croaked.

Rick looked over at the bed and realised the girl was awake. "Is that you, or the dog?"

"The dog," she winced as she tried to sit up.

"I wouldn't," Rick suggested, just as softly. "You took a pretty nasty bang to the head."

She took in a deep breath and allowed herself to relax into the pillow. "Is this heaven?" she asked quietly.

Rick gave her a wry smile. "Very far from it."

"Where am I?" she asked.

"Safe," he told her.

She closed her eyes, and for a moment, Rick thought she had gone back to sleep, but then she spoke again. "Safe, but not home."

"Sounds like you're a long way from home."

She gave him a look which said she'd heard that one a thousand times before, but rather than commenting, she just sighed. "Getting closer every day."

"Where are you heading?" he asked her.

She considered him, her eyes travelling over him warily, until they came to a stop on his badge. "You're a cop?" she said.

It was more of a statement then a question, but Rick nodded anyway. "Yes, m'am."

She pulled a face. "Atlanta," she told him.

He tried to keep his face impassive, but as his mind replayed his experiences and her eyes grew wider, he knew he was failing. "What's your name?"

"Elizabeth," she replied after a moment's pause. "Libby."

He took a deep breath, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. "Libby, we've been in Atlanta. There's nothing and nobody left there."

She stared blankly at him for a moment, then shook her head, firmly. The action had her blinking rapidly at the dizziness that washed over her, but she looked him firmly in the eye. "I don't want to be in the centre of the city. I just want to get to the airport. I know it sounds crazy, but I've heard that there's still a chance that there are limited flights getting out of the country. I need to get back to my family. And unless you're keeping me prisoner here..." she trailed off.

She stared at him with such dogged determination, that he simply nodded. "Nobody is keeping you prisoner," he assured her, surprised at the relief that crossed her face. "If you want to leave, that's fine. Nobody will stop you, but Hershel says you've had a pretty nasty knock to the head. He also thinks you've sprained your ankle. Would you at least consider staying here until you're capable of outrunning the walkers if you need to?"

He was surprised that the offer sounded as insistent as it did. Truth was, he kind of agreed with his wife: the girl was one extra mouth to feed. Yet, as he said it, he realised that not only was he offering her the help that had been offered to him, but also her chances of survival without it were as bleak as his had been when he'd been trapped in the tank. Sure, he didn't rate her chances of returning to her family that highly – especially if they were back in England as she was implying – but he didn't think would ever see his again, and here they were all together, all safe.

She frowned, allowing her hand to wander over the bedsheets. "Just until I can walk properly again," she conceded. "I'm not stupid enough to think that flights were as regular as they used to be, but I can't risk missing one, just because of a twisted ankle."

"The man who owns this farm, Hershel, has been good enough to let us stay on his land, but this bed is only temporary. We have space in our camp for you to set up your tent," he said.

She nodded. "Cot," she corrected him. "But thank you." She looked around the room once more, before returning her attention to him. "But it's only temporary, of course."

He returned the nod. "It's as temporary as you want it to be," he assured her.

I hoped to update last week, but I was busy seeing the sights of Rome. Apologies for the delayed post, but as I can't stop writing for this at the moment, I think they should be fairly steady for a while.

So, first thoughts of Libby? It'll be a few more chapters before we start to see anything of her background, but I'm curious as to what you think her story is.

Finally, lots of thanks to bluetard and Rebel29 for the alert adds!