The man with the eyepatch walked to me quickly, then stopped only a few inches from my face. He was breathing heavily and wore a mask of pure hatred. He grabbed both of my shoulders and pushed in, making it difficult for me to breathe.

"Where's Rick?"

Now he was shaking me back and forth, repeating his question over and over. My heart rate sped up and I attempted to fight back, kicking his legs and pulling at his wrists to break his stone hard grip on my shoulders.

"Answer me!" he screamed, throwing me on the concrete. My head hit the ground and immediately pain shot out and surrounded my skull. The man began to pace back and forth at my feet, rambling about that Rick person.

"... He killed my daughter! He killed everyone from Woodbury! He left me to die and yet you are hiding him from me? How could someone..."

Eyepatch stopped talking abruptly. I looked up and saw a loaded rifled pointed at my face.

I threw my body on its side and raised my arm to slow the bullet down before it reached my head. At first there was just an explosion, then my arm fell on my face, and something whizzed past my scalp. I watched Eyepatch walk quickly past me, and as soon as he left my heart rate slowed down, and unbearable pain slithered through my leg, my hips, and finally the rest of my body. I tried to hold in a scream, not wanting to be found again, but it was impossible.

I shouted out in agony, holding my thigh where the bullet had gone through. The holes were close to the inside of my leg, halfway between my knee and my hip; there was blood pooling from the two wounds. I had to stop the bleeding quickly.

I ripped off my t-shirt and wrapped it around my leg, just below my shorts and a couple of inches above the holes. I tied the ends of the shirt into a knot and pulled it until it was tight enough to lessen the blood flow.

Turning away from where Eyepatch traveled, I limped down the road, praying that the Things wouldn't smell me. Looking at my blood-covered leg, I knew that answers to those prayers were slim. I decided to go back home. There was food and shelter there, and once I could figure out how that damn Thing got in there and fix it, the place would be perfect.

Limping down a road took longer than just walking. I was still a mile from home and it was already pitch black outside. Luckily, my dad had left a tiny flashlight clipped on the back of the belt. I used this little flashlight to navigate home, but I had not reached my porch before a low rumbling sound reached my ears. A bright light emerged from the other side of a steep hill ahead, and a thin, shiny object rapidly approached.

All traces of intelligence escaped my brain and I turned and ran down the road, away from the motorcycle instead of jumping into the mass of trees on my right. I was running as fast as I could with my injured leg, trying to calm myself down by repeating "It's not him! It's not him!"

Unfortunately, under the T-shirt I had worn earlier I had a neon purple tank-top that did a very good job of reflecting light.

A man whom I did not recognize was riding the motorcycle. He parked the bike just ahead of me and turned to look at me. I stopped dead.

"You alright? What happened to you?"

I looked down and realized that my leg was covered in even more blood than before. Looking back up at the man, I debated in my mind if I should run or not.

"We have a doctor back at the prison with us. I can take you there and we can fix you up."

This guy seemed normal, unlike the insane man with the eyepatch. Deciding to trust him, I got on the back of the bike and we drove off to the prison he mentioned.

We drove into a field full of Things. Some of them just roaming, some pushing on the metal fences that surrounded the massive prison, and the rest coming toward us. I pulled myself closer to Daryl, frightened by the sight of the blood-covered faces in the dark. Someone at the fence opened two doors to let the bike in, then a gate once the doors were shut.

"Who's this?" The man asked. He was tall, with dark hair. I couldn't see his face clearly, but it appeared that he was Asian.

"Sydney," I mumbled.

"I'm takin' her to Hershel. The Governor shot her in the leg. Do you know where he is?"

The Asian nodded and Daryl drove the bike up to a door on the side of the building. I jumped off the bike and limped behind him as he lead me to the doctor. We walked through a few hallways, then entered a large room with shelves full of items everywhere, and a table and chairs in the middle. An old man with one leg and a pair of crutches made his way over to us.

"Are you Sydney?" asked the old man.

"Yeah," I replied.

"I'm Hershel. Come sit down and we'll fix you up."

"Oh God," I whispered, my eyes wide. I pointed where his other leg should have been. "You're the doctor?"

Hershel laughed, "I'm not going to amputate your leg."

I sat down in one of the chairs and watched Hershel put some objects on the table next to him. Daryl slapped his hand on my shoulder and said, "You'll be fine."

He then whispered to me, "is your dad still out there?"

I looked up at him, anger boiling in my blood. I hadn't told him about my dad, just Mom and Sam. He's just trying to help, I thought.

"If he is, I hope I never see that asshole again."

He looked at me, almost as if he understood. It surprised me, how he didn't lash out at me and tell me that I was a horrible daughter for hating my dad, like others had done in the past. He just looked at me like he knew exactly how I felt. Did he?

Hershel sat down and started to fix up my leg. Daryl started to walk to the door, but I stopped him.

"Were you scared of your dad too?" I asked.

Hershel stopped working and looked at me, shocked. I knew it was a personal question, but I had shared everything that had happened to me from when my dad left until now, the majority of my life. One question didn't seem that bad.

Daryl nodded, then turned and walked out the door, leaving me with Hershel, who was still staring at me.

"Why did you ask that?" He asked me.

I looked down, feeling like a little kid that just got busted for something.

"So," he said, changing the subject, "were you by yourself out there?"

"Yes, but only today."

Hershel started to work again, sewing the skin back together on my thigh.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"This morning a Thing came... or, wait. You guys call it a Walker or something. A Walker got into my house and bit my mom and my little brother. I had to kill all three of them and then I left."

Hershel stopped working and looked up at me again, this time his face covered in sympathy.

"You had to kill your mom and brother? How old are you?"

Tears began to form in my eyes, and I attempted to hold them back.

"Fourteen."

"Oh my God," he gasped. "I'm sorry."