Sorry for the delay. I had the worst case of writer's block the last week, but I managed to finish this chapter. I'm glad everyone is enjoying this and I greatly welcome your reviews and input.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Walking Dead. I just own the characters not in the show or comics.


She was sitting on the front porch, blood casually dripping from the split skin around her knuckles. A cigarette tucked between her pink lips, she carefully examined the state of the yard before her. The lawn mower had gone to shit weeks before the world had done the same, leaving ankle-high blades of green grass and an overwhelming cluster of weeds and wildflowers. She flicked the cigarette and watched it fly through the humid Louisiana air, landing in a puddle some few feet away. Reds and yellows and oranges splashed across her face as flames licked at the grass, scorching the Earth.

Her eyes darted towards the shadows fastly shuffling along the fence, pressing against the metal links. Their arms reached for her, their groans permeating the atmosphere.

"Motherfuckers," she growled as she rose to her feet, her boots sinking into the damp ground.

The fence began to dip and bend as the weight of the Walkers became too much for it. She turned away from the burning yard and stepped inside her house, hands shoved into her pockets. The air was warm, and she peeled off her coat, letting the useless fabric fall to the ground. She turned a corner and grinned, eying the unconscious man tied to a wooden pillar. He shifted in his sleep, drool dripping from his lips.

"Looks like it's feedin' time," she whispered.

So, with a strength matched by no other, she undid the ropes and hefted the tall man over her shoulder, carrying him back outside. He began to open his eyes just as she threw him down, eyes empty of sympathy. The fence gave out, and the Walkers lumbered towards the man, ignoring the other piece of flesh standing by the porch.

Watching as they feasted on her husband, Ainslie Hawkins lit another cigarette, flicking her lighter at the stream of oil leading away from the puddle. The Walkers and her husband went up in flames, the crackling of the fire and the groans and screams from within fading into the night sky.


He limped along the highway, a hand flattened against the wound in his side. The intense heat beat down on his back as he lumbered towards shelter, praying his people hadn't left him behind. There were cars all around him, the debris scattered across the pavement. His breath hitched and he came to a stop, his eyes on the river beneath him.

He could jump. He had enough strength to do so, yet he needed to find her. He needed to know she was safe from the new world.

"Don't move, and I won't have to shoot you, asshole," a deep voice snarled.

Metal slid across his throat and stopped just beneath his chin, teasing his warm skin. A piece of debris was shoved to the side as his attacker circled around to face him, their face covered almost entirely with a scarf.

"I'm not here to hurt you, but I will if I have to. So, keep still while my friend searches you."

Hands groped at his clothes, frantically searching for anything that could harm them. They removed his knives, his guns, and they tossed them into the back of a vehicle. He was jerked around, and the pain in his side flared up. Black dots flecked his vision, and he began to sway, the world around him going dark. He tumbled to the ground, landing hard on the pavement. Faces hovered over him, boys barely into their adult years. His attacker had removed his scarf, revealing a sharp and slender face and brown eyes that meticulously examined him. Taller and more slender, the other boy had a strange familiarity to his face. The freckles across his cheeks, the brown hue of his skin.

"Y-You look like her," he whispered, the boy's face transforming into a woman he had known as a young man, a man in love with a woman he had known from childhood.

"You know this guy?" The dark haired boy asked, turning to look at his companion. There was something between the two of them, a spark of intensity, and he felt strange lying there as they shared a long look.

"No...sort of. He looks familiar, but I don't know his name. I think my mom mentioned him a few times." The boy stood and swept a hand through his auburn hair, fiddling with his shirt.

"Hey! Get him in the car! And make sure you patch him up before he passes out!" The boy yelled before slinging his arm around his companion's shoulder, leading him away from the man on the ground. He watched them, a swell of something warm in his heart. He knew the look they shared; he had exchanged that same look with her.

"We'll find out who he is, Tristan. Promise," the boy said as they disappeared around the side of the car.


There were photo albums scattered around her legs, photographs of her children staring back at her. In almost all of them, her son and daughter were grinning or laughing, their faces bright and jovial. However, she was staring at a wrinkled and faded picture in her hands. It captured a boy and a girl hanging from the branch of a willow tree, their bodies upside down. Long, ink black hair flowed towards the ground, and their faces were smeared with dirt and paint. Flipping over the picture, she ran her fingertip along the pale handwriting, reading the names of the children.

'Maddox and Ainslie, 19...'

The numbers were far too faded to make out, but she knew the day as if she had just experienced it. She had loved that boy, loved him for too long yet not long enough.

An unexpected anger flared up from deep inside of her, and she flung the photographs away, yearning for a release. She was on her feet and outside before she could realize where she was going. She walked and walked until her legs throbbed and her body ached. Then she continued walking. Her mind was empty as she tore through the town, ignoring the hordes of Walker as they ravenously feasted on the bodies of her neighbors and friends and the people she had let watch her children.

Oh, her children. They had left her alone in this new world, forced to withstand the abuse of her late husband. She missed them terribly, missed the sounds of their laughter and screams and cries when they were in pain.

"Ainslie! What the hell are you doing?"


He was in a room he did not know. The space was in many shades blue and yellow, the strange disco lights splashing across the walls. Low music reverberated throughout the building as if he had somehow ended up in a club. There were many others in the room with him, their eyes dazed and glassy. A haze darkened the space, and he felt his lungs overflow with a familiar stench.

"Heeey! You're awake!" One of the people yelled before slamming their fist against the wall, setting off a shrill alarm.

Covering his ears, he leaned down and closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. A beam of light stretched towards him, and he looked to see the same dark haired boy standing in the shadow of the hall.

"Good to see ya awake, man. My boyfr...Tristan seemed a little concerned about you," he said as he slithered inside, his body twisting and turning like a snake. When they were in front of each other, he realized the boy was quite taller than him, his dark eyes shining. "What's your name?"

"My...my name...Maddox. My name is Maddox," he answered, "And I'm looking for a woman named Ainslie."


Rory was dragging her away from the wreckage of the town, his nails digging into her skin. Stumbling along, she felt a sudden urge to light herself a cigarette and press it to his eye. Ainslie tore free from her brother as a million thoughts passed through her mind. She despised him, but not as much as she despised herself. Because of her, Tristan had ended up in the hospital. Because of her, they were gone.

"Ainslie! You need to come with me!" Rory yelled.

"And why should I? I'm perfectly fine without you, asshole!"

He went still, his eyes focused on her's. There was a second where neither of them spoke, their attention unwavering. Ainslie chewed on her lip as she remembered a time when they were inseparable, refusing to ever break the strong bond they carried. She remembered a time when everything wasn't so complicated.

"Because I'm still your brother, Ains. I still care about you. We're family, sis, and nothin' is going to change that."

Her heart skipped a beat, but alarms were blaring in her mind. She didn't dare go near him for fear of what she would do to her brother. Trembling, she picked at the skin around her nails and closed her eyes, hands reaching for the gun at her hip. She saw the noticeable change in his eyes seconds before she fired the first shot. It grazed his ear, a fire kissing his skin, and lodged in the brain of an approaching Walker. The undead creature collapsed at Rory's feet, releasing a slow and steady groan.

Ainslie turned away from her brother and began to walk forward, ignoring the flares of pain in her body.

"Ainslie, I'm not lettin' you leave like that! I'm not goin' to let you just walk away!"

"Well, you better get over it, Rory. Because I'm walkin' away. Away from you. Away from Caleb. Away from all of this shit. I'm tired of lettin' other people tell me what to do and what not to do. I'm tired of havin' people thinkin' they know what's best for me! I'm goin' to go find my children and we're gettin' the hell away from this shit," she said, her blood humming with adrenaline.

Facing the new world, Ainslie Hawkins walked off with an unfamiliar strength flowing through her veins. She walked off, abandoning the life she yearned to forget.


Maddox fiddled with the empty chain around his neck as his eyes followed the shape of Rufio Castillo. He was young, barely a boy, yet he carried himself like a man. Shoulders back and head high, he sauntered down an endless hallway of turns that went nowhere and corners that seemed to drop off into nothing. It felt odd to Maddox having a boy lead him around, but he didn't dare question it.

They passed by clusters of strange people, each of them mumbling their secrets to one another. He caught snippets of conversations, but the words made little sense to him.

"Where do you come from, Maddox?" Rufio asked as they turned a corner and continued walking, the shadows dancing all around.

"Uhm, Louisiana. Born and raised there."

The boy let out a short laugh and nodded.

"Got anyone else with you?"

There was a pause, a second in which Maddox considered lying. But why? His people weren't really his to begin with. They only allowed him in because they needed his brutality, his immense strength. They didn't care about his safety as long as he protected them from the Walkers.

"No. No one. Just me."

"Well, I'd say some cliché shit about what's mine if yours and all that, but it ain't true. I don't trust men just walkin' around. Never have. For all I know, you've got somethin' on you that tells your people where you are," Rufio said, eyes trained on the path ahead.

"I don't have any people. Not any that cared about me. So, it wouldn't matter. Besides, I'm just lookin' for someone."

Nodding, Rufio shoved open a door and stepped to the side, motioning for Maddox to step inside. He reluctantly compiled, the room consumed with a vicious stench. The same boy from before was seated on the edge of a rickety desk, playing with a set of cards. His head was down until Rufio made a slight noise, shattering his focus.

The boy stood and approached Maddox, doing a quick once over before crossing his arms. He was more bone than muscle, his long limbs slender and awkward. Intense blue eyes stared at him, watching him for any show of deception. Maddox shifted uncomfortably in his stance as he saw her face again. Though there were many differences, he knew that intensity that only she had.

"I'm just lookin' for someone. I'm not here to cause any trouble," Maddox said.

"I know you're not," Tristan said, "Y'know, my mom only mentioned you once. She said some pretty shitty things about the way you're relationship ended. Of course, I'm not goin' to judge. I don't know anythin' 'bout you. Well...except for one thing."

Out of the corner of his eye, Maddox noticed Rufio giving Tristan a strange look. He had cocked his head, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

"And what do you know about me?"

Tristan slid off the desk and approached, pulling out a single photograph. It was crinkled from being in his pocket, the edges frayed and burnt slightly. But he could still make out the image.

There was a man, younger than Maddox by many years, standing in the comfort of a living room. In his arms was a child, a girl barely old enough to walk. They were grinning, their faces nearly mirror images of one another. Even down to the slight quirk in their smiles.

Maddox recognized that living room. He knew who was taking the picture and why he was holding that child in such a loving way.

"They're both alive, Maddox. And I'm pretty sure Beatrice would like to know who her dad is."


And there we go. I welcome any constructive criticism you may have. Thank you for reading!