(A/N: Alright, here it is, the next chapter. This was even harder than the last one. I hope you guys like it. Again, anything recognizable is obviously not mine, I'm just borrowing because yay Walking Dead. I'd also like to thank everyone for reading, favoriting, and commenting, I really appreciate it! It makes me feel all special-like! Anyway, lemme know what you think. I'm always open to suggestions and constructive criticism. Enjoy!)

A strong wind blew through the trees. Leaves orange and yellow stirred from their resting place in the underbrush. Lena kept hidden as much as she could manage, ducking behind bushes and thicker trees.

There wasn't much in the way of cover. Fall had taken most of the leaves and turned the woods all shades of brown, which left Lena's black attire in sharp contrast to her surroundings. She was an easy target for anyone with a smart enough eye. With that in mind she did well not to get too close to the edge of the woods.

Once upon a time this would've been her favorite time of year. She recalled fondly the forest that surrounded her papa's house in Novosibirsk. The autumn air there always carried a slight chill; 'winter's promise soon to follow' he would say.

As a child she'd spent hours wandering the woods, marveling at the chalky white bark of the birch trees, the reds and golds of the leaves. Nothing in the world could compare.

Every day there was like a fairytale.

She hadn't gone to visit in forever and feared there would never be another chance for it. She still owned the house and the land, but even before the dead began to rise, just the thought of returning to Russia was difficult after her father's passing.

The seasons were so different here in the south, or 'the bowels of the States' as her dedushka preferred to call it. Why the old man insisted on living here was beyond her. He claimed it was better than anything Russia had to offer but complained endlessly about the hot, muggy weather.

From a distance she could tell the group she'd run into earlier had yet to move on. She could see the shine of flashlights bouncing around through the windows of the doctor's office and assumed the group had taken shelter there for the night. Their vehicles were still parked just the way she had left them, save for the one she'd commandeered.

Speaking of, she'd abandoned the old pick up truck about a mile back on a little dirt road near a trailer park and walked the rest of the way. She was in enough danger as it was, no need to go announcing her presence by driving straight in.

It took her the better part of an hour to get back. Trekking through backyards and roadside ditches to avoid detection slowed her progress. And there were the zombies too. Not too many of them, just enough to be a nuisance.

Halfway through her journey she could've sworn she heard a motorcycle close by and dove into a playground sandbox for protection. She felt like an idiot immediately afterward. Her imagination must've been working overtime. No one in their right mind would ride a motorcycle around during the zombie apocalypse. Right?

Finding a thick grouping of bushes with some leaves still hanging onto the branches Lena decided she'd gotten as close as she safely could and stopped. She let the supply bag slide off her shoulder and hit the ground with a muted thud, kicking it under the bushes for temporary safekeeping. She tossed the crossbow down with it and gathered some leaves overtop to keep them well hidden.

Standing to her full height Lena pressed her back into the tree nearest her, hiding herself out of view from the parking lot and medical center. She drew in a deep breath then and with her thumb and forefinger pressed to her lips, whistled as loud as she could. Her dedushka would've been proud. Then he would've realized why she was even here in the first place and given her a good verbal lashing for being so stupid and careless to leaving his precious Laikas behind.

He loved those two drooling heaps of fur more than he could ever love another human being.

Within seconds she heard yips and howls rise in the distance, an excited response to her call. She thanked god for what felt like the hundredth time that day and slid down the tree into a crouch to wait. Maybe there was something to this religion stuff after all.

Lena estimated they were only a few minutes away by the sound. And her van was parked just up the street a bit. As long as the two idiot dogs didn't get distracted by a squirrel or something and take too long, she actually stood a chance of getting out of here sans confrontation.

She prayed to be that lucky.

It seemed fate had other plans.

Man plans, God laughs.

A door opened and slammed, the front door to the doctor's office most likely. Lena dared not peek, afraid of being seen. It was still light enough that she'd be easily visible.

She held her breath and waited.

Light, hurried footsteps carried to the middle of the parking lot and stopped.

Were it not for her heart hammering loudly against her ribcage like a trapped bird, Lena would've thought she'd gone deaf in the few seconds of absolute silence that followed.

Finally after what felt like an eternity she heard a feminine gasp, lungs filling deep and wide, and a woman's voice cry out in a despair. So overwhelmed by her fear Lena hardly understood the word until the third time the woman called out.

"Carl!" The voice wailed, over and over again.

Lena's heart stopped when her brain began to fully process the information.

A woman.

It was a woman.

They had a woman.

What did that mean? Who was Carl? Were they hurting her?

"Carl?" She wailed again, sounding near tears. She sounded much closer this time. Was she alone? Lena dared a quick peek, leaning toward the bushes to use as cover. The woman was standing in the middle of the parking lot, hands fisted tight in her dark unruly hair. Her eyes looked wild, almost crazy.

Lena's body finally found release from the grip of fear and caught up with her brain. It begged for her to go and help the poor woman but she froze again when she saw the doors swing open once more. This time two men, one large and muscular, his head clean-shaven, the other much leaner with fair skin and the beginnings of a beard, emerged and sprinted towards her. They didn't look very happy.

"Lori," the smaller man hissed angrily, "I want you back inside. Now!" With a vice-like grip he took her upper arm and tried to lead her back in. She turned a furious eye on him and tried to slap his hands away.

"Don't touch me!" Lori screamed, outraged.

"Don't you dare touch me!" She repeated louder. The two glared at each other silently, neither backing down.

The second man looked incredibly uncomfortable but ready to step in if need be. He hastily scanned their surroundings, his eyes moving over Lena's hiding place but not stopping. Her heart skipped a beat and she ducked back behind the tree, thankful he hadn't seen her. She rested her forehead against the bark of the tree and stilled, waiting for whatever came next.

A brief struggle followed. The woman screamed louder than Lena ever thought was humanly possible. She continued to scream, shrill and blood curdling, even as the two men dragged her forcefully back into the building. Lena dared not look but she could tell the woman was fighting tooth and nail the whole way. She could hardly comprehend what the woman was screaming about, only catching bits and pieces about 'Carl missing' 'out there'.

She felt terrible but didn't know what she could possibly do. Straightening out of her crouch she closed her eyes and pressed her face into the bark again, breathing unevenly and cursing heavily in Russian.

Too late she heard the rustle of leaves behind her followed by the distinct metal clink of a gun hammer. She went to reach for her own gun, tucked away at the front of her jeans but stopped cold when she felt steel touch the back of her neck.

"Don't think so sweet heart." Came the familiar southern twang from earlier.

"I see you found a new gun." Lena commented, raising her hands slowly in a show of defeat. She cursed herself for not noticing his approach. She should've been more careful.

"I'd like my old one back all the same." He snapped in reply, stepping closer and nudging her between the shoulders with the steel barrel. He was so close his breath tickled the shell of her right ear. She could see his long nose and stern jaw out of the corner of her eye as he leaned over her threateningly. She felt his warm hand slide around her waist and snake under her loose-fitting shirt. It took everything in her not to flinch. His large fingers grasped the gun hidden there and pulled it out of her waistband. The warmed metal slid across the exposed skin at her hip like a sweet caress. Were it not for the context of this encounter Lena thought she might actually be turned on. That or scared shitless.

But she quickly remember where she was, the woman she'd seen a few minutes ago, and who she was dealing with now and white hot fear shot through her veins with renewed fervor.

Sliding the gun into his own waistband he backed away from her, which she took as an indication for her to turn and face him.

Icy blue eyes observed her with a quiet calm that was slightly unnerving. He'd lowered his weapon, but held his stance, ready to pounce at the slightest movement. He wasn't underestimating her like the first time they'd met. Smart man.

They watched each other silently for a while. Lena wasn't sure what was going on and her fear was finally getting the best of her. It felt like he was waiting for her to say something, so she blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"Sorry I stole your gun." She offered lamely. Her eyes wandered to where her stuff lay hidden in the bushes. If she played her cards right she might be able to get to the other gun she had there. He caught her sly glances though and saw the hidden crossbow, its strap showing through the leaves. Knowing what she was planning he immediately stepped in front of the bushes, effectively cutting off her path.

"Don't think so." He chided.

Night had taken them. The sun faded away behind the horizon, taking the last of its weak rays with it. Still those blue eyes held her, somehow shining bright even in the new night sky. They both knew how dangerous it was out in the open like this, especially after that woman had practically rung the dinner bell. But still he kept her there.

Was this a test? What did he want?

They both jolted from their trance-like state at the sound of leaves rustling a few yards away. For the first time since this whole mess started Lena was grateful for her dedushka's stupid hunting dogs. The Laikas, large hulking beasts that they were, emerged from the brush, bounding toward the two humans without a care in the world. Their black and brown fur wet and mud covered, they saw Lena and increased their speed, jumping and yipping happily. One of them held a rabbit in its teeth, no doubt a present for her. She almost laughed at the absurdity. The stupid dogs had no idea what was going on.

Lena took the man's distraction as an opportunity and lunged for him.

A gunshot rang out and instead of pushing the redneck and running like she'd planned, she found herself falling into him. The whole right side of her body began to burn with pain indescribable as they both sunk to the ground, Lena on top. He turned them, pinning her down but immediately loosened his grip when she didn't fight back.

He looked confused. She couldn't understand why. He'd shot her hadn't he? What was so confusing about that? She felt feverish, staring up at him.

Oh god, she'd been shot! She tried to block out the pain, looking down to where their chests met. His shoulders heaved with each breath. He pulled away to give her space and she could clearly see that his once white shirt was now stained crimson.

Blood.

Her blood.

With the last of her strength she looked down at her own chest. The fabric at her right shoulder was shredded open and there was blood everywhere. She couldn't hold her head up any longer and let it fall back toward the ground.

Just when she thought the burning had died down she screamed in agony at a new pressure. She looked up into the redneck's face. He was pressing down on her shoulder hard with one hand and holding her cheek softly with the other. The contrast in the two different touches seemed almost cruel. But somewhere in the back of her mind she knew he was only trying to help, to keep her from bleeding out.

But why? Hadn't he meant to shoot her?

He was saying something to her but she couldn't hear him over the ringing in her ears. Her vision swam. She tried to reach out for him. It felt like she was drowning. Her face felt wet. At first she thought she must be crying but she saw the long pink tongues poking in and out at her eyelids and knew better. The dogs. The dogs were licking her. For some reason that made her irrationally angry. How dare they slobber on her face, she was busy dying.

The man's eyes seemed to laugh at her, as if he knew what she was thinking. She tried to hold on to the clear blue of his irises but before she passed out the last thing she saw was the small boy who stood behind him. His small pale face smattered with freckles and his mouth set in a grim line. The hat on his head was much too big for him, she thought, as was the gun he held tightly with both hands.

"Carl…" She whispered and then the world went black.

((o))

"It's okay. You're gonna be just fine." Daryl insisted. He stroked the side of her face gently and cupped her cheek, trying to keep her focus off of her shoulder as he pushed his other palm flat against the wound to stem the bleeding. Pain-filled eyes sought his for anchor. Her copper skin was losing its luster with each passing second. He pressed harder still. Blood flowered fresh around his palm, darkening the fabric of her shirt and falling to paint the leaves beneath her.

The dogs circled frantically, keened softly their nervous energy. Finally one settled near the girl's head and began to lick her cheek in an attempt to comfort. The other went to lick the wound but Daryl slapped its muzzle away. It puffed its cheeks out at him indignantly and instead joined the first, lapping at her forehead. Their whimpers stirred her to alertness, her face weakly contorting into a look of disgust.

"Can't you fuckers see I'm busy dying? Stop licking… no respect…" She mumbled feebly. Daryl chuckled darkly and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear to busy his shaking hands.

The others were gathered in the parking lot now. He could hear them. A few called out for him, for the boy stood behind him. The rest tried to shush them loudly, completely missing the point of the shushing. He didn't bother to respond, so focused on the girl in his arms.

She looked up at him again, eyes glassy, terrified. Forest green locked onto sky blue. In that moment the last shreds of consciousness faded from her eyes. Eyelids shuttered, pupils dilated so that only a thin ring of green shown through. Seemingly without recognition her long and slender fingers touched weakly at his cheek as if reaching for help.

This girl was different to the one he'd met earlier, the one who'd fearlessly waved a gun at his crotch and mocked him.

This girl was frightened. Helpless. Resigned. The range of emotions playing across her face, barriers fallen, made him anxious. He'd never felt so at odds with his own, normally repressed emotions.

"Carl! CARL!" Lori was screaming. Carl shifted uneasily behind Daryl but dared not make a sound.

"Carl…" The girl murmured, gazing past Daryl now at the small figure of Carl. It was the last thing she had any strength for. Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head from the effort, and she blacked out.

Daryl looked over his shoulder at Carl, with his gun and his too big cowboy hat, and sneered.

Again Lori cried out and this time Daryl saw fit to reply.

"Over here!" He bellowed. Immediately followed arguing over which direction his voice came from, and then feet pounding against pavement as they hastened closer.

"Hurry!" He looked down at the woman in his arms and tapped an ashen cheek. At first he got no response. Her breath was so shallow he had to put an ear to her lips to be sure she was even breathing. He shifted her limp body in his arms, pulling away a little so he could look at her again just as Lori, Rick, Hershel and T-Dog broke through the tree line. The dogs whined anxiously at the new arrivals but otherwise remained unmoving at their master's side.

Lori heard the whines and began to run blindly in their direction. The rest trailed after her, more cautious.

"Is it Carl? Is he hurt!" She wailed in a panic.

"I'm fine mom." Carl replied. Lori cried out in relief and ran to him, scooping him up. His too big hat fell to the ground as she spun him, all the while exclaiming how worried she was. Rick stood at a distance, still at odds with his wife. Hershel bent over Daryl, assessing the gunshot wound in the girls shoulder.

"Girl he shot ain't. Now quit yur yappin' woman. We got enough problems without you inviting every walker in the county to dinner." Daryl scorned. Lori stopped and let Carl's feet touch back on the ground. She gave Daryl an angry look but otherwise shut her mouth when she noticed the unconscious woman in his arms.

Daryl stood, lifting the girl with him, and started walking quickly toward the building. Hershel and T-Dog hovered close, ready to come to his aid if need be. The dogs followed even closer, bumping his shins with their lanky bodies. The smaller one wove in and out of the crowd toward the building as if trying to herd them.

She wasn't very heavy for someone so tall Daryl observed as he hoisted her a little higher in his grip. Her eyes shot open at being jostled, probably feeling all kinds of new pains. Green eyes sought his again for a comfort without words. He was starting to feel like a momma bird. He tried to keep her steady as he moved through the doors and inside but he could tell each step sent a jolt of fresh pain through her side. Her eyes started to roll back again. Her head lolled dangerously.

"Stay with me kid." Her eyes were glassed over but she fought hard to keep them open.

"Hershel?" Rick looked to the man in question. Lori and Carl disappeared into the waiting room off to the side. Daryl continued toward the far end of the hall, the others in tow. The dogs kept close to Daryl, scanning their surroundings nervously, unsure of themselves.

"I'll do what I can. I'll need any pain killers you have left," Hershel said looking to Daryl.

"You know where I keep 'em?" Daryl asked Rick quietly as he placed the girl gently on the first gurney he came to. Rick nodded and jogged back outside to fetch Merle's stash from the saddlebag of the motorcycle.

Maggie poked her head out a few doors down to see what the all commotion was about. Seeing the injured girl she immediately came to father's side to offer her help.

"Maggie, get my bag, it's in the Chevy. Quickly." Without a word she trotted after Rick.

Hershel laid a palm against the girl's scalding hot forehead. She mumbled incoherently, eyelids dancing rapidly. Again she blacked out.

Glenn rounded the corner nearly stumbling over the gurney. His eyebrows shot straight to his hairline when he saw who was lying on it.

"Is that—" He stuttered.

"Yup." Daryl affirmed, not waiting for him to finish the thought.

"Did you?—"

"Carl." Daryl bit out angrily.

"Oh…" Glenn just stared dumbly between the girl and Daryl, unsure of what to do next. Maggie and Rick returned then. Maggie set the bag down and began helping her father pull out the things he would need to operate. He took a pair of scissors to her shirt, cutting straight down the middle, exposing her naked chest. Daryl had the decency to look away. Glenn still stood muted in shock.

The blood soaked fabric stuck to the shredded skin of her shoulder as Hershel gently pulled it away. The open flesh had to be sterilized before he could work on it. And she'd already lost too much blood. He raised his eyes to Glenn's worried face.

"Glenn, my flashlight, I left it in the hallway upstairs. We need light." Hershel instructed. Glenn stood still.

"Glenn!" Hershel barked, sending Glenn into action. He fled quickly down the hall to do as he'd been told.

((o))

A short time later found most of the group scattered all down the dark hallway in silent contemplation as Hershel worked. Daryl stood by the unconscious girl's head, ready to pin her down should she wake up. She had once already, screaming bloody murder and thrashing violently to get away from the scalpel at her shoulder. She knocked Glenn in the face again, albeit not on purpose this time, but she got him just as good. He'd decided to hand off the flashlight to Maggie after that, walking off to nurse his bloody nose. It took forever to get the dogs to stop barking.

Carol hovered close, petting the giant dogs. They'd finally settled, waiting patiently for their master to wake up. Carol's eyes never left Daryl. He was hunched over, tense, hands pressing into the metal frame of the gurney on either side of the girl's head. He was a mess. Carol worried he would take it too personally if the girl didn't make it, just like Sophia. She didn't want that for him, not again.

"She won't be out much longer," Hershel observed, "There's one more big sliver I can get to but she can't afford to lose anymore blood so I'm gonna have to leave the rest." He continued, speaking to no one in particular.

"Hold that flashlight up high, it's deep in there. I'll need all the light I can get." Maggie did as Hershel asked, raising the flashlight up overhead so he could see better.

The bright light washed out the girl's complexion even more and Daryl tried hard not to let his gaze stray any lower than her wound. Now was not the time to be a pervert, even if it had been a forever since he'd seen a naked woman.

Blue lips and sallow skin; she looked so small, frail against the tired white sheets. But even still, covered in crusting blood she was a pretty little thing.

Hershel had cleaned the area immediately around the wound, contrasting the dirt and oil streaked across the rest of her body, arms, collarbone, and high cheekbones. Her left arm, from collar to fingertips was covered in an intricately tattooed pattern of feathers. The delicately inked design was interrupted just above her elbow by three deep slashes. Each of them long, jagged. Knife marks Daryl guessed. A similar mark marred the skin of her neck, stretching from behind her ear to her collarbone, shallower this time. This one looked newer. A scar on her right shoulder just above the spot Hershel currently worked on told him this wasn't the first time she'd been shot. A bullet graze. This girl clearly didn't have the best luck.

He saw Maggie glaring at him out of the corner of his eye and looked away at the wall, embarrassed at being caught gawking. The wallpaper seemed to mock him. A cartoon giraffe smiled stupidly at his embarrassment. He scowled back at it.

Hershel finally finished up, placing his scalpel down with the rest of his tools on the small coffee table they'd pulled next to the gurney. He cleared his throat and stepped back to stretch for a minute.

"All that's left is to cauterize the opening. I'll need a couple of you to hold her down." He announced and then went about sterilizing and heating the metal doorknob they would use to do it. It was the only unpainted metal they could find in the building that was large enough for the job and so it would have to do.

T-Dog joined Daryl at her head. Rick and a nervous Glenn took her legs.

((o))

The next few days were tense. The girl was in and out of consciousness and Hershel decided it was best to keep her heavily medicated. Everyone argued over how they would deal with her when she properly woke up. The only thing they could all agree on was cuffing her hands to the metal frame of the gurney. She had after all caused quite a bit of damage before Carl shot her.

Daryl never left her side.

On the second day he woke to the sound of coughing. He'd dozed off in chair next to her bed.

He stood to check on her, not actually expecting to find her eyes open, observing him hazily. The pain killers were working their magic.

"Water?" He asked. She nodded once, blinking tiredly. He picked up the water bottle on the coffee table and opened it, holding it to her lips. She accepted a small sip, drinking slowly, her eyes never leaving his.

"Fuck," She groaned as she pulled away from the bottle, coughing again, "that stupid little shit shot me, didn't he?" Daryl tried to suppress a grin but even in her inebriated state she caught it.

"Don't laugh! It's not funny! What is this fucking target practice? Do I look like a pincushion or something? Have you ever been shot? It fucking sucks!" She mumbled indignantly.

"I'm gonna kill that kid. He's never reaching puberty! Ya klyanus!"* Daryl laughed quietly at that but didn't say anything back.

She went quiet after that, laying her head back and glaring drunkenly at the ceiling. They sat in silence until suddenly she snapped out of her trance and turned her gaze on him again.

"Hey…" She said more solemnly, looking him straight in the eye.

He nodded in response, unsure.

"If you rape me, I will shoot you right in your dick hole." Any humor was immediately sucked from the room at her words. Daryl sobered, almost angry she would think it, but said nothing.

"I mean it. I will shoot your dick off. Don't test me son! I'll do it!" She threatened sleepily.

"I believe you." He bit back.

"You'll regret it. I have the clap… I have herpes… chlamydia… the aids… fuck it, I have all the stds. Every. Single. Last. One. All of them. So don't do it! Don't even think about it! I'll kill you! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" She finished in a yell, sapping the last of her strength. He should've found her whole tirade funny, but it only served to sober him further.

What happened to this girl? What happened to the world that a girl had to expect the worst of every new person she met?

"I promise, no funny business." He assured her sadly. Watching her exhaustion take over.

"I swear to sweet baby jesus, allah, buddha," she mumbled, drifting, "the spaghetti monster, the scientology monkey, whoever the fuck. Get the gist?"

"Loud and clear."

"You're picking up what I'm putting down?" She barely whispered, already half asleep.

"Yes."

"Super… now beam me up Scottie." With that she succumbed to her need for sleep.

Daryl settled back into the little chair by her bed to wait for the next bizarre outburst.

*Laikas: Russian hunting dogs. Depending on the type they can resemble an Akita or a wolf. Specifically the ones in this story are Eastern Siberian Laikas, which are more on the wolfy side.

*dedushka: grandfather

*Ya klyanus (я клянусь): I swear

Review? Pretty please?