A/N: Many apologies for the lack of updates! My laptop contracted a virus, and when I took it to get repaired, the dude said the only way to clean it was to nuke the entire thing. I agreed, even though it was too late to save all my files… everything I had ever written was gone, and I had written a LOT more besides this story. When I finally got my laptop back, I was so sad that all my work was wiped out, I wasn't inspired to keep writing. I actually thought about not finishing it… but, my desire to get back on track was even greater. So I hope you, my reviewers, are still around to see my return. Thanks for everything thus far, you guys.

Alright, let's get this show on the road!

Chapter Six: Southern Gentlemen

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When I was a little girl, my dad and I travelled a lot.

As I mentioned, he was a major hippie all his life, and most of all he loved taking me places that were nearly untouched by the destructive nature of mankind—his absolute favorite being national parks. Deserts, mountains, you name it. Even though it was years ago, I could still retain those memories as clear as if they'd happened yesterday. Memories of lush green landscapes, memories of pure expanses of water that reflected the sky like a mirror, memories of endless jagged roads that wove through the snow-capped ruptures of the earth, memories of real and honest beauty that time had always seemed kind towards.

You'd think all that time I spent outdoors in my childhood, I'd be a completely different person then the prude I had become before the world ended. There's a reason, though… a reason why I was robbed of becoming someone else, someone I might've liked better and someone who might've been better equipped than I was now.

For my 8th birthday, my dad took me out to the Mojave Desert, intent on showing me the wonder that was Joshua Tree National Park. The entire way down to southern California, I had begged him to go to the mountains since it was the snowy season, yet my complaints were of no use. The man was set on Mojave, saying I needed to give a new place a try. I had no choice, anyway: so there I was, a chubby, crying little punk sweating in the daytime of the desert, then shivering to the bone at night.

On our second night camping out in the large tent, settled beneath one of the oddly twisted trees that the park was named for, I snuck out into the night. I didn't intend on going far, just far enough to try and spy the non-threatening wildlife that crawled out at night. Lizards would get into territory fights, prairie dogs would begin turning in for slumber, and most fascinating of all was the uncommon tortoise that slowly made its' way into the rock formations for shelter.

No matter how much I yanked my sweater tighter to my body, my teeth chattered in the cold as I spied them all from a distance with my low-wattage flashlight. The wildlife, I decided, was really the only thing I liked about the desert.

What I didn't count on was the menacing echo of what sounded like toy beads being shook within a cylinder casing, a loud and frightening sound that came from the right hand side of my perch on a boulder. I looked down, not realizing my biggest mistake was my sudden jerking movement as my flashlight landed on it.

There, coiled up for an attack, was a red diamond-backed rattlesnake.

The eyes. They shined like bronze, searing into me with an expressiveness that was eerily human- guarded, hateful, and unafraid.

My second huge mistake was screaming.

It launched itself at me, biting into my left thigh. I fell onto my back, my flashlight rolling away from my hand as soon as I hit the ground. By then, I could hear my father's hiking boots pounding into the sand and dirt, crying out my name.

The rest was a blur, that exact same feeling of disconnect that came over me after I killed what used to be Mrs. Jenkins.

I woke up in the hospital. My dad told me we hadn't been too far off from a tourist camp-base, and they radioed a medical helicopter that saved my life. My father sat next to my hospital bed in an ugly chair, holding my small hand to his mouth as he sobbed. My mother stood in the background talking to a stiff-postured doctor, her fingers loosely gripping the handles of my baby sister's stroller. My 3-year-old June-bug was asleep, her sweet face peaceful as her tiny chest rose and fell. I could hear the doctor telling my mom they were fortunate that they were able to extract the venom from my body on time, and still be able to keep my leg.

Oh, my leg... It resonated with sharp pain, especially my thigh. It hurt so badly, but I knew if I cried from the ache, it'd only upset my father more. So I forced a smile and said, "It's okay, daddy."

I guess it did little to comfort him. It was my fault for stupidly meandering off into the night, but my dad blamed himself for what happened to me. He never took me to out towards the wildlife again.

I never forgot the eyes of that snake.

I never thought I'd have to see those eyes again.

And lo and behold—here before me stood the red diamond-backed rattlesnake in towering human form. Eyes bluer than the sky, but holding the exact same expressions that made my throat close up…

Guarded. Hateful. Unafraid.

I was finally brought out of my haze by the man's harsh growl, "Put yer weapon down, if y'know what's good fer you. Ain't nowhere to run."

His bolt was still aimed between my eyes, and I had the feeling he wouldn't hesitate to release the quiver if I made a wrong move. Despite my current position, I tried to keep my expression neutral—I wouldn't let him or the other men see how terrified I truly was, that wouldn't help me at all. I even tried to make myself laugh a little (internally, of course). Usually when someone sets up the scenario of four men closing in on a girl in a wedding dress, it sounds like the beginning of a really bad porno, right? Yeah.

… okay, that didn't help either.

I had yet to say something, and the rattlesnake-man was still scowling down at me expectantly. I heard the footfalls of another one of them coming around the desk, and this one lowered himself down until he sat on his heels, connecting his gaze with mine as well; I was surprised to see this man was the sheriff that had escaped a grisly death, courtesy of the boy in the alley. It seemed he recognized me as well, his eyes widening just a bit. "Glenn…" he said, motioning with his hand for what I assumed another man to come over.

I felt my grip tightening on the scythe, and even though my head screamed that there was no getting out of this, the rest of my body told me only one thing: fight and flight. It had to be both if I was going to live.

I didn't think about it anymore.

As soon as I heard the steps of the third man, I swung up the rounded iron-end of my scythe. It clacked loudly against the rattlesnake-man's bow, throwing his stance off balance. I also caught the sheriff by surprise as he narrowly dodged my swing, landing hard on his back by doing so. The quiver released, the bolt lodging itself into the ceiling of the office, followed by a string of colorful language that no doubt spewed from the mouth of the wielder.

That's when I took off.

I ran out of the office, intent on going back down to the lower levels and either finding a better hiding space, or an uncomplicated exit. The former seemed to be the clearer choice as I neared the wedding dresses, a quick scan of the floor not showing an immediate escape unless I descended down another escalator to a lower level.

"Ay, you lil' shit!" I heard a bellow coming from behind me. I looked up to see the archer blazing down the escalator, his face and neck flushed scarlet with rage. I could hear the other men ambling after him but not quite keeping up, one of them chiding him to calm down. Well, no time to hide now…

I picked up speed as far as my body could withstand, headed for the next set of escalators and hoping they'd give up once I was out of sight—and as soon as my heart flitted with the assurance that I'd get away unscathed, I went crashing face-first into the floor. My arms flailed out and endured most the impact instead of my body, my cheek smacking painfully on the white linoleum that met the carpet lining. My scythe went skidding on the floor, out of my reach and essentially useless to me. I pitied myself for a second when I realized that I had been but a mere five feet away from the first step of the escalator.

I heard the angry gasp of air leave my lungs as I attempted to force myself back on my feet, only to feel a forceful tug yank me back to the ground. I made the mistake of turning around, sucking in air at the sight behind me: the infuriated rattlesnake-man was right there on the floor with me, his crossbow slung on his back and a fistful of my extravagant attire in his white-knuckled grasp. The fingers on his left hand seemed a bit swollen and slightly purple, signs of surfacing bruises—the iron-end of my scythe hadn't hit his crossbow directly, it had smashed his fingers against it.

Fuck this dress.

We were quickly surrounded by the others: one was a thickly-built African-American man with uncertain eyes carrying a wrench, the other carrying a backpack and wearing a cap that I recognized as the shaky Asian boy from the alley, and finally, the sheriff.

The yanking persisted, this time even stronger as the archer bundled up another fistful of my dress in his previously unoccupied hand, pulling me towards him as my nails clawed audibly against the carpet. It was of no use fighting to crawl away, I still slid along the floor. "Th' fuck is wrong with ya!? You better start talkin', runaway bride, ya tell me if you got more chicken shits wit' ya, or I'll—"

"That's enough, Dixon" the firm voice of the sheriff was enough to make the man on the floor pause, if only for a split second, and he turned his searing gaze towards him. Unfortunately, he remained mindful to keep me in place.

"I don't gotta listen to you, you ain't nuthin' to me!" he seethed. "Ya only came 'cause you felt like shit for doin' what you did, and trust me, that don't make it alright!"

"You don't lower your voice down, you're gonna call in every walker left in this building" the sheriff kept a level voice, seemingly unfazed by his bristling counterpart. Before the other man could snap in response, he turned to me. "You done?"

I remained silent, considering the sheriff with the weary blue eyes, but patient face. My breathing was coming in and out so fast, my body was shaking. It was a dead giveaway of what I had wanted to obscure from them: my unrelenting fear. I couldn't help but think, though, that if any of them truly intended the kind of harm I feared most from the surviving men, they would've done the deed already without any exchange of words.

I let out a breath, regaining some control over my trembling composure, and said the first thing I thought of: "Tell your dog to get off me, and I'll be done."

"Th' fuck you jus' call me!?" he snapped, his grip on the hem of the dress tightening.

"We're not gonna sort this out if you're stokin' the fire, miss" the sheriff interrupted again. "We don't mean any harm. We're here lookin' for somebody in our group." The more he spoke, the less rigid my body became. I wasn't completely at ease, of course, but definitely better.

"You alone?" the black man spoke up, no doubt voicing his biggest concern.

I looked to him for a minute, and just like that, it hit me.

I'd known it for months… I knew I was alone. But to hear someone else say it… felt even worse.

I swallowed back the sudden lump in my throat, licking my lips and glancing over at my scythe still strewn near the escalator. "No wonder you put a gun in my face," the boy in the cap spoke this time, his observant eyes frowning towards me, "you are alone. Aren't you?" It was probably stupid of me to admit it, but I'd made too long of a pause to say otherwise at this point. I looked to the ground, away from each pair of eyes that watched and waited for my answer. I swallowed again, and nodded my head.

Something reverberated between the three men that remained standing; fascination, perhaps. I saw the Asian boy lean forward and say something incoherent near the sheriff's ear. The only one still keeping an untrusting eye on me was the rattlesnake-man, who had since released my dress and rose to one knee, his right hand on the hilt of a hunting knife tucked in his belt. There's no way I'd run now. An open hand was suddenly in front of my face—the sheriff was offering to help me up. I sighed, my fear still deep-seated in my chest, but aware that I could've run into a worse group.

I accepted his extended hand, and he pulled me up.

I was unnerved when he didn't let go of my hand right away, instead, he shook it. "I'm Rick Grimes. This here's T-Dog, Glenn, and Daryl." He motioned to each individual with a nod of his chin, and I noticed that once he retracted from our greeting, he returned his hand to the gun on his hip; he still was unsure of me, too. He was just better at hiding it. "And you?"

I hesitated, but still felt the warmth from his hand in my palm: it was the first physical contact from another human being I'd had since Jeff died. I almost forgot how wonderful something as simple as touch was, something I took for granted a long time ago. I ran a nail from a digit on my left hand on the palm of my right one as I murmured "Rita. Rita Fuentes."

"Well, Rita" the sheriff spoke again, "You, uh… got some regular clothes?"

I winced at that, biting my lower lip in embarrassment. "Uh, yeah I do… they're over by, um… where I picked this out…" I motioned over to the rack in the corner.

"Tell you what," Rick continued, "You go on over there and get dressed. Can't very well outrun a Walker without all that you're wearin' without bein' a hassle, right?"

"Faired well 'nough outrunnin' y'all" the man Daryl growled. "I say let her keep wearin' it 'n go on lookin' like a goddamn moron."

I didn't acknowledge his snide comment, I didn't even look his way. I was intent on keeping my cool and focusing on communicating with Rick. "Who are you looking for?"

"Mah brother," Daryl interjected yet again, staring me down. "These half-wits left 'im on the roof. I ain't got the time for good ol' Officer Grimes" he put a distasteful stress on the label, daring to look the policeman in the eye, "to be ridin' in fer some fuckin' nutcase."

Without another word, he turned and stalked off back to the escalator leading to the upper floors. I stared after him, hearing Glenn scoff to the side, "He whines and whines, and here we are, saving his nutcase of a brother."

"Family's family, don't matter if they ain't the best people" T-Dog muttered guiltily, shaking his head. "They showed up with no one but each other. Bet that loon's all he's got left."

Family. Images of my dad, my mom, and my June-bug flashed in my mind.

"You two, follow 'im. Make sure he don't draw any more attention to us" Rick motioned in the direction Daryl had gone. Glenn sighed in exasperation and headed towards the escalator, T-Dog simply shrugging and following suit.

I watched the odd exchange between the men, and it wasn't until the other two were out of sight that I turned back to Rick and asked, "You said the roof?"

"Yeah," Rick nodded. "Merle… he got outta hand. High on whatever cocktail he had in his pocket, shootin' 'n puttin' others at risk. I didn't see any other choice but to handcuff 'im to the roof." I froze, and it didn't go unseen by him. "You seen 'im? A man on the roof?"

"Not… exactly." I paused, unsure of how to tell him that he wasn't going to find this missing man Merle—not all of him. "I think… I think you better go up there."

Rick regarded me carefully, and it clicked that he wasn't sure if he should leave me alone. For all he knew, I was a threat, and the minute he turned his back, I was capable of anything.

Honestly, I was capable of anything. But he let me go, all of them did. They made it clear they weren't here for me. This man in uniform in particular had given me no reason to fight back, not anymore, and it'd stay that way so long as they continued not to give me a reason.

"You said so yourself… I better get changed."

He hesitated a moment longer, looking over to the rack where I'd pointed to my clothes, then to my scythe on the floor. "I take it you won't be here when we come back?"

"Probably not" I said honestly.

He chewed his lower lip, sighed one last time, then turned and began to walk towards the escalator. He called over his shoulder, "I'm trustin' my gut on this. Don't make me regret leavin' you on your own. You're a woman, but if you try anythin'…" he stopped on a step, turning back to look me in the eyes again, a hard look within his blue ones, "I won't stall to retaliate. My family… I have a wife and son to get back to." He resumed his path, reached the top of his ascension, and he was out of sight.

Family.

I stared at the empty escalator, unbelieving of the things that had just occurred, unbelieving that'd I'd just had semi-civil human contact.

I still felt the warmth of his hand in mine.

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A/N: Things are about to get crazy, and I am SO ready for it. Review please—can't say it enough, they keep me going. Thanks guys!