She follows the path of least resistance

She doesn't care to see the mountaintop

She twists and turns with no regard to distance

She never comes to a stop

And she rolls, she's a river

Where she goes, time will tell

Heaven knows, he can't go with her

And she rolls, all by herself

All by herself

He's headed for a single destination

He doesn't care what's standing in his path

He's a line between two points of separation

He ends just where it says to on the map

And he rolls, he's a highway

Where he goes, time will tell

Heaven knows, she can't go with him

And he rolls, all by himself

All by himself

The escape had gone more smoothly than she had expected. At least, as far as things on Trish's end had gone. Glenn had seen Grumpy…Shane…get to the prissy Hyundai crossover before they backtracked through town and sped off down the highway. And she'd only had to waste a single bullet to get the walkers' attention.

Once they were about five miles out, she pulled back on the throttle and slowed the Honda to a more comfortable speed. Fish was still curled up in her lap, but she felt Glenn relax on the pad behind her.

"How many people in your camp?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Eleven."

"Great. A travelling buffet," Trish mumbled, putting her focus back on the road. She didn't bother asking any more questions, figuring the answers wouldn't be anything she'd like anyway. Being a loner had its drawbacks, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let herself get saddled with another group of useless people. Not having anyone else to worry about had kept her one step ahead of the game. Anytime there was a group…well, it never ended good.

Their site was tucked into a grove of trees. Stupid, she thought, since walkers could just wander in and they wouldn't notice until it was too late, even with the old man up on top of the RV. Glenn waved at him, but Trish knew they would be suspicious of the newcomer. If there was one thing she had learned about groups of survivors, it was how they didn't like outsiders. And Trish…well, Trish certainly didn't look like she was native to the backwoods of Georgia.

She stopped short of riding all the way in, letting Glenn get off the back of the bike to join his group. People made her nervous. She both craved and loathed having other living, breathing humans to visit with. Her hands started twitching and she reached into the compartment where she had stashed her cigarettes. Fuckin' people, she thought, lighting up a smoke and suppressing the images that had popped into her head.

Fish had hopped off the bike to squat in the grass a few feet away, but the little mutt had never been a problem. She could be on the other side of camp, but as soon as Trish revved the Honda, she'd find a way into her spot in the woman's lap. But someone approaching had caught the dog's attention, and Trish crushed out the cherry in her cigarette when she noticed that one of the two women was pregnant. She was skinny as all get-out, but it served to make the beginnings of a baby-bump stand out and Trish felt a pang of empathy for the woman.

"Glenn told us what happened in town," the pregnant one said, extending a hand. "Thanks for getting the guys out safe. I'm Lori. This is Maggie." Trish shook her hand.

"Trish. Still waiting on one," she mentioned casually, looking back at the empty road. When Trish turned around, there was a third woman marching towards them. She looked pissed.

"Where's Shane?" she yelled, still several yards away but closing distance and reaching for something tucked in the back of her pants. A hot-tempered blonde. The perfect mate for Grumpy. And it was a gun she was looking for, apparently.

"Shane's a quarter mile out, heading this way," the old man on lookout shouted in response. But that didn't stop the blonde from flashing her piece in front of Trish's face. Lori had backed away and Trish could feel her own temper rising. Without flinching, she relit her cigarette and glared at the bitch with the gun.

"Where you from?" Blondie asked.

"Miami."

"Why didn't you stay there?"

Trish took a long drag before answering. "Because hurricanes, gators and zombies were bad for business."

The one called Maggie covered her mouth to smother a grin and Blondie huffed in frustration. Lowering her gun, she turned and stomped off in the direction she had come from as the Hyundai pulled into camp.

"How the hell are you not overrun with walkers having those two in your camp?" she asked, gesturing at the loudmouthed couple. Blondie had draped herself over Grumpy as he got out of the car, making sure to spare an icy glance towards Trish.

"Been asking that for months," came a voice from behind her. When she turned, Trish saw a dirty man leaning against a tree with a crossbow slung over his shoulder. Everything about him screamed "redneck" at her, from the pants belted at the waist with rope to the plaid shirt with ripped-off sleeves that showed off the well-defined…

Holy shit, are you checking this guy out, she asked herself. Could he possibly be more different from you?

…well-defined muscles of his arms.

His eyes narrowed when he saw her analyzing him, and Trish prayed that she wasn't transparent about why she was looking at him so meticulously. It's not like she hadn't ever seen an attractive man before. Plenty who were better looking, truth be told. She'd even had her share of dangerous boyfriends, but this man…he was a whole level of dangerous she'd never dealt with before.

They had been watching each other for mere seconds, but it felt like minutes had passed. So when he walked towards her and plucked the cigarette from her grip, she was surprised that it hadn't burned down to ash.

"I'll bet a whole pack that you're gonna wanna shoot Andrea before the day is over," he said, taking a drag and handing it back. Tension practically crackled in the air between them. Their fingers brushed when she took it and he pulled his hand back as if he had been stung. When Trish looked up at him, his pupils were wide and his breathing had increased.

"Trish, this is Daryl," Maggie said, stepping in to break the awkwardness that had managed to settle between the pair. He relaxed, but walked away after a nod of acknowledgement. "Well, that was Daryl. Why don't you come with us and meet everyone else."

It wasn't a question. So far, she liked Maggie and Lori, at least well enough that she was willing to put up with the two she didn't like. Since they had already started heading into camp, Trish whistled low for Fish and manually wheeled the bike further into the trees. She parked it next to a classic Triumph, and was silently pleased that there was someone else around who knew motorcycles.

Even for October, it was still hot in Georgia. Trish shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over the seat of her bike on top of her backpack, quickening her pace to catch up with Maggie. The man standing watch was Dale, who narrowed his eyes at her ink before returning to his post. Inside the RV was a mouse of a woman named Carol and Lori's son, Carl. Her husband, Rick, was getting a fire started while a burly black man called T-Dog chopped firewood nearby.

Everyone seemed to have a place in this group. The camp ran efficiently and Trish was certainly out of her element. Even Shane and Andrea fit in to this makeshift family. Lori and Maggie continued to talk to her, but she had already begun to tune them out. Couldn't afford to get sucked into a new group. Nothing but trouble there.

That was when Glenn walked up, kissed Maggie and whispered something in her ear. The young woman's eyes softened and she nodded while looking over at Trish. As she and Lori walked off, Glenn tapped Trish's arm and motioned for her to follow as they made their way back to the RV.

"I lived in Atlanta before the outbreak," he said casually. "So did T-Dog. But we've been out of the city for a while. You still have it written all over your face." He motioned at Dale that they would be taking his place at watch, then began climbing the ladder. When she followed, the older man took his leave.

"I'm not looking for a place in your group," she confessed once they were alone.

"I don't expect anyone will be asking you right away," he replied with a chuckle. "I'm just saying, don't automatically feel left out just because you don't exactly fit in. They'll feed you and give you a spot to sleep tonight for getting Shane and I out, but you're welcome to leave whenever you want."

"Man, I have landed myself smack in the middle of Bumfuck, Egypt, haven't I?" Trish said, scanning the horizon. There was a much better view than she was expecting.

"No," Glenn said. "Bumfuck, Georgia. It's much worse."

"How do you figure?"

"Ticks."

Daryl busied himself around camp, making sure to keep the new girl in his sight. His morning hunt had turned up a pair of fat pheasants, which Lori and Carol had begun to prep. Once he had done a quick equipment check, he propped himself up against a tree with a book in his hand for a well-deserved rest. Nobody complained at his apparent slacking. Before providing the meat for the evening meal, he had been up on watch for most of the night. But reading was the last thing Daryl wanted to do.

He wasn't the only one watching Trish. Rick was transparent. He wanted to keep her, but wasn't quite sure where she'd fit in. Shane's thinly veiled glances in her direction warred between his respect for what she had done in town and something … predatory. This only made the looks Andrea threw off even nastier, but Andrea just didn't like anyone prettier than her, and Trish took that prize hands down.

To Daryl, she was a puzzle. Never in his life had he come across a woman who reeked of the city, but obviously knew bikes. He had seen how she looked at the chopper…his now, not Merle's. And the Honda she had rolled in on had obviously been chosen for a life on the road. Two small glove compartments in the dash, and a decent-sized under-the-seat saddle bag that he guessed was large enough to hold a couple spare changes of clothes, snacks and extra clips for the piece she wore in the shoulder-holster. And didn't include whatever may have been in the pack that was hidden under her jacket.

She had been wearing it earlier in the day, but Daryl, and everyone else for that matter, could clearly see the sleeve tattooed onto Trish's bared left arm from her position on top of the RV. The few times she fluffed her hair to cool her neck, he could see the same pattern peeking from under the collar of her t-shirt. The ink, the bike, the jacket…those weren't cheap to come by, so she obviously hadn't raided a Wal-Mart when the world ended. And cigarettes. Who the fuck cared to bother with grabbing cigarettes anymore?

"Street racer." Daryl wasn't sure he heard T-Dog correctly, and spared the man a glance as his tent-mate moved to stood nearby. "Home girl was a street racer."

"Huh. Never heard of chicks doin' that."

"It's a rare breed," the black man continued. "The girls that race have to be pretty bad ass. The boys don't think they can keep up, and the girlfriends don't like the attention they get. Especially the white girls."

"How you figure?"

"In the city, racing's usually somehow tied in with gangs. She's from Miami. That place is practically crawling with Cubans and Puerto Ricans."

There was a silence that fell between the two men, but neither moved as they continued to watch Trish. She didn't pace the roof or plop herself in the lawn chair like the others did, but instead had taken a knee over the cab of the RV as she scanned the horizon with the binoculars that Glenn had given her. A bottle of water sat near her left boot, which she sipped at sparingly. And she was very subtly observing the camp. Daryl wasn't sure if anyone else had caught it, but he certainly had.

"She don't like groups," he mentioned casually. As if she had heard him, or maybe was just sensitive to being openly scrutinized, Trish turned and looked his direction. She startled, obviously not expecting to meet Daryl's gaze, but composed herself well enough. Her eyes flicked to the bikes a few feet away from where he sat, then returned to him.

The question was in her expression, silent, and meant only for him. Daryl shifted his eyes in the same direction, and gave a slight nod as he looked back. She had figured out in a single glance what nobody else in camp had deduced in nearly six months.

"Guess that's something y'all have in common," T-Dog joked, oblivious to the wordless exchange.

You have no idea, Daryl thought, standing and stretching his legs.

**lyric credit** "The River and the Highway" by Pam Tillis