AN: Thanks so much for the reviews guys, they mean so much.

Also, this story is starting out slow, but trust me, I have amazing ideas for it that I have all planned out, I just need to get over the beginning hump. The next chapter should have much more drama and Daryl, and good things and stuff. So don't fret, my lovelies.

I was dead.

Everyone I knew was dead.

And this was Hell.

My hands immediately wandered around the bed in search for my machete, but it wasn't found. Stop panicking, I told myself. I opened my eyes. Concrete walls, concrete ceiling, and I was on the bottom bunk a cot bunk-bed. There were two pillows drenched in my own sweat under my head. It didn't take much to figure out that I was in a jail cell. A fuckin' jail cell, are you kidding me?

"I wouldn't move too much, if I were you." My head snapped up to the corner of the room where an old man with a stump leg sat. He was so quiet sitting there that I hadn't even noticed him before. "You were shot and broke your collar bone, and you have a slight concussion." He said, shifting his crutch to the other hand, and leaning back into his chair.

"Are you a doctor or a babysitter?" I asked through gritted teeth. They shot me and broke my fuckin' collar bone, and I have a concussion, and took my god damn machete. Fuckin' locked me up in here like I was some sort of criminal. The cot was so uncomfortable. I shifted to move onto my left side. "MOTHERFUCKER!"

"I told you, I wouldn't move too much." The old man reminded me. "And to answer your question, I'm a little bit of both. Now, I patched you up as best's I could, but you're gon' have to let it heal on its own for the most part." That didn't answer why he was in here watching me. But as if he read my mind he said, "I hope you don't mind me sittin' with you. With your concussion, I want to make sure you're still breathin' if you fall asleep again."

"Whatever, ol' man." I sighed and closed my eyes, just staring at the backs of my eyelids for a few minutes. How was I supposed to rest with this ol' coot watchin' me?

"And if it's not too much to ask, can you watch your language? There's youngin's around." I exhaled sharply in reply, and he just relaxed back in his chair.

"Children?" I asked him, to which he just nodded. Where am I? I wondered. How has this old man with half a leg survived in this world? How am I laying on a cot right now, and not dead? How are there children? I cleared my throat and opened my eyes, not wanting to see his face. It didn't work, and I could feel the tears begin to sting my eyes. "Hey, Doc, you got anything stronger for the pain? I am so uncomfortable."

"It's Hershel." He stated. "BETH!" He hollered, and not but five seconds later a young blonde woman was standing on the other side of the bars, with a baby in her arms. I blinked a few times to make sure that I was seeing things clearly.

"Yes, Daddy?" She looked at me, and I shifted my gaze to the corner of the room where her father sat.

"Would you mind gettin' me that bottle of sedatives in my bag, please sweetheart?" The girl nodded her head and eyed me one last time before shuffling off to find her father's bag. I could feel Hershel's eyes burning holes through me, but I kept staring at the top bunk. I refused to look at him and show him any emotion at all.

I'm dreaming."Where am I?" I asked him, eyes still posted on the mattress above mine. He sighed, and that was when I looked at him. "I mean, it's obvious I'm in a jail, righ'?"

"Well, priso-" He began to say, but was interrupted by his daughter. "Thank you, Junebug." I just swallowed to feeling of nausea. This is why I had left the groups I had been in before; the ties that bond. Family. That, or, maybe I just wasn't a people person. Beth opened the bars, after getting the go-ahead by her father. It's not like I can make a run for it. She handed him the black duffle bag, but she didn't leave. Instead, she lingered.

"I'm Beth." She said in a quiet, barely audible tone. She was no longer holding the baby that she was earlier. I just nodded in her direction and rolled my eyes. She couldn't have been more than fifteen, and already had a baby. Damn teenagers can't keep it in their pants even after the world has ended. "You could be a little bit more grateful. Rick and Daryl could've just left you out there to die."

"Beth." Her father scolded. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, before stomping out of the room. Hershel just sighed. "Here, take these." He handed me two pills and a bottle of water.

"Methadone?" I asked. "Where the hell did you find these?" And then I remembered that this man was a doctor, so he probably had his own private stash of drugs. "Not that it matters," I said quickly after seeing the shock on Hershel's face. "This shi- stuff was hard to come by even before the pharmacy's were wiped."

He didn't say anything. He just sat in his chair, bible in hand, subconsciously swaying back and forth. I watched him for a while, playing through different scenarios in my head of what it would be like to stay here with this group. Not that they would want me to become a part of it, anyway. I couldn't even if they did. They seem so conservative.

"How old?" I asked slowly, as I could feel myself becoming more and more drowsy.

"Pardon me?"

"How old is the baby?"

"She's coming up on a month now, give or take." Hershel replied.

I smiled to myself; remembering what it was like to hold my own child when he was only one month old. The joy that I felt, along with confusion, and love. "She?"

"Her name's Judith."

"That's a beautiful na-"

When I woke up, the sun was shining brightly through the barred windows. I glanced over to the corner of the room to see that Hershel was no longer by my side. The metal chair was empty. I tried sitting up, and while the pain was still there, it wasn't as bad as it had been before. "Ouch." I muttered.

I looked up to see a young boy standing in front of the cell. There was crust still in my eyes, and I couldn't make out his face. "Jeremiah?" I asked. He didn't say anything. "Jeremiah, baby." I asked as I wiped my eyes. I focused on the boy. He stood there, long dark brown hair, freckles, wearing a Sheriff's hat. "I'm sorry." I said, realizing my own mistake.

He just walked away, and I felt more alone now than I ever had. With each uncontrollable sob, pain shot throughout my entire body. But I couldn't help it. I was alone and I was crying because I was alone. I was crying because I was hurt.

I was crying because everything that I had was gone.