The sight Isaac got when he saw the half-mile wreckage gave him a headache; trees and electrical poles had come down across the top of cars now caked in dust and dirt, each one of them now being mistaken for brown if you weren't paying attention.

His body twisted as he squeezed down the biggest gap left by the cars, which was no wider than himself facing head-on. Isaac held his beige messenger bag high, his crowbar raised in the same hand as he glanced back to ensure he touched nothing behind him. He'd been warned about this; his mother had explored this far and explained exactly what he'd run into on his search for supplies. Apparently, it was the same for her too, but Isaac knew she'd have a much easier time than he was.

Usually, they'd have done this together, but going so long without food meant they had to take separate directions, find what they could, and meet up back in the town they had been staying in. Isaac wanted to move on, just as his mum did. The debris on either road out of town gave them safety from people, but their supplies were dwindling, and they wouldn't last there.

When he made it through the congested road, he continued straight. There was no other direction, not for a long time, and even if there was, he knew where he was going. With just the two of them, his mother ensured that he knew how to read the map within a couple of weeks. He picked up his speed as he crossed an open junction, unsure of the dangers in any direction, and when he was concealed in his one road, he moved on.

It was hot out. Isaac played with the idea of taking off his jumper, but he decided against it. Now only his hands were exposed, and really he wanted to keep it that way. It was safer that way—safer for him, at least.

Isaac walked next to the tree line. He had to. As much cover as the forest provided, he preferred staying on the road, that way he'd know exactly where he was going. Besides, the infected could also hide in the forest, and that thought made him uneasy enough as it was. But the infected was the last thing he should've been worried about.

A hum that grew louder with each passing second, one that made him do a double take. On his second glance, he saw the shimmer of sunlight on metal, and the white moved across the top as it grew closer. Car! Car! People! Isaac didn't know what to do, because he'd made himself believe something like this happening was impossible.

"Shit," he muttered, and dove for a bush beside him.

The car stopped just beside him, pulling over to his side of the road. He heard the curchunk of the handles, and the doors closed one after the other. Isaac moved back into the tree line, close to the ground, biting down so hard on the inside of his cheek that he thought it'd bleed. Shoes scraped in front of the bush he managed to move from.

Isaac held his breath, a hand coming up to pull at his curls. Go away, go away, his mind pleaded, and Isaac had to check that he wasn't saying anything out loud. His hand came down over his face, his palm digging into the skin under his neck as he cursed himself to be quiet.

"What is it?" A male voice asked.

Move! Move! Isaac was still, his eyes closed as he listened for the men and their locations. Despite their proximity, and the fact that he was allowed to hide behind the bush he'd chosen, he assumed that maybe they just missed him.

"Thought I saw something."

A sharp breath rushed out of him, and he covered his mouth with his hand. They'd just missed him, at least to see who or what he was, or pinpoint his hiding spot. That was all Isaac needed to hear before he started moving backwards, now in the tree line, and taking large steps back the way he came. If they thought it was a person, as he was, they would expect him to keep on in the same direction he'd been walking anyway. There was a small chance they wouldn't look back his way. At least, that's what he hoped.

Isaac peered around the tree. Two men—one with longer hair than the other, and far messier—had now turned, looking out into the trees opposite them. The same long-haired man had a crossbow hung over his shoulder, and he could see the shiny glint of a gun on the other's belt. But it wasn't the men he cared about anymore, because Isaac's eyes landed on a navy blue bag discarded by the front of the car. The men looked well off enough, none of them skinny enough to be starving. Not like him.

He needed it.

Still crouched, he moved out from behind the bush and sneaked down until he reached the car. Fumes burnt at his nose from them leaving the car on as they looked around. He knew he'd have to work faster because of this because they'd see him when they got back in the car.

Twisting around, Isaac considered all possibilities, as he was always forced to do. Mainly, he needed a plan for getting caught, but if they caught him from here on, no apology would fix this. His mind buzzed at the thought of fighting the two of them, knowing he'd just lose. They had guns, one had a crossbow, and they had knives. For a couple of travellers, they were quite well stocked.

"We ain't found anyone today," the messy one said. "Good as place as any to start huntin'."

There was a delayed hum from the short-haired man.

Isaac knew he'd have to work quickly because if they'd decided to go hunting there, they would see him take the bag. On a normal day, he'd wait and move on, but the next town was still a 30-minute walk away and he'd been moving all day. He wanted to get back more than anything, but he couldn't do that empty-handed. They wouldn't last much longer.

Despite what they said, the men were still standing side by side when Isaac lifted his head, keeping his hands planted on his jeans as he looked at them. Neither of them made a move to turn for the bag.

Isaac took slow, paused steps to the bag.

"Been a good day," the messy guy continued.

"Yes it has," came the drawn-out reply from the other man.

Isaac made it to the front of the car and stopped. He stayed low, his head coming around the side where he'd seen the bag originally. It was still there, scrunched over against the car, but full enough that it could have supported its weight if it had been placed with any kind of care.

Not touching the dusty car, he stepped forward and grabbed the handle of the bag, cringing slightly.

"HEY!"

Isaac shot up in fright, swinging the bag over his shoulder in one quick motion. He could hear his heart in his head as his eyes landed on the men again. Both men had seen him. Here goes nothing. Isaac knew he had to run, but his feet wouldn't move from their place. There was no way he'd be able to fight them both off, and he wanted to keep the bag.

For some reason, it crossed his mind that maybe these people weren't that bad. In the few seconds he'd been standing there, they made no further move to attack him or get their bag back. Anyone else would have shot him. He didn't take these gestures on blind faith, though, and the hesitation remained gripped on his chest.

He said nothing, unsure of what could get him out of this situation.

The one with short brown hair raised a hand, keeping the other one out and away from the holstered revolver. "Now hold on."

He seemed sincere. It was only when the other man with the long messy hair took a step forward, that Isaac bolted. He couldn't take any chances, not that he wanted the man near him in the first place. He spun on his feet and sprinted off into the woods behind him.

"Hey!" Isaac practically felt the footsteps of the man who ran after him. "Get back here ya lil' shit!"

He could hear the other person call out to his friend, but Isaac was too far away to make out the muffled name as he imagined the second man giving chase. He couldn't turn back—wouldn't. Isaac only ran faster.

It was not long before the redneck grew so close to him that Isaac could feel the breath from his heavy pants tickling the back of his neck. He reached out, snatching the handle on top of the backpack, and yanked back hard. Isaac flinched and fell forward, landing his whole weight down onto his right arm. He let out a loud yell, rolling so he could unwrap himself from against the tree he landed on.

When he realised how close the man was, body against one of his legs, he worked out that he brought the redneck down with him. Isaac tried pushing himself away. As the man realised where he was, and what happened to them, he grabbed at Isaac's leg and pushed himself to his knees to get more leverage.

"Give it back!" The man snapped.

Isaac was on his back now, trying to use his arms to pull himself away as he shook violently, doing anything to make the man get off of him. "Let go of me!"

He could hear the other man calling out, Isaac knew it would only be a short amount of time before he would get to them. Anxiety tightened in his throat; he couldn't even feel the pain in his arm anymore. He kicked harder now, able to see the man well enough to aim his attacks with more precision. He pulled his free leg back, and swung it forward as hard as he could, landing it against the man's lower chest.

Messy Hair spluttered and coughed, releasing Isaac's leg as his arms wrapped around his torso and his head fell to touch against the ground. Isaac didn't envy him one bit. He jumped to his feet and ran off, just meeting eyes with the second man who didn't try pursuing him. The man just knelt by his friend, giving Isaac the chance he needed to get away.

It was a good few minutes before Isaac could feel his arm again, the pain throbbing the second the adrenaline left his body. He felt like he was going to throw up, and knew that if he didn't stop soon, he would regret it. He pushed on because stopping now presented the opportunity of getting caught up and it felt like all the fight had been ripped out of him.

Holding the bottom of his elbow, he pushed on, walking maybe twenty more minutes when he saw a cabin. It would have to do, giving him shelter from any infected while he worked out what he could do for his arm. Isaac kicked his foot against the door once, twice, three times and waited on bated breath. If he heard anything inside, he would go. He still had the crowbar, but with his dominant hand out of action, he didn't trust himself to take out a walker with the crowbar on his left.

It was too much for him.

The cabin was empty like someone hadn't moved in or furnished the building yet. No sofa, no tables, no nothing. Not that it mattered to him. The doors and walls were all that he cared about so long as he paid no mind to the indications that the place was empty. The pain and nausea seemed to override his common worries for a second, and he just wanted somewhere to sit and rest for a while to see if the pain would leave his arm.

He sat down in the empty centre room and sighed. Isaac leaned forward, pulling the bag towards him with his left, now cringing as he noticed the darker patches of dirt implemented into the bag's new design. He wiped some of it with his navy-sleeved elbow, realising now the newer splotches must have been put there by him when he fell over.

Inside he saw a few things that piqued his interest: a water bottle, batteries, a small foldable knife and two foil-wrapped lumps which Isaac had to guess was food. Really the only thing he'd been looking for when he set out that morning. It wasn't a lot, enough for the two of them that day, but that was it.

Isaac closed the bag, placing it on the ground beside himself. Then he opened the messenger bag he'd brought with him, pulling a map out of the notebook to work out where he was. It didn't take long, and he was confident he would get back, taking a different path, of course. He didn't want to run into anyone else. He would have to leave soon, head back to the house, and get back to his mother. But she had a long way to go as well, and with his trip cut short, he'd probably beat her back. Isaac rested his head back against the wall and just breathed.

A creak at the front door was faint, but enough to get his attention. In front of him was the man with the crossbow. Isaac scrambled to his feet, hooking his arm through the bag and gripping the crowbar in his hand. He couldn't fight the man again, so he turned for the back door, but before he could run through he skidded to a stop before he could run into the other man, who blocked the second door.

He stepped back, glancing over his shoulder. His only other form of escape was the window, but he knew he'd be grabbed before he could even make it there. These men were too close now, and there was nothing he could do.

"Easy now," the crossbow man said. "Don' do anythin' stupid."

Isaac pursed his lips. He hated giving up the stash, but he was certain that if he didn't he could end up with a bolt through him, and the image of the blood trickling down from a wound made him cringe. He lowered his shoulder dropping the handle of the backpack down the length of his arm and finagling it around the crowbar before dropping it towards the crossbowman.

"Take it," he offered. "You can have it."

"Course I can have it," the redneck snapped, snatching the bag up from the ground, "I's mine."

They each took a step into the room, closing in on him. This is it, he thought. The second man, again, held his hand up in a way that Isaac could now see that he was showing he wasn't a threat, though the one next to his gun remained there this time, maybe scared that Isaac would bolt again.

"I can go," Isaac said after a long moment of silence. "You have your things back, just let me go."

They both stared at him but made no move to do as he asked. The one he was looking at, the short-haired man, shared a look with the redneck, but they both remained quiet, somehow communicating whatever plan they had in their stare. It did nothing but make him uneasy, as he was unable to read their expressions.

Isaac shifted uncomfortably, lifting his elbow to hold the hurt arm against his chest, and he grunted as he did so, getting the attention of the man standing in front of him.

"You're hurt."

It was a fact Isaac was sorely aware of and didn't really need to be reminded. His arm had been pulsing since he'd gotten away, and he could already see the reddening of his skin that he was certain would be swollen in a few hours. There was a small moment of relief when the men cornered and scared him, but the pain quickly started up again when they didn't kill him.

"Yeah, thanks to your buddy," Isaac snapped.

"Shouldn't be stealin'," came the redneck's excuse following a scoff.

"Daryl," the man corrected, and said, "I'm Rick. Rick Grimes."

So they aren't going to kill me? Isaac had been waiting for it, but the tone Rick was giving him was softer than that of someone who wanted him dead. Now that he thought about it, Daryl seemed pissed about his things getting stolen, but he never threatened him in any way. Isaac still couldn't trust them, but if he could get out of this situation alive, he might get to see his mother again.

"What's your name?" Rick asked.

Isaac was quiet for a moment, contemplating his answer. His eyes landed on Daryl, who just squinted at him. Eventually, he did answer, "Isaac . . . Wright."

"Isaac," Rick gave a nod. "We have a group, someone who can fix that for you."

Isaac and his mother hadn't been with a group for a long time, and a part of him thought that there weren't anymore. They had spoken about it, but it always ended with the conclusion that no matter what was being said, they could never be sure that the people were any good.

He shook his head. "I'll be fine."

"Or you might not, you stopped here for a reason," Rick said. "Our group, there's women and children, kids your age. They're good people. And like I said, someone can take a look at your arm, give you some painkillers."

Isaac barely heard what he was saying about the doctor if there even was a doctor. His mother had been wanting to find good people, but they both knew if they ever got the chance, they would cower and hide instead. Even though she put on a tough act, he knew she missed being around people. In all honesty, he did too.

But whether they'd wasn't to stay was completely up in the air. They'd had groups before, but it had been a long time and they'd grown comfortable with being on their own. He couldn't decide to stay with anyone on his own, needing his mother to talk about something like that.

"Are you alone?" Rick asked. "I understand your hesitation—"

"It's not just me. I—" Isaac stopped himself, unsure of how much detail to go into. "If we join you, and you're lying . . ."

He didn't want to get into the possibilities, because they knew what he was getting at. Although he didn't want to, he could see the understanding look in Rick's nod, how Daryl shifted on his feet. Despite what Rick had told him, he didn't have the skills to see whether he was telling the truth about the members of his group.

"No," Isaac finished.

"How many are you?" Rick asked.

Isaac hesitated. "It's just the two of us."

Rick gave a nod, hands resting on his hips. He glanced down, seeing Isaac's own bag against his leg, "Do you have any other weapons?"

"No," Isaac answered honestly. "Do you want to look?"

"No," Rick shook his head. "I believe you."

Isn't that nice.

There was a long moment of silence as Rick met Daryl's eyes, and Daryl gave a nod as if they had some plan in place for this kind of situation. Isaac just waited on bated breath, his chest completely still as he tried to work out what they were silently agreeing on in their glances.

Isaac flinched violently when Rick's hand met his holstered gun, breathing out a sigh when saw Rick pull it upwards, catching the gun at the barrel. He stared at the weapon in confusion when Rick held the handle out towards him. "Take it, come back with us, check the place out. If we're lying, you can shoot me."

Daryl made no argument, which either meant that they had some kind of plan or he was confident that Rick would not get shot because they were telling the truth. The thing that convinced him was that both of the men seemed well fed, and had spare food for runs in their backpacks, water. They needed stuff like that. And in all honesty, he missed being around people.

Isaac reached for the barrel, but Rick pulled it back just a little. "After we can get whoever it is you're travelling with and bring them back. Then we need both of you to answer three questions before you can join the group."

Reasonable request for someone who has the possibility of being shot. Isaac gave a nod, "Okay."

Rick pushed the gun his way again, and Isaac gripped the handle.

"Do you know how it works?" Rick asked.

"I can work it out," Isaac said.

"Okay," Rick said.

Daryl made a turn for the door, and Rick raised a hand to place on Isaac's shoulder, but he jumped out of the way. Rick stared at him, but after a moment of contemplation, he just nodded his head to the door.

As Rick led him outside, Isaac saw that they parked the truck a few minutes down the road. He opened the back door for Isaac to get inside, which he did, still holding the gun, the crowbar tucked under his arm. He dropped his own weapon on the seat next to him, lifting his hurt arm up across the middle of his chest so the pained wrist sat over his shoulder.

The quiet hum of the truck started a moment later, and Isaac was now suddenly very aware of his situation. It was nice, for a moment. The seat was comfortable, and he was not able to rest, even if it was just for a little while.

He played with it in the car, checking for bullets inside and seeing that all the mechanisms worked. Isaac believed them now, he didn't like them, but he believed they had a group and didn't want to kill him now. Going this far out of their way, only wanting him to answer three questions, part of it seemed too easy.

The hum of the car calmed him down, and he kept his eyes out the window, not wanting to see if there was rubbish or anything they could have discarded. After a quick glance, he saw that the back of the truck was empty, clean. He liked that.

In the rearview mirror, he saw Rick looking at him occasionally but kept his mind prepared and turned away from his eye. On the odd chance this man was lying about his group, he didn't want to feel too close.

"I'm sorry about your arm," Rick said after a long while of silence. "We should have handled that better."

Isaac assumed the injury was a sprain because he didn't really feel a snap as he fell over. Mainly his hand was just crushed between his own body and the hard root of a tree he landed next to. The severity was unknown, but he was almost sure that nothing was broken.

He opened his mouth to communicate this, but Daryl beat him to it, "Shouldn't've been stealin' shit."

"We've been there," Rick recalled in a quieter voice, glancing at for only a second Daryl.

"We ain't never stole anythin'."

Isaac felt his face redden with embarrassment. Maybe they had been in a similar situation before, as Rick had suggested, but never stealing? If they hadn't stolen from anyone, then there was a good chance that they never had the opportunity. Maybe they weren't desperate enough. Or maybe they were just honest looters.

For some reason, Isaac doubted that.

Don't worry, Ace is okay and she'll be here soon.

This character has been in the works for a very, very long time, so let me know what you think of Isaac.

I hope you enjoyed :)