The warm, damp air pressed around the woman like a wet blanket, plastering loose tendrils of blonde hair to her forehead. She sat against the thick trunk of a hawthorn tree, its rough bark digging into the ridges of her spine as she scratched the tip of her last pen across the empty page.

Day god knows what: my jeep has run out of gas and the heat wave is insufferable. There's no food, and I'm running out of water. Jackson's wheezing is becoming a concern. I don't know how much lon

She stopped writing when the snapping twig pricked her sharp ears, almost immediately followed by the growl of her small black dog. She looked up, freezing as she gazed into the faces of a pack of dogs - housepets turned feral; two of them still had their collars, and she could just barely make out a name engraved on one of the silver tags: Jess. Eye contact was never broken between the woman and the once beloved companion as she slowly reached for the weapon resting against innocently against the tree beside her.

The eye contact she moved so softly in a desperate effort to hold was broken in an instant, her attention diverted to the lumbering sound of a larger being picking their way towards her. The woman swore under breath watching the dogs scatter, disappearing through the brush; away from the unseen predator.

"Son of a bitch." Her hand closed around the handle of her crossbow, and she shot up from her perch in the grass.

As she zigzagged through the trees after the dogs, she realized she hadn't given her own dog an order, although she quickly pushed the thought out of her mind. Jackson was relatively well trained. If it was a biter, he knew to run away. If it wasn't, he'd stand his ground.

The woman grunted as a heavy body leaped at her from behind, dragging her down to the forest floor. She struggled underneath her attacker, kicking her legs and fighting to keep him from forcing the air out of her lungs. The bastard needed to lose a few goddamn pounds.

He let up on her slightly and she managed to roll onto her back, immediately beating the heels of her hands against any fleshy surface she could reach. Grumbling at her assault, he wrestled her hands over her head, pinning her wrists together in one significantly larger hand. His palms were calloused against her skin, adding to his abrasive image. He straddled her torso and glared into cat-like eyes that glared right back, until her eyebrows drew together and her eyes dropped to somewhere beyond him. She watched the last dog slip from the treeline, met by the quiet pop, pop, pop, pop, pop of a suppressor. The dogs were dead.

Daryl's hard glare never wavered from the strange woman who had appeared out of nowhere. Correction - he had happened upon her. He looked her over through the dark hair that fell over his eyes, taking note of the odd shade of green her eyes were, the small pendant that rested on the skin between her collarbones. Was she alone?

"First time on top of a woman, huh?" she asked, her voiced laced with a cocky attitude he didn't like as much. She was looking at him again and breathing hard, her chest heaving steadily."Well, allow me to give you some tips. Number one, don't get too comfortable."

Daryl grunted as her forehead collided with his, stunning him enough for her to wiggle out from underneath him. When she got her footing, she brought his nose down to her knee and her elbow to the base of his neck.

"This was fun, let's not do it again!" she called over her shoulder as she ran out onto the road, momentarily forgetting about whoever shot the dogs until they caught sight of her. She turned to run back into the woods, and skidded to quick stop. There was a crossbow aimed between her pale green eyes.

"Who're you?" Daryl demanded gruffly, blood trickling from his nose.

She could tell he wasn't a people person.

"I could ask you the same thing," the woman scoffed, anxiously watching the large group make its way over to her. They surrounded her, their weapons raised.

"Put it down," a man with greying hair and piercing blue eyes ordered her.

She flicked her gaze lazily around the circle, her eyes landing on the teenaged boy with the same eyes and the baby girl held in his arms. A scoff was barely held back; she couldn't imagine bringing a baby into this world.

Sighing, she relented and put her crossbow on the ground at her feet.

Rick studied the woman; her skin was smudged with dirt, her eyes were looking at them all with distrust. She looked lean, like at the very least she hadn't been struggling for food lately.

He thought she could be trusted.

"Are you alone?"

"No."

"How many of you are there?"

"It's just me and my dog," she replied with a small shrug, "and my car, but it's empty."

"Go get your stuff, get your car, we'll wait here," Rick said calmly, motioning for his group to lower their weapons. A woman with short brown hair ran back and returned with a red gas can.

"Are you sure you can spare it?" the woman asked, cocking a blonde eyebrow. Rick nodded.

"I-I'll go with her... Make sure she doesn't run away."

She turned to the voice and saw a Korean boy holding a machine gun. The leader of the group nodded, and she swiftly turned on her heel, heading back the way she came. She sinply couldn't resist throwing the redneck a cocky wink as she went.

"So... what's your name?" Glenn asked after bushwhacking in tense silence.

She considered for a moment, deciding against giving him a fake name. "Maisie," she answered finally.

"I'm Glenn."

"I didn't ask," she replied, smirking at him over her shoulder. He rolled his eyes in response.

Maisie approached the clearing she had been sitting in, eyebrows knitting together when she saw her little black shadow had disappeared.

"Jackson!" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down.

"Oh, a puppy," Glenn said absently.

As he bent down to pick it up, Maisie whipped around, gun drawn.

"Don't touch him!"

Keeping his eyes on the gun, he straightened up and backed away.

"Sorry," they said in unison. They locked eyes for a second before Maisie broke the hold and looked away.

"I really am sorry. You seem nice," she said, "Unlike that redneck," she added under her breath.

Glenn cracked a smile. "You mean Daryl?"

"The neanderthal has a name?" Maisie simpered sardonically, rolling her eyes.

While Glenn watched on, he busied herself with closing her journal and shoving it into her backpack, along with her pen, almost empty water bottle, knives, bullets, car keys, and a small pouch full of wildberries stacked on top to keep them from getting squished.

Tucking a greasy strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ears, she blew a short, sharp whistle with her tongue. Jackson came running, pink tongue lolling from his mouth. She slipped her arms through the straps of her backpack and scooped up the small dog, frowning slightly. He was usually much thicker, but he'd lost weight.

"Is it supposed to make that noise?" Glenn worried, watching the woman cuddle the dog to her chest as she walked.

"He," she corrected him, "and yeah, kinda. He doesn't breathe as well as other dogs, due to his smushed face, and the heat wave has been bad for him, so he wheezes a lot lately."

"Huh," Glenn replied, reaching out and scratching between Jackson's ears. "Cute."

"My jeep's just up here," Maisie said suddenly after twenty minutes of silent walking, broken only by their footsteps and the gasoline sloshing in the gas can. They reached the black jeep as a fat biter came stumbling from the woods.

"I got it," Maisie muttered, slipping the dog through the open window and advancing on the biter with her hand on the knife at her hip. She yanked it out of its sheath just in time and plunged it into the dead man's skull.

Glenn filled up the Jeep carefully, ensuring every drop landed in the tank. When he was finished, he stashed the empty can in the trunk, shooting her a skeptical look as she seated herself behind the wheel.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-five."

"Oh," he said softly, unable to keep his eyebrows from knitting together. "You look... younger."

"Thanks? C'mon, hop in," she urged, slipping the key into the ignition and starting the engine.

Glenn hesitated for a moment before yanking open the door and hopping into the passenger seat.

"What the hell, man?" Daryl grunted thickly, the drying blood sticky on his skin as he got in Rick's face. "We ain't waitin' around for that psychotic bitch," he growled.

"Well, we are waiting for Glenn," Maggie snapped.

He backed off with a scowl that deepened watching the black Jeep roll into view.

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