[A/N: Hi all. This is my first fanfic. Hope you enjoy (and i'm very interested in your thoughts on it). I'm having a freakin' blast writing it!]

With the sun warm on her back and dancing off the eddying river in front of her, Asha could almost ignore the stench of putrefying flesh that lay thick in the air. The gurgle of the water was peaceful and she scanned its surface for the telltale signs that the pool in front of her harboured fish. She deliberately didn't look at the corpse spread eagled on the grassy bank at the edge of her line of sight. A flap of greying flesh hung from its face where she'd scraped it with her knife, and the rest of its face sagged away from the gaping hole in its forehead where she'd finally driven her knife home. The deadhead's milky eyes were glassy, staring unseeing at the clear blue sky, and it's swollen tongue protruded through its lipless maw. Asha could smell it though, the stink cloying in the back of her throat, like week old ungutted fish left stewing in the sun.

She closed her mind to it, letting her thoughts drift aimlessly as her eyes tracked across the surface of the water. A blank mind was a true luxury these days, a chance to forget the fear, the hunger, the unrelenting loneliness—if just for a moment. It wasn't a luxury she often allowed herself, but she'd have fair warning of anything coming up on her. The scrub behind her was too thick for anything to get to get close without making plenty of noise. She had clear view to her right, and downstream to her left, she could see a few hundred meters to the partially obscured bridge spanning the river just beyond the bend. She could just make out a number of abandoned cars on the bridge, but so far it had been quiet— either that or she just hadn't gotten close enough to stir up any of the deadheads yet. Her pack was only a foot away if she had to make a run for it, and she did have to eat.

So she leant further out the river, bracing herself with one hand wrapped in a tree growing on the water's edge, spear gun held low and ready in the other hand, and watched for the shadows moving just under the surface of the water.

Her arm began to ache after a bit and she grimaced slightly. Her brother was a lot better at this. For a second she thought longingly about a stretch of ocean with a bit of reef or rocky headland. If she had that— and a pair of fins and snorkel to go with her spear gun— hunger would be one less thing she had to worry about. She shook her head slightly to dislodge the thought. She was in the backwoods in Georgia and the river was what she had to work with.

Nash had taught her the basics, but spearing fish in the little pools of relatively still water along the river's edge was a lot different to dealing with ocean currents. More often than not she came up empty handed. She had one small fish to show for her mornings work already, but she'd seen movement in the pool earlier and she could almost taste the larger fish that was hiding there just out of sight.

Nash had always managed to get them something. Asha's hands trembled slightly as she remembered the herd that had separated them.

They'd more or less been sticking to the river as they travelled, breaking away every now and then to scavenge through isolated farms and the occasional small town. But they always came back to the river. It had been their life blood so far and the rough plan had been follow to it downstream, maybe all the way to West Point Lake, until they found somewhere to hole up for the winter.

In the past they'd been able to avoid any large groups of deadheads by crossing the river. Sure, all of their gear got wet and it was a pain in the ass, but so far they hadn't encountered any walkers who could cope with the fast moving current.

Her gut clenched involuntarily as she remembered how they'd been caught out. They'd become lax— lulled into a false sense of security by having the water at their backs. But this time, when the herd came through, they hadn't been together. Nash had been in the woods, checking some snares they'd set up in the hope of breaking their monotonous fish diet. Asha had been near the water, and though she'd held out as long as she could, scrabbling together as much of their gear as she could manage, desperately screaming her brother's name, she'd eventually been forced to flee across the river.

The extra time she had spent on the river bank had nearly cost her dearly. Her shouts had drawn a swarm of deadheads to her, and more than usual had followed close on her heels out into the water. A fleshless hand had grasped her shoulder as she'd stumbled into the deep water, forcing her sideways into the water as she lost her footing. For a few panicked moments she had been pinned against the rock riverbed as gnashing teeth fought their way towards her face - until she'd been able to get her spear gun around and through cadaver's head, kicking desperately away to avoid the plume of infected blood and gunk that spewed forth as she yanked the spear free. That incident had nearly put her in reach of some of the other deadheads who'd followed her into the river, and for a few tense minutes she had swum frantically for the far bank, until she outdistanced them across the current, and dragged herself sobbing and shaking out of the water.

She been afraid to leave the river after that. The herd must have forced Nash away from the river, but she knew he'd come back to it.

She continued downstream, stopping every so often to carve a coded sign into a tree. She had worked out the code with Nash early on— just in case they got separated. At first she hadn't been too worried, confident they would meet up within a day or two. But as the days turned into a week, then two, and now almost a month, the fear had settled in a cold dark ball at the base of her spine and she could feel its fingers trailing through her body whenever she thought of her brother.

He wasn't dead. She felt sure she would know it in her bones if he was.

She had taken to crossing the river every few days, to make sure she was leaving a trail on both sides— and anxiously searching for any sign her brother had passed by. The chill in the water on the last crossing had reminded her that she couldn't keep this up indefinitely. The river was fine in the tail end of summer, but the plan had always been to find somewhere more secure to ride out the winter. Her mind shuddered away from the thought of leaving the river, leaving the place Nash would look for her.

A few more days.

A few more days and then she would start looking for somewhere nearby to ride out the winter. Somewhere secure where she could sleep for more than an hour at a time, maybe stockpile some food. She was tired, all the way through to her bones and her soul. The snatches of sleep she could manage without someone to trade watch with weren't enough. The meagre fish she caught were keeping her alive for now, but without being supplemented by scavenging runs into towns, she was losing strength quickly and knew it.

Just a few more days.

A shriek shattered the air. Asha jerked involuntarily, cursing as her shadow startled the fish she'd been stalking and it darted out of the pool.

In the direction of the bridge, the shriek resolved itself into a baby's scream, the sound suddenly interspersed with shouting voices and the crack of gunfire. Asha winced at the sound, and hesitated for a long moment before swinging herself back to the bank, grabbing up her pack and stuffing her paltry fish in the top of set off quickly over the gravelly bank towards the sound.

Baby meant people. People were dangerous, and she generally avoided them. But if Nash was anywhere nearby, that sound would draw him like a beacon. He knew as well as she did what people were capable of these days, but somehow he hadn't absorbed that lesson into the very core of his being the same way she had.

As she neared the bridge, she darted into the cover of the trees along the bank, scrambling up the steep embankment towards the side of the road leading onto the bridge. She peered around a tree as she approached the edge of the road, before darting forward to crouch behind a car that had half slid into the embankment.

The baby's cries were coming from a red station wagon about halfway across the bridge. Asha could just make out a dark haired woman in the front passenger seat, clutching the infant to her chest, her face streaked with tears. A blast of gunfire drew her attention to the nearby open tray back of a large truck, where a man and teenaged boy— father and son she assumed— were firing desperately at the swarm of deadheads weaving in between the cars on the bridge. Asha grit her teeth at the noise. They were ringing the god damn dinner bell. How had they lasted this long without knowing better?

She quickly scanned the trees behind her and swore under her breath when one of the dead staggered from the trees a few meters to her right. His filmy, off center eyes quickly fixed on her and lit up with bestial hunger. He lurched forwards, clawlike hands outstretched.

Asha caught a glimpse of a second not far behind him as she swung her spear gun around and stepped forward to meet him, driving the point of the spear up under his jaw and into his skull. She hissed in irritation as the spear refused to come free and the deadhead's collapsing weight dragged it to the ground. She let it go for the moment, grabbing her knife from the sheath strapped to her thigh and backing into a crouch to let the second deadhead come to her. It stumbled slightly as it tripped on the first body, and Asha lashed out with a quick kick that sent it sprawling before leaping onto it and burying her knife in its skull. A quick survey of the trees didn't show any further immediate threat, and she backed up quickly against the car, breathing hard, to check on the status on the bridge.

The baby still screamed, but Asha thought she could make out an undercurrent of the mother's rapid prayer in spanish. Her stomach dropped as she realised a deadhead was scrambling through the open boot of the station wagon. Another had its hands wrapped around the father's leg and was dragging him off the tray back, whilst his son fought to hold on to him by his shoulders. As far as Asha could see neither father nor son had a gun any more.

She swore and started shrugging her pack off, but before she had her arms free, the corpse clawing at the father suddenly rocked back, a crossbow bolt between its eyes, and slumped to the ground. Frozen, Asha looked on stunned as a man strode onto the bridge, cocked crossbow at his shoulder.

He was a rangy guy, but solidly muscled, scruffy dark hair falling over his face. He moved towards the back of the truck, near the father and son. His eyes were focused and he exhaled a sharp breath— the only sign that he was at all fazed by the dozen or so deadheads still on the bridge. In a single fluid motion, he fired a bolt into a rotting head of blond hair then yanked it out and stabbed it into the skull of second deadhead.

Taking advantage of the distraction, the father had leapt off the tray back and was rummaging around the refuse on the ground. When he stood up, he had his gun in his hand. The newcomer said something to him, but a frantic 'no entiende, no entiende' was the response.

Asha bit her lip, the hispanic family obviously didn't know the newcomer.

The bowman hissed in irritation, but quickly turned his attention back to the dead. There was a startled scream from the woman in the station wagon as the deadhead clawing at the windscreen of the station collapsed with a bolt in its brain. The man didn't bother to reload, just raised the bow like a club and bludgeoned a second corpse against the passenger side window. Behind him, the father picked off the dead with steady clean headshots. The bowman moved quickly around the station wagon and bodily dragged the deadhead out before slamming the boot door on its head with a sickening crunch.

A second newcomer strolled onto the bridge. He was big man, somewhat older than the bowman, but despite his silver hair, it was a bigness of bone and ropy muscle rather than fat. A faint sneer was playing about his lips as he meandered through the abandoned cars. His right hand was missing, but his forearm was covered in some sort of strapping, and Asha started slightly as he casually reached out with the stump and shoved a deadhead over the edge of the bridge.

He casually raised the handgun in his left hand.

'Oi! Walker.' He called out calmly to draw the bowman's attention to a cadaver lurching towards his back.

The bowman turned and then jerked out of the way as the one handed man shot the walker cleanly through the skull.

The newcomers obviously had the deadhead situation under control, so Asha took the moment to recover her spear gun. She planted a foot on what was left of the corpse's chest and jiggled it around a few times.

It was stuck fast. She slid her knife into the deadhead's jaw along the spear shaft and had to work the spear head lose before she was able to yank it out, grunting with the effort, and splattering herself with globules of flesh. She gagged involuntarily.

The two newcomers were obviously adept at dealing the dead, but she was far less inclined to show herself now they were involved. In Asha's experience, men with those skills weren't necessarily known for their altruistic tendencies. She doubted their presence on the bridge boded well for the family.

Her jaw clenched, but based on what she'd just seen she wasn't about to take on either of them for the sake of strangers. Gotta be smart about things now. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

She crouched back at the front of the car and peered warily around it. The father was struggling hand to hand with a deadhead, whilst the one handed man leaned idly against one of the abandoned cars, looking on with a mildly amused expression.

The bowman loosed another bolt before pulling a knife from his belt and driving it into the skull of the walker struggling with the father. Then he leant back and kicked it squarely in the chest, sending it off the bridge.

It was the last of the immediate walkers, and the bowman and father exchanged a careful look. The father was tight around the eyes, his chest heaving from exertion. The bowman, on the other hand, looked perfectly calm.

The one handed man pushed himself off the abandoned car and strode over to the station wagon. He peered through the bloody smear of walker brain on the front side window, the fingers of his one hand waggling in a little wave. His back was to Asha, but the woman inside drew back, her arms tightening around her babe.

Asha realised she was grinding her teeth as he yanked open the back passenger door behind the mother and child and started rummaging through the family's belongings.

The father took an angry step forwards, shouting something in spanish, his gun half raised. In an instant, the one handed man's gun was pointed unwaveringly at the father's head. Asha's mouth opened slightly, he moved much quicker than she'd expected for a guy of his size and age.

'Slow down there'. His southern drawl was coldly quiet. 'That ain't no way to say thanks.'

He kept his gun trained on the father, who dropped his gun hand to his side and uttered something placatingly sounding in spanish.

The bowman had moved away from the father and was discretely circling around the far side of the station wagon. The father looked across at him, the whites showing around his eyes, and said something else in spanish. From the lack of response, Asha assumed neither newcomer spoke any more spanish than she did.

'Let 'em go,' the younger man said, his gravelly voice quiet, crossbow hanging loosely in one hand.

Asha could feel the weight in the air as his companion looked at him for a long moment.

'Bah,' he spat. 'Least they can do is give us an enchilada or somethin.'

He turned back to pillaging the backseat of the car. There was the sound of glass breaking and material ripping.

The son started towards the car, but his father held out a hand staying him, looking desperately at the man with the bow again, who had kept up his slow circuit of the car and was nearing his companion. The bowman paused, a flicker of conflicting emotions playing across his face, then he raised his crossbow and poked his companion in the back with it. The man in the car went very still.

'Get out of the car'.

'Oh i know you ain't talking to me brother.'

Asha's eyes widened slightly. Brothers. Right.

The older man straightened slowly from the back seat and turned around, eyeing his brother along the bolt pointed at his head. There was the hint of a sneer around his mouth, but his eyes blazed.

'Get in your car and get the hell outta here,' shouted the younger man. The father and son didn't move.

'Go' he roared, gesturing at the car without taking his eyes off his brother.

The meaning of that was clear enough. The father and son piled in and the wheels spun as the red wagon reversed back off the bridge in the direction it had come from.

For a long moment the brothers stared at each other down the length of the crossbow, then the older man reached out and pushed the crossbow up out of his face.

The bowman gave a half snort and stormed away immediately, the tension written plainly in his stiff back and angry strides.

Asha flattened herself behind the car as he came in her direction, but he only paused to scoop up a pack he must have dropped earlier and wrench a couple of bolts from the bodies of walkers before striding into the woods on the other side of the road. His brother followed more slowly, the sneer now open on his face.

Asha slowly exhaled, releasing the breath she hadn't realised she was was unexpected. Her heart was pounding and her mind working overtime.

She quickly scanned the trees, relieved there were no walkers in her immediate vicinity. The hispanic family were gone, but the brothers... They were on foot and didn't have much gear. They couldn't have come from too far away, and if they'd been in the area for a while they might have seen Nash. Her breath hitched.

Those two might be rough around the edges— well, they might be rough all the way through, the older one especially— but they had gone to help that family. To be fair, that looked like it could mostly be credited to the younger brother— but if the worst that had happened was that the family had lost some of their food to the older brother, Asha wasn't sure that she wouldn't call that a fair trade.

She sucked her teeth, trying to work some moisture back into her mouth. The thought of approaching them terrified her, but the behaviour she'd just seen on the bridge was the best indication she was likely to get that she wouldn't be robbed, killed or raped on sight.

Probably.

It was still a gamble.

She hesitated a long moment, knuckles white where they gripped her spear, and then swore violently, lurched to her feet and and started off in the direction the brothers had vanished. Sometimes you just have to roll the dice.

She paused when she reached the middle of the road. Risky, a voice murmured in the back of her mind. She ignored it and clambered quickly onto the hood of a car, slowly turning a full circle, eyes searching across the bridge and into the trees.

It was a long shot, but if Nash was nearby, watching like she had been, she wanted to give him the chance to see her.

Of course, someone else might see her too, but anyone who was watching had already had plenty of opportunity to intervene. Still, her skin crawled whilst she stood up there like a target, and when she'd turned the full 360 degrees without seeing anything other than a handful of deadheads coming down the road in either direction, she leapt down with a mix of relief and disappointment, and headed into the woods after the brothers.