Hello readers! This is my first Walking Dead fic, and as much as I love the whole Daryl/Carol relationship, I still had an OC that suited him floating around in my head. So this is what it turned into. Also, the Chapter titles are songs for a bit of a soundtrack for this fic. The first one, "Moving On", is from the soundtrack to The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (the one with Brad Pitt in it).

Please please please review after you read. I really appreciate the feedback.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE WALKING DEAD OR ANY OF THE SONGS USED AS TITLES FOR THIS FANFICTION.

The nightmares were back. Kyra curled in on herself, whimpering and moaning in terror. They were coming, they were coming, everyone else was dead, the zombies were after her next…

Her eyes snapped open with more force than a cut cord. She sat up and breathed hard. The bedroom around her was empty, the house was empty… She knew now what she had to do. She rolled out of bed, brewed a pot of coffee, and began packing. Hopefully Cousin Hershel was still alive despite all of this madness going on.

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The road was dark, the entire world was dark. It was peaceful, almost. Thanks to the resident roving zombie hordes, no one dared come out at night anymore. So she enjoyed the silence, and drove the empty roads without the radio on.

The quiet was jarred by screeching from the engine. It sputtered and coughed, and finally gave out in the middle of the road. She punched the dash and frowned. It was still twenty miles to Hershel's farm. What the hell was she going to do now? She alighted upon an idea, but shot it back down almost immediately. It was completely insane, really. Then again, she had the Mag-Lite, and she had also, in a brief moment of temporary clarity, taken her sword from over the mantelpiece and dropped it into the belt loop at her hip. Right now the weapon sat in the passenger seat, its hilt gleaming in the moonlight, inviting. She cursed herself for her insanity and hopped out of the truck.

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Kyra kept a tight grip on the hilt of the sword, eyes roving about her, distrustful of every shadow and sound. But she kept going, and by dawn was able to see Hershel's mailbox. Thirst nagged at her throat; why the hell didn't she bring a water bottle or something? Dawn broke against the sky, pale fingers of light shooing away the night's darkness. An hour later she plodded down Hershel's driveway, her back aching, faint from thirst. Georgia heat always got started early; today was no exception. The sun was barely high in the sky and already sweat beaded her forehead like morning dew. She stared resolutely ahead. She could see the outline of Hershel's house not far off. She smiled to herself, and kept walking.

Almost there. Almost there. Just a few more steps. Her vision grew blurry and swam before her eyes. Fatigue threatened to overtake her if she didn't stop now. Still she walked on.

She didn't even register the camp she was passing through, or the rough male voice calling out to her to stop or he'd shoot, or even the earth rising up to meet her as she crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

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Daryl had taken the last watch. So far it was uneventful. The sun was rising. Birds were singing, all that happy go-lucky shit he didn't care for. He scanned the camp one last time, for good measure, before letting T-Dog take over. His keen blue eyes alighted on an approaching figure, one he'd somehow missed before. He raised the crossbow, daring it to come any closer. The prospect of the kill excited him. One more dead walker meant one less to worry about. He followed its path through the sight on the crossbow… only it wasn't an it. It was a she.

Either he was going insane from lack of sleep, or there was a young woman, probably not much older than he was, ambling down the dirt drive like she'd just been out to get the mail. He decided on the latter. There were two bags slung over her shoulders, a duffel and a sack that he supposed would have passed for some sort of purse. She was headed for Hershel's house, which meant she had to pass through camp. And Daryl was not about to let that happen.

"Hey!" He shouted down to her. "Stop now, or I'll shoot! Lady, I'm talkin' to you!"

She collapsed then, almost as if his words alone had knocked her out. Daryl grumbled to himself, ignoring the complaints of the others for waking them. For all they knew he could have saved their asses and they didn't even know it. He crouched next to her, tilting her face up so he could get a better look at her. His hand pressed against her neck, and he found a weak pulse. The stupid broad had probably fainted from exhaustion.

He glanced up at the main house. Lights were being turned on and he saw the front door open. There were footsteps behind him; he glanced over his shoulder at the intruder. It was only T-Dog. Daryl turned back to the woman, and slipped the straps of her things over her shoulders and out of the way. He heaved her up off the ground and wrapped an arm around her waist to support her. She stirred a little; that was a good sign. He threw her arm around his shoulder, and thus half-carried, half0dragged her to the house.

Apparently he'd yelled louder than he thought, because by the time he reached the porch, Hershel and Maggie were already out the door. When they saw the woman slung around Daryl's shoulders, Maggie almost fainted and Hershel immediately barked for someone to clear out a bed, Kyra was out front and unconscious.

"How long has she been unconscious?" Hershel asked curtly.

"Not long, maybe fifteen minutes." Daryl replied.

"Good. I need you to carry her up to one of the bedrooms, follow Maggie, Patricia! I need cold water and rags! It's Kyra." Hershel lumbered off into the house, leaving Daryl with Maggie and this Kyra woman, whom they knew apparently.

"This way." Maggie said quickly, motioning inside. Daryl scooped her up bridal style and carried her into the house, occasionally stealing a glance at her face. He hadn't paid much attention to women since the walkers hit, but he decided that this one, Kyra, was kind of cute. If she woke up, he might talk to her.

Just as Daryl was leaving the spare room, Hershel rushed in, beside himself. This Kyra was definitely family. Maybe he'd leave her be then. Best not to get involved with the family drama.

He allowed himself one look back at her, and smiled to himself. Her eyes were cracked just a fraction. She stared in his general direction for a moment and then closed her eyes again, as Hershel and the family clucked and fussed over her like chickens.

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Kyra was only dimly aware of arms around her, picking her up, carrying her somewhere. Then there was the sensation of being set down by said arms into a soft bed.

She saw the hazy silhouette of a man, probably the same one that had threatened to shoot her. She felt rags, cold wet rags, being pressed to her forehead, and heard much worried speech. A large hadn pressed against her neck, checking her pulse. Someone asked her –it sounded like Maggie, though she couldn't be sure—if she wanted any water or any food. Amazingly, Kyra managed to croak out the word water, and then she felt her head tilted upwards and someone pressing a glass to her lips. She drank greedily, and her head was laid back down on the pillow. Someone said they should probably let her sleep now, the worst part was over, she'd wake in a few hours.

Kyra let sleep overtake her, only pausing to make a mental note to thank whoever it was that had brought her inside.

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Thanks for reading, y'all, and don't forget to review. (: Not sure when the next chapter will be up but either way. Hope ya liked it. Oh and by the way: Don't get your hopes up that it'll be 100% canon. I don't have that kind of time.