The hot Georgia sun beat down on the back of Caitlin Cleary's tan uniform tee shirt. She could feel the sweat staring to build in her hairline underneath the tight regulation bun. Hell had rained down; people everywhere were getting bitten by monstrosities called zombies. The number of dead walking was rising astronomically. Caitlin popped the hood latch on her truck, checking to make sure her fluids were in good shape. The highway in front of her was a massive wreck of abandoned cars, ripe for the pickings of whatever supplies that were in them.

Caitlin dropped the hood of the truck, grabbed her first responder knife, her compound bow and slung a sea bag over her shoulders to fill with whatever she could find. If there was a cache of supplies big enough, it would be ideal to set them aside and drive the truck over to it. The hunting trip in Florida proved useful before the shit hit the fan; there was almost fifty pounds of deer jerky in the storage locker built into the bed of the truck. Caitlin had been working at the Navy Hospital in Jacksonville, FL, as a Corpsman. Naval Hospital Jacksonville held out for almost three months before the generators burnt out. Caitlin's commanding officer relieved her to return to her original command in Norfolk, VA. Caitlin packed her truck and headed north, hoping beyond hope that her home; and her father were still there waiting for her.

Almost two weeks on the road, camping in the back of the truck was getting old. That year Caitlin spent in the sands of Iraq helped her prepare for this hot, sticky mess. Water was crucial, whenever Caitlin came across a natural water supply; she topped off the water tank under the toolbox in the truck, treated it to make it drinkable and moved on. Caitlin sided up to a heavily weighted down Ford Bronco, dropping the back tailgate, as she scanned the area around her listening for anything. The walkers were an easy kill; they moved slow, an arrow or knife through the head stopped them dead. After what she had seen in the war, these things didn't frighten her one bit.

Assured that nothing was going to attack her, Caitlin started digging through the supplies in the truck. Intact case of bottled water, two five gallon gas cans, some MRE's, blankets, all worth taking. She set them outside the truck for pick up later, and moved onto the next car. Caitlin was filling her sea bag with odds and end supplies from the car, not paying attention to what was going on outside the car. As she went to toss the bag over her shoulders to head back to the truck, Caitlin heard the unmistakable whistle of an arrow cutting the air. She dropped into a crouch, glancing right and left. To her left a walker dropped with a sickening thud, face planting into the pavement. Caitlin saw the direction of the arrow in the walker's skull, then peeking over the top of the car in front of her. A tall, scruffy dark haired man walked out from the tree line, a cross bow pointed at her, arrow ready to fly.

"Darlin' you shouldn't be out here by yer self. Those things mean business." He walked towards Caitlin, taking in the uniform, the weapons, the clean cut look to her. He also took notice of the knife in her hand, gripped like someone who knew how to use it. Caitlin snickered at his accent; this guy was all southern backwoods redneck. She tipped her chin up, putting her knife back in its sheath on her belt, shucking into the sea bag. The guy continued walking towards her, stopping two feet away.

"Where's home? Ya shouldn't be out here alone, alls I'm saying." His blue eyes pierced right through Caitlin's emerald green eyes. "I'm just passing through trying to get home. That's all. I'm no threat to you." Caitlin didn't try to hide her accent; she was too tired to care anymore.

"Darlin' by the sound of that accent, you are far far from home. Military are ya?" The guy cracked a smile at Caitlin as he shifted the bow onto his back. "Yeah I'm Navy. Combat Medic. And no I'm not as far from home as you think." The guy's brows popped up at the words "combat medic" and his stance eased. He whistled over his shoulder, a older man came out from the brush, walking towards them. Caitlin tensed up; two of them verses her, that wasn't good odds.

The other man extended his hand, "I'm Rick Grimes. The gentleman here with the bow is Daryl Dixon. We're just like you, trying to find somewhere safe to stay and stay alive. Maybe we can help each other out?"

"Girl says she's a combat medic Rick, we could use someone like her to keep us moving. Looks like she's pretty resourceful. She's trying to make her way home, and by the sound of her voice she's far from home." Daryl keep his eye on Caitlin, watching her every move.

Caitlin shook Rick's hand; "Caitlin Cleary. Combat Medic that I am; resourceful always. Will I help you? Now that depends on your price. I'm just trying to get home and home isn't as far as you think. I speak the brogue still, but I live in Virginia Beach, VA. I'm just trying to get home to my house and my dad. Nothing more, nothing less." Caitlin didn't mince words, she never was one to paint pretty pictures.

Rick's eyes popped open, wondering how a woman who was straight from Ireland ended up in Georgia. They could make use of her talents with Herschal passed on, it wouldn't hurt having someone to care for their group, even if for a little while. Everything in this world came at a price, but what would Rick pay for Caitlin's help? At this point with Judith and Carl out there, no cost was too high.