Hello readers! Thank you for clicking on my story! It's a work in progress and I'm constantly going back through to edit - nothing major, just catching mistakes and stuff. I hope you like the story as much as I do and I implore you to leave a review. They make me very happy and a better writer :)

Anyways, enjoy! (I promise it's gets better after the first few chapters.)

Prologue

Biters. Everywhere. My last few weeks are amounting to nothing. Ever since I left my safe house and struck out on my own, I've had a bad feeling. Vaguely I wonder how many miles I've travelled since my car broke down. Ten? Twenty? How many miles can one walk in four days when they're short on food? I thought I could handle it. After all, this was supposed to be just like a never-ending hunting trip. Snag some animals with my bow, camp out in trees, and kill some geeks along the way. But I didn't realize how scarce the animals would be.

Or how numerous the biters.

I hear a loud bang, and turn my head sharply to the left. I quickly dart to a nearby tree, and press my back flush against it. I whip my head around to all sides, satisfied I'm in no immediate danger. Several biters to my now right have already started moping towards the gun shot.

People! Stupid people, maybe, for using a loud gun, but still. It has been so long since I've seen people! And now, here they are, somewhere to my right. Without even thinking about it, I regain my hunting crouch, arrow already nocked on my bow, and head towards them.

Chapter One: The Newcomer

Rick looks out over the fields, a pleased smile hinting at his lips. The vegetables are growing, the pigs are growing, and the prison fields haven't been breached in weeks. He hears the crunch of footsteps behind him, and turns to see Daryl. Rick nods his head in greeting before facing the fields again. Daryl steps up beside him.

"The build up's not goin' away. Don't know how many walkers I killed. Tyreese and the others, too. It's like a steady stream. Old ones die, new ones come," he states bluntly, readjusting his crossbow on his shoulder. He's wearing grey jeans, a dull orange t-shirt, and his leather jacket, hot to the touch as it soaks up the early summer heat. Rick looks over to the right fence and sees the walkers he's been trying to block out. He's no longer smiling. A grim look claims his face.

"I don't know what more we can do. Those fences won't hold forever, but we've got nowhere else to go. All we can do is fortify." Rick glances down at his work boots and grey flannel shirt, slightly stained with some blood. He scratches his rough chin stubble in frustration. The damned things are never ending these days.

Daryl, about to respond, is cut short by sudden shouts of alarm. The two look over to the gate to see Carl opening the exterior wooden doors, closing them, and ordering Sasha to open the outer chain link. Walkers swarm the outside of the gate, and Rick bears no hesitation taking off towards the fences. Daryl follows closely behind, muttering curses, tearing up the dirt road.

The scene at the gate is in utter confusion. Two of the perimeter guards, both survivors of Woodbury, start rigorously impaling the walkers at the gates through the fences. Meanwhile, Sasha is crouching next to a woman sitting on the ground. She's smeared with dirt and dark blood, her dark, glossy hair is in a messy ponytail. Carl stands further back, gun pointing at the ground but ready for any sudden movements from the stranger.

"What happened?" Daryl demands, taking charge.

"I saw her outside of the gate. She was dodging walkers, running like hell for it. I had to let her in," Carl explains. Rick nods at him. He's doing much better these days, turning back into his old self. He'll never be his old self, Rick corrects himself. This world takes something out of everyone.

"It's true. She looked pretty desperate," Sasha confirms.

Daryl scrutinizes the woman, taking in the bow lying next to her along with a large hunting knife covered in dried and fresh blood. The bow looks fairly used to. Rick speaks directly to her.

"What's your story?" She's still gasping, hand clenching her side.

"Warehouse... Stubborn bastard... Months ago..." her voice starts fading, her eyelids begin to close.

"She's fainting!" Sasha exclaims suddenly, full of alarm.

"Got her," Daryl says, scooping the woman up before jogging back towards the prison. She hangs limply from his arms. Others in the prison yard turn to stare, curiosity clear on their faces as the turn of events breaks up their monotonous daily routine.

"Take her to the medical wing!" Sasha calls after him. Rick watches the two go before turning his attention back to Sasha and Carl.

"I'll take her weapons to the armory. Don't say anything about this until we get it sorted out. We need to know what we're dealing with. Got it?" he says with piercing authority. The others nod. They are just as shocked by what has occurred as he is, especially with everyone on edge with the recent attack by the Governor. It was only a few weeks ago and they haven't seen him since.

Rick gathers the bow and knife and starts up the path, boots crunching on the gray gravel.

{o0o}

Hershel closes the door to the medical room with satisfaction. The exhausted, malnourished woman has awoken and eaten - a lot. At least her appetite is still there, he thinks positively. He carries her folder with him down the hall before turning into the Council's board room. The rest of the Council has already assembled, and Rick, who's been slowly integrating back into the Prison's leadership, has briefed them on what happened earlier that day at the gate.

"How's she doin'?" Maggie immediately asks. Hershel holds up a hand to stem the questions before heaving himself into a seat.

"The girl is awake and healthy. Heart is stable. Fever's gone. Seems her only problem was exhaustion and hunger," he says in his calm, deep voice. He opens the folder and spreads out his notes - two sheets featuring sprawling cursive in bullet points.

"So what exactly happened to her?" Glenn asks.

"She suffered from a mild faint due to her exhaustion, but nothing serious. She probably hasn't slept more than six hours the past three days. From the look of her I'd say she's been hiking in the woods for at least a week now; the kind of stress associated with that much risk is overwhelming. She's too weak for any heavy exertion, but she's ready to be up and moving. No bites, no broken bones, no bruising. She's stayed pretty safe while she's been out there. Her only problem, it seems, was finding somewhere to sleep at night." The Council listens intently despite their relaxed postures.

"Now that we know she's okay, we need to decide what to do with her," Rick says after a brief silence, stating what was on everyone's mind. They are again quiet for awhile before Carol speaks.

"We all know what to do. Ask her the three questions, and if she's okay, she can get a cell. There are plenty of empty ones in D and a few in C."

"I can take her to the target range. See if she's any good with that bow," Daryl adds. Rick nods in agreement.

"Sounds good. Maybe she could be useful on runs. Didn't you say she had some guns, too?" he asks Hershel.

"Yes," he said, consulting his notes. "A .45 Colt in a waist hostler and a rifle slung across her back beneath her hunting coat. The coat is great quality, too, waterproof and insulated. She was probably a hunter; her arrows had traces of blood on all of them."

"Sounds like a great find," Carol says. "We can definitely use another like Daryl." The rest of the group mutters agreement, causing Daryl to roll his eyes and mumble something about being just like everyone else.

"Well, it's settled, then. I'll ask her the three questions now while she's awake, and you all should see to getting her a cell. I trust you'll back my opinion of her answers?" The Council agrees. "Good. I'll bring her around later." Hershel concludes the status update, getting to his feet with a grunt. Carol and Maggie instantly leave to clean out a cell in Block C, where most of the original prison group is, opting to keep close tabs on the potential asset.

Hershel returns to the patient's room, pleased to see her awake.

"How am I doing, doc?" she inquires politely.

"Glad to see you're recovering well," he replies before sitting in the bedside, foldable chair. "You don't have anything serious; just need some rest and food. Which my people will supply until you're healthy." He notices a steely look in her eyes, and stops to hear what she has to say.

"I was actually wondering if there was any space here for me. I can be a big help. Trust me, I can hunt and I work well in teams. Plus, I've had plenty of experience out there," she tumbles over her words, hurrying to reassure him.

"Don't worry, we are considering you. We just have to ask you three questions." She purses her lips and nods. "One, how many walkers have you killed?"

Immediately, her face twists into a thoughtful grimace. "I don't even know. Countless. I kept track, before, when I was at my old safe house. More of a sanity thing than anything else. But I gave that up a long time ago. I try not to think of them as dead people." Hershel nods his head thoughtfully.

"Okay. Thank you. Two, how may people have you killed?" He throws the question out so casually, she starts in surprise.

"I-I... Uh.." she stares at the floor, wide-eyed, collecting her thoughts. "Okay, then. I've killed fifteen total." She considers lying but refrains. The old mans eyes seem to pierce straight into her thoughts. Hershel gives her a moment before continuing.

"Last question may be hard for you to answer, but I want you to try and be honest. Why did you kill them?" Her face darkens, displays a mixture of angry memories, guilt, and sadness.

"Back when it started, I was with five other hunters - three men and two women. We took over a warehouse from a group, fortified it, and made it a safe house. The twenty we took it from weren't infected; they were just trying to survive like we were. Those are the only kills I regret; I took out eleven of them. We murdered innocent men and women who were only ever nice to us. Afterwards, a hunter from my group threatened me. That's why I left. He was an arrogant asshole. Along the way I've killed four others, each a person who threatened me. I'm not the same person I was when I stole that warehouse. It showed me how ugly this new world can be - I told myself if it was like that everywhere then I didn't want to be a part of it. We're all just humans trying to survive. I mean, we had no place to steal that warehouse, and yet we did just because we could? That's messed up. Those are the only innocent people I've ever killed, and I never want to go there again."

Hershel keeps his face composed throughout her account, impressed by her honesty. He was put off by her murdering streak, but believes her when she says she has changed.

"I'm glad you've kept hope."

"What do you mean?" She's thrown by his remark.

"You said when you were there you didn't want to be a part of this world if it was all like that. But you left. You knew it could get better. You had hope then, and you have it now. Hold on to that." She smiles shyly.

"I appreciate your honesty. I believe you'll make a fine addition to our group. You have a good sense of right and wrong, you seem honest, and you have a level head. I'll take you to your room now, if you'd like." She smiles in relief, slightly stunned by how easy the test was, and swings her legs over the bed. Her backpack is lying next to the bed, along with her hunting jacket and hiking boots. The pack only contained a few other shirts, some water purifier, basic first aid, and her gloves. At least it did before she fainted. now she's wearing a clean t-shirt and jeans that Beth put on her. She grabs her things possessively.

"My name's Andy, by the way," she says, turning to offer a dazzling smile.

"I'm Hershel."

"Pleasure to meet you, doc." She takes his hand in a firm handshake, ecstatic and safe for the first time in weeks.