He heard it, long before he saw it. A shuffle of leaves, not of the wind, the crack of a twig. He held up a hand to Rick, the man moving into a defensive posture almost immediately. He lined his sight just as the Walker rounded the tree… and began to scream and flail like the biggest bitch Daryl had ever seen in his life.

"Oh Jesus fucking Christ, don't shoot, don't fucking shoot!"

It wasn't a Walker, but he knew by the blood staining the man's shorts that it wasn't long before he became one. The chunk missing from his hand was enormous, gauging from the thick and hurried bandaging around it, already soaked through with blood.

"You've been bit! There Walkers around here? How fucking many, which way?" Daryl barked.

Rick had already lowered his rifle, but Daryl kept the crossbow raised, pointed squarely at the man's eye.

"Daryl," Rick began, but he ignored him.

The man in question, a stocky black man, hair in cornrows, stumbled backwards into a tree, hands raised, whether in frantic defense or in pleading, Daryl did not care.

"It wasn't a fucking zedhead, I swear to God, I'm not infected, you don't have to shoot me."

"What in the fuck is going on here!" The voice split the air, off to the left, and Daryl was forced to change positions, matching aim for aim at the rifle facing him. Rick already raised his again.

She held the rifle sure, wasn't new to it he could tell, the easy heft of it in her hands, the certainty of her stance. Her skin was dark, hair black, tucked up beneath a desert camo service cap; Indian, he thought absurdly, maybe mixed with white. Something strange about her eyes, though. Hard to tell with her eye down the sight.

"Who the fuck are you?" she snarled, body coiled in tension. He didn't lower his weapon. She chose to try and take a shot at him, he'd take her out, simple fact, that was.

"I could ask you the same goddamn thing. What are you doing out here?"

"Taking a morning fucking stroll," she spat, sarcastically.

"Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." A third voice, this one rounding from behind the man cowering against the tree.

The man was short, average build, some sort of sand nigger, as Merle would say, later in life, not much a threat despite the revolver in his hand: the observations clicked off in his head, not so much thoughts as a straight absorption of the information. He'd never exactly been one for thinking.

"And where'd you come from, 7-11?"

There were too many targets to focus on, three guns to his crossbow. He shifted uneasily, unsure a moment, before picking the biggest threat. The woman.

"Is this what we're going to do, we're going to stand here pointing guns at each other until one of those freaks wanders up on us, this is what we're doing?" The man talked fast, his accent clear and clipped. Spoke good English though, Daryl thought grudgingly.

"They wanna lower their weapons, there ain't gonna be no problem." She didn't offer to be the first to do it though, Daryl could see.

"Look, let's all just calm down," Rick finally interjected. "We'll do it on three, alright. Everybody puts their weapon down."

"My ass," Daryl began.

"We lower our weapons," Rick repeated clearly, staring at him hard. "And we talk about this, like civilized human beings. We'll do it on three."

"You trust them?"

"We'll all lower it on three." Rick said again, looking to the woman.

"One," the woman began, shoulders relaxing, Daryl followed one step behind her, ready to raise and take the shot if necessary. "Two, three."

The man and woman lowered their guns, Daryl and Rick their weapons. Her posture never relaxed, Daryl noticed, muscles still corded beneath the DCU cargos, the tan t-shirt.

"You Army?"

"Jee, you're a regular Einstein, aren't you? That why you wandering around the woods. You lost, boy?"

He bristled at the insult, even as he took her in. She was fit, defined more so by lack of food, he imagined, like everyone else. Her shoulders wide, arms leanly muscled, hips slim and tight. Her eyes, her eyes were blue, like ice, stood out against her skin. Strange wasn't the word for it.

She'd be beautiful, he thought, if she weren't such an obvious bitch.

A scar stood out clearly against her throat, just above her collarbone. Pale pink and shiny, ragged, more so along the top edge where the rounded wound stretched up to an abrupt point, not new but not old. A few years, he thought. He knew a lot about how scars healed.

"What are you doing out here?" He repeated, sneering.

"Hunting." She said curtly. "You?"

"We're looking for a little girl. Have you seen her, any sign of a child out here?" Rick asked, the pleading tone obvious in his voice. For once, Daryl couldn't bring himself to feel the requisite disdain.

He looked to the woman for an answer, but she wasn't looking at Rick, or him, or anything it seemed. Her eyes peered off into space, and he felt it then, hackles rising, something behind him.

"Get down now." Her voice was clear, the words sharp but quiet, barely above a whisper. The rifle raised smoothly, a grace to it, he had to admit. He dropped on instinct, the shot ringing so quickly that his ear drum shook with the volume of it. He swore he could feel the heat, the whizz of the bullet past his head as he finally went ass to dirt, a strange yelp echoing through the late morning. Surely he hadn't made that sound.

"You crazy bitch," he screamed, "You could have fucking shot me!"

He scrambled around, looking. It wasn't a Walker, like he would have thought, but a coyote, gaunt, fur stringy, mouth ringed in blood, a perfect shot through the heart. He was forced to alter his focus again, as she stalked toward him, one slim finger pointed at his chest as she stood over him.

"Motherfucker, if I wanted to shoot you, you'd be dead already. Certainly wouldn't have given you no warning." She was deadly quiet, the accent Southern, he knew, but not Georgia. She wasn't from around here.

The black man was off the tree with another stumble, throwing out his injured hand in exuberance, tucking it back against his chest as the wound protested. Idiot, Daryl thought.

"I told you! What I tell you! I said it was a dog."

"That's a coyote, you moron." The woman snapped, stepping away from Daryl, slinging the hunting rifle over her shoulder.

"It's got four feet, fangs, and fur," the man with cornrows responded, "It's a fucking dog."

"You damn near busted my ear drum." Daryl groused as he made his way back to his feet, brushing at his jeans with a sheepishness that transferred straight to anger.

"Oh, man up," she scoffed. "Your ears gonna ring for half a day." The finger was in motion again, jabbing into his chest and sending him stumbling back. Not from the force, but simply the contact. Who the hell did she think she was, just walking up and laying hands on him? His shoulders straightened, chin raised; he could see Rick from the corner of his eye, bunching up already, prepared to step in.

"I have been out here for 6 hours now, tracking that bitch. I haven't had breakfast, I haven't had coffee," her finger jabbed into his chest again with each item she listed, finally forcing him to still lest he begin to retreat from her, "I haven't even had a goddamned cigarette, and you think I'm gonna miss my shot just because your dumbass is standing in the way? I don't fucking think so."

She stalked away before Rick felt forced to step in, and before Daryl truly felt shoving her on her ass would be a legitimate response to the situation. The middle eastern man followed her.

"Come on," she said lightly, hands hooking around the front legs of the animal. The older man grunted as he lifted his half, but she didn't strain with it, carrying the carcass easily to a patch of sunlight.

The man pulled from his pocket a small flashlight, leaning over the dead animal, peeling its eye open and shining the light into it.

"What are you doing?" Rick asked quietly.

"Checking for rabies," the man glanced up at him, hands moving to his pockets as he set the flashlight aside, pulling on a pair of latex gloves and moving on to the mouth, shining the light into the cavity.

"No sign of excessive salivation." He sat back on his heels again, looking up at the woman. "I can't exactly send the blood off for analysis. There's really only one way I can make a clear guess."

The woman nodded, already moving into action. From a sheath on the back of her pants came a small camp saw, a Gerber, he could see. She knelt down beside the older man, knee setting itself heavily over the animal's throat, flipping the blade easily in her hand, her fingers catching the flat edge, handing it over handle first.

"That good enough?"

"It will have to do." He answered.

"Sorry, doc, I knew we'd be out here dissecting a coyot' I'da stopped by Autopsies R Us for a bone saw and an extra-long extension cord." She said, the hostility in her voice too light to be true.

The black man paced worriedly, as Daryl and Rick could do little more than look on, helplessly confused.

The first grind of metal through fur, flesh, and finally bone caught Daryl's ears, forcing a flinch out of Rick. The little man began resolutely sawing the top of the skull off, the woman bracing the neck, keeping the head still. It took a few minutes, Rick and the injured man both looked sick, but finally the man forced his gloved fingers into the wound, using the tip of the saw to force the skull cap upward.

The woman took the saw back, wiping it carelessly on the calf of her pants before tucking it back in its sheath. She looked calm, collected, as though she were crossing the street-bored, and did this sort of thing every day.

"If the animal is infected," he chattered, "the brain will be swollen and inflamed." The skull cap was dropped to the ground, his small fingers digging in, carefully pulling the brain from the cavity. Daryl grimaced slightly.

The woman, still unperturbed, crouched down beside the 'Doc', tilting her head from side to side.

"Look like a normal brain to you?" she asked, quizzically.

"It appears to be," he said, tilting the pink and gray mass from one hand to another.

"That's a shame," she said idly. "Was kinda looking forward to putting him down as well…"

"Fuck you," the black man glowered. The woman smirked softly, a hateful and self-satisfied expression that sent a thrill of recognition through Daryl. It was an expression he remembered had often been on his brother's face anytime he found a chance to dig under someone's skin.

"We're not out of the woods yet. We still have to observe him." The elder man glanced to her, and then to the black man. "The most noticeable sign will be fear of water."

"A black man afraid of water… That is gonna tell us a whole lot." There was that smirk again, her drawl lazy and amused.

"I am about tired of your bullshit, Schweiger. Why you always coming at me?"

"If he develops a fever, delirium, we have reason to worry." The brown little man finished.

"He develops a fever, I'm gonna shoot him anyway." The woman, Schweiger, said plainly.

"Fuck you, you Nazi bitch! I've had it with you!"

The woman stood smoothly, a predatory grace only underlined by the fury Daryl could already see snapping in those odd blue eyes.

"What in the fuck did you just call me?"

"What, did I fucking stutter?" The injured man taunted.

"I guess you didn't." She said softly, shaking her head, a rueful chuckle emanating from deep in her throat.

The movement was swift, almost a blur. She was on him in a second, hands hooking over his shoulders as her knee drove up, hard, into his stomach. The air came out of him in a rush, stumbling back into the tree, and she was on him again before he could even right himself. There was a quick sound, one that Daryl knew, the snap of a switchblade. The hilt was black, metal, the blade long, straight, hollow in the middle, serrated on the opposite edge, just above a gut hook.

Her fingers dug into his cheeks as he choked, tried to breathe. She forced his mouth open, knife slipping quick inside the gap of his lips.

"You listen to me, you ignorant spook. You ever, ever, call me that again, and I will slice your fucking tongue out of your head, and I will feed it to you, bit by bit. Understand me, boy?"

He was shaking, just about to piss himself, Daryl thought. Rick looked to him, back to the others, to him again as though for a clue for the correct course of action. Daryl was content to watch.

"Did you understand me?" she barked in his face. He jerked, the edge of the blade cutting into his lips, a small rivulet of blood snaking down his chin.

"I understand," he mumbled, careful not to touch the knife again.

"Good," she said, and stepped away from him abruptly, the knife snapping shut and back into a pocket.

"Feel better?" the brown man sniped.

She swung in an instant, a left cross catching him square in the nose, and with a crunch and a yelp the man sank to the ground, cradling his face.

The older man let out a long suffering sigh as Schweiger smirked again, sniffing, and wiping down the front of her uniform.

"Now I do, Raj." She said sweetly, and gave a stunning smile.

"What… What is going on?" Rick stuttered.

"Family squabbles," Schweiger snarked. "We gotta cover up that carcass, or the smell's gonna draw in the freaks."

"Shouldn't be much effort," Raj mused, "Scrawny little thing, she just had pups… That is sad. They're eating up all the smaller game. The mother was starving, she had to feed her pups, went after the only food source she could find: Dereon."

"Why the fuck she gotta bite me?" Dereon mumbled from behind his hands, sounding watery, the blood seeping slowly through his fingers.

"Maybe she liked dark meat." Schweiger grinned, and Raj rolled his eyes, and interrupted before Dereon could reply.

"You two are like fucking five year olds, constantly picking at each other. Now I'm tired of this." Raj snapped, arms waving. "Both of you shut up!"

Chaos, Daryl thought, what in the hell had they stumbled upon?

Schweiger seemed to yield to Raj's demands, and wheeled on Rick and Daryl suddenly.

"So, you usually just let your kids wander around out here among the monsters?"

"We didn't let her do anything!" Daryl snapped.

"She was being chased by Walkers," Rick cut in, "I hid her, led them away from her, but when I came back for her, she was gone. Please, do you know anything at all? Her mother is worried sick."

The look on her face was carefully blank, a poker face if Daryl had ever seen one, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I tell you what, uh…" she looked at him expectantly.

"Daryl," he answered.

"Rick," the man said, as Schweiger pointed at him.

"Aleda," she pointed to herself, and the others in turn, "Raj, Dereon. We're done with our task. We're heading back to camp, and it's not far from here. Now you both look like your bellybutton's at your backbone and your asshole is reaching for acorns, so why don't you come back to camp with us, and we'll talk a little more about this little girl you lost over a warm meal, hmm?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes as he turned to look at Rick, knowing on sight that the man understood his suspicions.

She knew something.

Author Notes:

This is my first ever The Walking Dead fic , and I'm terrified. Also, because its the first OC story I've ever published. I feel guilty. *LOL* The original characters are of my own invention, mainly my main character Aleda Schweiger.

I became fascinated with the character of Daryl Dixon around the start of the second season, when I really started to see his character open up. During this horrible break (woot, 5 more days!) I've had to have something to concentrate on, for lack of new episodes.

I began to ponder what it would be like if Daryl were a girl, and from there she actually became a character. I wanted to create someone who could meet him blow for blow, thus my OFC.

Be gentle, but please review and I'll love you forever! Any questions, feel free to ask, I will respond.