Chapter One

–

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

–

Rick awoke to a headache and a bad case of cottonmouth. He felt hung over, like he and Shane had had another night Lori disapproved of – down at the Crow's Nest and tied on a few that turned into a few dozen. He slowly rose to a sitting position, gripping his forehead and rubbing his temples. It was still very dark out, giving him the impression that he had indeed slept all day and into the late evening. He could hear the heavy drops of rain against the windows, a summer storm raging on outside. He thought the summer had been unseasonably dry, but he wasn't awake through enough of the summer to make such an accusation. A glass of water sat untouched upon the nightstand beside his bed. Rick gulped down the liquid as if he hadn't had a sip of water in months, savoring the warm water like it was liquid gold – and maybe now it almost was.

A faint tune caught Rick's attention. He was surprised he could hear anything through the thunder and rain outside. He gripped sore abdomen and slowly took to his feet. He took one step into the hall before Charlotte appeared, gripping an armful of items wrapped in a town, tight against her abdomen. She was wearing a black sports bra and a pair of small biker's spandex shorts, barefoot and mildly sweaty with her hair in a tight sock bun high atop her bed. Her stomach was toned, every muscle on her body flexed and visible. She paused when she saw him, a look of surprise and guilt on her face for only a moment. She quickly straightened up, obviously trying her best to seem unfazed.

"What the fuck are you lookin' at, Deputy Dumbass?" she snapped.

"Nothin'," he snorted. "I thought I heard music. What were you doing?"

"None of your goddamn business," she barked.

"I was just–"

"I'm tired and you should get some rest too," she replied, sweeping by him in a rush and actively trying to conceal the items wrapped in her arms. "You've got a big day tomorrow; you're training starts bright and early."

"Training?" said Rick with an upward inflection.

"What? Did you think I was going to let you go out and fend for yourself?" Charlotte scoffed. "Everybody needs to know how to defend themselves against Walkers."

"I think I can manage," he replied.

"You won't always have time to think when you're up against a herd of hungry Walkers," she smirked, ignoring Rick as he opened his mouth to object. "Your training starts at eight. Sweet dreams, Ranger Rick."

Rick's jaw hung open as Charlotte hurried down the hall and into the Drake's spare bedroom, shutting the door swiftly behind her. He couldn't decide whether or not he liked Charlotte Broussard. She had saved his life in dramatic fashion, rescued him from inevitable death while risking her own neck in the process, but she was still insufferably crass and uncouth. She was young but not young enough to use immaturity and youth culture as an excuse for her vulgarity. Rick stared at her closed door for another thoughtful minute before crawling back into bed as instructed.

–

"Can I please go too?" asked Duane.

"Papa Bear said 'no' Little Man," said Charlotte, affectionately rubbing the top Duane's head. "Besides, we can't have a seasoned pro like you showin' up a rook – talk about intimidating."

"Come on, Charlie," he whined.

"Next time, I promise," she said, leaning over to meet his gaze and sending him a reassuring wink. "Look after your dad now, Duane. We'll be back by sunset."

Charlotte motioned for Rick to follow her out the front door. Rick 'borrowed' a pair of jeans and a white shirt left behind by Fred Drake that was nearly his size. His abdomen was still sore but bearable after taking some of the pain killers Cindy Drake had hidden in her top bedside drawer. He had anticipated his 'training session' with Charlotte would include ammunition and at least a couple semiautomatic weapons, but he was sorely mistaken in such an assumption. No, he had been provided with an ax and a metal baseball bat. Charlotte sported a bow and a hodgepodge of both store bought and hand-carved arrows on her back along with a crowbar. Each of them packed a only a solitary handgun in the back of their pants with no bullets besides what resided in the chamber. Her hair was tossed into a low ponytail down her back that revealed just how long her mop of dark hair truly was as it rested only a little over six inches above her behind. They didn't speak while they walked and Rick would have liked to say it was because they were trying to stay alert and vigilant, but he knew it was because he female counterpart was unsure yet about whether or not she cared for his company.

They walked almost five miles before spotting a Walker gnawing on the discarded corpse of a coyote near the edge of the Cynthiana Woods. It was a woman, skin almost completely rotted off her cheeks and long scraggly hair that appeared to have fallen out in large clumps. She paused from her meal to peer up at her fresh potential banquet of human meat (coyote intestine still in her mouth) and gradually climbed from her knees to her feet. Rick instinctively reached for the handgun resting in the back of his jeans and quickly pointed it at the now approaching female Walker. He didn't pull the trigger, however. He would have if it wasn't for the cold metal barrel of another revolver on his temple.

"I swear to Christ if you even think about pulling that trigger I will make sure to put a quick end to what I can only assume was a lifetime of appalling life choices," she hissed with a deadly expression upon her face. Only Rick's eyes moved to look at Charlotte. He gritted his teeth and slowly placed his handgun in the back of his jeans once again. "Good boy. One gunshot will attract Walkers for miles around, so don't let me see you touch that gun again unless it is an absolute last resort – an absolute last resort. You got me, Cowboy?"

Rick reluctantly nodded, Charlotte's Beretta still pressed against his temple for a moment more. She finally put her gun away as well, slid her bow over her shoulder to grip her tire iron in both hands like a baseball bat.

"Watch and learn," she said without looking back at Rick. She almost galloped as she motioned forward to meet their impending Walker. Charlotte swung in a swift downward motion, thrusting the curve of the crowbar into the Walker's skull. It fell to the earth – dead and this time for good. Charlotte looked down at her kill with pride before pivoting back to Rick. "And that is how it's done."

"Impressive," said Rick sarcastically. "I'm glad we had to walk miles away from safety so you could show me how to bash someone's brains in."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she replied, gripping her chest in faux dramatic gasp. "I thought I saw your stupid ass almost waste precious ammunition on one Walker – my mistake."

"She was coming right for us–"

"First of all, that thing is not a she – maybe once but not anymore," she said, rapidly stomping forward. "Never consider Walkers to be people. They're not people and as soon as you come to terms with that fact you'll be much better off. Someday you may run into a Walker that you knew when they were human – neighbors, friends and maybe even family. You cannot hesitate to kill them – not even for a second – because they sure as hell won't hesitate to eat you alive. Trust me; you're doing them a favor by putting 'em out of their misery."

"How can you know for sure that their old self isn't still trapped in there somewhere, struggling to–"

"I know," she insisted definitively. "I've survived almost three months out here on my own. I've killed more Walkers than I can even begin to count and there wasn't anything human left in any of 'em."

"You've been on your own?" asked Rick, knowing it was wise to lead the conversation down a different course. "I thought you were with Morgan and Duane."

"For now," she replied. "I'll stay a couple nights with groups I run in to that aren't just as vicious as Walkers. I've never stayed with one more than a week. I'm headed south, and I don't intend on making camp for long along the way. Besides, I like it on my own, it just means I'm with the only person I can always rely on to watch my back."

"Where are you headed?"

"Louisiana," she replied.

"Where did you come from?"

"New York."

"What's in Louisiana?"

"Can we just get back to the task at hand already?" said Charlotte, obviously anxious to change the subject. She looked up at the sky, surveying the darkening clouds above. "I'd like to see you kill at least one Walker before it downpours again."

With that, Charlotte took a firm grip on her crowbar, adjusted the arrows on her back and trekked onward towards the town square. Rick didn't follow her at first, realizing she probably wouldn't have looked back to make sure he was trailing after her. They didn't get much further before two more Walkers could be seen approaching from behind the old family market.

"You ready?" asked Charlotte, propping up an arrow on her bow before pulling back the string to aim. "Remember to go for the brain."

Charlotte then released her arrow, striking a scrawny male Walker in the head and knocking him dead. Rick was suddenly struck with a surge of adrenaline. He raised the metal bat, released a loud battle cry and sprinted towards the Walker in such a rage that Charlotte even paused in surprise. Rick swung and nearly decapitated the large male Walker. Once the Walker fell to the earth Rick swung multiple times and smashed its head to mush. He was out of breath and shaking from his head to his toes. Blood was splattered on his face like a hungry animal. When Rick killed his first Walker it wasn't just the pleasure of putting an end to a potential threat. No, every swing of his bat meant something to him. He beat that nameless Walker for Carl, for Lori, for the nearly three months he'd lived in the dark, for the loss of his job, of his home, Shane and the rest of his friends that he'd grown-up with. He beat that Walker for the past he'd been forced to leave behind, the present that had been thrust unwillingly upon him and the uncertain future he'd be forced to bear.

Thick drops of rain began to fall from the blackening sky, thinning the dark splatters of blood upon Rick's muddled face. Neither of them spoke for a long while, allowing the cool raindrops to cleanse them. It was finally Rick who spoke first, sloppily wiping his face clean.

"It's raining," he said simply.

"Yeah," said Charlotte, looking up at the angry sky as if she only just noticed, "it is."

"I know where we're at," he replied. "My grandma used to live in an old house a block south. We can wait out the storm there."

Charlotte nodded, wiping the rain from her face and jogged after Rick. It wasn't hard to spot the house Rick was leading her to. His grandmother's house was the biggest house on the street, towering over all of the aging buildings in sight. It was a large Victorian home with a deep purple roof. Charlotte knew it must have been beautiful in its prime, long before the outbreak. However, wild vines now climbed the walls, broken shutters dangled over the withered siding. Rick wasn't fazed by the condition of the house. He took the crowbar from Charlotte's loose grip and pried open the front door that was sealed shut by a couple two-by-fours. With one swift kick Rick forced open the front door and slammed it closed behind them. The pair pushed an ancient sofa and coffee table in front of the door to prevent any unwanted visitors. After a sweep of the house for any Walkers, Rick and Charlotte returned to the drawing room to watch the now fierce storm taking place outside.

"So did your gran still live here before you… you know?" asked Charlotte, discarding her weapons on the floor and flopping down on an oversized armchair so her legs dangled over the side.

"Nah," said Rick, sitting down on the couch across from her to face the large front window. "She died a long time ago, just before Carl was born."

"And Carl was your kid?"

"Yeah," he said in an almost pained tone. "Carl is my son."

"Sorry," she said in a way that sounded anything but apologetic. "I'm just so used to having to refer to people in past tense that it's just second nature to me at this point."

"So you said before you've been surviving in all of this for almost three months on your own," said Rick.

"You do comprehend English," she smirked sarcastically. "What's your point?"

"Why are you on your own?"

Charlotte was visibly taken aback by such a question. She turned her head to meet his gaze, giving him a very appraising look. She slowly turned her attention back to the ceiling, kicking her legs ever so carelessly over the arm of her hideously upholstered chair.

"It's like I told you before – I like being on my own," she said.

"Right," he said slowly.

"Are you forgetting that you too are alone in this grand adventure?"

"But not willingly," he replied. "As soon as I get my strength back in a day or two – I'm going to find my family."

"I hope you have better luck than most folks," said Charlotte. "There are more Walkers than Talkers out there if you haven't already noticed."

"I've noticed," he sighed. "I just don't understand how all of this happened. The last day I was conscious… it was fine…"

"Well, it happened fast," she explained. "There were a few incidents at first but then it spread like wildfire. There was no explanation, no cure, and no answer to why. It was the worst in big cities. I was lucky enough to get out of New York before they quarantined the city."

"I can't picture you living in New York City," said Rick with a curt laugh.

"I'm obviously not from there, dipshit," she frowned. "I told you, I'm from Louisiana. I've just lived in New York since I was eighteen."

"So for what – 6 months?" he teased.

"Almost seven years," she replied, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head in jest.

"Well, you sure didn't lose your accent or that infamous southern charm," he leered.

"Fuck off," she said, throwing an ugly decorative pillow at his head.

"Yep, the proper etiquette of a true southern belle," he said, catching the pillow before it hit him in the face and immediately throwing it back at her.

"You know, Rick Grimes, your company was pretty much forced on me because of this goddamn apocalypse," said Charlotte with a quiet smile. "But I'm startin' to think I wouldn't have minded it so much before the world went shit."

It was still raining a couple hours later, pouring actually, and that was not necessarily a bad thing because Charlotte loved storms. It was one of the few things she still loved really. She had become much like a summer storm, dark and dismal, terrifyingly beautiful with brief moments of illumination that lasted no more than a second, growing few and far between as it progressed. She never had a problem with rain, getting wet and messy. She had spent the better half of her youth skipping mud puddles and catching raindrops on her tongue. She couldn't bring herself to remember any pleasant memories now, for she feared the stone shell she had worked so hard to perfect would shatter before her navy blue eyes. Her shell would shatter and her greatest fear that she was nothing but hollow would be proven true. The current state of the world had made her that way, many could argue, but she knew better. Charlotte had been this way for as long as she could remember and she had one hell of a good memory.

Georgia had suffered an unyielding drought all summer, mocking the already dire circumstance of humanity. However, the last couple days provided some relief as thunderstorms proved more frequent. Rick decided upon a nap, crossing his arms over his chest as he sprawled out on the old velvet chase. Charlotte sat in silence, listening to Rick's dull snores and the calming sounds from the storm outside. It was nice. It was nice until a roar of thunder was rudely interrupted by her roar of hunger.

Quietly climbing to her feet, Charlotte went in search of any morsel of food that may have been left behind by the home's previous owner. Walls of family portraits littered the long hallway to a door sporting a large decorative spoon and fork that led the young woman to believe a kitchen would be located on the other side. Propping the door ajar, she made her way into the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets, scouring for canned goods. Charlotte found two jars of black olives that made her mouth water before she noticed a small cubbyhole revealing a cork just out of her reach. Assuming it was a bottle of wine, she leveraged her knee onto the counter top and reached out her arm to grab the bottle.

However, a loud BOOM startled her, it was a gunshot from just behind her. Her body tensed up, causing her to fall from the counter, bringing the wine down with her and somehow managing to cradle the bottle in her lap. Charlotte instantly panicked once she got a good look at what had happened. An ancient female Walker lay dead on the tile floor just before her, blood oozing at her feet. A gunshot wound had been her end as a small flood of red blood was flowing from her skull. Charlotte's eyes slowly rose to the figure standing above herself and the dead Walker, smoke still escaping the barrel. His face was expressionless as he extending his hand to help his female counterpart to her feet.

"Sorry," he breathed, gripping her trembling palm. "It was a last resort."

–

A/N: You guys are awesome. Thank you for all the reviews. It means a lot! I know we don't know much about Charlie yet, but I promise you will in the next chapter. Rick likes her because she lives her life in the present and doesn't think people should live in the past. Little does Rick know how fast a person's past can catch up with them…

Coming Soon: Rick meets the group and finds his family with a suspicious item and Charlotte returns home to Louisiana.

Review.