"Lock your doors and windows, barricade your home, prepare your weapons and stay inside. I repeat: stay inside," the anchorman's voice boomed out from the T.V as Lori packed her son's clothing. Shane let out a brisk "Ha," before turning the television off.
"Mom, why're we going if the man says to stay home?" Carl asked, sitting on his bed.
"It ain't him who's going to come and rescue you, Carl. He's just saying what he was told to say. A load of b-" Shane stopped when he saw Lori glaring at him. No cursing, of course. Not in front of Carl.
"What about dad, mom?" Carl inquired, oblivious to the danger that was beginning to surround him. Shane and Lori didn't answer. There was nothing to say, Carl wouldn't understand.
"Your daddy's gone, kid," Shane replied, kneeling before the young boy, "He's gone and he won't come back."

Lori replayed the scene in her mind, so vivid in her memory. She thought of how she'd felt when Shane had stalked into her home and told her that her husband was dead, how she had almost had a breakdown but remembered she had a son to care for. She remembered Shane's lips on hers and the terror when she encountered a walker for the first time. She remembered when Rick appeared at the camp, on the outskirts of Atlanta, the joy she'd felt and Carl's happy face when he saw his father for the first time in so many weeks. But now it was Lori's turn to go, to go and to never come back. She held her baby to her chest, playing those memories in her mind and she knew it, she just knew it would happen.

'I love you my baby boy,' she thought to herself, watching her son swiftly running past the bullets with his dad nearby. The two men she loved most, the two men she would guard from wherever she would go. Just one step, one movement of her foot and all was over. The bullet went right through her, and just as she felt herself go down, she saw in the distance the love of her life, running with their son at his heels. They would be safe and sound, and she would be gone.

He was born of love and he would survive, but Judith, the poor baby girl, would not have the same luck. Crushed under her mother's weight, suffocated to death, the newborn baby merely gave a whimper and went off to sleep along with her mother. She would have lived and fought, she would have killed them all. She would have loved her daddy, but there was nobody to cry for poor baby Judith, not in the midst of this chaos.

"Where's mom?" Carl asked, panting for breath,

"She's gone," Rick answered, looking back at the prison, a gleam of sadness in his eyes, "She's gone and she won't come back."