Part 1

Song accompaniment: "My Silver Lining," First Aid Kit

Christine shook her shoulder, trying to adjust the strap of her bag without putting Judith down. Finding herself unsuccessful, she shifted Judith to one arm, took the long strap of the duffel bag and lifted it over her head so that the strap hung diagonally across her body and the bag sat snugly against her back.

"That's better," she said to Judith.

She knew Judith couldn't understand her but people talked to babies that way all the time and Christine needed to talk to someone. Ever since the prison was destroyed two days earlier, Christine had been terrified by the silence that surrounded her. Whenever she let herself feel it too acutely, it nearly paralyzed her, stopping her in the middle of the road while she relived the governor laying Michonne's sword deep into Hershel's neck, the governor and his people blasting through the prison fences, the walkers streaming in, her father out in the middle of it all.

So she talked to Judith to ward off the silence and its accompanying images.

"We're going to go find Dad and Carl, Judith. They made it out, I'm sure of it. They're probably looking for us too."

"We'll follow the railroad tracks for now, Judith."

"They must have made it out. Carl's become such a good shot. I'm sure they made it out."

"We'll sleep in here tonight."

"Dad and Carl know how to survive, Judith. They'll be fine. We have to stay alive for them, ok? They'll find us. If we don't find them first."

She kissed Judith on the top of her head and smoothed her light brown baby hairs back and out of her face. Christine often thought about how she was old enough to be Judith's mother. Her own parents were only sixteen when they had her and Christine was twenty-two now. Sometimes, she felt like she was Judith's mother but then she'd chastise herself. Judith had a mother already, the same one that Christine did, and she and Carl and her father were going to make sure Judith knew who that mother was. Or, that had been the plan anyway. She and Carl had stayed up late several nights planning how they'd teach Judith about Mom, about how smart she was and strong, about how she made horrible pancakes; they considered what they'd include and what they might not. Now, she wasn't sure where Carl was, where their father was, wasn't even sure they were alive, despite what she told Judith. Reflecting on this, she squeezed Judith a little tighter, causing her to cry.

"Shh, Shh," she cooed. "It's ok, baby. It's ok. I need you to be quiet, all right?"

Judith began to cry louder.

Christine rocked her back and forth as she walked. "Judith, if you're quiet, it'll help us find Dad and Carl, ok?" Judith continued to cry. "And Maggie," Christine whispered into the top of her sister's head. "And Michonne, and Glenn, and Daryl, and Beth, and Carol, and Tyreese, and Sasha."

Christine felt herself beginning to cry too but stifled it. They didn't have enough water for her to be wasting it on tears. Besides, she had to keep her wits about her. She had always had trouble killing walkers and that was without the extra burden of a crying baby in her arms. Christine sighed and stopped just for a moment. She set Judith down on the ground, swung the bag off her shoulder, and began rifling through it.

It wasn't very full. The two containers of formula, two baby bottles, five water bottles, one packet of diapers, and one pistol took up less than half the space. There wasn't nearly enough formula for Judith and hardly any water to mix it in. Christine was trying to ration the water but they'd be out of that in less than a week. Meanwhile, there wasn't any food for Christine. She'd been living off berries for the last two days but she knew that wasn't sustainable. Her hand moved through the bag's empty space until she found the pistol. She checked to make sure the safety was on, then tucked it into the back of her pants. She also pulled her knife out of her back pocket. If Judith was going to keep crying, Christine would need to be prepared for whatever the cries attracted—walkers or people. She hoisted the bag onto her back and picked up Judith, holding her in the crook of her left arm as she wrapped the fingers of her right hand around the knife.

"It's ok, Judith," she said. "Don't cry. It's ok."

This was a lie of course but Judith couldn't know that.

"I won't let anything happen to you, ok?"

This wasn't a lie.

Christine considered singing to Judith, something she had never tried before but had heard Beth doing. She wracked her brain for songs but she didn't know any music for babies. What kind of a sister was she not to know any nursery rhymes? Had she been leaving too much of Judith's care up to Beth? Pondering this, she squinted in the bright sunlight, then smiled.

"I've got it," she whispered to a still bawling Judith.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are grey.
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away.

Judith's crying slowed and Christine tried to remember the next verse. Failing to do so,

she opted to sing the chorus again and, when it worked and Judith stopped crying all together, a third time.

"Don't worry," she said. "No one will ever take you away from me."

As the sun began to set, Christine veered away from the tracks into the woods. She liked to stay out in the open during the day. It was easier to spot walkers that way and to avoid them entirely. She also liked her chances of running into someone from their group better out in the open than in the woods. She realized that, under ordinary circumstances, her father would probably choose to travel through the woods in order to hide from other unsavory travelers. However, she didn't think it likely that they'd run into each other in the large expanse of forest. Limiting her search to the small width of a train track seemed more promising. She hoped her father and Carl were travelling along the railroad track, or at least an open road, for the same reasons she was and that, through some miracle, they'd find themselves walking along the same path. At night, however, she tried to find a cabin or shack to sleep in and had managed to find one her first night. She was pleasantly surprised by the number of rudimentary dwellings scattered throughout the woods, often just a few feet away from the train tracks.

This night was no exception and soon Christine and Judith were settled inside what looked like a small hunting cabin. Rifles and deer heads lined the walls and there was even a cot in the far corner. Christine pulled one of the rifles off its mount and jammed it through the door handle, using it as another lock to keep walkers out. The only chair in the cabin was spindly and flimsy-looking but she pushed it up against the door anyway.

Christine lay an already sleeping Judith on the wall-side of the cot and lay down next to her. Christine hadn't slept since leaving the prison, too scared to close her eyes even inside the cabin on the first night. Tonight, though, she could barely keep them open. She gently placed her hand around one of Judith's tiny hands. She wasn't much of a singer but singing to Judith on the road had brought back old memories, old songs too. Her mother hadn't been much of a singer either but she used to sing to Christine every night, or so Christine thought she remembered. Maybe what she actually remembered was her mother singing to Carl but she must have sung to Christine too. Or maybe not. She had been so young. Christine shrugged her shoulders. Her mother would have sung to Judith, she reasoned and began to sing herself, drawing up the words and melody from some hidden reserve, unsure of what the lyric would be until it passed through her lips.

Lullaby, and good night. In the skies stars are bright.
May the moon's silvery beams bring you sweet dreams.
Close your eyes, now and rest. May these hours be blessed
Till the sky's bright with dawn, when you wake with a yawn.
Lullaby, and good night. You are mother's delight.
I'll protect you from harm, and you'll wake in my arms.

She couldn't stop the tears this time and saw drops of dew clinging to her eyelashes as she blinked. After a few more blinks, Christine let her eyes close completely.

She woke to the sound of rattling and instinctively grabbed for Judith who woke up and began to cry. Reorienting herself to her surroundings, Christine realized that someone—or perhaps a crowd of someones—was trying to get through the door. The cabin had no windows so she tiptoed over to the door and put her ear to wood, hearing the unmistakable sound of walkers. She had no way of knowing how many of them were out there and no way of leaving. She walked back to Judith and wrapped her in a blanket from the cot as if this would ease her crying. Then she went back to the door and sat down in the chair, adding her weight to the obstacles in the walkers' path. Judith's crying was becoming pitiful; she was beginning to shriek. Christine had wanted to keep her as far from the walkers as possible but she didn't want to risk drawing more in and she could hardly stand leaving Judith alone to cry like that. She scooped her up and rushed back to the chair, rocking Judith on her knee.

Eventually Judith stopped crying and Christine became habituated to the noise of the walkers, the way she had with the cicadas that visited her house in the summer or the traffic that rushed past her old dorm window. The walkers were making no progress on the cabin door and the walls looked pretty sturdy. Christine wrapped her arms around Judith, leaned her head back, and fell asleep.