Alyssa burst through the doors to the yard, her heart pounding with fear and frustration. Rick, Daryl, and Glenn were right behind her, their expressions mirroring her own urgency. She was desperate for answers, for any sign that Lori, Carl, and Maggie were safe.
Outside, Hershel, Carol, and Beth stood waiting, their faces etched with worry and confusion. As soon as she saw them, Alyssa's voice cracked with a mix of relief and concern. "I thought I shut you guys in!" she shouted, her words coming out sharper than she intended, her worry getting the better of her.
Hershel raised a calming hand, but his own concern was evident. "We got worried when we heard the alarm stop," he explained. "We thought something might've happened to you all."
Alyssa's gaze darted around, her voice growing more frantic as she asked, "Where's Lori, Carl, and Maggie?" Her eyes searched each of their faces, praying that one of them might have seen them, that they could offer her some reassurance.
But Carol shook her head, her face pale. "We haven't seen them," she said, her voice filled with a quiet dread. "We thought they were with you."
Alyssa's heart dropped, and she glanced back at Rick, Daryl, and Glenn, the gravity of the situation settling heavily over them. Lori, Carl, and Maggie were still out there somewhere, alone and vulnerable in the chaos of the prison.
Rick's face tightened with determination, the weight of his responsibility pressing down on him. "Then we need to find them," he said firmly. "They can't be far. We'll search the prison from top to bottom if we have to."
Daryl nodded, already checking his crossbow, his jaw set. "Let's go. Ain't no time to waste."
As Rick, Alyssa, Daryl, and the others prepared to head back inside to search, the sound of a door unlocking made them freeze in their tracks. They turned around, each of them holding their breath, a strange mix of hope and dread filling the air.
The door to the cell block creaked open, and out stepped Carl. His face was pale, grief etched into every line, his young eyes swollen and red. He looked so much older than his years, like he'd been forced to carry a weight far beyond his capacity. The group's relief quickly turned to confusion and worry, taking in the expression on his face—a face that seemed haunted by something unimaginable.
Behind him, Maggie stepped out, her face equally stricken. In her arms, she clutched a tiny bundle wrapped in a blanket—a baby, no more than a few hours old. Her grip was protective but trembling, her gaze distant as she held the newborn close to her chest.
Rick's face drained of color as he took in the sight, his eyes moving from Carl's haunted expression to the small, helpless figure in Maggie's arms. He took a shaky step forward, his voice barely a whisper. "Carl... where's Lori?"
Carl swallowed, his eyes filling with tears, but he tried to hold it together. His voice was rough, broken. "She... she didn't make it, Dad." His words hung heavy in the air, and the weight of the loss slammed into Rick with the force of a sledgehammer.
Rick's breath hitched, and he staggered back, his face contorting with pain and disbelief. The world around him blurred as the reality sank in, every fiber of his being shattering as he processed Carl's words. Lori, the woman he'd loved, the mother of his children—gone.
Alyssa's hand flew to her mouth, her own heart breaking as she watched her father crumble under the weight of this unimaginable grief. She felt her own tears sting her eyes, but her focus remained on Carl, who stood there, somehow holding it together in the face of his own devastation.
Daryl reached out, steadying Rick as he struggled to breathe, his eyes vacant and lost. No words could soothe this pain, this impossible loss. They all stood there, the silence heavy, their grief raw and uncontainable. In Maggie's arms, the baby let out a faint, helpless cry, a stark reminder of the life that had come into the world as another had departed.
Maggie clutched the tiny newborn tighter against her chest, her own composure crumbling as she began to sob uncontrollably. "She... she went into labor," Maggie stammered, her voice barely holding together. "I... I had to... I had to get the baby out. There was no time. She... she didn't..." Her words faltered, the grief choking her as the weight of what she'd just been through settled heavily on her shoulders.
Rick's face twisted with a raw, unbearable agony as the reality struck him. The full force of the loss tore through him, his knees buckling as he collapsed to the ground, a guttural scream of anguish ripping from his throat. "No!" he cried, the sound echoing off the cold concrete walls, filled with a pain so deep it felt like it could tear the world apart.
Alyssa watched, paralyzed, her own tears spilling over as she saw her father shattered in a way she'd never seen before. She wanted to comfort him, to reach out, but the grief was too overwhelming, too all-consuming. All she could do was stand there, her heart breaking for her father, her brother, and the family they had lost.
Carl, standing nearby, looked down, his young face streaked with tears, his expression a mix of sorrow, guilt, and the heavy burden of the decision he'd been forced to make. He had lost his mother, but he had done what needed to be done, and the pain of that knowledge weighed on him.
Daryl placed a steady hand on Rick's shoulder, trying to anchor him through the storm of grief that had engulfed him. Words failed him; there was nothing he could say to make this right. But his presence was a reminder that Rick wasn't alone, even in this darkest moment.
The group stood together in silence, the weight of the loss pressing down on them, a reminder of how fragile their lives had become. And in Maggie's trembling arms, the newborn baby—a life born out of tragedy—offered the faintest glimmer of hope, even as it felt impossibly small in the face of the immense grief that surrounded them.
Rick's face twisted in a raw, tortured expression as he turned abruptly and stormed off toward the cell block, his shoulders tense, fists clenched. The pain radiated off him in waves, his entire being consumed by grief and anger. He didn't even glance back at the group, didn't acknowledge the baby Maggie held so protectively. In his mind, the child was a living reminder of Shane's betrayal, of how he'd taken everything from him—even in death.
As Rick disappeared into the shadows of the cell block, Alyssa's voice cut through the silence, filled with desperation. "Rick! Don't... don't go in there!" But her plea fell on deaf ears. Rick's only response was a scream of "NO!" that echoed down the hall, daring anyone to follow him, his grief a barricade around him that none could penetrate.
Alyssa flinched at his response, her heart breaking as she watched her father retreat further into his pain. She could feel the chasm growing between them, an unspoken distance formed by the agony he was carrying, an agony so heavy it seemed he was drowning in it. She wanted to chase after him, to pull him back, but his pain was like a wall, thick and impenetrable, daring anyone to even try.
Daryl placed a hand on her shoulder, his face somber, silently encouraging her to stay back. "He needs to do this on his own," he said quietly, his voice rough but steady. He understood Rick's rage, that need to confront the finality of loss, no matter how painful. Daryl knew there was nothing anyone could say or do to ease the storm raging within Rick right now.
Alyssa nodded, her face pale and tear-streaked, feeling powerless to help her father. She stood rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on the cell block entrance, a part of her hoping that he would turn around and come back, but knowing deep down that he wouldn't—not yet.
Around her, the others shared a collective silence, each lost in their own grief, trying to process the profound loss they'd just endured. Maggie held the baby close, her face streaked with tears, the small life in her arms somehow both a blessing and a burden in this fractured family.
Daryl, surprising even himself, quickly took charge, a sense of urgency and responsibility snapping him into action. He rushed over to Maggie, who was still clutching the baby, her face pale and tear-streaked. Daryl had never been around babies before, had barely even held one, but instinct took over as he assessed the situation. He knew enough to understand that without Lori, the baby was helpless and vulnerable, and they'd need supplies to keep it alive.
"Alright, listen up," he said, his tone steady and commanding, a rare authority filling his voice. "This little one's gonna need food, and we ain't got nothin' here for that." He glanced around, taking in the stunned, grief-stricken faces of the group. "We need to get formula, bottles... anythin' that can keep this kid fed."
Maggie nodded, clutching the baby protectively, her eyes wide but resolute. "I'll go," she said, her voice shaky but determined. "I know a few places we passed not far from here. Maybe there's a store we could scavenge."
Daryl looked around, calculating quickly. He knew they couldn't afford to split up too thin, not with the walkers potentially still lurking in the prison and Rick's mental state hanging by a thread. "Alright, Maggie. You're with me. We'll move fast, in and out. The rest of y'all, stay here, keep things secure."
He looked over at Carol and Hershel, trusting them to hold down the fort and keep an eye on Rick, hoping he wouldn't spiral further. "Carol, Hershel, keep the group together. Don't let anyone go wanderin' off. And... keep an eye on Rick."
Alyssa stood nearby, watching Daryl with a mix of surprise and respect. She could see the determination in his eyes, a protective side she hadn't seen quite like this before. The way he'd stepped up, the way he took charge for the sake of the baby—, Shane's child—left an impression on her. This wasn't about the past or grudges; it was about survival, about keeping their fragile family together.
"Let's go," Daryl said, nodding at Maggie, who handed the baby carefully to Carol before steeling herself. Together, they moved toward the exit, their goal clear. They would find formula, no matter what it took. The baby's survival depended on it.
Alyssa's voice rang out, her tone a mixture of fear, desperation, and perhaps a lingering need for comfort in the face of everything that had just unraveled. "Daryl! Wait!"
But Daryl didn't look back. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the task ahead. He knew Alyssa was hurting, and under different circumstances, he would've been there for her. But right now, the baby was a priority—an innocent life hanging in the balance. Consoling Alyssa would have to wait. His shoulders stiffened, blocking out the sound of her voice as he focused on what he needed to do.
Maggie climbed onto the back of his bike, clutching his shoulders as he revved the engine, the noise cutting through the heavy silence of the yard. She was still visibly shaken, but her expression had shifted to one of determination, matching his resolve. Together, they had a mission now—one that could mean the difference between life and death for the newborn.
Without another glance back, Daryl took off, the roar of the motorcycle echoing as they sped out of the prison gates, leaving behind the painful, fractured scene and everyone still processing the loss.
Alyssa turned back, her heart aching, and ran to Carl, pulling him into a tight embrace. She held him close, feeling the weight of the loss that hung over both of them. The baby—a life that had just entered the world in the midst of unimaginable pain and chaos—felt like a stranger to her. Technically, it wasn't her sibling. Lori hadn't been her mother, and Shane was the father, not Rick. But she understood what it meant to Carl. To him, the baby was a connection to his mother, a piece of family he hadn't asked for but now held onto, even amidst the grief.
She tightened her arms around him, feeling his small, trembling frame against hers. In that moment, she wasn't thinking about the complexity of their family ties or the confusing, fractured connections that bound them. All that mattered was Carl, her half-brother, who had just lost his mother and was forced to carry a weight far beyond his years.
"It's gonna be okay, Carl," she whispered, though her voice shook, betraying her own uncertainty. She knew those words felt hollow, especially in the face of everything they'd just gone through. But she wanted him to know she was there for him, that he wasn't alone in this.
Carl clung to her, his face pressed against her shoulder, his grief heavy and silent. The baby's faint cries drifted through the air from Carol's arms, but Alyssa didn't turn to look. She didn't even know if it was a boy or a girl; in her mind, it didn't feel like her sibling, didn't feel like her family. But Carl was. And she would protect him, hold him, and do whatever it took to help him carry this burden, no matter how broken their world had become.
As Alyssa held Carl tightly, memories flooded her mind, memories she had buried deep, memories she hadn't allowed herself to revisit in a long time. She remembered the day the world changed, the day she'd lost her own mother, Alice. She could still see it clearly—the chaos, the terror, and the image of her mother's face as she realized there was no escape. Alice had been bitten, and in those final moments, she'd looked at Alyssa, her last words a quiet, desperate plea: Find Rick Grimes.
The pain she'd felt then, the raw, unrelenting grief, echoed in her heart as she held Carl. She'd felt lost, just as he did now. Losing a mother, especially in this world, felt like losing a piece of yourself. Alyssa hadn't allowed herself to think about Alice much since she'd found Rick; she'd focused on survival, on adapting, on forming a bond with the family she had left. But seeing Carl, broken and grieving, stirred all of that back up, reopening old wounds that had never fully healed.
She clung to him, not just as his sister but as someone who knew exactly what he was going through, someone who understood the hollow ache that came with such a loss. She wanted to tell him that the pain would ease, that it would become bearable with time, but she knew that would be a lie. She hadn't fully recovered from her own loss, and maybe she never would.
"Carl," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "I know it hurts. I know it feels like... like nothing's gonna be okay again. But I'm here, alright? I'm not going anywhere." She pulled back just enough to look at him, her gaze fierce and filled with a fierce determination. "We're in this together. You're not alone."
Carl looked up at her, his young face etched with sorrow and a flicker of understanding. He knew, on some level, that Alyssa understood him in a way no one else could. They'd both lost parents, been forced to grow up too fast, and found themselves in a world where innocence didn't exist anymore.
They held each other in that painful, silent understanding, bound not just by blood but by shared loss, each of them drawing strength from the other as they braced themselves to face a world that had taken so much from them yet demanded that they keep moving forward.
Carol stepped forward, her expression gentle but worn as she carefully handed the newborn over to Beth. Beth took the baby in her arms with a tenderness that seemed to ease some of the tension in the air. Hershel moved closer, his gaze softened with the wisdom of someone who had seen both life and death many times over. He carefully examined the little girl, checking her tiny fingers, her soft breaths, and giving a small, almost imperceptible nod of reassurance. She was healthy.
"It's a girl," Hershel announced softly, his voice tinged with a bittersweet tone, as if acknowledging both the miracle of new life and the tragedy of the one lost to bring her here.
Beth held the baby close, her own expression a mixture of sadness and wonder. She gently rocked the infant, her face reflecting the gravity of the moment. The baby, blissfully unaware of the world she'd been born into, gave a small murmur, her face peaceful in Beth's arms.
Axel and Oscar stood off to the side, their expressions filled with discomfort and uncertainty, watching the scene unfold but not quite knowing how to fit into it. They were outsiders here, new additions to this fractured family, unsure of what to say or do in the face of such raw, heavy grief mixed with fragile hope.
Glenn stood a little apart from the group, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he looked at the baby girl. The sight stirred a deep, conflicting emotion within him. In her tiny, fragile presence, he saw the continuation of their struggle, a reminder of the innocence that still clung to their lives, even in the face of overwhelming loss.
Carol's gaze shifted to Alyssa, and her breath caught in her throat. Alyssa's face was splattered with blood, a stark contrast against her pale skin. The distant, hardened look in her eyes was hauntingly familiar—it was the same expression she'd seen on Rick's face so many times before, a look born of too much loss, too many battles, and too many choices that no one should have to make. Whatever had happened down in those tombs had changed Alyssa, had forced her to take on yet another weight she shouldn't have had to bear.
Stepping forward cautiously, Carol reached out, her hand gentle as she touched Alyssa's shoulder. "Alyssa... honey, are you okay?" Her voice was soft, carrying a warmth that she hoped would bring Alyssa back, if only a little, from the darkness that had settled over her.
Alyssa blinked, almost as if snapping out of a trance, and looked at Carol. She opened her mouth to speak but found herself unable to find the words. The weight of what she'd done, what she'd seen, still hung heavily on her. Images of T-Dog's final moments, the chaos of the walkers, and the cold, deliberate choices she'd been forced to make replayed in her mind.
Seeing the struggle in Alyssa's eyes, Carol gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, grounding her. "Whatever happened... you did what you had to," Carol whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of understanding and sorrow. She could sense the turmoil inside Alyssa, the same turmoil she'd seen in Rick, in Daryl, in herself. The world they lived in now demanded things that no one should have to face.
Alyssa gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, her gaze dropping to the ground. She knew Carol was right, but it didn't make the weight any easier to bear. In the quiet of that moment, Carol's presence offered a flicker of comfort, a reminder that even in their darkest moments, they weren't truly alone.
Beth approached Alyssa cautiously, her gaze soft but filled with a quiet determination. She held the baby girl close, cradling her with a gentleness that came naturally to her. Beth and Alyssa had forged a friendship over the past months, one built on shared hardships and quiet moments of trust. Now, seeing Alyssa so closed off, her face hardened with grief and blood still speckling her skin, Beth felt a surge of compassion. She wanted to remind Alyssa of the small sparks of hope they still had, even in a world that seemed to offer so little of it.
"Alyssa," Beth said softly, moving into her line of sight. She offered a small, tentative smile, one that was both gentle and inviting. "Do you... do you want to meet her?"
Alyssa glanced up, her face an unreadable mask for a moment. The weight of everything she'd experienced lingered in her eyes, but as she looked at Beth holding the tiny baby, her expression softened, if only slightly. This little girl wasn't her sibling, not by blood, and the connection was complicated by the ghosts of the past. But she couldn't deny the innocence she saw in that tiny face, a reminder of what life had once been—fragile, full of possibility.
Beth stepped closer, lifting the baby just enough for Alyssa to see her better. "She's a fighter, just like you," Beth murmured, her tone filled with admiration and quiet hope. "I thought... maybe you'd like to meet her. I know it's not easy, but... she's here, and she's ours to protect now."
Alyssa took a hesitant step forward, her gaze fixed on the small bundle in Beth's arms. Slowly, she reached out, her fingers brushing against the baby's soft cheek. The child stirred slightly, letting out a faint murmur, her tiny features peaceful and unmarked by the horrors that surrounded them.
In that quiet moment, something shifted inside Alyssa. She still felt the weight of loss, of the choices she'd made, but looking at the baby reminded her of what she was fighting for—why they all kept going, even when it felt impossible. She glanced up at Beth, a hint of gratitude in her eyes, and gave her a small, barely-there nod. For a fleeting moment, there was a sense of shared understanding between them, a connection that went beyond words.
"Thanks, Beth," Alyssa whispered, her voice thick but steady. She didn't have to say more; Beth knew what she meant. They were all bound by the same purpose now—to protect what little they had left, to hold onto each other in whatever way they could.