Her name was Charlotte.

A lot of people in the hole in the wall neighborhood where Michonne had lived most of her life wondered why she named her daughter such a traditional name. Many of them also scoffed at her choice to go away to college years earlier, so the fact that she named her child after the author Charlotte Bronte probably would have caused more questions than Michonne felt like answering. She just told people "because it's a good name" and left it at that.

On the day where her world went to hell, Michonne felt extraordinarily happy. She had a day off from the small law office in town where she worked as the sole paralegal. She was sitting on the porch of the little house that she rented with her boyfriend of five years, Gerald. The sun was shining, she was reading a book while sipping on the best glass of sweet tea she'd ever had, and every so often grinned at Charlotte who was sitting on the steps playing with one of her dolls.

Michonne remembered chuckling with wonder that any child of hers would like baby dolls. When she was nearly two, as Charlotte was, she was playing with big yellow toy dump trucks, He Man action figures, and water pistols.

She felt perfectly safe. Everyone in the neighborhood had heard of the odd illness going around in Atlanta, but that was almost fifty miles away. Things like that didn't happen out there in the country.

It must have been around noon when she felt the familiar vibrate of her cell phone in her back pocket. It was Gerald, who was working in nearby McDonough for a couple of days on a big construction job. "Hey babe, good day?"

"Michonne," She immediately knew something was wrong. Gerald never said her name unless something was wrong. "Babe, it's real bad."

"What is it?" Michonne stood up, which caused Charotte to walk up to her and tug at the leg of her pants.

"It's here. The sickness. It happened so suddenly. I was in one of the trailers eating my sandwich, and O'Neil… or something that looked like O'Neil… Dammit!" Gerald winced in pain, and Michonne could tell he was in agony.

"Gerald, baby, what happened?" She picked her daughter up and cradled her to her chest with her free arm. Charlotte started to whimper, and Michonne wished she'd stop because she'd make her start crying too.

"I got bit. The asshole bit me. Took a big chunk out of my arm. SHIT!" There was growling in the background. Growling. "What the hell… there's more!"

"GERALD! What's going on? It sounds like animals." Michonne imagined him in a trailer surrounded by bloodthirsty wolves, and her skin went cold.

"They are animals. They aren't human, but they're my crew. My boss… everybody. SHIT!" Michonne heard a loud growl as if it was right near Gerald's phone. "Get outta here! NO! Dammit, NO! Michonne, baby, take Charlotte in! This is too close to you! Shit! NO NOOO NOOO NOOOOOOO!"

Michonne was grasping the phone so tightly that she thought it would shatter in her hands. She was so intent on figuring out what was happening to Gerald that she didn't even realize that she was shouting into the phone GERALD GERALD GERALD over and over and over again as Charotte screamed and cried. He went silent. She continued to call for him, but all she could hear on the line was that horrible growling. It sounded like something out of a nightmare about the depths of hell.

The phone went silent.

It was too quiet. Everything around her was too quiet.

With a heart beating so fast that she was convinced it would pop out of her chest at any moment, Michonne held Charlotte even closer to her and ran across the street. Gerald had their only vehicle and she needed a car so she could go find him. Mrs. Eads across the street was the only person in the neighborhood that she knew for a fact would be home. She was over eighty, and had a nearly brand new Cadillac parked in her driveway.

"Mrs. Eads! MRS. EADS!" She must have knocked 100 times, and nobody came to the door. Michonne felt like she was in another world where everyone had vanished but her and Charlotte. The old lady never left her house. Where did she go?

"Hey, girl."

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the male voice behind her. Michonne quickly turned around and saw a man that she'd never seen before. He was young… probably between 21 and 25. He was standing about fifteen feet away, right behind her.

"Whatcha hollerin about?"

Never one to trust strangers who just appear out of nowhere, Michonne ignored him and tried to walk back toward her house. He stepped in front of her to block her way. "Don't be rude, girl. I asked you what you were hollerin about?"

"Get out of the way." If Michonne hadn't been holding Charlotte she would have kicked him the groin and ran.

"That's no way to be, girl. The world's gone to shit. I'm just tryin' to be friendly. Me and Travis started walkin almost a month ago when the weird shit started happenin'. We haven't seen a pretty woman in a while who wasn't rotting."

Michonne looked down at the hands of the stranger. He was holding a bat. There was blood on it. Before she could even give it another thought, Michonne ran across the street to her front door with her daughter in her arms.

The stranger was right behind her.

She made it to the door, threw it open, and slammed it behind her with a quick turn of the deadbolt. Michonne thought everything was okay.

Another young guy, who must have been the one the other guy called Travis, was in her living room holding a gun.