Thank you so much for continuing to read, everyone! I promise you'll find out what happened to Carol, but just know that she is dead. I'll try to incorporate flashbacks as often as possible because, quite frankly, Carol is my favorite to write.

Just to be a little clearer, in this bit, it mentions another farm, one once belonging to Carol's family. I just always imagined Carol growing up around a farm, so that's how that came about.

Thank you so much for the reviews.


He often told her that she was a lot like her mother, which never helped her much in regards to missing the woman. It was always, "ya've got your momma's eyes," or something along the lines of "your momma always did that" or "you and your momma... you're a lot like her." While she was happy she was like her wonderful mama, it was a painful reminder that she had no mama anymore.

Regardless, she had her mama's old, dark blue dress on with that old string of pearls that belonged to her nana, and even she had to admit, she did look quite a bit like her mother. A bit thinner, younger, and with longer hair, but a spitting image of the woman nonetheless. When she looked at herself, she wished her mama was there instead. She saw a skinny, little girl, frail and fragile, not the strong woman her mama had been.

Back at the second farmhouse, which had belonged to her mama's family before, there was a small wedding ceremony for two of the remaining survivors. The First Lady and the baby were gone. The older man and his RV were gone. The farmer and his younger daughter were gone. The sheriff's loose cannon friend was gone. Not many were left at that point. The old man, who owned the first farm, had another daughter, Maggie. That day, she was marrying the only person who still mattered to her in the hell they were living in.

Her mama stood in her the large, old room, which had belonged to her mother and father when she was young, in that same dress with that same string of pearls. With such a joyous occasion happening, there were tears streaming from those clear, blue eyes. A year or so later, she was told it was that day her mama found out from her baby sister that her own daddy had 'opted out' after the dead started to rise, but at that moment, she just watched her mama cry to her reflection. "Don't cry." He had cleaned up nicely, a clean, button down shirt adorning his figure, and was standing on the opposite side of the room. "You're too pretty to be cryin' like that." After moving across the room slowly until he was standing behind her, his hands rested on her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled. "I didn't... I don't..." Her mama was stuttering. This was something she did often around him. Half of the time, she didn't even know what she wanted to say probably because their relationship did not consist of much talking to begin with. "I haven't worn this dress since I married Ed." A small smile, though it was barely one, grew across her thin lips. "I always loved it, though. My mother always said it looked beautiful on me, and my daddy-" She paused a moment in order keep her composure. "My daddy told me I looked like her when I wore these." Her fingers rolled over the pearls thoughtfully. "I hoped he would've passed before all of this. He'd been in so much pain before that."

His hands had gone to rubbing her arms, trying to comfort her. The attempt was as good as anything he could have done for her. "'S probably watchin' over you now. Should be pretty proud of himself 'cause he sure raised one hell of a woman." With tears returning to her eyes, she grabbed his right hand and pressed a soft kiss against the scar which sat where is thumb met the rest of his hand. Their eyes met in the reflection, and one of those rare smiles came across his face. Burying his face into the crook of her neck, he used his free arm to wrap around her. "Love ya', woman."

No longer a young girl crouched outside of a room spying on her mama and him, the, now, woman frowned. Everything seemed so empty without her mama around. As much as she may look like her mother, she wasn't her. She had her blonde curls framing her face. She looked a little more tired. Her eyes looked much colder. Her body was a little too skinny, almost breakable. Something about her face showed a little bit of her daddy, which brought a sick feeling into the pit her stomach. "No!" A fist collided with the image in front of her, blood splattering onto the floor. She stared down at her hand to see the damage. Not too bad, she assessed, there were only a few larger glass shards that would be easy to pick out of her bloody knuckles. After concluding her wounds were minor, she dropped down to her knees, glass particles stabbing through the skin of her knees "I'm sorry, Mama. I should've protected you better." Droplets cascaded down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I love you, Mama."