The sunrise bathed Woodbury in a grim orange glow, painting the broken walls and scorched streets in shades of fatigue and fire. Smoke drifted from dying fires around the outer barricades, the remnants of burning runner corpses smoldering in heaps. The town was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that came after survival, but before the next storm.
Then it came.
"Return my daughter to me, and I'll let you live."
The voice rang out like a bell through the early morning haze, cutting straight to the bone.
From atop the eastern wall, Murphy stood still as a statue, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the treeline. The Governor stood just beyond it, flanked by two Runners, their bodies twitching with restrained energy. More of the horde loomed deeper in the forest's shadow, too many to count.
Murphy's lips pressed into a thin line. His blue eyes, sharp and calculating, didn't leave the Governor. "There he is," he muttered.
Rick stood beside him, the early light reflecting off the polished metal of his revolver. His fingers hovered just above the grip, and his jaw was clenched tight. "He is willing to do anything to get her back because he loves her," Rick said. "Maybe we can make some sort of deal."
Daryl leaned against the wall's edge, one boot propped up, crossbow resting against his knee. He snorted. "You believe that bastard's gonna just walk away? Soon as he gets her back, he'll bring hell."
Amy stood nearby, holding a scoped rifle, her lips pressed into a tight, thin line. Her eyes darted between the Governor and the people around her. "We can't survive another full attack," she said softly. "We're running low on ammo. And people."
Andrea placed a steady hand on Amy's shoulder, though her own face was shadowed with tension. "She's right. We barely made it through last night."
Murphy turned to the group. His face was hard, jaw set, a few flecks of blood still dried along the collar of his vest. "We don't give her back," he said. "Not to him. We use her."
A few stunned expressions met his words.
T-Dog, manning a mounted rifle nearby, gave a slow nod. "What're you thinkin'?"
Murphy's eyes didn't blink. "We draw him out. Make him think we're giving her back. Then once he's far enough from the horde... we take him out."
Rick's eyes darkened slightly, but he nodded. "It's risky."
"Everything's risky now," Murphy replied.
From behind the sandbags, Dale adjusted his hat with a shaking hand, his face lined with grim resolve. "I'll go," he said quietly.
Shane stepped forward, jaw tight, eyes burning with defiance and something darker—something unresolved. "I'll do it," he said. "I already started this. I'll finish it."
Murphy looked between them. He hesitated, especially when his gaze met Shane's.
Then he nodded. "Fine. You'll take one of the trucks. You get him to follow, lead him into the dead zone on the highway—mile marker twenty-three. That stretch of road's narrow, boxed in by trees.
"I know where that is,I want a shot at Killing the Governor" Daryl said quietly, stepping up.
Murphy looked to him now, his voice lower. "Follow 'em from a distance. If the Governor survives the hand-off, you make sure he doesn't get another chance."
Daryl didn't flinch. "He won't."
Shane raised a brow. "What, I ain't enough?"
Murphy's gaze turned steely. "No offense, Shane. But I don't trust you to do what's necessary unless your own blood's on the line."
Shane bristled, but Rick stepped in. "Cool it. We're all on edge."
Amy glanced over, worry in her eyes. "You're really sending them out with her?" she asked. "That thing?"
"She's bait," Murphy said without hesitation. "And the only card we've got left."
The group slowly dispersed, each member moving to their station—loading weapons, checking ammunition, tending to the wounded. Andrea stayed behind with Murphy, her expression unreadable.
"You sure about this?" she asked.
"No," Murphy replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I'm done playing defense. It's time we end this."
An hour later, the truck rumbled out of the front gate.
With a rumble of the engine, Shane tightened his grip on the wheel, jaw clenched, eyes sharp and burning with stubborn defiance. Dale sat stiffly beside him, shotgun resting across his lap, one hand gripping the door handle as though bracing for impact. In the back seat, the Governor's daughter sat chained and gagged, her vacant, cloudy eyes staring ahead without comprehension, her pale skin glowing faintly in the early morning light.
The vehicle rolled toward the entrance of Woodbury, its tires crunching over scattered debris. Smoke drifted lazily from the charred remnants of barricades. Behind them, the reinforced steel gates creaked open just enough to let the car through—no more, no less. As the vehicle slipped past the threshold, the gates slammed shut again with a deep, metallic groan, sealing off the town once more.
High on the wall, Murphy and Rick watched them go in silence. Murphy's hands were clasped behind his back, knuckles white, his face a stoic mask. Rick stood beside him, eyes narrowed, following the truck's path with a grim frown carved into his face.
"They better pull this off," Rick muttered.
"They will," Murphy said quietly. "Because if they don't, we're all dead."
Out beyond the perimeter, the Governor stood with arms crossed, his lone eye fixed on the approaching vehicle. Ash clung to his coat and the bandage at his side was stained brown from blood. His jaw was set, unreadable—but there was something in his gaze. A flicker of anticipation. Something cold and calculating. His lieutenants—those intelligent Runners still loyal to him—stood at his flanks, twitching, sniffing the air, eyes locked on the car like wolves waiting for the order to pounce.
The vehicle slowed, gravel crunching under its tires as it rolled to a cautious stop just forty feet from the Governor and his undead entourage. The early light cast long shadows across the field between them. The air was still.
Shane was the first to move.
The driver's door swung open with a sharp creak. Shane stepped out slowly, dragging the Governor's daughter by the chain wrapped tightly in his gloved hand. She stumbled behind him, her head lolling forward as her bound arms jerked with each movement. She didn't growl. She didn't resist. She just followed like a broken marionette.
Dale climbed out next from the passenger side, his brow furrowed, his mouth pulled into a deep frown. He kept the shotgun raised, his posture rigid and ready. Beads of sweat rolled down the side of his face.
The Governor took a single step forward, his eye narrowing slightly as he scanned every detail—his daughter's limp form, the position of Shane's hands, Dale's body language.
Then he raised a single hand in the air, palm open, and the sound of the horde behind him instantly stilled. It was like watching a switch flip. The low groans quieted, the movement stopped. The Runners crouched, silent, eyes gleaming in anticipation.
"Let her go," the Governor called out. His voice was clear and strangely calm. "Do that, and this ends peacefully."
Shane gave a bark of laughter, bitter and cold. "Peacefully?" he spat. "You dragged your freakshow army to our gates and killed our people. Forgive me if I don't buy the olive branch."
The Governor tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "I want my daughter. That's all. Give her back, and I'll leave."
"You'll leave?" Shane echoed mockingly. "Just turn around and walk away?"
"Yes."
"Bullshit," Shane growled. "You're not the walk-away type. You're the type who kills and lies and comes back when we're not lookin'. So here's the deal—we take her outta town. Away from Woodbury. You want her, you follow."
The Governor's eye narrowed, the corner of his lip twitching. It wasn't a smile, not really. More like the barest trace of amusement mixed with disdain.
"And if I don't follow?" he asked.
Shane stepped forward, yanking the girl slightly to make a point. "Then I put a bullet through her head right here."
The Governor's jaw flexed.
Behind him, one of the intelligent Runners growled low, twitching like it might pounce. The Governor raised his hand again, silencing it without a word.
Then, finally, he gave a slight nod.
"Drive," he said simply.
Shane didn't wait for a second invitation. He shoved the girl back into the rear seat, the chain clinking as it coiled on the floorboard. He climbed into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind him.
Dale turned the key. The engine roared back to life.
As the vehicle turned away from the town and back down the open road, Shane glanced out the side mirror. The Governor stood still at first—just watching.
Then he raised his hand again.
And the horde moved.
The intelligent walkers surged forward like a pack of hounds released from a leash. Some loped on all fours. Others sprinted with inhuman grace. The Governor didn't run. He walked at the head of them, slow and purposeful, his coat trailing behind him like a shadow of death itself.
Far behind them, Daryl's motorcycle purred to life in the trees. Hidden from view, he gritted his teeth and began to follow, eyes locked on the road ahead.