An hour later, the infirmary was quiet but heavy with tension.
The only sounds were the soft ticking of the clock on the wall and the faint murmur of voices outside the door.
Joe sat in a chair beside Juliet's bed, elbows on his knees, fingers laced tightly together.
He hadn't moved since Hershel finished patching her up. Her breathing was shallow, but steady... her skin still pale as chalk, yet alive.
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then locking on Joe.
"You're safe," he said softly, leaning forward. "You're at the prison. Hershel fixed you up."
Juliet swallowed, wincing as she shifted. "The others…?"
Joe shook his head. "Not here. What happened?"
Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced the words out. "They… they were waiting for us. As soon as we came out of the store... guns in our faces. Took everything. Glenn tried to fight, bought me enough time to run."
Her hand trembled as she pointed weakly to the bandage around her side. "Got this for it."
"Who were they?" Joe's voice was calm, but there was a weight behind it. An edge that made her blink.
"They said they were from a town… Woodbury," Juliet whispered. "Small town, walls… from what I heard, lots of people. They headed south from the store we were at."
Joe nodded slowly, the name locking in his mind like a loaded round chambering.
Outside the door, heavy boots approached. Rick opened it, Daryl just behind him. Both men froze when they saw Juliet awake.
"She's talking?" Rick asked.
"Yeah," Joe said, standing. "And we got a direction. A small town, somewhere south, Woodbury."
Daryl's jaw tightened, his eyes flicking to Juliet, then back to Joe. "Guess we know where we're headed."
Joe glanced down at Juliet once more. "Get some rest. We'll take it from here."
He stepped out into the hall with Rick and Daryl, the door clicking shut behind him.
His expression was grim, but his voice was cold and decisive.
"We find Glenn and his group. We destroy whoever took him."
Rick nodded. Daryl spat on the floor. "Let's fuck them up!"
...
The truck roared down the cracked backroads, mud spraying up from its tires as Joe pushed the pedal to the floor.
Rick sat in the passenger seat, map unfolded on his lap.
Daryl was perched in the bed of the truck with his crossbow, eyes scanning the treeline for movement.
"Fifteen miles south," Rick muttered, tracing a finger along the map.
Joe's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "We're getting them back. I don't care what's waiting for us."
Rick glanced sideways at him, reading the steel in his voice. He didn't bother arguing... they both knew this wasn't a discussion.
...
Glenn sat slumped in the wooden chair, wrists raw and bleeding where they'd tied him down.
His face was swollen, one eye nearly shut, blood dripping from his split lip onto the dusty floorboards.
Two men in mismatched gear had just finished working him over... laughing, spitting on the ground as they left the room.
The door slammed shut behind them, leaving him in darkness lit only by a single dangling bulb.
He breathed slowly through his nose, forcing himself not to pass out. Every inch of him ached, ribs screaming with each shallow breath.
But his eyes… his eyes were alive with fury.
He lifted his head, fixing his gaze on the door. No fear, no pleading... just a promise.
"They're coming," he whispered hoarsely, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth.
"And when they do… you're all dead." He said all this, not even believing it himself. He had seen Juliet go down.
For a moment, the room was silent except for his labored breathing.
Then somewhere beyond the walls came the sound of laughter. It was low, cruel, and mocking.
Glenn sat straighter in the chair, jaw set.
Let them laugh.
He'd survive long enough to watch them choke on it.
...
The night was still, Woodbury bathed in the warm glow of streetlamps strung across its makeshift metal walls.
The walls would keep out walkers, but they were no issue for a human to scale.
Guards patrolled lazily, rifles slung across shoulders, unaware of the death stalking then.
Joe, Rick, and Daryl moved like ghosts through the shadows, their breaths shallow, steps deliberate.
Reaching an area with no patrolling guards, Joe gave Rick and Daryl a leg up. Jumping up and clasping Ricks hands to get up himself.
They split up as soon as they hit the ground.
Rick veered left toward the larger houses, Daryl took the east side where warehouses stood, and Joe slipped deeper into the heart of Woodbury.
...
Joe found it by chance, a modest-looking house on the far side of town, guarded by a single man leaning half-asleep against the wall.
Joe's knife flashed once, and the man sank silently into the dirt.
Inside, the air reeked of rot. The house was normal, everything in order.
But what kind of normal place like this needs a guards to keep watch. Joe searched the place, trashing it in the process.
Eventually, he found a hidden room.
Joe's eyes adjusted to the dim lantern light, scanning the room lined with tanks. He paised.
Heads. Human heads, severed and floating in murky liquid, mouths slack, eyes dull.
His eye twitched in disgust.
At the far end of the room stood a crib-like enclosure. A small figure shuffled inside.
Joe stepped closer, wanting to help them but he soon saw the truth. It was a little girl, or what had been one.
Her milky eyes fixed on him, jaw snapping softly, a chain rattling around her neck.
Joe's expression hardened.
He knelt briefly, murmured something only he could hear, then drove his katana through her skull in a single, merciful thrust.
When he rose, he swept the room with cold fury. His blade slashed through the tanks, releasing the grim trophies to crash to the floor.
Lantern oil splashed over the wreckage, and he lit a rag with his lighter, tossing it onto the mess.
Flames leapt high behind him as he stepped out into the night.
...
The first explosion of fire sent shouts echoing across the town. Lights flickered on in homes, guards shouted to one another.
Joe used the distraction, moving from building to building like a wraith.
A man spotted him near the armory. "Hey! Who..." Joe knocked the weapon out of his hand. Grabbing his throat and pinning him against the wall.
"Where are my people?!"
The man shook, "I don't know."
Joe kneed him in the stomach, "Where?!"
The man heaved, tears forming in his eyes. "I don't know... Please don't kill me."
Joe stared into the man's eyes, he was telling the truth. That didn't mean he'd let him go though.
He smashed the man's head into the wall, a large spot of blood staining it as the man's body slumped to the floor.
Joe crept out of the house, moving to the next.
His suppressed pistol cut off a man's voice, mid-shout. He dragged the body inside and kept moving.
Every building he passed, he sabotaged.
Lanterns overturned amd precious supplies torched. The town began to panic as fires erupted continuously.
...
Glenn sat barely conscious, arms tied to the chair again, when the door swung open and two grunts stepped inside.
"Boss said to finish him off," one muttered, raising his pistol.
The shot never came.
A black-clad figure moved from the doorway, his blade whispering through the air.
Both men dropped soundlessly, blood pooling at their feet.
Glenn blinked, struggling to focus, until Joe's face came into view.
"Joe…" Glenn rasped, relief breaking through his pain.
"Easy," Joe said, voice low, as he cut the ropes. "We're getting you out."
Glenn sagged into his arms the moment he was free, barely able to stand.
Joe hoisted him up, supporting his weight with one arm and his katana in the other.
"Let's go," Joe muttered, and together they moved into the chaos of the burning town.
...
Daryl ghosted through the alleyways of Woodbury, crossbow at the ready, eyes scanning for anything useful... or anyone they needed to save.
The fire from Joe's rampage was spreading, sending plumes of smoke over the walls. People were yelling now, guards running toward the chaos.
He ducked behind a stack of crates near a workshop and froze when a voice drawled behind him.
"Well, I'll be damned… little brother."
Daryl whipped around, heart lurching. Merle stood ten feet away, older, rougher, a pistol on his hip and a knife spinning casually in his hand.
He smirked like he had all the time in the world.
"Merle…" Daryl's voice cracked slightly, but he steadied it. "What the hell are you doin' here?"
"Survivin', baby brother. While you been playin' house with some sheriff boy, I been keepin' myself alive." Merle stepped closer, circling. "Looks like you crawled right into my new home. Ain't that somethin'?"
Daryl lowered his crossbow slowly. "Come with me, Merle. We can leave this place. Got a good setup now, safe, food, walls... better than whatever this is."
Merle's grin widened, cruel. "Safe? Walls? Ain't no safe left in this world. And I ain't leavin'. These people treat me right. I get what I need, when I want it. Ain't no one orderin' me around."
"You've changed," Daryl muttered. "You used to be tough… now you're just someones lapdog."
Merle's eyes hardened. "Careful, boy. You don't know nothin' 'bout me anymore."
Daryl took a step back, tone pleading now. "Merle, listen to me. We got kids now. Babies. People we actually give a damn about. Come back with me before it's too late."
Merle tilted his head, as if considering, then sneered. "Too late for me a long time ago."
Merle lunged, his blade-arm slashed through the air with a metallic hiss.
Daryl dodged, barely, the tip grazing his jacket. He fired a bolt, but Merle swatted the crossbow aside, sending it clattering.
They crashed into each other, grappling hard. Merle swung his blade in tight arcs, forcing Daryl back. Daryl grabbed his wrist, trying to control the weapon, but Merle drove his knee into Daryl's gut, breaking the hold.
"You're still weak!" Merle snarled, stabbing again.
The tip ripped through Daryl's upper arm. He grunted, pain flashing white-hot.
"You son of a—"
Daryl slammed his forehead into Merle's nose. Bone crunched. Merle staggered but didn't fall.
Daryl drew his sidearm, aimed low, and fired.
The shot tore through Merle's thigh, dropping him hard. He shouted in pain, clutching at the wound as blood soaked his pants.
Daryl stood over him for a moment, chest heaving, eyes full of regret and fury.
"You ain't my brother no more," he said flatly.
Then he melted into the smoke, leaving Merle cursing after him as alarms began to blare across Woodbury.
...
Rick crept up the wooden steps of the quiet house, pistol drawn, every nerve on edge.
The flames from Joe's destruction painted the windows with an orange glow, and somewhere distant, gunfire cracked sporadically.
He kicked the door open and swept inside.
The smell hit him first... sweat, musk, and blood. He moved room to room until he found them.
Three women... Juliet's scavenging team, and another woman, chained to a bed.
Their wrists bruised and raw, eyes dull and lifeless. For a moment, they didn't react to him at all.
"It's okay," Rick whispered, lowering his gun. "I'm here to get you out."
One of the women blinked slowly, disbelief breaking through her vacant stare. Then she nodded, tears streaming silently.
Rick shot the locks off their chains. "Stay behind me, keep quiet."
They slipped out into the smoke-filled streets, sticking to the shadows. As they moved, Rick saw them...
Woodbury civilians. Men and women in clean clothes carrying baskets, ushering children indoors, panic written across their faces.
They weren't soldiers. They weren't part of this.
Rick's stomach twisted. 'They don't even know what's happening here.'
...
Rick met Joe and Daryl near the south side of town. Glenn was with them, pale and limping badly, supported by Joe's arm.
Daryl's sleeve was soaked in blood from his wounded arm, but he still had his crossbow ready.
"We got 'em," Rick said, ushering the women forward.
"Then we're leavin'," Joe growled.
Gunfire erupted before they could move. Armed guards poured from the smoke, rifles barking.
The group dove for cover behind a low wall, returning fire. "Too many!" Daryl shouted, loosing a bolt that dropped a man.
Joe threw a flash bang, blinding the hostiles.
Glenn, half-kneeling against the wall, raised his pistol with trembling hands.
Through the haze, he spotted a figure giving orders... the Governor, cool and collected in the chaos.
"Son of a bitch," Glenn hissed, thinking of Mary, of what had been done to her.
He fired.
The shot slammed into the Governor's head, snapping it back. He dropped like a stone.
Glenn's chest heaved, a savage satisfaction coursing through him. "Mary… I got him," he muttered.
"Move!" Joe barked as he fired rapidly, dropping a few hostiles. Rick and Daryl following his lead.
They fought their way to a stolen truck, shoving Glenn and the women inside.
Heavy caliber bullets tore through the night as they sped for the gate, the engine howling.
A mounted .50 cal machine gun, firing rapidly, tracking their truck.
One of the women screamed... then went silent. Rick glanced back to see her slumped in the bed of the truck, blood soaking the bed sheet she had used to cover herself.
Joe fired back from the bed of the truck, hitting the gunman.
The gate burst open under the truck's weight, and they roared into the dark countryside, leaving the burning town behind.
Inside the cab, Glenn stared blankly at the floor, Daryl gripped his bleeding arm in silence, and Rick's jaw was set like stone.
Joe sat in the bed of the truck, nursing his wounds. Nothing serious, just a few grazes.
He glanced at the body laying next to him, he pulled his knife and stabbed through the back of the head.
They were alive somehow.
But the cost was written in every one of their faces.