The fires still raged in the streets of Woodbury, smoke billowing into the late-night sky.
Civilians ran with buckets of water, shouting instructions, while others dragged away the bodies of those who had already turned.
The once-proud little town was chaos... burning, bleeding, and breaking.
Amid the chaos, a figure stirred on the ground near the south barricade.
The Governor pushed himself up slowly, one hand clamped over the right side of his face.
Blood streamed between his fingers, hot and sticky. His ears rang from the gunfire and the roaring flames.
On his mind was a single, burning thought, 'They did this.'
He lifted his hand just enough to see through the haze. His vision blurred on one side, darkness on the other where his right eye should have been.
He staggered to his feet, swaying as he took in the carnage... bodies of his men scattered across the street.
Homes scorched, people screaming. His face twisted in pure, unrestrained rage.
"AHHHHHH!"
The roar tore from his throat, raw and guttural, echoing through the shattered town.
Civilians and soldiers alike froze at the sound, then returned to their frantic work with renewed fear in their eyes.
"Governor!"
Leroy, one of his most trusted lieutenants, rushed to his side, catching him as he nearly collapsed. "We need to get you treated—now!"
The Governor didn't resist as he half-dragged him through the chaos to one of the few intact buildings.
Inside, under the dim glow of lanterns, Leroy laid him on a table and barked for a doctor. A skinny black woman rushing over.
"Hold still," Leroy said. The womans hands trembled as she pulled the shredded remains of the Governor's eye open to inspect the wound.
The Governor gritted his teeth but said nothing, his breath coming in furious hisses.
Outside, the town's misery continued... buckets of water splashed, cries for help rang out.
The low, guttural moans of freshly turned walkers mingled with the sounds of Woodbury's desperate fight for survival.
"Burn it down," the Governor rasped finally, voice low but venomous.
Leroy glanced at him, confused. "Sir?"
"Whoever they are," the Governor continued, his one good eye burning with hatred, "I'll find them. I'll kill them all. I'll burn their home to the ground."
Leroy nodded stiffly. The woman bandaging the ruined socket as the Governor's vow hung heavy in the smoke filled air.
Outside, as dawn crept over the battered walls of Woodbury, the community was still awake.
Everyone fighting the flames, killing the dead, and clinging to the fragile promise of vengeance whispered by the man they feared most.
...
The prison gates groaned open just as the first pale light of dawn spread across the horizon.
The truck rolled inside, its engine rattling like it was ready to die, much like the people inside.
Joe climbed down first, his face hollow but hard, jaw set in a grim line. He helped Glenn down after.
He was still weak, still pale, but alive.
Daryl followed, blood seeping through the makeshift bandage on his arm.
Rick guided the two surviving women from the vehicle.
No one spoke as the gates shut behind them.
Inside the cell block, the group gathered. Faces pale, eyes bloodshot, the air thick with the weight of what they'd endured.
Juliet sat in the infirmary, resting, unaware that Mary would never return. The two rescued women sat in silence, hands trembling.
Joe stood at the front of the group, his arms crossed, eyes cold as steel. Rick, Daryl, Hershel, and Glenn were beside him.
"We went in to save our people," Joe began, voice steady but sharp. "We brought Glenn home. But Mary's gone. One of the women we saved didn't make it. And we barely got out alive."
Rick nodded grimly. "They'll come for us. That man... whoever's leading them. He won't let this go."
Glenn raised his head, his voice hoarse but unyielding. "Then we finish it first. We don't wait for them to hit us. We take everything from them the way they took from us."
Joe's lips curved. "That's exactly what we're gonna do."
He stepped forward, resting both hands on the table where a rough map of the region lay spread out.
"Woodbury's strong, but it ain't unbreakable. They got walls? We'll tear them down. They got guns? We'll outgun them. And the civilians?" He glanced at Rick. "We give them a choice... walk away or burn with the rest."
Daryl leaned against the wall, voice low and dangerous. "We hit 'em hard. Fast. No playin' nice."
Rick's eyes darkened, nodding slowly. "We do this right, we end it. No more threats hangin' over us."
Joe looked at each of them, letting the silence hang for a moment. "We'll bury them so deep the dead won't find 'em."
No one disagreed.
The plan was set in motion before the sun fully cleared the horizon... prepping weapons for battle, loading magazines.
The prison's peaceful spring days were over. Now, they were sharpening themselves for war.
...
By the next night, the fires in Woodbury were mostly out, but the scars remained.
The once beautiful town was now just blackened husks of buildings.
Bloodstains were everywhere on the streets, and the scent of smoke still clinging to the air.
In the town square, what remained of Woodbury's fighting force gathered.
Men and women with rifles slung over their shoulders, faces smeared with soot and exhaustion.
Behind them, the civilians watched in fearful silence.
The Governor emerged from a building near the center, his right eye now covered by a rough black eyepatch.
The side of his face was swollen and bruised, but he walked with deliberate calm.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, many thought he was dead. The voices dying out as he reached the center.
Leroy and Merle flanked him... Merle leaning slightly on a crutch, his thigh still bandaged, but his grin wide and mean.
The Governor stopped, scanning every face before speaking. His voice was low at first, measured, but it carried.
"We haven't had a night like this since the walls were finished. They came here thinking they could take from us."
"They thought they could destroy what we've built… what we've survived." He paused, his good eye burning with quiet fury. "They killed our people. Burned our homes. Tried to kill us all."
A ripple of anger moved through the crowd.
The Governor's voice rose. "But they failed. And now? Now we make sure they never get another chance!"
Cheers erupted, sharp and hungry.
He lifted a hand, silencing them. "I know where they are. A prison, fortified, full of weapons. They think those walls make them safe. But walls can be torn down. And we will tear them down."
Merle laughed loudly. "We'll show 'em what happens when you mess with Woodbury!"
The Governor's mouth curved into a cold smile. "We'll hit them harder than they hit us. No mercy. No survivors. We take what's theirs, and we make sure no one ever dares to cross us again."
The crowd roared, stamping their boots and raising their weapons.
Leroy leaned closer to the Governor, voice low. "When do we move?"
The Governor didn't look at him. "Soon. Let them think they're safe a little longer. Fear tastes better when it's ripe."
He turned and walked back inside, the roar of the crowd behind him, his mind already planning every detail of the coming slaughter.
...
The Governor stood in what had once been the town hall office, now stripped bare and converted into a makeshift war room.
A large table sat in the center, covered with maps of the surrounding area.
Markers indicating roads, choke points, and their target... the prison.
Leroy stood to his right, Merle to his left, arms folded across his chest, blade-hand tapping idly against the table's edge.
A few of the remaining lieutenants lingered around the room, waiting for orders.
The Governor traced a finger across one of the roads leading north. "This is their supply route. We block this off, and they starve. Force them out of those walls."
Leroy nodded. "We could set up road traps here and here. Catch their scouts."
"And when they come for a fight?" the Governor asked, glancing at Merle.
Merle's grin widened. "We gut 'em down."
The Governor allowed himself a thin smile. "Exactly. We'll cut off their lifeline, weaken them, and when they're desperate..."
He slammed his fist on the prison mark. "We finish them."
He looked around the room, his voice low and venomous. "This isn't just about revenge. It's about sending a message. No one crosses Woodbury and lives."
The others nodded grimly, a few murmuring assent.
Satisfied, the Governor turned toward the window, gazing out at the town's flickering lights.
Beyond the walls, the dark countryside stretched endlessly, quiet and still.
"They think they're safe," he muttered. "They have no idea what's coming."
...
Miles away, under that same quiet night sky, three vehicles sped through the darkness, headlights off.
Inside were Joe, Rick, Daryl, Glenn, and every seasoned fighter the prison had to offer.
Their preparations were done. Weapons were loaded, magazines checked, and their blades sharpened.
Joe sat in the lead vehicle, eyes fixed on the road ahead, his voice breaking the silence.
"We hit them before they can even think about hitting us. No speeches, no warnings. We go in hard and end this tonight."
Rick nodded, his grip tightening on his rifle. "They won't see it coming."
Daryl smirked from the back seat, rifle resting on his lap. "Good. I want that bastard's head."
The vehicles pushed on, closing the distance to Woodbury with every passing second.
Inside the town, the Governor continued to plan, oblivious to the storm already bearing down on him.
...
While Joe and the others were rushing to Woodbury.
The rest of the group was waiting silently, anxious that some of those that left wouldn't make it back.
The prison was unnaturally quiet that night, the kind of silence that sat heavy on everyone's chest.
Beth sat in the common room, cradling Judith close to her chest. Rocking her gently as Carl sat beside her, eyes fixed on the floor.
Hershel dozed lightly in a chair next to them, cane within reach.
In the nursery, Amy, Andrea, and Emma spoke little as they put Julian, Grace, and Esther to bed, each baby finally drifting into peaceful sleep.
Maggie was stationed at the front entrance, rifle in hand, eyes scanning the darkness beyond the fence.
Her stomach twisted with every passing minute. 'What if they don't come back?'
...
The silence shattered.
Gunfire... sharp, panicked bursts from the rear of the prison.
Carl bolted upright, sprinting down the hall. Hershel called after him, struggling to keep up with his cane, but Carl didn't slow.
He rounded a corner and reached the back gate just as the lock snapped and the heavy gate burst open.
A big man, broad shoulders, and strong frame charged through, dragging a woman with blood running down her arm.
More people followed in a desperate rush. When the last one entered, the man slammed the gate shut and chained it fast.
Carl raised his pistol. "What are you doing here?"
The big man raised his hands slowly. "We don't want any trouble. We were just trying to escape."
Carl's gaze darted to the injured woman clutching her arm. "What's wrong with her?"
One of the men behind the big one tried to speak, but the leader cut him off grimly. "She was bit."
Carl's heart jumped. Hershel arrived, aiming his pistol with surprising steadiness for his age.
The group tensed, ready to fight.
Carl's tone was sharp, decisive. "Then what are you waiting for? We need to cut it off."
The group stared at him in shock. "Cut what off?" Sasha asked.
"Her arm," Carl replied flatly.
Hershel moved forward without hesitation, ignoring their stunned expressions. "Do you want her to live or not?"
Before they could answer, he had his belt off and tied tight around the woman's upper arm.
She groaned at the pressure. Hershel drew a hatchet from the supply crate nearby and raised it high.
The woman's companions shouted, one even lunged forward, but Carl blocked him with his small frame, pistol steady. "Let him work!"
Hershel brought the hatchet down hard. Once. Twice. The arm came free, blood spraying across the concrete. The woman's eyes rolled back, and she slumped unconscious.
Alan, her husband, grabbed Hershel's shirt, face contorted with rage. "You bastard!"
"There's no time for this!" Hershel snapped. "Carry her. Now."
...
They raced through the halls, Hershel barking instructions as they went.
Carl stayed behind them, eyes darting to every corner, ready to shoot if anything tried to follow.
They burst into the infirmary. The big man, Tyreese, set Donna onto the operating table.
Hershel's hands moved like lightning. "Get me gauze, sutures, painkillers, antibiotics."
Carol and Anna appeared with supplies. Hershel injected painkillers first, Donna's face easing as unconsciousness deepened. Then antibiotics. Finally, he stitched each vessel shut with practiced precision.
The room was tense, silent, and save for Hershel's calm instructions.
"How do you know this'll work?" Sasha asked.
Carl spoke up from the doorway. "Joe did it once. The guy didn't turn. He thinks it depends on how fast you do it."
Hershel nodded once, finishing the last stitch. "She's stable. She'll wake up by morning."
Alan sagged in relief. "I… I'm sorry for before."
Hershel patted his shoulder. "You were scared. I understand."
The door creaked open then, and Amy entered with Julian in her arms. The baby cooed softly, and the strangers' eyes went wide.
"Is that… a baby?" Sasha's eyes widened.
Tyreese and the others were equally shocked at the sight
Sasha asked softly, "Can I hold him?"
Amy glanced at Carl. He nodded. Amy stepped closer, carefully handing Julian to Sasha.
Sasha cradled him, tears welling as the tiny boy reached up toward her face. "He's beautiful," she murmured, voice trembling.
Amy smiled warmly. "Thank you."
For the first time, Tyreese and Sasha's shoulders eased. This place wasn't like the world outside. It felt… human.
"Can we stay?" Tyreese asked quietly.
"That's not my call to make," Hershel said gently. "Our leader is away right now."
Amy tilted her head. "We'll let him decide when he gets back. But for now…" She studied them seriously. "How many walkers have you killed?"
Tyreese, "I can't even remember. Over a hundred." Sasha, "About the same." Alan, "Ten or so." Ben, "Three."
Amy nodded, "How many people you killed?"
Tyreese hesitated but said, "Two." Sasha, "One." Alan and Ben shook their heads, "None."
Amy asked, "Why?"
Tyreese, "They tried to hurt Sasha." Sasha said, "He tried to rape me." Alan and Ben paused, "Don't want to."
Amy listened, nodded, and then smiled softly. "Welcome to the group."
Sasha's eyes widened. "You can just… do that?"
Amy smirked. "The leader's my husband."
Hershel spoke up, "You're welcome to stay the night here if you want, or we can set you up in our cellblock."
Alan and Ben decided to stay with Donna. Watch over her, in case anything happened during the night.
Sasha and Tyreese decided to go to cellblock C with them.
She led them to Cellblock C, past the nursery where Grace, Esther, and Judith slept in the arms of Andrea, Emma, and Beth.
Tyreese and Sasha stopped, awe-struck at the sight of so many newborns.
They'd never thought they'd see this again... new life.
Amy showed them to an empty cell and handed them blankets. "Bath's over there. Clothes are in the cabinet. Help yourselves."
Tyreese and Sasha nodded, "Thank you."
Amy nodded, "Alright, have a goodnight. I need to get this little guy to bed."
After she left, they didn't wait a second longer, going to the wash area Amy pointed out.
They bathed and then settled down in the cell. They received a few curious gazes from the cell dwellers, but they were greeted warmly.
Sasha was absolutely shocked by how great this place was.
Tyreese sank onto the cot, staring at the stone ceiling. Sasha lay across from him, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
For the first time in months, they felt safe.