Looking at the now out-cold governor, I shook my head, holstered my weapon, turned my back on him, and knocked twice on the heavy wooden door.
The heavy deadlock slid back, and T-Dog opened the door, peeking his head inside. Morales stood right behind him, rifle in hand.
"Take him," I said, jerking my thumb at the unconscious body. "Get him out to the dirt lot and put him in the trunk of the black sedan we brought back yesterday."
T-Dog and Morales exchanged knowing looks, then nodded without a single question—guess they know what awaits the governor next.
They stepped into the small room, grabbed the Governor by his arms and legs, and hauled his dead weight off the ground.
I walked out of the room and stepped onto the front porch, letting the cold morning air hit my face.
It smelled like pine needles and damp dirt.
The farm was completely quiet around me; most of the group was either out doing their designated jobs in the fields, doing lookouts and such, or inside the main house doing laundry or cooking.
The kids are still asleep, and that's why I chose to take care of the governor now instead of later when they're out and about.
They didn't need to see this part; they didn't need to be involved in the ugly side of keeping this place safe.
Rick and Shane were already standing by the sedan when I walked up.
Rick was leaning against the driver's side door, his arms crossed over his chest, staring out at the tree line.
Shane was leaning on a wooden lamppost, chewing on a toothpick.
T-Dog and Morales carried the Governor over, dumped him unceremoniously into the deep trunk, and slammed the heavy trunk door shut.
The hollow thud echoed across the empty yard.
"It's done," T-Dog said, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.
"Thanks, man," I told him. "You two head back to your posts. Keep an eye on the other three Woodbury guys. We won't be long."
They nodded and walked back toward the lodgings.
I turned to Rick and Shane. "You don't have to come, you know."
Rick gave a slow, tired nod, pushing himself off the side of the car. "Yeah, but we voted for this. Might as well see it to the end."
"He's right," Shane grunted from the side. "Let's get it over with. The further away from the farm we do this, the better. I don't want the kids or the others to hear the gunshot."
"My thoughts exactly."
I opened the driver's side door, slid into the seat, and grabbed the keys from the sun visor.
Rick claimed shotgun and Shane climbed into the back.
I turned the ignition, bringing the heavy engine roaring to life. I shifted into gear, hit the gas, and steered the black sedan away from the farmhouse.
We drove past the container walls, Morgan waving us through the main gates from his spot in the watchtower.
We hit the cracked asphalt of the main road and headed deep into the woods, leaving the safety of the farm behind.
Nobody said a word the entire drive; we all knew what had to be done, even if some of us didn't like it.
About forty minutes into the drive, we had unknowingly already crossed more than 40 miles—none of us had noticed, to be honest.
I was the first to break the heavy silence. "Let's find a suitable place somewhere around here," I said, my eyes scanning the dense treeline along the deserted highway.
My voice snapped the other two right out of their deep reveries.
"Alright," Rick said, sitting up in the passenger seat and peering out the window.
Shane just grunted in agreement from the back, his jaw tight.
We slowed down, coasting along the cracked asphalt for another mile until Rick pointed out the passenger side.
"There," Rick said, nodding toward a narrow break in the overgrown brush. "Looks like an old turnout."
I cut the wheel, turning the sedan down a dirt path covered in dead leaves and fallen branches.
We bumped along for a couple hundred yards until the trees suddenly gave way to an open clearing overlooking a steep, rocky cliff.
Below us, a muddy river cut through the valley floor, completely hidden from the main road.
Deciding on the place, Rick, Shane, and I stepped out of the vehicle.
The air out here was still and quiet, save for the odd gusts wind whistling through the pines every once in a while.
Rick and Shane walked around to the back, popped the trunk, and grabbed the Governor.
He was still out cold from the smack I gave him back at the dorms, his body completely limp as they hauled him out by his arms and shoulders.
They dragged his heavy weight over to the edge of the cliff, dropping him onto the dirt right at the point where the ground dropped off into the canyon.
Shane stood over him, breathing hard through his nose.
He reached down to his hip, unsnapping his leather holster.
"I'll do it," Shane said, pulling his weapon and racking the slide with a heavy metallic click.
Before he could raise the barrel, I reached out, grabbed his forearm, and shook my head,
"No, I will," I said, shaking my head.
Shane frowned, turning his head to glare at me. "Why?"
"I was the one who proposed this; I'm the one who'll see it through."
"I once heard a saying that stuck with me till today," I said, looking down at the unconscious Governor lying in the dirt at our feet. "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."
Not exactly a lie, but not the whole truth either.
I had indeed heard someone say that—that someone, though, wasn't a real person.
It was Eddard Stark of Winterfell.
That does not, however, mean that these words aren't true: a leader must take full responsibility for a life-or-death decision rather than hiding behind an executioner.
Shane paused for a bit. He looked at me, then down at the Governor, and finally over at Rick, who gave a single, somber nod.
Shane let out a sharp breath, uncocked his pistol, and stepped back.
"He's all yours, Zeph," Shane muttered.
"Thank you." I nodded in gratitude before I stepped forward.
The dirt crunched under my boots as I took my place right in front of the man who had almost destroyed everything we were building.
I didn't feel rage—not anymore, at least—and I didn't feel joy. It was just a job that had to be done to make sure my people saw tomorrow.
I unholstered my pistol and aimed straight at the Governor's head, then squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
The gunshot roared across the open sky, shattering the silence of the woods.
Birds startled in the nearby canopy, flapping their wings violently as they flew away in a panic.
The Governor's head snapped back, his body twitching once before going completely still.
I lowered my arm, holstered the gun back at my hip, and stepped up to his side and nudged him forward, pushing him over the ledge.
We watched in silence as the Governor's corpse tumbled down the rocky cliffside, bouncing off jagged boulders and kicking up clouds of dust before crashing into the bushes far below.
I stood there at the edge for a moment longer, watching the dust settle in the valley.
The threat was gone, Woodbury was ours to build peace with, and the farm was safe.
I turned back to Rick and Shane. "Let's head back."
Neither of them said a word. We walked back to the sedan, climbed inside, and I turned the key.
As I backed the car out of the dirt path and headed home, I felt the heavy weight in my chest finally lightened completely, fully knowing one of the bigger threats out there was finally no longer a problem.
(To be continued...)