Gargulio and Haley left full of determination. They would set out first thing tomorrow morning to carry out this righteous mission.
Martinez and the Governor exchanged a glance, then opened the door and left.
The Governor did not return to his own quarters. After stepping outside, he crossed Woodbury's main square, nodding and smiling at residents who greeted him. His steps were steady, his expression relaxed.
An old woman handed him a jar of home-pickled vegetables. The Governor accepted it, thanked her, and asked whether her arthritis had gotten any better.
The perfect leader. Strong, dependable, caring toward his people.
Until he walked into an unremarkable warehouse building on the western edge of town.
There were no guards at the entrance. None were needed, because no one in Woodbury would approach this place without permission.
The Governor himself had made the rule: the warehouse was a "sensitive supplies storage area," and only he and Martinez had keys.
In truth, Martinez's key could not open the basement door. Only the Governor could open it.
Inside the warehouse were spare generators, fuel drums, and repair tools. Everything looked perfectly normal.
The Governor walked to the shelf at the very back, moved aside two cardboard boxes filled with parts, and revealed a hidden door in the wall.
The door was made of steel and painted the same grayish-white as the wall. The edges were so tight they were almost invisible.
He took the key he never removed from around his neck. The door opened inward, revealing a set of concrete steps leading down.
The Governor stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and slid three bolts into place from the inside.
At the bottom of the steps was another door, this one a heavy blast-proof door with a keypad beside it.
He entered an eight-digit code, and the door slid open to the side.
The Governor walked in, and the door closed automatically behind him.
The room was about fifty square meters. The walls were covered in white tiles, and the floor was smooth epoxy, clean as an operating room.
Along three walls stood several rows of glass tanks.
Each tank was a cylinder one meter tall and eighty centimeters across, topped with a sealed lid connected to a ventilation filtration system and a liquid circulation pump.
The tanks were filled with pale blue preserving fluid, rippling faintly under the lights.
Inside every tank was a human head.
A walker's head.
The cuts at the neck were clean and precise, clearly done by human hands.
The heads floated in the liquid, eyes open, skin pale, pupils gray and dull. Some still carried the expressions they had before death: terror, pain, confusion.
The Governor walked up to the glass tanks and gently rested his hand against the cold glass.
"Good evening, everyone," the Governor said softly, walking slowly along the tanks as if greeting old friends.
He remembered every name.
He knew every face.
These people had once been residents of Woodbury, or raiders who had tried to attack Woodbury, or poor souls who had come to Woodbury and "failed to make it."
The Governor had brought them back, carefully treated them, and preserved them here.
When he reached the last glass tank, the Governor stopped.
Inside this tank were two fresh heads: a young boy and a smaller girl. Their features were similar enough to show they were siblings.
The Governor tapped the glass, making the girl's head inside open and close its mouth.
He smiled, then turned toward the innermost part of the room.
It looked like a flat tiled wall, but the Governor reached out and pressed the edge of a particular tile.
A faint motor sound came from the wall. A one-meter-square section sank inward, then slid aside, revealing a small room.
It was even smaller, only about ten square meters.
The lighting was dim, with only a weak glow from a small nightlight in the corner.
In the center of the room stood a specially made restraint frame, and bound to it was a girl walker.
She wore clean pink pajamas, obviously too small, wrapped tightly around her shrunken body.
Her hair had been carefully braided into two little pigtails, and her face had been wiped clean.
If not for the cloudy white eyes, the rotten mouth, and the constant clicking in her throat, she would have looked like a little girl who simply could not speak.
The Governor closed the door, separating the small room from the display room outside.
Then he walked up to the walker, knelt on one knee, and brought his eyes level with hers.
"Hey, sweetheart." The Governor's voice changed completely, becoming very soft. "Daddy's back."
The walker slowly turned its head with stiff movements.
Its white eyes had no focus, but it seemed drawn by the sound and the scent of a living person, turning its face toward the Governor.
"Daddy was very busy today." The Governor took a small sealed bag from the waist pack he carried. Inside were dark red chunks of raw meat, freshly cut and still streaked with blood. "But I missed you."
He opened the bag, pinched out a piece of meat with gloved fingers, and brought it to the walker's mouth.
The walker's sense of smell was triggered at once. It lunged forward violently, its mouth opening impossibly wide, exposing gray-black gums and teeth. The restraints dug into its flesh.
The Governor put the meat into its mouth. "Slow down, Penny. Slow down."
He fed her another piece, gently stroking her braided hair with his other hand. "There's plenty more. Daddy won't let you go hungry."
The Governor fed her piece after piece, his movements as patient as if he were caring for a sick child.
In fact, in the Governor's mind, that was exactly what he was doing.
Caring for his sick daughter.
Penny was only sick. She had caught a strange illness that made her quiet and required a special diet, but deep down, she was still his little girl. Still the little girl who would wrap her arms around his neck and say, "Daddy, I love you."
"The people outside," he said as he fed her, "they want safety. They want to be protected. So I have to be strong, right? I have to do things your mother would never agree with."
Penny swallowed another piece of meat, making a chewing sound that set the teeth on edge.
"But do you know why, sweetheart?" The Governor leaned closer, his forehead almost touching the walker's cold forehead. "Because if I don't, we won't survive. You won't survive."
"That day at the camp, those people wanted to take you away. They said you weren't you anymore, said you were dangerous." The Governor closed his eyes, his Adam's apple jerking hard as his voice began to tremble.
"But they didn't understand. They never saw what you were like before you got sick. They never saw you draw those rainbow pictures. They never heard you sing those silly nursery rhymes..."
The walker's clicking continued beside his ear.
"So I did what I had to do." The Governor opened his eyes. "I killed them all. Every single person who tried to take you away from me.
Then I understood. This world has no rules anymore, Penny. No law, no morality, nothing. Only the strong can protect what they treasure."
After feeding her the last piece of meat, he carefully wiped the blood from the corner of Penny's mouth.
"So I became strong. I built a place where what I say is the rule.
I protect those willing to obey the rules, and I eliminate those who refuse.
That way, Daddy can protect you. Protect you forever."
The Governor stood, his legs a little numb.
He lowered his head and looked at his bound daughter for a long time.
Then the Governor turned and opened the door, preparing to leave.
But before he shut it, he looked back one last time. Then he locked Penny and that fragile father away inside.
...
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