Chapter 63 – The Governor's Choice
The afternoon in Woodbury was as sweltering as a steam cooker.
The Governor stood by the office window with his back to Martinez, fingers tapping lightly against the windowsill.
Outside, the town looked peaceful. People strolled through the streets, children chased a ball across the square, and sunlight glimmered on the colorful rooftops. It looked like an ordinary afternoon from before the apocalypse.
But he knew how fragile it all was.
"You mean…"
His voice was soft—so soft it sent a chill down Martinez's spine.
"That CDC group has armored vehicles, helicopters, and fully armed soldiers?"
Martinez stood three steps behind him, sweat dripping down his face, though he didn't dare wipe it away.
"Yes… yes, Governor. They were wearing matching black uniforms and carried equipment ordinary survivors could never get their hands on."
"Official personnel?"
The Governor turned around, his expression unreadable.
"Maybe…" Martinez swallowed hard. "It could also be some private organization. Their vehicles had a red-and-white logo—something like an umbrella."
The Governor fell silent.
He walked toward the row of fish tanks in the corner. Six tanks. Six walker heads.
They floated in the murky water, mouths opening and closing with faint clicking sounds.
This was his favorite collection. Whenever he needed to think, he came here.
They didn't lie. They didn't betray him. They didn't negotiate.
"Do they know who you are?" the Governor asked quietly.
Martinez lowered his voice even further.
"They know… they know Woodbury. They know about the Governor…"
Bang!
The gunshot exploded through the closed office, sending ripples across the fish tanks.
Martinez looked down at the bleeding hole in his chest, eyes wide. His lips trembled, but no words came out.
Slowly, he dropped to his knees before collapsing onto the floor. Blood spread beneath him, painting dark red patterns across the wooden boards.
The Governor set his pistol on the table and stared at the corpse as calmly as if he were looking at an old piece of furniture.
"I'll avenge you," he said softly. "I'll make them die with you."
The office door burst open, and two guards rushed in with guns raised.
They froze when they saw Martinez's body and the pistol in the Governor's hand.
"Martinez made a mistake," the Governor said calmly as he holstered the gun. "He provoked a force he shouldn't have. Now they want us to hand him over and compensate them with supplies."
The guards exchanged glances but remained silent.
"But Woodbury does not abandon its own people."
The Governor walked toward the window again, speaking with his back to them.
"For now, we'll endure. We'll compensate them a little, preserve our strength, and wait for the day when—"
He turned around, a dangerous gleam flashing in his eyes.
"—we repay them a hundredfold."
The guards stood in silence for several seconds before nodding and dragging Martinez's body out of the office.
A muffled gunshot echoed down the hallway.
The finishing shot.
An hour later, Woodbury Square was packed with people.
The Governor stood atop the steps, sunlight forming a halo around him.
His voice boomed across the square.
"My dear friends, today we have been bullied. A powerful force has threatened us with violence, demanding that we surrender one of our own and hand over our supplies!"
Whispers spread through the crowd.
"But Woodbury will never yield!"
His voice rose higher.
"For now, we will restrain ourselves. We will gather our strength and wait for the day—"
He raised his arm and pointed north.
"—when we make them pay a hundred times over!"
The square fell silent for two seconds.
Then someone started clapping.
The applause spread rapidly until the entire square erupted into thunderous cheers.
Some shouted the Governor's name. Others raised their fists into the air.
The children didn't understand what was happening, but swept up in the atmosphere, they shouted along with the adults.
The Governor smiled warmly and waved to the crowd.
Under the golden sunlight, he looked every bit the caring leader who truly loved his people.
Only he knew how much calculation hid beneath that smile.
Privately, he ordered his trusted men to cut off Martinez's head, package it carefully, and send it to the CDC.
CDC — Third Floor Office
Wu Fan stood before a map of Georgia pinned to the wall, his finger tracing several marked locations.
Atlanta was the center. The CDC was the foundation.
Within a fifty-mile radius, several nails needed to be driven into place.
He connected points on the map with lines, forming a loose network.
The prison.
South of Atlanta. Less than twenty miles from Woodbury.
The location was simply too valuable to ignore.
High ground. Easy to defend. Difficult to attack.
The barbed-wire fences, watchtowers, and reinforced concrete structures could all be repaired and repurposed quickly.
More importantly, it was close to the Governor.
Close enough to monitor his every move.
Wu Fan circled the prison with a red marker.
Then he shifted his gaze northwest.
Hershel's farm.
The original timeline had already changed. A massive walker horde had swept through Atlanta.
He wondered whether Hershel and the others had encountered it yet—and whether they had survived.
Either way, he needed to investigate.
If the farm was still standing, its food, livestock, farmland, and Hershel's veterinary knowledge would all be invaluable to the base.
He marked the farm with a blue circle.
Knock. Knock.
"Come in."
Rick and Glenn entered the office.
Rick looked far better than he had a few days earlier. The dark circles beneath his eyes remained, but the tension in his face had eased considerably.
Glenn followed behind him, holding a printed route map.
"Sit."
Wu Fan pointed toward the map.
"Search every farm, ranch, and plantation within twenty-five miles northwest of Atlanta. Prioritize locations that still appear maintained—places with livestock, crops, or stored seeds."
Rick stepped closer and looked at the blue circle.
"You think there are still survivors there?"
"Possibly," Wu Fan replied. "That area is far from the city center. The first wave of walkers moved in from the east, so the damage there may not have been severe. If someone prepared early enough, surviving until now isn't impossible."
Glenn pointed at a rural road on the map.
"If we take this route, we can pass seven or eight farms along the way. We should finish the search within two days."
Wu Fan nodded before looking at Rick.
"You'll lead the team. Glenn drives. Once you locate a farm, observe it first. Don't rush in. Confirm it's safe before making contact."
Rick stood up immediately.
"Understood."
After they left, Wu Fan remained staring at the map for a long moment.
Then he picked up the phone.
"Send Merle to my office."
When Merle entered, a cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, and excitement still lingered on his face from the trip to Woodbury.
"Boss, are we making our move already?"
"Making a move?" Wu Fan glanced at him. "No rush. I have another job for you first."
Merle stepped closer to the map.
Wu Fan pointed at the red circle south of Atlanta.
"The prison. Scout the location. I want to know how many walkers are still inside, the layout of the buildings, whether the walls are intact, and if the place can be converted into a forward operating base."
Merle's eyes lit up instantly.
He looked from the prison marker to Woodbury farther south, and a slow grin spread across his face.
"Boss… are you planning to hammer nails right into the Governor's front yard?"
Wu Fan didn't answer directly.
"Take a small team. Reconnaissance only. Do not alert them."
Merle crushed his cigarette into the ashtray and straightened.
"Understood. When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow morning."
Merle turned to leave, but paused at the doorway.
"Boss, if the Governor sends something within three days, are we still fighting?"
Wu Fan stared silently at the location marked Woodbury.
After several seconds, he finally answered.
"Whether he sends it or not, we're going to fight eventually. Just not yet. First, we drive the nails into place."
Merle grinned and pushed the door open.
The office fell silent once more.
Wu Fan stood before the map, staring at the red and blue circles while lighting another cigarette.
Prison. Farm. Forward bases. Logistics.
One step at a time.
He flicked ash into the tray as the setting sun outside bathed the entire CDC base in a dark crimson glow.