If you'd like to support my work, consider donating to my Patreon!
By becoming a patron, you can gain access to up to 10 chapters ahead of public releases. I upload at least two new chapters every week, with regular updates scheduled for Friday and Sundays. Your support helps me continue creating, and every pledge means the world. Thank you! My Patreon is patreon.com/SecondVoidlord
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The streets of Woodbury were in complete chaos. Smoke and flames rose into the sky, casting flickering shadows against the buildings as people screamed and scattered, trampling over one another in sheer panic. The once-orderly town was now a battlefield, overrun with frenzied walkers that moved too fast, fought too hard, and killed with purpose. The governor's twisted experiments had turned against him, and now his people were paying the price.
Rick, Shane, and T-Dog moved swiftly through the madness, their weapons drawn, their eyes scanning the crumbling town. They weren't focused on the burning houses or the bodies littering the streets. They were hunting and their prey was Philip Blake.
The Governor had fled the arena moments after executing Merle, walking away like the blood on his hands meant nothing. But Rick wasn't about to let him disappear into the night. They had fought too hard, lost too much to let that bastard walk away.
They spotted him ahead, limping through the town square, his right arm cradling his bleeding shoulder. Even injured, he moved quickly, weaving through the carnage with practiced precision. His expression was tight with pain, but his good eye still burned with determination.
"There!" Shane barked, raising his rifle. "We got him!"
Rick didn't hesitate. He broke into a sprint.
The Governor spotted them instantly, his one-eyed gaze flashing with recognition and fury. His face twisted into a snarl, but instead of stopping to engage them, he ran.
"Son of a bitch is makin' a run for it!" T-Dog shouted, his boots slamming against the pavement as he took off after him.
The Governor moved fast for a wounded man, ducking around overturned crates and abandoned market stalls as he pushed toward the northern part of town. His movements were erratic, purposeful. He wasn't just running—he had a plan.
Rick gritted his teeth, his pulse hammering in his ears as he chased after him. His body was tired, his muscles aching from days without proper rest, but adrenaline pushed him forward.
"Cut him off!" Rick shouted. "He can't make it to the gates!"
Shane veered left, cutting through a narrow alleyway between two buildings, hoping to flank him. T-Dog stayed close to Rick's side, his breath heavy but his focus sharp. The Governor was desperate, but desperation made a man dangerous.
They followed him through the streets, past the burning remnants of Woodbury, past the terrified civilians who no longer saw their leader as a savior but as the man who had led them to ruin.
The Governor stumbled briefly, his injured arm nearly causing him to fall, but he recovered quickly, pushing himself harder. He wasn't going to die here.
Rick lifted his revolver, lining up the shot, but just as he pulled the trigger, the Governor dodged behind a stack of wooden crates. The bullet splintered the wood, sending sharp fragments flying, but the bastard kept moving.
Shane cursed under his breath. "He's got a damn truck!"
Rick's eyes snapped forward, and his stomach twisted. At the far end of the road, a military-style truck was parked just outside what had once been the town's armory. It was one of Woodbury's supply vehicles, built for off-road driving, rugged and fast.
The Governor sprinted the last few steps toward the truck, his body hunched, his breath ragged. His bloodstained hand fumbled with the door handle, but he managed to yank it open, nearly collapsing into the driver's seat. His fingers trembled as he reached for the keys under the dashboard.
Rick and T-Dog weren't far behind, their boots pounding against the pavement.
"Get him before he starts the damn engine!" Shane shouted, skidding into view from the alleyway.
Rick didn't think. He fired.
The gunshot rang out, cutting through the night.
The Governor jerked violently, the bullet tearing into the side of the truck's doorframe just inches from his chest. He gritted his teeth, a mixture of fear and fury flashing across his face as he jammed the key into the ignition.
The engine roared to life.
"Shit!" T-Dog shouted, raising his shotgun.
But before he could take the shot, the Governor slammed his foot onto the gas pedal.
The truck's tires screeched against the pavement, kicking up dust and debris as the vehicle lurched forward. The force nearly threw the Governor back into his seat, but he gripped the wheel with white-knuckled determination.
Rick lunged forward, trying to grab the door handle, but the truck was already gaining speed. The metal slipped from his grasp, the force of the moving vehicle nearly pulling him off balance.
Shane fired at the tires, but the bullets bounced off the reinforced rubber with nothing but small sparks.
"Goddamn it!" Shane cursed, his face contorted with frustration.
The Governor swerved sharply, almost clipping the side of a burning building as he barreled toward the outer walls of Woodbury. His face was twisted in pain, sweat dripping down his forehead, but he was focused.
T-Dog ran alongside the truck for as long as he could, firing at the back tires, but the reinforced design held strong. The vehicle wasn't going to stop—not like this.
Rick could feel the opportunity slipping away. His fingers flexed around his gun, his mind racing. He had to stop him.
"Take the shot!" Shane yelled.
Rick aimed—but the truck was already too far.
The Governor plowed through the last barricade at the town's northern entrance, smashing through the wooden gate with brute force. Splinters exploded into the air, the remnants of Woodbury's defenses shattering like brittle bones.
Then, with one final roar of the engine, the truck disappeared into the night.
Silence fell over the three men.
Their breath was heavy, their weapons still raised, their muscles coiled for a fight that had just slipped from their grasp.
Rick clenched his jaw, lowering his gun. His hands trembled, his heart pounding in his chest.
Shane exhaled sharply, running a hand through his sweat-drenched hair. His expression was dark, his eyes filled with frustration and fury. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. "We had him."
T-Dog shook his head, his shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breathing. "Man's like a goddamn cockroach," he muttered, spitting onto the pavement. "Just keeps crawlin' away."
Rick said nothing. His eyes were still locked onto the shattered remains of the town's gate, his mind racing.