The convoy rumbled along the cracked asphalt, tires kicking up dust and debris as they wound their way down the narrow backroads toward Fort Benning. The midday sun hung heavy in the sky, beating down on the small group of survivors packed into their vehicles. The weight of uncertainty pressed on them like a thick fog, none of them speaking much as the tension in the air was palpable.
Murphy sat in the backseat of the RV, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as he stared out the window at the blur of trees and abandoned houses. His gut told him that things were only going to get worse from here. He could see the concern etched into everyone's faces—Shane gripping the wheel too tightly in the lead car, Rick glancing in the rearview mirror every few seconds, Lori biting her lip, trying to keep Carl distracted. T-Dog was sitting up front with Dale, absentmindedly tapping his fingers against his knee, his expression tense.
The silence was broken when Glenn, who had been scanning the road ahead, pointed at something in the distance.
"There's something up ahead!" he called out.
Everyone snapped to attention as the convoy slowed to a crawl. Just beyond the next bend in the road, a tall barricade loomed over the highway—rows of rusted cars, scrap metal, and debris stacked together to form a fortified wall. A large wooden gate stood at its center, flanked by men with rifles standing on makeshift platforms. The sight was surreal, almost like a glimpse of the world before everything went to hell.
Rick furrowed his brow, exchanging a wary glance with Shane before gripping the CB radio.
"Looks like we got people," he said. His voice carried an edge of caution.
"Or trouble," Daryl muttered from his seat in the truck behind them, his crossbow resting across his lap.
Andrea, who had been checking the pistol in her hands, scoffed. "You think they're friendly?"
"Only one way to find out," Rick replied, stepping out of the RV. The others followed suit, weapons lowered but ready, their eyes scanning the walls for any signs of hostility.
A man in a military-style vest and sunglasses stood atop the barricade, holding a scoped rifle. He raised a hand.
"Turn around," he called. His voice was calm but firm. "This road's closed."
Rick stepped forward, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "We're just passing through. Headed to Fort Benning. We don't want trouble."
The man hesitated, looking back at someone out of sight. After a moment, another figure stepped into view—a man with slicked-back hair, an eye patch covering one side of his face. He wore a dark coat, his stance exuding authority. He studied the group for a long moment before nodding.
"Let them in," he said.
The gate creaked open, and the convoy slowly drove inside. Murphy could feel the eyes of the people inside Woodbury on them, watching, assessing. The place was a stark contrast to the world outside—clean streets, people walking around freely, actual houses still standing. It was as if the apocalypse had never touched this place.
As soon as the vehicles came to a stop, the survivors stepped out, immediately forming a loose huddle. The man with the eyepatch approached, a practiced smile on his face.
"Welcome to Woodbury," he said. "Name's Philip, but folks around here call me the Governor."
Shane's eyes darted around, his jaw tight. "Nice setup you got here."
The Governor nodded. "We do what we can. Safety comes first."
Rick took a cautious step forward. "We're headed to Fort Benning. Just needed to pass through. Didn't realize there was a settlement out here."
At this, the Governor's expression darkened slightly. He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
"Fort Benning's gone."
A heavy silence fell over the group.
"What do you mean, gone?" Andrea asked, her voice tight.
The Governor met Rick's gaze. "Overrun. Place was holding strong for a while, but a horde swept through about two weeks back. No one made it out."
Lori's face paled, and she instinctively clutched Carl's hand. "Are you sure?"
"Sure as I can be," the Governor replied. "We had scouts watching the place. It was bad."
Murphy clenched his jaw, crossing his arms. He'd seen strongholds fall before, but hearing about Fort Benning sent a cold weight settling in his stomach. If there had been any hope of a safe haven, it was gone now.
"You've had a long road," he said smoothly, gesturing to the surroundings. "Rest easy. You're safe here."
Rick's face remained unreadable, his fingers twitching slightly at his belt where his revolver sat holstered. "Appreciate the hospitality," he said, voice measured.
Shane, standing slightly behind Rick, shifted his weight from foot to foot, his eyes darting around the town like a caged animal. "Safe, huh?" he muttered under his breath. "I'll believe that when I see it."
Murphy shot Shane a side glance. Paranoia was setting in hard. And Murphy knew from experience that paranoia led to bad decisions.
Daryl kept his crossbow close, resting it against his shoulder. "How'd you manage to keep this place in one piece?" he asked, a hint of suspicion lacing his words.
The Governor smiled knowingly, hands behind his back. "Discipline. Order. Everyone here has a role. We work together, and we don't tolerate weakness." His gaze flickered over them, assessing, reading. "You all seem like capable people. I imagine you understand how important structure is."
Rick nodded, his face betraying nothing. "Yeah. We do."
Sophia and Carl stuck close to Lori, their small frames tense as they looked at the people around them. Sophia whispered something to Carl, and he nodded, his grip tightening around the strap of his backpack.
Dale leaned on his RV, eyes narrowing. "And what's the price of all this… order?"
The Governor chuckled, waving off the question. "Only what's necessary." He turned his attention back to Rick.
The Governor smiled again, his voice turning warm. "You all look like you could use a night's rest. We've got food, water. You're welcome to stay."
Rick hesitated, then nodded. "We'd appreciate that."
Murphy, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "I need to talk to you," he said, locking eyes with the Governor.
The Governor's brow lifted. "That so?"
Murphy gave a sharp nod. "In private."
The Governor led Murphy into his office, a well-kept room filled with books, maps, and a neatly arranged desk. A whiskey bottle sat on a side table, half-empty, along with two glasses.
"Alright," the Governor said, folding his hands behind his back. "What's on your mind?"
Murphy exhaled, stepping forward. He lifted his shirt, revealing his scarred, half-healed bite marks. The old wounds crisscrossed his torso, standing out against his skin. "I'm immune," he said simply.
The Governor's one eye widened slightly, but he quickly masked his surprise. "Is that so?"
Murphy nodded. "Bitten. Never turned."
The Governor stepped closer, examining the scars with clinical interest. He let out a low whistle. "Now, that's something."
Murphy pulled his shirt down. "I was heading to Fort Benning to see if anyone could use my blood to make a cure. But since that's gone, I need another option."
The Governor stroked his chin, his expression unreadable. "That's quite a claim."
"It's the truth."
The Governor tilted his head, considering. "You offering your blood?"
Murphy nodded. "In exchange for supplies for my people. Food, water, maybe some fuel."
The Governor's smile widened. "Now that's a deal I can get behind."
The sun dipped low as the group settled in. They had been given temporary housing, small rooms with actual beds and running water. It felt surreal.
Shane, however, wasn't buying it. He sat on the edge of his cot, his knee bouncing as he stared at the floor. His mind was racing.
"Something's off about this place," he muttered.
T-Dog, sitting on the opposite cot, raised a brow. "You're always suspicious."
"And I've always been right, haven't I?" Shane shot back, his voice sharp.
Rick entered the room, standing by the door. "Murphy cut a deal with the Governor."
Shane's eyes snapped up. "What?"
"He gave some blood in exchange for supplies."
Shane shot to his feet. "Jesus Christ, Rick! You let him do that?"
Rick's expression remained calm, but his voice carried weight. "He made the choice himself."
Shane shook his head, his face contorted with frustration. "You don't get it. This ain't just about Murphy. What if they figure out how to make more of those things? Like Jenner?" He jabbed a finger toward the door. "We saw what happened back at the CDC. We don't need smart walkers. We don't need another goddamn nightmare."
Rick's eyes hardened. "Murphy's trying to help."
Shane scoffed. "You really believe that?" He ran a hand through his hair. "He's a risk, Rick. You don't get it. Every second he's with us, we're playing with fire."
Rick took a step forward, lowering his voice. "And what do you want to do, Shane? Kill him?"
Shane clenched his jaw, but he didn't answer.
"Thought so," Rick said.