Chapter 42

The sun hovered just above the treetops when Shane Walsh finally stumbled through the outer woods surrounding Woodbury. The sky had begun to bleed orange, the last warmth of the day quickly fading into the cool hush of dusk. Every step Shane took left a heavy imprint in the soft dirt, his legs dragging, his chest heaving. His face, once strong with defiance and the fire of survival, now looked gaunt and shadowed by something that no man could wash away. Blood—some his, some not—soaked his jeans, dried in thick crusts across his arms and chest. But worse was the reek. The walker guts smeared across him like war paint stung the air long before he came into view. The rot clung to him, thick and rancid, as if the dead had left their mark on him in more ways than one.

His eyes flicked constantly between tree trunks and the bushes, wild and sharp, pupils too wide. There was panic in them, but also something darker. A flicker of guilt hidden behind the haunted exhaustion of a man who had survived—but not cleanly.

On the wooden rampart, Glenn leaned over the rail, binoculars up. "Hey!" he called, his voice uncertain. "Movement—one man! Alone!"

Murphy stepped beside him quickly, lips pressed into a firm line. His expression remained unreadable, but his blue eyes were locked on the brush with eerie calm. "It's Shane," he said with quiet certainty. There was something in his tone—something more cautious than relieved.

Rick jogged to the platform, Andrea and T-Dog at his heels. They all stared out, watching the stumbling figure break free of the woods and into the open clearing. Amy arrived last, clutching her barbed wire-wrapped bat tight against her shoulder. Her eyes widened as she saw the grotesque, blood-covered form approaching.

"Open the gate!" Glenn shouted, but his voice was tinged with hesitation.

Below, the gate creaked open just enough to allow passage. Two guards aimed rifles out toward the trees, their fingers tight on the triggers. The tension in the air was palpable.

Shane limped through the threshold, breathing hard, then dropped to one knee just inside. The silence was thick. The only sound was the soft rustling of leaves in the wind and Shane's ragged breaths. His chest rose and fell heavily, each breath shallow and pained. For a long moment, no one moved toward him.

Rick approached first. His revolver remained holstered, but his posture was alert. "You made it out," he said, voice low and steady, though his eyes were hard and searching. "Where's Dale?"

Shane's jaw twitched. He stayed kneeling for a heartbeat longer, then forced himself upright with a grunt. He winced as he stood, his shoulders tense and hunched.

"Dale didn't make it," he said flatly, eyes locked on Rick's. "We held out as long as we could. When the Governor went down, the Runners lost control. Turned wild. Dale... Dale didn't have time to get away."

Amy gasped quietly, her face paling as she brought a hand to her mouth. Andrea's jaw tightened, and she moved closer to her sister, putting a hand on her back.

T-Dog stepped forward. His face was grim, brows furrowed. "You sure the Governor's dead?"

Shane nodded slowly. "Daryl got him. Crossbow through the skull. After Dale winged him in the chest. Governor went down hard. Didn't get back up."

Murphy was still standing at the edge of the platform, arms crossed. His gaze hadn't left Shane since he arrived. The longer he watched, the darker his expression became.

Shane's shoulders sagged as he glanced between them all. "After that... it all went sideways. The Runners went nuts. "And Daryl?" Murphy asked suddenly, his voice like a knife cutting through the silence.

Shane hesitated.

"I don't know," he said eventually. "Last I saw, he was up in the trees. Took the shot. Then... he disappeared."

Murphy's jaw tightened just slightly. "Daryl doesn't disappear," he said coldly.

"He was coverin' us," Shane snapped, his voice rising defensively. "When everything went to hell, I didn't have time to look back."

Rick studied him quietly. "You covered yourself in walker guts?"

"It was the only way," Shane said. "They were everywhere. Dale was pinned down. I tried to help, but—" His voice cracked, just faintly. "He was already gone."

Murphy's face was stone.

Glenn looked between them nervously. "You think the horde's still following?"

Shane's eyes flicked toward the horizon. "They were. I put a lot of miles between us. But those things? They don't tire. It's just a matter of time."

Amy shivered, leaning into Andrea's side. "They're coming back?"

"They're Runners," Murphy said, his voice low. "Without someone like the Governor controlling them, they're going to scatter, hunt, maybe regroup. But they don't stop."

Rick glanced at Murphy. "And we're sure... the Governor was the one controlling them?"

Shane gave a hard nod. "Yeah. Once he dropped, they changed. Went feral. Before that... it was like he was the damn conductor of an orchestra."

Murphy finally stepped down from the platform, moving closer to Shane. The two men locked eyes.

"I want the full story," Murphy said. "Every detail."

Shane's brow furrowed. "I gave it to you."

"Not yet you haven't," Murphy said coolly. "But you will."

There was a pause.

Then Rick cut in, his tone trying to diffuse the rising tension. "We need to prepare either way. Runners might be disorganized now, but there are other threats that might find their way here sooner or later."

Amy wiped her eyes. "What about Dale?"

Rick looked down, his face hard. "We'll remember him."

Murphy's lips pressed together. "Dale died to put down the Governor,His death bought us time."

But Shane wasn't looking at anyone. He stood in the middle of the group, silent, his fists clenched, sweat and rot dripping from his jaw. No one knew what had truly happened out there.

But Murphy watched.

And he didn't believe a word.