The Walking Dead_ The Road to Woodbury - By Robert Kirkman Page 0,89
cargo bay.” Bob shakes his head again. “Firewall protected me, but it was a mess. Took off one of the boys’ legs.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” the Governor marvels as he approaches the circle of eighteen-wheelers. Full darkness has fallen, and light from a torch illuminates the side of a Piggly Wiggly truck on which a grinning pig leers down at them in the dim light. “Hold that thought a second, Bob.” The Governor pounds his fist on the trailer. “Travis! You in there? Hey! Anybody home?”
In a cloud of cigar smoke, the rear door springs up on rusty hinges. A heavyset black man sticks his head out of the cargo hold. “Hey, boss … what can I do you for?”
“Take one of the empty trailers down to the north wall, on the double. We’ll meet you there with further instructions. Got that?”
“Got it, boss.”
The black man hops off the rear rail and vanishes around the side of the truck. The Governor takes a deep breath and then leads Bob around the circle of trucks, and then north along a side road toward the barricade. “Pretty goddamn amazing what a man will do for nookie,” the Governor muses as they stride along the dirt road.
“Ain’t it?”
“These girls you came in with, Bob, Lilly and … what’s-her-name?”
“Megan?”
“That’s the one. That little thing’s a firecracker. Am I right?”
Bob wipes his mouth. “Yeah, she’s a cute little gal.”
“Kinda flirty … but hey. Who am I to judge?” Another lascivious grin. “We do what we do to get by. Am I right, Bob?”
“Right as rain.” Bob walks along for a moment. “Just between you and me … I’m kinda sweet on her.”
The Governor looks at the older man with an odd mixture of surprise and pity. “This Megan gal? Well, that’s great, Bob. No shame in that.”
Bob looks down as he walks. “Love to spend the night with her just once.” Bob’s voice goes soft. “Just once.” He looks up at the Governor. “But, hell … I know that’s just a pipe dream.”
Philip cocks his head at the older man. “Maybe not, Bob … maybe not.”
Before Bob can muster a response a series of explosive clanging noises go off ahead of them. Brilliant sunbursts from the klieg lights suddenly tear open seams in the distant darkness from opposite corners of the wall, the silver beams sweeping out across the adjacent fields and tree lines, illuminating the oncoming horde of walking corpses.
The Governor leads Bob across the post office lot to the crane gantry, on which Martinez now prepares to give the order to open fire.
“Hold your fire, Martinez!” The Governor’s booming voice gets everybody’s attention.
Martinez gazes nervously down at the two men. “You sure about this, chief?”
The rumble of a Kenworth cab rises up behind the Governor, accompanied by the telltale beeping noises of a semi moving in reverse. Bob glances over his shoulder and sees an eighteen-wheeler backing into position by the north gate. Exhaust vapors pulse from the truck’s vertical stack, and Travis leans out the driver’s side window, chewing a cigar and wrestling the steering wheel.
“Gimme your walkie!” The Governor gestures at Martinez, who is already descending the metal ladder affixed to the side of the crane. Bob watches all this from a respectable distance behind the Governor. Something about all this mysterious business makes the older man uneasy.
Outside the wall the meandering mass of zombies closes the distance to two hundred yards.
Martinez reaches the bottom of the ladder and hands over the two-way. The Governor thumbs the switch and barks into the mouthpiece. “Stevens! Can you hear me? You got your radio on?”
After a beat of crackling static the doctor’s voice replies, “Yes, I hear you and I don’t appreciate—”
“Shut up for a second. I want you to bring that tub-of-lard guardsman, Stinson, to the north wall.”
The voice crackles: “Stinson is still recovering, the man has lost a lot of blood in your little—”
“Don’t fucking argue with me, Stevens … JUST FUCKING DO IT NOW!”
The Governor clicks the radio off and throws it back to Martinez.
“Open the gate!” the Governor shouts at two workmen, who stand nearby with pickaxes and anxious expressions, awaiting orders.
The two workmen look at each other.
“You heard me!” the Governor bellows. “Open the goddamn gate!”
The workmen follow orders, throwing the bolt at one end of the gate. The gate swings open, letting in a gust of cold, rancid wind.
“You ask me, we’re pushing our luck with this routine,” Martinez mutters under his breath, slamming an ammo magazine into his assault