[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 305 - Woodbury's in for a World of Hurt
Woodbury, the walls.
Sunlight slanted across the tidy streets.
Residents here were still arguing over who could get an extra can of peaches tonight, or discussing who in next week's arena could survive more than three minutes against that Walker.
The Governor sat in his study, a glass of expensive red wine in hand, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the fish-tank-mounted heads on the desk.
Those heads bobbed slightly in the chemical solution, some still trying to open and close their mouths, letting out silent screams.
This brought him peace.
A thrill of controlling everything, even controlling death.
"Ring—!"
The urgent alarm bell shattered the town's tranquility.
The Governor's brow furrowed sharply, the wine glass clinking crisply against the desk.
He strode to the window, looking toward the walls.
His second-in-command, Martinez, was leaping from a jeep in a panic, scrambling and stumbling as he ran toward the watchtower.
"What's happening?"
The Governor pushed open the window, his voice low and forceful, carrying an authority that brooked no doubt.
"A Walker Horde! Sir!" Martinez shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice filled with unprecedented fear.
"A big one! Insanely big!"
The Governor gave a cold snort.
A Walker Horde?
He'd been in Woodbury this long, what grand spectacle hadn't he seen?
Those brainless Rotters, aside from mindlessly crashing into the barbed wire, what waves could they possibly stir up?
And indeed, these Walkers were pathetically fragile. It was just that the Military hadn't taken a real stance, or had some undisclosed plans, otherwise the Walkers would have long been swept clean by the state apparatus.
The Governor put on his leather jacket, holstered his sidearm, and walked unhurriedly up onto the walls.
But the moment he reached the highest observation post and raised his binoculars, the binoculars nearly fell from his hands.
On the horizon, it was no longer withered yellow grass and scattered trees.
It was black.
Boundless, endless black.
It was like a slowly advancing city wall, and also like a tide surging up from hell, emitting a rumbling, thunderous footstep sound, pressing toward Woodbury's main gate.
"How is this possible..." the Governor muttered to himself.
The terrain here wasn't a funnel; Walkers shouldn't be able to gather on such a massive scale.
Unless...
He frantically searched the Walker Horde, trying to find some kind of pattern.
Then, he saw a strange sight.
That Walker Horde wasn't charging chaotically.
As they approached the forest on Woodbury's outskirts, they actually split into two streams!
One continued heading straight for the main gate, while the other, like two giant pincers, began to circle around toward the flanks.
"They're flanking?" The Governor felt his entire worldview suffer a devastating blow.
Walkers had learned to flank?
This was as absurd as Walkers learning to drive tanks!
He didn't know that in the center of that dark, oppressive Walker Horde, there were two figures draped in rotten flesh, moving like ghosts.
Murphy felt like he was about to collapse from dehydration.
He had to constantly emit that specific frequency of low growls, and also coordinate physical movements to misdirect the Walker Horde behind him.
Michonne was like a calm spotter, pointing at Woodbury's distant watchtower and giving low-voiced instructions in Murphy's ear.
"The squad on the left, pull them out a bit further, seal off all their escape routes."
Michonne's voice was cool and clear, carrying a thrill of revenge.
She looked at the ant-like figures panicking on the walls, but in her mind was her own wretched life of fleeing for survival.
"Governor, be sure to accept this gift properly."
Murphy wiped a handful of Walker grease off his face and let out another resounding roar.
"Ho—ROAR!"
At this command, the massive speakers hidden on the Horde's flanks, pushed on carts, powered up to full volume once more.
The sound of Walker chewing echoed through the forest on Woodbury's north side.
"BOOM!"
The Walker Horde was completely ignited!
The tide that had been slowly crawling instantly accelerated, letting out earth-shaking roars.
"Open fire! All units open fire!"
The Governor roared madly from the walls.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Woodbury's heavy machine guns began spitting tongues of flame.
.50 caliber rounds carved bloody gaps through the Walker Horde.
Severed limbs flew, rotting flesh splattered.
But against that endless, infinite mass, this firepower's sweeping seemed so pale and powerless.
For every Walker that fell, ten more pushed forward from behind.
"Damn it! Ammo! Bring all the ammo up here!" Martinez shouted hoarsely.
The Governor stared dead ahead.
He kept feeling something was off.
Too precise.
The landing points and rhythm of this Walker Horde were so precise, it was as if there was a commander on the other side strategizing.
He raised his binoculars, frantically searching among the dense mass of heads.
Suddenly, his gaze caught a detail.
Less than two hundred meters from the walls, one Walker's behavior was very strange.
It wasn't madly lunging at the barbed wire like the other Walkers, but tilting its head, as if sizing up the defensive layout on the walls.
What made his hair stand on end even more was that the Walker seemed to sense his gaze.
It slowly raised its head.
Through the rotting mask and two hundred meters of distance, the Governor felt as if he saw a pair of mocking eyes.
Then, that Walker raised its hand, and toward the direction of the walls, slowly and firmly extended a middle finger.
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➤ Next: Woodbury’s Resistance