[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 309 - Penny Is Hungry

Seven days.

That number sounds short. For a normal person, it passes in the blink of an eye.

But for Woodbury, those seven days felt like seven years.

By the fourth day, the air inside the walls no longer just carried the sour stench of rotting flesh. Something else had taken root: the rancid reek of despair, left to ferment.

That smell was worse than any corpse. Psychologically speaking, of course.

Merle was sprawled across a beach chair, legs crossed at the ankle, lazily jabbing a golf club at the eye socket of a chained Walker. No urgency. Just killing time.

"Hey, Leon." He spat out the grass stem he'd been chewing. "What do you think those bastards across the way are eating right now?"

"Belts, probably. Or the neighbor's dog."

"Eh. Who cares. Whatever it is, it's not our problem."

Leon was polishing his prized golden Desert Eagle with a strip of deer hide, slow and careful.

Glenn and Boss Mouse had given it to him. Before, it had been Vincent's signature piece. Now it was Leon's.

He liked it more than the Python. Honestly, it sat in his heart right up there with the fire axe that had been with him from day one.

He'd been so pleased he cancelled Glenn's confinement on the spot.

Glenn really did know how to handle people. He always found exactly the right gift.

But I digress.

Back to the matter at hand: those Whisperer squad members were now indistinguishable from the Walkers themselves. They took shifts lurking inside the horde, running those damned little whistles and tape recorders around the clock, keeping the pressure on Woodbury without a break.

The Walkers didn't sleep. So neither did anyone in Woodbury.

Rick stood on the hillside, binoculars raised.

He stared at that isolated island swallowed by a black tide, and a chill crawled up his spine.

He finally understood what Leon had meant by "the process of waiting for the slaughter."

This wasn't war.

This was simmering a pot of stew.

A rich, thick stew — with fear and hunger for firewood, and human lives for meat.

And Leon was the chef, holding the ladle, unhurried, waiting for it to be done.

Funny, Rick thought. He felt strangely reassured, following a man like that.

...

Woodbury.

The atmosphere was so thick you could wring water from it.

Dozens of resident representatives had crowded around the Governor, hunger and fear worn like a second skin.

"Governor! You have to do something!"

A man named Roger was the first to step forward. He'd been the town plumber before all this.

"Our food is gone! Last night my family only got half a biscuit!"

"God, half a biscuit!"

"How am I supposed to split that between three people?"

"And those things out there! They never stop hitting the walls! My son hasn't slept in three days!"

"You promised us! You said this place was safe!"

The protests came in waves.

The Governor stood before them, calm smile firmly in place.

"Quiet! Everyone, quiet!"

He spread his arms wide. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight.

"I know you're scared. I know you're hungry. But all of this is temporary."

He met each pair of eyes, his expression carrying the earnest calm of a pastor mid-sermon.

"Hardship is always temporary. You just have to hold on."

"I've already reached the military. Their main force is on the way."

"Three more days, three days at most, and they'll be here with tanks and helicopters to clean all of this up."

A small cheer broke through the crowd.

"Really, Governor?"

"We're saved! We're actually saved!"

Only Martinez, standing behind the Governor, kept his head down. He couldn't bring himself to look at those hopeful faces.

Reinforcements.

Where in the hell were they supposed to find reinforcements?

Their one and only "contact" with the military was the Governor leading them to slaughter a military outpost and strip it bare. If anything, the army coming for them in force was the real threat. That they hadn't already was God's mercy.

The Governor was lying.

A monstrous, shameless lie.

"However," the Governor continued, his tone shifting.

"Before reinforcements arrive, we have to save ourselves."

"Our ammunition is nearly gone. We cannot afford noise. Gunfire only draws more Walkers."

He gestured toward the pile stacked in the corner.

Crude wooden bows, dozens of them. Bundles of sharpened wooden stakes.

"Starting today, everyone shares the burden of defending the walls." The Governor's voice went cold. "Use these. Kill any Walkers that climb up — quietly."

"What?!" Roger shoved forward again. "You want us to fight those things with sticks? Are you insane?!"

"This is an order." The smile was gone.

"Anyone unwilling to fight will have their rations cut."

"You—" Roger was shaking so hard he could barely speak. "You're sending us to our deaths! You've betrayed us!"

The Governor said nothing.

He simply looked at Roger, the way a man looks at a fattened pig waiting to be butchered.

Night deepened.

The Governor's apartment was pitch dark.

He walked through the wrecked living room and pushed open a heavy door.

"Penny... Daddy's home."

The smell hit him first. Disinfectant, strong and sharp.

In the corner, a small girl chained to the wall jerked her head up.

A black cloth bag was pulled over her face.

Yes. Penny. The Governor's daughter. A Walker, in every sense of the word.

"Hrr... hrr..."

A low, bestial sound rolled from her throat. She thrashed against the chains, metal clanking and scraping with every lunge.

She was hungry.

Very hungry.

The bowl in front of her was empty.

A few days ago it had held tender beef tenderloin, or lamb leg still streaked with blood. Now there was nothing. The town's livestock had been eaten down to the last

➤ Next: Clever Martinez