FALLEN ANGEL ➵ DARYL DIXON [1] ✓

Chapter Sixy-Three: I Used To Be Someone

Chapter 63

Two and a half years earlier

The Governor wakes up on a cold yet hot morning, zipping down his mossed stained yellow tent to discover he's alone. He crawls out on his hands and knees, heaving himself up and moaning out loud. Martinez is gone. The betrayal stays loyal. His mouth falls open, titling his head up at the cloudy sky. He knew this was coming. But didn't think it would be that fast.

The keys are still in his truck.

"You can lose a lot of soilders and still win the game."

The wheels churn fast, bulldozing through the gates of Woodbury. The planks of wood splatter everywhere across his windshield like raindrops, picking up speed as his truck smashes into an empty house; an empty town.

"Been on the road for months; over a year."

He stands in front of a burning building he set alight, walkers emerging through the broken gates and into the town. At least it isn't empty anymore. It's got life again. The smoke fills his lungs, pouring and dumping more petrol over Woodbury. He sparks a match, the flame dancing with the gentle, clear wind.

"By yourself?"

The days go slow, months dragging along. Season change and form, The Governor mimicking. His long grey beard sways side to side, his long grey hair covering his neck.

"Yeah."

He drags one foot in front of the other, following the road but keeping on the grass.

"Where did you live before that?"

"I was in a town."

"Where monsters there?"

The Governor comes across a huge white barn on his right side, strolling over to it as it's got huge black writing tattooed all over. Plus he's curious.

"No. It was safe. Full of good people."

All over the barn is messages and people's names in bold black writing: Jim Went Home For Winter, Do Not Go Home, Brian Heriot, Megan Cook Died, We Found Ken Jones, Chad, Brian Heriot, We Love You. Brian Heriot. Brian Heriot. Brian Heriot.

"What happened?"

"He just lost it."

The Governor sighs, picking himself up and continuing to walk along the road, keeping on the green grass. One name sticks.

"Who did?"

"The man in charge. Barely got out alive."

He enters another empty town, hardly reading the dirty sign: Gorbelli. He trails along, not caring if he does or not. The town is in ruin, paper scattered across the pavements and dead bodies filling the gaps. The smell is barbaric, but The Governor has lost all senses. He's numb and useless.

"He sounds horrible."

A walker makes it's way over to him, growling and stretching it's boney arms out. The Governor rolls his eyes, scarcely and forcing himself away from death. The walker misses him by a millimetre, falling face forward on the tarmac loosing a yellow tooth as he keeps dragging on.

"Yeah, yeah, he was."

Just like the walker, he falls forward, no energy left. His bag tumbles down with him, his supplies rolling out into the remaining light. He wants to die. He's got nothing to live for.

As his world gets darker, he happens to lift his one eye up, spotting a ghostly figure at a window in a tall apartment building. It's a little girl, glancing down at him.