The sun had nearly vanished behind the treetops, casting long orange shadows across the walls of Woodbury. The town sat in the quiet lull before the storm, its streets empty save for the survivors gathered around a folding table in the center of the main square. An old war map, salvaged from one of the Governor's abandoned supply caches, lay open before them. The paper was worn, its corners curled, but the faded ink showed enough of the roads, ridgelines, and chokepoints to be useful.
Murphy stood at the head of the group, arms crossed, jaw tight with thought. His eyes moved slowly over the map, blue irises sharp with focus. He hadn't slept much since Daryl and Glenn returned with news of the "Runners"—the evolved infected under the control of the Governor and Morales. The weight of leadership pressed against his shoulders, but he carried it with grim resolve.
"We're not gonna win if we wait behind the gates," he said finally, breaking the tense silence.
His voice was low, but firm. Controlled.
"We hit 'em before they get here. Cut the numbers down. Take out the smart ones early."
Daryl nodded slowly, leaning forward with a grunt as he rested both hands on the edge of the table. His face was still bruised from the ambush—an angry red line ran from his jaw to his cheekbone. His eyes, however, were steady.
"They'll use the forest as cover," Daryl said. "That horde's not gonna come marchin' up the road like a parade. They'll scatter in the trees, then hit all at once. They're hunters now."
Glenn stood beside him, arms crossed over his chest, his expression drawn and pale. His hands fidgeted—he kept tapping two fingers against his sleeve—but his words were calm.
"If we can funnel them into a kill zone… maybe a narrow path, or a choke point near the hills… we can slow them down. Pick off the lead runners."
Rick, standing opposite Murphy, nodded along, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He looked tired—everyone did—but his mind was clearly racing.
"There's that dried-up creek bed west of town," Rick said, eyes flicking to Murphy. "Runs half a mile parallel to the old highway. Trees are thinner there. Could be a good spot for a trap."
Shane scoffed slightly, pacing near the edge of the group, hands on his hips.
"And if they figure it out? What then?" he said sharply. "They ain't dumb. Not anymore."
Murphy looked over at him, and for a long moment the two men locked eyes. The tension was old, but it hadn't lessened.
Murphy's voice didn't rise. He simply said, "Then we make the cost of getting to us too high."
T-Dog stepped forward, shaking his head slowly. "You're sayin' we ambush the horde?"
Murphy nodded. "Exactly that."
Andrea leaned in then, her face unreadable but clearly interested. "What kind of ambush are we talkin'? Guns? Fire? Mines?"
Dale, standing with one hand on his cane and the other tucked into his jacket pocket, gave a slow, uneasy sigh. "We've got Molotovs. Couple propane tanks. Maybe some leftover C4 from what we scavenged off that old checkpoint."
Murphy's lips curled into a faint smile—humorless and grim. "That'll do."
Amy stood beside Andrea, gripping a crowbar tightly in one hand. Her face was pale, and her eyes flicked between Murphy and Rick.
"We'll need volunteers," she said quietly. "To go out there. Set the traps. Bait them in."
Murphy's expression softened slightly as he looked at her, a rare flicker of concern slipping past his otherwise solid mask. "Only the ones who are willing," he said.
Rick nodded. "We'll draw up shifts. The rest will reinforce the walls. If they break through… Woodbury becomes the last line."
T-Dog stepped away from the table and started listing supplies aloud. "We'll need sharpened stakes. Sandbags. Trenches maybe. Use that fencing we found in the storage yard—set it up around the south side."
Glenn looked at Murphy. "We'll also need scouts out in front. Runners or no runners, we need eyes on them before they're at our door."
Daryl gave a small grunt. "I'll go. I know the back woods better than any of y'all."
Murphy looked at him and gave a slow nod of approval. "You'll take a team. No one goes alone. They're too fast for that now."
The group nodded grimly in agreement.
Shane still looked unconvinced. His jaw worked, teeth grinding slightly. "And if this Prophet shows up too?" he asked, his voice low, sharp. "What then?"
Murphy's gaze narrowed, a dangerous edge flickering in his expression.
"Then we put him down."
Silence followed, but it was the kind of silence that held agreement. Not hesitation.
Rick leaned closer to the map, tracing a line with his finger from the west woods to the southern slope. "We hit them here. Burn them down before they ever get a look at Woodbury."
Amy exhaled slowly and finally spoke again. "If we lose people out there..."
"We won't," Murphy said flatly. His face was hard now. "Not if we act smart. Not if we act together."
Dale nodded. "And if we fail?"
Murphy looked across them all—Daryl, Rick, Glenn, Shane, T-Dog, Amy, Andrea, Dale.
"If we fail," he said, voice cold and sure, "then we make damn sure they bleed for every inch they take."
A quiet hush fell over the group.
Andrea finally broke it, her tone razor-thin but steady. "Then let's make sure they don't take anything."
Plans were sketched. Duties assigned. The firelight from the nearest barrel cast flickering shadows across their faces, warping their tired expressions into masks of determination and grit.
They weren't just a ragtag group of survivors anymore.
They were a militia.
Murphy watched them all as they dispersed, assigning themselves to preparation—gathering traps, weapons, and wiring makeshift alarms from scavenged radios and tin cans.
Amy lingered behind, walking up beside Murphy as the others moved off.
"You really think we can win this?" she asked quietly, her eyes tired but curious.
Murphy glanced down at her, and for once, his face softened. A hint of something kinder broke through the hardened leader's armor.
"I don't believe in luck," he said. "But I believe in giving these people a damn good chance."
Amy smiled faintly. "You sound like a real president now."
Murphy smirked. "President Murphy does have a nice ring to it."
She rolled her eyes but laughed under her breath, the sound light, despite the storm that hung over all of them.
Together, they turned back toward the wall as the last light of day disappeared behind the trees—and the future, uncertain but burning bright with defiance, stretched out before them.