The Fall of the Governor, Part 2 by Robert Kirkman Page B

other, the empty mags dropping to the pavement with a clatter. The guns lower, dangling at her side now, as she scans the scene with the casual authority of a surveyor taking the measure of a building site.
    Gabe tries to sit up, but his back complains, the nerves pinched, his sacrum sprained. “Holy fucking shit,” he mutters, kicking away a wet corpse that had fallen on his legs. He rises to a sitting position and cringes at the pain.
    Lilly walks up to him. “You okay? Did you get nipped? Did they break the skin?”
    Gabe takes in a series of deep breaths, glancing around the alley at the carnage. The dozen or so biters now lie in contorted bundles of morbid flesh across the width of the alley, their heads blossoming with the red jelly of breached brain matter, the paving stones around them running red with their diseased blood. “No … I’m … no,” Gabe stammers, trying to get his bearings. “I’m good.”
    At the mouth of the alley, an arc light sweeps across the gap and penetrates the darkness. Lilly kneels by Gabe, and she shoves her pistols down the back of her jeans. The light puts a silver halo around her head, highlighting wisps of her chestnut-brown hair. “Lemme give you a hand,” she says and helps him to his feet.
    Gabe groans slightly as he levers his bullish body to its full height. “Where’s my gun?”
    â€œWe’ll get it,” she says.
    Gabe stretches his sore neck. “That was about as close as I ever want to come.”
    â€œI hear ya.” She glances over her shoulder. The sounds of voices raised over the din of gunfire begin to fade. Lilly lets out a breath. “There’s no excuse for this,” she says. “We need all hands on deck from now on.”
    â€œCopy that,” Gabe says.
    â€œC’mon, let’s get you checked out and clean up this fucking mess.”
    She starts toward the mouth of the alley when he grabs her and gently stops her.
    â€œLilly, wait,” he says, and licks his lips. He’s not good with words, but he needs to say something to her. He looks into her eyes. “Thanks for … you know … I’m just saying … I appreciate it.”
    She shrugs and gives him a smirk. “I need you in one piece.”
    He starts to say something else when he notices Lilly suddenly flinching, doubling over slightly. She holds her tummy.
    â€œYou okay?”
    â€œYeah … just a little cramp.” She breathes through her mouth, blowing breaths over her lips for a moment. “Girl stuff. Don’t worry about it.” The pain passes. “C’mon … let’s go kick some ass.”
    She turns and walks away, stepping over the corpses of the dead.
    *   *   *
    That night, Lilly and her inner circle stay up late, working behind the scenes to shore up the town’s defenses. Bruce marshals every last able-bodied man on Martinez’s crew to reinforce the barricades. They repair the north wall, strengthening the ramparts with extra sheet metal and timbers, and they move more trailers across the weak spots. They keep a close watch on the surrounding wetlands.
    All the noise and confusion of the walker attack has stirred more of the dead out of the adjacent woods. Gabe supervises a rotating shift of gunners positioned at the .50 caliber perches off each corner of the wall. Well into the wee hours, the armor-piercing rounds crackle and flare at regular intervals, picking off stragglers shambling out of the trees in groups of two or three, and sometimes as many as nine or ten clumped together in ragged phalanxes. Nobody really notices the fact that the behavior of the dead is changing, their number growing, their movements becoming agitated like schools of fish reacting to vibrations in a vast fishbowl. Nobody pays much attention to the growing threat of herds forming. Everybody is too busy worrying about an assault from