It was beyond awkward, standing on the main street in Woodbury, back to back with the same people who put me through so much hell only a few short months prior. To say we were prepared for anything, was an understatement. Despite the injured parties, we kept our presence very much known. I stood slightly in front of Daryl, providing him a crutch, so to speak. Maggie stood close to Glenn, who was right to Daryl's injured side like glue. Michonne stood slightly to our right, her katana drawn with a murderous look on her face. It was Merle, who stood calmly, his face masking all emotion as he told Sasha, Tyreese and the remaining Woodbury survivors about the Governor and his wicked ways.

Martinez leaned heavily on the cruel man's ex-second in command, his eyes sad as he looked at what were once his willing allies.

"He's gone off the deep end," one of the women, Clare, said with wide eyes. "That's not the man we all know and have come to love!"

"Clare," I said softly, my heart breaking at her dedication to the very man we were speaking of. "You saw what he allowed to happen here, within these walls."

"You're nothing but a traitor. What about the attack on us? We lost good people then and now…?" she fumed.

"Clare, he was holding two of our own captive!" I said calmly. "It wasn't an attack, it was a rescue mission."

"You know nothing," Merle said calmly. "The Governor only let you see one side of him. Ask Martinez, he was there the night he shot up his own people!"

"What can we do now?" Ryan, the father of two young girls, asked, his younger daughter, Mika, clinging to him for dear life.

I looked at Daryl, who nodded that it was up to me if I chose to offer them the offer Rick put on the table earlier when we were discussing the possible outcomes.

"We have a place, a few miles from here," I said carefully as I stepped forward, one hand on my knife, the other, tightly gripping at Daryl's outstretched hand. "Most of you know that already," I said, addressing the small group that had formed. "We have food, shelter, weapons," I went on. "And we're willing to open our home to y'all, but only if you agree to abide by simple rules and pull your weight."

"Why should we?" Sasha asked irritably. "Last time, your leader turned us away."

"Rick," I said cautiously. "Was not well when you last met him." I considered what else to say. "He had just lost his wife, he was hurt and frightened and didn't know what else to do to protect his group and his family. We're stronger now. We're more willing to let others in. Join us, and you won't have to worry about the Governor or his crazy, suicidal antics anymore."

The group seemed to consider our offer. I took a deep breath, my eyes scanning the survivors. These were good people, strong people. The Governor took out his own army, leaving the trustworthy behind. I smiled inwardly at the thought. Though many were too young or too old to be of much help, they were still more bodies. And these days, there was great safety in strong numbers.

"Consider it," I said loudly, for all to hear. "I have reason to believe Andrea's still here. I intend to find her. Y'all can think about it in the meantime."

Michonne stiffened. She hadn't been thinking of her old ally, but I had. I nodded at Merle, who gave me a knowing look. Silently, we broke apart. Glenn, Maggie, Michonne, Daryl and I headed for the one place I knew the Governor would lock Andrea, while Martinez and Merle waited for the group to decide on what they wished to do.

We made quick work of the lock on the door, but what laid inside was truly one of the worst cases of torture I had ever had to witness, which said something, since the Governor was a cruel, heartless, murderous man.

"Andrea!" Michonne sobbed, rushing to her friend's side. Andrea looked up at us with feverish eyes, her face pale, blood seeping from her shoulder. I knew instantly, that she had been bit.

Lying a few feet away was the dead body of Milton, the Governor's favorite pet. I kicked his limp body, my heart sinking.

"Why?" I asked, turning to Andrea.

"Why not?" she shot back. I forced a sad smile to reach my face as I knelt beside her, my heart shattering at how much fight was left in the woman, despite her knowing her own fate. "It was a pleasure," I said softly, letting my hand fall to hers. "You were the only one fighting for peace."

"Always have been," she smiled.

"I know." I gave her hand a squeeze before excusing myself from the room. I hadn't known Andrea like the others had. It was hard to even think of what they must have been feeling.

Soon, one by one, the group filed out, leaving Michonne and Andrea to spend her last moments together in peace. A half hour later, a single gunshot rang out, singling Andrea's death. I sighed and turned to the group, forcing myself to keep the task at hand in the forefront of our minds.

"If they decide to join us, we need to figure out how we're getting everyone back. We've only got the one car right now, and the rest of us won't make it back on foot before sundown," I said quickly.

"We can take cars from here," Maggie suggested. I nodded and glanced at Molasses, who sat patiently at my side. "There's a bus out in the main lot. Load it up with anything of use. There's something I've got to do first." I said.

"You're always running off doing something," Glenn muttered.

"Naturally," I shot back. "I'm pretty sure they aren't going to turn down this offer. And I don't want to be the one standing around with my thumb up my ass." I quickly moved away from them, hurrying out of the building, using the same path I used to escape to find what I was looking for.

It didn't take long to find Milton's private records of everything he knew thus far, from how the virus is spread, something we all already knew, to multiple experiments he had performed in hopes of finding a cure, antidote, anything. There weren't many advances, but he did have a few theories that were definitely something to look at. I shoved the files and old notebooks into my bag, before moving onto what I was actually there for. I raided his lab for anything of medical use, from books and articles on simple, everyday procedures, to the more complicated items we might one day need. My eyes locked on the portable ultrasound machine, along with the respirator and several empty IV bags. I smiled to myself as I shoved the items into my bag, aware of how heavy it now was. I slung it over my shoulder, grimacing at the sheer weight.

As I neared the bus, it didn't surprise me that the group of survivors were boarding it. I shoved my bag under with the rest of the bags, noting that our group had ransacked the Woodbury supplies. I was proud of how fast they worked, especially given how sore and tired everyone was.

I caught sight of Merle and waved him over. He came over, his face pinched in a look of worry.

"What's wrong?" I asked, scanning the group for the rest of our people.

"Can't find Daryl," he muttered.

"Excuse me?" I almost spat. I quickly pulled away from him, drawing my bow as I ran through the town, looking for the most important person in my life. I didn't care that Merle was following close behind or that Glenn was warning us that we were quickly losing sunlight. All I cared about was finding Daryl.

A sharp bark to my right made me chance course, following the sound through one of the now vacant allies. Sure enough, there Daryl was, leaning heavily against the wall of the neighboring building, Molasses standing protectively at his side, her body pressed against his injured leg.

"You good, baby brother?" Merle asked, jogging to catch up.

"Yuh," he said through clenched teeth. "Hurts," he said as I offered him my shoulder to lean on. I noticed the blood seeping through his pant leg. He must've tore the stitches.

"Merle, go tell Glenn to bring a car around," I shouted as Merle got closer. He nodded and turned on his heels, heading quickly back to the parking lot.

"I can walk," Daryl muttered.

"Don't be stupid," I said sternly. "Sit down." He did as he was told and we silently waited for Glenn to pull up with a car. It seemed to take forever, but soon, all of us were piled into either the bus, or various other cars, on our way back to the prison. I drove the old station wagon, Glenn in the back seat, along with Molasses and Vixon, who was eagerly licking his fingers. Daryl said beside me, his face skillfully masking the pain he was experiencing. I wanted to kick myself for agreeing to let him come. He should have been back at the prison with Rick and Hershel.

But it was too late for those kinds of thoughts. So instead, I focused on leaving the bus back to the prison, in hopes of building the life we all dreamed of.