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

glaring at Gabe with eyes blazing. “She can aim a gun, pull a trigger. Big fucking deal.”
    Gabe shakes his head. “What the fuck is your deal, man? You get up on the wrong side of bed today?”
    â€œI’m outta here!”
    Bruce storms toward the door, shaking his head, disgusted, mumbling obscenities under his breath. He makes his exit in a huff, slamming the metal door with a bang that reverberates through the tiled chamber.
    Staring at the door, Gabe stands there for a moment, nonplussed by it all, when he hears a sound coming from across the room that stiffens his spine.
    It sounds like a voice coming from the man lying on the gurney.
    *   *   *
    At first, Gabe thinks he’s hearing things. Looking back on it, he will come to the conclusion that he did indeed hear the Governor’s voice at that moment—right after that door had slammed—the words enunciated so clearly and spoken with such clarity that Gabe initially figured he was imagining the sound of the voice saying something like, “How long?”
    Gabe whirls toward the gurney. The man on the bed hasn’t moved, his bandaged face still elevated slightly on its pillow, the head of the gurney at a forty-five-degree angle. Gabe slowly approaches. “Governor?”
    The man on the bed remains still, but suddenly, almost in answer to Gabe’s voice, the single eye, which is still visible on that face—peering through a hatch-work of thick, white, gauze bandages—begins to blink open.
    It happens in stages, feebly at first, but fluttering more and more vigorously until that single eye is wide open and staring at the ceiling. Another few blinks and the eye begins to focus on things in the room. The pupil dilates slightly as Gabe approaches.
    Pulling the folding chair next to the bed, sitting down and putting a hand on the Governor’s cold, pale arm, Gabe fixes his gaze on that single searching eye. His heart races. He stares into that eye with such feverish intensity that he can almost see his own face reflected in the teary orb of the eyeball. “Governor? Can you hear me?”
    The man on the gurney manages to loll his head slightly toward Gabe, and then fixes his one good eye on the stocky, crew-cut head looming over the bed. Over dry, caked, chapped lips, the man utters again, “How long—?”
    At first Gabe is thunderstruck and can’t even form a response. He just stares at that haggard, bandaged face for one endless, excruciating moment. Then he shakes off his daze and says very softly, “—were you out?”
    A very slow, very weak nod.
    Gabe licks his lips, not even aware that he’s grinning with giddy excitement. “Almost a week.” He swallows back his urge to cry out with glee and hug the man. He wonders if he should get Bob in here. Even though this man is probably a few years his junior, this is his boss, his mentor, his compass, his father figure. “You were awake a bit here and there,” Gabe says as calmly as he can manage, “but I don’t think you’ll remember anything.”
    The Governor turns his head slowly from side to side as if testing the limits of his condition. At last he manages another hoarse sentence: “Did you find Doc Stevens?” He takes in a shallow breath as though the very act of posing the question exhausts him. “Force him to patch me up?”
    Gabe swallows hard. “Nope.” He licks his lips nervously. “Doc’s dead.” He takes a deep breath. “They found him right on the other side of our fence. He went with that bitch and her friends … but he didn’t last long.”
    The Governor breathes through his nose for a moment. He swallows thickly and takes in another series of agonizing breaths. He blinks and stares at the ceiling, looking like a man waiting for the residue of a nightmare to pass, waiting for the cold light of reality to return and chase