Rise of the Governor read. "The walking Dead. Rise of the Governor Robert Kirkman, Jay Bonansinga. Robert Kirkman, Jay Bonansinga The Walking Dead. Rise of the Governor

The measured life of the inhabitants of the eastern state of Georgia turned into a living hell in a few days when people began to die and return. Amidst the chaos, news channels assured residents that everything was just fine and that the authorities had almost coped with the impending threat and the remaining zombies would be removed from the streets within a few days. Civil defense frequencies constantly urged people to stay at home, barricade doors and windows, or even better to go out of town and wait there. And also the “advisers” carried all sorts of nonsense, like how to wash your hands more often and drink bottled water. Of course, no one had a definitive answer. And the increasing number of radio stations disappearing from the air did not bode well ...

"Rise of the Governor" describes the early days of the beginning of the apocalypse. The book begins with Philip Blake's flight with his daughter Penny and his older brother and a couple of friends to the western part of Wiltshire. They decide to get to Atlanta, find other survivors and survive the zombie apocalypse together, but before reaching their goal, they get stuck in the ceremonial county of Wiltshire and decide to equip a small area for housing and stay there. The survivors begin to settle down in a new place and erect barricades...

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Robert Kirkman, Jay Bonansinga
The walking Dead. Rise of the Governor

Thanks

Robert Kirkman, Brendan Deneen, Andy Cohen, David Alpert, Stephen Emery and all the good folks at Scattering Circle! Thank you very much!

Jay

Jay Bonansinga, Alpert and the whole Scattering Circle, nice people from Image Comics and Charlie Adlard, our helmsman - I take my hat off to you!

Rosenman, Rosenbaum, Simonian, Lerner and, of course, Brendan Deneen - my deepest respect!

Robert

Part 1
hollow people

Chapter 1

Horror gripped him. It was difficult to breathe. Legs trembled in fear. Brian Blake dreamed of a second pair of hands. Then he could cover his ears with his hands so as not to hear the sound of crumbling human skulls. Unfortunately, he had only two hands, with which he covered the tiny ears of a little girl trembling with fear and despair. She was only seven. The closet where they hid was dark, and from outside came the dull crackle of breaking bones. But suddenly there was silence, which was broken only by someone's cautious steps through pools of blood on the floor and an ominous whisper somewhere in the hallway.

Brian coughed again. For several days he had been tormented by a cold, he could not do anything about it. Autumn in Georgia usually gets cold and damp. Every year, Brian spends the first week of September in bed trying to get rid of his annoying cough and runny nose. Damn dampness penetrates to the bones, drawing out all the strength. But this time, it won't work. He coughed, squeezing little Penny's ears tighter. Brian knew they would be heard, but... what could he do?

I can not see anything. At least gouge out your eyes. Only colored fireworks exploding under closed eyelids with every fit of coughing. The closet, a cramped box at least a meter wide and a little more deep, smelled of mice, moth repellant, and old wood. Plastic bags of clothes hung from the top, now and then touching the face, and this made me want to cough even more. In fact, Philip, Brian's younger brother, told him to cough as much as you like. Yes, at least cough up all your lungs to hell, but if you suddenly infect a girl, blame yourself. Then another skull will crack - Brian himself. When it came to the daughter, it was better not to joke with Philip.

The entrance is over.

A few seconds later, heavy footsteps were heard outside again. Brian held his little niece tighter as she flinched at another monstrous roulade. The crack of a cracking skull in D minor, Brian thought with grim humor.

Or John Bonham's drum solo 3
Drummer for Led Zeppelin.

Under cocaine. The heavy breathing of people… the shuffling footsteps of the living dead… the whistle of an ax cutting through the air and piercing into human flesh…

… and, finally, that disgusting chomping sound with which a lifeless body falls on a slippery parquet.

Silence again. Brian felt a chill run down his spine. His eyes gradually got used to the darkness, and through the gap he saw a trickle of thick blood. It looks like engine oil. Brian tugged gently on the girl's arm, dragging her into the back of the closet, into the pile of umbrellas and boots against the far wall. She doesn't want to see what's going on outside.

Still, the blood managed to splatter the baby on the dress. Penny noticed a red stain on the hem and started rubbing the fabric frantically.

Straightening up after another crushing attack, Brian grabbed the girl and gently pressed her to him. He didn't know how to calm her down. What to say? He wanted to whisper something encouraging to his niece, but his head was empty.

If her father were here... Yes, Philip Blake could cheer her up. Philip always knew what to say. He always said exactly what people wanted to hear. And he always backed up his words with actions – just like now. He's out there with Bobby and Nick right now, doing what he's supposed to do while Brian cowardly hides in the closet like a frightened hare and tries to figure out how to calm his niece.

Brian has always been a jerk, although he was born the first of three sons in the family. Sixty feet tall (if you count heels), black faded jeans, a torn T-shirt, a thin goatee, unkempt dark hair in the style of Ichabod Crane from Sleepy Hollow, and braided bracelets on his arms - even at thirty-five he remained a kind of Peter Pan, forever stuck somewhere between high school and first year.

Brian took a deep breath and looked down. Little Penny's wet deer eyes gleamed in the beam of light that oozed through the gap between the closet doors. She had always been a quiet girl, like a porcelain doll - small, thin, with airy features and jet-black curls - and after the death of her mother she completely closed herself in herself. It was hard for her, although she did not show it - and yet the pain of loss was constantly reflected in her huge sad eyes.

For the past three days, Penny has barely said a word. Of course, these were very strange days and children usually recover from shocks faster than adults, but Brian was afraid that the girl would become isolated for the rest of her life.

"It'll be all right, honey," Brian whispered, clearing his throat.

Penny muttered something back without looking up. A tear rolled down her stained cheek.

What, Pen? Brian asked, carefully wiping wet marks from the girl's face.

Penny muttered something again, but it didn't look like she was talking to Brian. He listened. The girl whispered again and again, like some kind of mantra, prayer or spell:

“It will never be good again. Never-never-never-never...

- Shhhh...

Brian pressed the baby to his chest, even through the T-shirt, feeling the heat of her face, flushed with tears. Outside came the whistle of an ax piercing flesh again, and Brian hurriedly covered the girl's ears. Before my eyes there was a picture of bursting bones and slimy gray pulp, splashing in all directions.

The crack of the opening skull vividly reminded Brian of hitting a wet ball with a baseball bat, and the splash of blood was like the sound of a wet rag flopping to the floor. Another body crashed to the floor with a thud, and oddly enough, at that moment, Brian's biggest concern was that the tiles on the floor might break. Expensive, clearly custom-made, with intricate inlays and Aztec designs. Yes, it was a nice house...

And again silence.

Brian barely suppressed another attack. The cough came out like a champagne cork, but Brian held it back with the last of his strength so as not to miss the sounds coming from outside. He waited for someone's strained breathing, shuffling steps, wet champing underfoot to be heard again. But everything was quiet.

And then, in complete silence, there was a soft click and door knob started to turn. Brian's hair stood on end, but he didn't have time to get scared. The closet door swung open and a living person appeared behind it.

- All is clear! said Philip Blake in a hoarse, smoky baritone, peering into the depths of the closet. His face was flushed with sweat, and a strong, muscular hand clutched a massive axe.

- You are sure? Brian whispered.

Philip did not answer. He looked at his daughter and said:

“It's all right, sunshine. Dad is fine.

- You are sure? Brian repeated through a cough.

Philip looked condescendingly at his brother and said:

– Could you cover your mouth when you cough?

Are you sure everything is clean? Brian asked for the third time.

“Baby.” Philip turned to the girl. Now only the lingering southern accent, which always showed through in moments of excitement, betrayed the animal fury that raged in him. - Stay here a little longer. Just a couple of minutes. OK Sweety? And I will come soon, and it will be possible to get out of the closet. Agreed?

Penny answered him with a barely perceptible nod.

- Come with me, brother. I'll need help getting everything out of here,” Philip said to his older brother.

Brian climbed out of the closet, pushing aside the clothes hanging in the closet.

Blinding light hit his eyes and Brian blinked. Then he coughed. Then he blinked again, looked around and simply forgot about the pain in his eyes from the sight that opened to him. For a moment it seemed to him that luxury entrance hall two-story house V colonial style, brightly lit by frilly copper chandeliers, once again plunged into the chaos of repair and decoration, but this time the painters were caught either by seizures or simply crazy. The pale green plaster of the walls was covered in long purple streaks. The floor was full of black and purple spots, as if descended from Rorschach cards. 4
Rorschach inkblots are one of the tests used to study personality.

And finally, in this chaos, the outlines of bodies appeared.

Six lifeless, broken bodies lay on the floor in strange positions. Faces are mutilated, skulls are crushed. The largest corpse crouched in a spreading pool of blood and bile at the foot of a wide spiral staircase. And those bloody lumps staining the white parquet were just recently a woman - probably the mistress of the house, a hospitable lady who did not skimp on traditional southern hospitality and peach lemonade. Gray slime oozed from a crack in her shattered skull. Brian's throat convulsively twitched from the rising vomit.

So, gentlemen, take a good look around. We'll take care of the cleaning. We need to finish quickly, - Philip turned to Nick and Bobby - his friends ... and Brian too, but his brother did not hear him. He was too shocked by what he saw and at that moment he heard nothing but the furious beating of his own heart. It didn't seem like it was real. He couldn't believe what he saw.

In the corridor and on the threshold of the living room, what was left of the other unfortunates still lay - body parts and unrecognizable pieces of meat in pools of gore. Two days ago, Philip began to refer to such leftovers as "double-rare steak." Apparently, during their lifetime they were teenagers - either the children of the owners of the house, or the victims traditional southern hospitality, which turned into a nightmare for everyone, including the owners. One bite was enough. From under one body, lying face down on the floor, a thick reddish liquid was still flowing in a thin stream, as if from a leaky faucet. In the skulls of the dead, the blades of kitchen knives protruded, driven to the very hilt, like flags of pioneers on the conquered peaks.

Brian covered his mouth with his hand, trying to hold back the urge to vomit. Suddenly, something dripped onto the top of his head. He raised his head.

Another drop of blood from the chandelier landed right on his nose.

“Nick, bring back some of the canvas covers we saw in—”

At these words, Brian suddenly doubled over and fell to his knees. Vomit splashed onto the parquet. Yellowish-green bile flowed down the grooves between the tiles, mixing with the blood of the dead on the floor.

Relief brought tears to Brian's eyes; he'd been sick for four days now, but only now was he finally able to relieve his stomach.

* * *

Philip Blake exhaled loudly, adrenaline still seething in his blood. His first impulse was to run up to his brother and give him a good shake, but Philip restrained himself. Putting the bloody ax down, he looked back at Brian and rolled his eyes. It is not clear how he has not yet rubbed calluses on his eyelids in all the years that he had to do this. But you won't write anything. That son of a bitch is still his brother. A family is the most precious thing a person has. Especially in times like now. Even outwardly, Brian is very similar to Philip, despite the difference in three years - and nothing can be done about it either. Tall, lean and muscular, Philip Blake, like Brian, inherited from his Mexican mother both dark skin and raven-black hair and brown almond-shaped eyes. Rosa's mother was Garcia in her maiden name, and her bright Latin American traits prevailed in the offspring over the genes of Ed Blake, a rude, big drunkard whose ancestors were listed only as Irish and Scots. But Philip got at least a hundred and ninety height and strong muscles from his father, and Brian, it seems, got nothing. Standing in the middle of the corridor in faded jeans, work boots and a wrinkled cotton shirt, with a long floppy mustache and a prison tattoo of a biker on a motorcycle, Philip fixed his brother with a contemptuous look and felt that he was about to break loose. A little more - and he will tell this slobber everything that he thinks about him. But suddenly from the depths of the hallway, from the door, came some noise.

Bobby Marsh, a friend of Philip's from school, was standing by the stairs, slowly wiping the blade of an ax on his wide trousers. , who was called "doughnut" at school. Bobby looked at Brian and convulsed with outbursts of nervous, ragged laughter, his entire impressive belly swaying. He hardly took pleasure in the sight of a man bent over in vomiting pains - it was not so much a real laugh as a kind of nervous tic. When this happened to Bobby, he just couldn't help himself.

It started three days ago when Bobby had his first encounter with the living dead - in a closet on filling station near the Augusta airport. Blood-stained from head to toe, the zombie emerged from the stall, dragging a train of toilet paper behind him, and shuffled straight towards Bobby, already trying on the juicy piece. But Philip rushed to his friend's rescue and crushed the dead man's head with an iron crowbar.

So it turned out that zombies can be killed by breaking his skull. That same day, Bobby began to stutter a little, talk a lot, and laugh nervously. It was a kind of defense mechanism or the aftermath of the shock. Bobby was the only one in the whole company who tried to look for an explanation for what had happened: “This, you see, some kind of rubbish got into the water. What kind of plague, mother her leg. But Philip didn't want to hear any stupid explanations, and every time Bobby started talking, he promptly shut him up.

- Hey! shouted Philip at the fat man. - You think it funny?

Bobby is quiet.

At the far end of the living room, near the window, stood Nick Parsons, another of Philip's schoolmates. He stared intently into the darkness, probably trying to figure out if there were a couple of dead people still lurking in the yard. Nick looked like a Marine: short hair, broad shoulders, stern eyes, khaki jacket. He found it hardest to come to terms with the idea that they would have to kill what had recently been human. All his life, Nick followed the biblical covenants, and what is happening now has somewhat shaken his convictions. He watched Philip sadly as he loomed menacingly over Bobby from the top of the porch.

“Sorry, dude,” Bobby muttered.

“My daughter is in there,” Philip barked in March's face. He looked down: at any second, Brian's brother could flare up with anger, but it was not worth making him angry.

- Sorry...

Get busy, Bobby. Bring a tarp.

A few paces away from Philip, Brian doubled over again, throwing out the last of his stomach and coughing dryly.

“Be patient, just a little longer.” Philip went up to his brother and patted him gently on the shoulder.

“I…” Brian stammered, trying to collect his thoughts.

- It's okay, bro. It happens with everyone.

- Sorry…

- Everything is fine.

Brian finally pulled himself together, straightened up and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“So you really killed everyone?”

- I think yes.

- Sure?

Have you checked everywhere? In the basement? In the servants' quarters?

- Yes, everywhere. In all rooms, in the basement and even in the attic. The last dead man came out to the sound of your cough when you were hiding in the closet. You coughed so hard that you could even wake the dead. The little girl...she tried to eat one of Bobby's chins.

Brian swallowed hard.

- All these people ... they are lived Here.

"They don't live anymore," Philip sighed.

Brian looked back and looked at his brother again.

- But they are ... this is ... a family ...

Philip nodded but said nothing. He wanted to shrug his shoulders - so what the hell was that family? But he didn't say anything. He does not want to think that he is killing those who most recently were someone's mother, postman or gas station worker. Brian, the damn smart guy, got carried away talking about morality and ethics yesterday. From a moral point of view, he declared, no one should be killed. Never. But from an ethical point of view, it's a different matter. Killing in self-defense is perfectly ethical. Having come to this conclusion, Brian calmed down, but Philip from the very beginning did not care about these sophistication. He simply did not consider that he was taking someone's life. Is it possible to kill someone who is already dead? I crushed his skull and went on - what else is there to talk and think about?

Moreover, now Philip did not even think about where they would go next, although he understood that sooner or later it would have to be decided. to him: it so happened that it was he who became the leader of their small motley company. But so far it hasn't been. The epidemic had only begun seventy-two hours ago, and since the dead had taken on a macabre semblance of life, Philip Blake had only one thing to think about: how to protect Penny. That is why two days ago he took the whole company away from his hometown, away from crowded places.

The brothers were from Waynesboro, a small town in central Georgia that turned into a living hell as one by one the residents began to die and come back to life. If Philip had been on his own, he might not have left, but Penny had to be saved at all costs. It was because of Penny that he turned to his schoolmates for help. It was because of Penny that Philip decided to go to Atlanta, where, according to the news, the nearest refugee camp was located. All this is only for the sake of his daughter. After all, for some time Penny is the only thing that makes him move at least somehow. The only balm for his wounded soul. Long before this inexplicable epidemic, Philip was accustomed to the fact that every night, at exactly three in the morning, an excruciating spasm squeezed his heart. Because exactly at three in the morning - almost four years ago - he became a widower. Sarah went to visit a university friend, had a few drinks and lost control on a rain-soaked road on the way back.

The moment Philip saw his wife's dead face at the identification, it became crystal clear to him: life would never return to its usual course. Philip worked two jobs so that Penny didn't need anything, but there was nothing to fill the void in her soul. He knew for sure that he would never be the same again, and his whole life was concentrated in his daughter. How do you know if this is why all this is happening now? The jokes of the Lord God... When the locusts come and the rivers flow with blood, the one who actually has something to lose will stand at the head of the detachment. “What difference does it make who they were?” Philip finally answered his brother. - Or how they were.

"Probably...yes, you're right," Brian replied. He sat cross-legged and watched as Bobby and Nick spread out tarps and trash bags and wrapped the corpses one at a time, still dripping blood.

- The main thing is that now this house is safe. For now. Let's sleep here today. And tomorrow, if we find even a little gas, we'll be in Atlanta.

“Something doesn’t add up…” Brian muttered, glancing at the corpses.

- What are you talking about?

- Look at them.

- So what? Philip was already watching the others roll up the mother of the family in a tarpaulin. - An ordinary family.

Brian coughed into his sleeve and wiped his mouth.

"How the hell could this happen?" Here is a mother, father, four children ... and that's it!

- What do you mean?

“They are all…they have turned into simultaneously? Or did one person get infected first, and then bite the rest?

Philip thought for a moment - he still didn't really understand how the infection happened - but then he shook his head, trying to get rid of these thoughts. He thinks too much anyway. Now this is not the main thing.

“Get your lazy ass up and help us,” he said to his brother.

* * *

They got it done in an hour. While the guys were cleaning, Penny was sitting in the closet. Dad brought her a soft toy that he found in one of the rooms, and the girl, busy with a new plush friend, did not notice how time flew by.

Brian mopped up bloody pools from everywhere, and his comrades carried six bodies wrapped in blankets and garbage bags into the courtyard through the sliding doors of the back door, two large and four small.

It's already dark. The dark sky of the September night spread over them, clear and cold, like a black ocean with a scattering of stars that teased with their indifferent twinkling. The cool air burned the heated lungs of the three men as they dragged black sacks up the frost-covered steps. Each had a hatchet hanging from his belt, and Philip also had a pistol sticking out from his belt, an old Ruger 22 he had bought at a flea market a few years ago. But now it was dangerous to use firearms: a loud sound could attract even more walking dead, whose shuffling steps and muffled groans came from neighboring courtyards.

This year, autumn in Georgia came earlier than usual, and this night the thermometers were expecting a strength of plus five, or even less. At least that's what the local radio promised until it was drowned in a storm. static electricity. Philip and his comrades tried to follow the news on TV, radio and mobile Internet all the way - Brian had a smartphone.

The media, which was still active, tried to convince people that the government had the situation under control and that the epidemic would be contained within a few hours. The civil defense forces in radio messages asked people to stay at home, wash their hands thoroughly, drink only bottled water and blah blah blah. It is clear that no one had an answer. No one knew when it would all end or whether it would end. And the worst thing was that every hour more and more new broadcasting stations went out of order. But, thank God, there was still gasoline at gas stations, and groceries in stores. The power stations were still running, the police stations were still running, and the traffic lights on the roads were still regularly alternating between red and green.

But there was no doubt that it was only a matter of time: sooner or later, the entire urban infrastructure would collapse.

"Let's throw them in the trash cans behind the garage," Philip said in a whisper, pulling two rolls of canvas to wooden fence, separating the garage for three cars from the house. We had to act quickly and very quietly so as not to attract new zombies. No harsh sounds, no flashlights, and, God forbid, no gunshots. Trying to make as little noise as possible, they dragged the sacks along a narrow gravel path between the garages at the back of the houses and a six-foot cedar plank fence. Nick dragged his burden to the gate and pulled the forged handle.

A dead man was waiting for him on the other side of the gate.

- Carefully! yelled Bobby Marsh.

- Shut up! hissed Philip, drawing the ax from his belt and rushing towards the gate.

Nick jumped away from the gate.

The zombie lunged at him, teeth snapping like castanets, but missed by only a fraction of a centimeter. Dodging the dead man's teeth, Nick managed to see him: old man in a worn house sweater, wide-leg golf trousers and expensive studded boots. His milky eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and Philip, raising his axe, had time to think: someone's grandfather. Nick backed away, tangled in his own legs, and sat down with a flourish on the lawn in front of the gate, overgrown with thick meadow bluegrass. The dead golfer took a step forward, but the rusty tip of the ax had already shot up over his head and landed right on the top of his head. The old man's skull cracked like a coconut, exposing the frontal lobes, and the grimace of animal hunger instantly fled from the dead face.

The zombie slumped to the ground next to Nick.

The only thing that broke the silence now was the heavy breathing of the frightened men. Philip just stared at the body for a few seconds, but finally noticed that the ax was no longer in his hand: it was still stuck in the zombie's skull.

“Close those damn gates!” And quiet! Philip whispered tensely, still trying to compose himself. He pressed the head of the corpse to the ground with his heel and abruptly pulled the ax out of the skull. Nick struggled to his feet and stepped back a couple of steps, looking at the corpse with horror and disgust. Bobby dropped his bag and ran to the gate. With a characteristic metallic clang, the latch lowered. The echo flew through the yards, from which all three froze in fright. Philip looked around the dark yard, fighting back the rising panic. Suddenly, from somewhere behind, from the direction of the house, a sound was heard.

Philip tossed his head. A light was on in one of the windows of the colonial mansion.

Brian stood by sliding door back door, banging on the glass and gesturing to his brother and the others - come here, quickly! His face was contorted with horror, and Philip realized that the dead golfer had nothing to do with it. Something else happened.

Oh my God, not Penny!

Philip dropped the ax and ran as fast as he could towards the house.

- What to do with the corpses? Bobby Marsh called after him.

- To hell with them!

Philip jumped over the lawn in three leaps, flew up the steps and, breathing heavily, burst into the house. Brian was waiting for him at the door.

- You must see it!

- What's happened? Is Penny all right? Philip asked, gasping for breath. Bobby and Nick were already climbing the steps behind him. “She's all right,” Brian replied, clutching a framed photograph in his hand. She said she could sit in the closet a little longer.

- I want to show you something. We're going to spend the night here, right? Look, there were six dead people here, right? You killed everyone. Six. There were six of them.

“Speak already, damn you.”

“Somehow they all turned into zombies all at once. The whole family. Right? Brian cleared his throat and pointed at the six bundles left by the garage. “There, on the grass, are six corpses. Look. Mother, father, four children.

- So what?

Brian held up the photo and showed it to his brother. Happy family, all smiling, all in their best Sunday costumes.

- I found it on the piano.

Brian pointed at the smallest child in the photo. A boy of eleven or twelve. Blue T-shirt, blond hair, the same smile on his face as everyone else. Brian looked at his brother meaningfully.

If an author is good at writing scripts for comics, this does not mean that he is also subject to prose. I think Kirkman understood this very well before he took the job. By inviting a writer of second-rate horrors to co-authors, alas, he did not solve the problem. To be honest, I would like to know where Bonansinga had a hand: the description and dialogues are entirely comic. Where there should be character and atmosphere, we are offered a rough description that would help the artist in his work, and not the imagination of the reader. The book was created in order to lure money from the fans of The Walking Dead, and not to firmly occupy the literary niche, unfortunately. By the way, the fans have nothing special to rejoice at: Easter eggs, count on the fingers, and even then, not pleasing to the soul. It is also frustrating that the authors, apparently in pursuit of a really interesting secret of the origin of the Governor, made the ending absolutely ridiculous and funny, even dishonest to the reader; (

In general: instead of doing the same thing in literature as in comics, in video games (The Walking Dead: The Game) and on TV screens, i.e. a work with a high bar, which is equal to the rest - the creators this time did not bother much and created consumer goods.

Score: 4

Like any successful project, The Walking Dead has rapidly occupied all the niches of the modern entertainment industry. TV, merch, games, everything else that fans are happy to trade for greenbacks - the "walkers" have left their mark everywhere. Even the Korean auto industry was hurt by the edge, which gave birth to a special modification of the Hyundai - a monstrous SUV in case the dead still rise.

In this connection, it would be very strange if a couple of franchise novelizations were not present in all this abundance.

As the name implies, the novel is tied to the figure of the Governor. This is a prequel, and at the same time a side quel, which tells the reader about how Philip Blake came to a life such that the curve led him there. The desire is understandable and natural - firstly, the reader usually does not mind playing for the "bad guy" team: a large number of novels on behalf of well-known villains - Darth Vader or, say, H. Lecter - is a clear evidence of this. Secondly, the Governor is an archival figure for TWD; in fact, he is the local Darth Vader.

Anyone familiar with the original comics will tell you that the Governor is one of the most crazy, twisted, and violent characters that Rick Grimes has encountered in his ordeals. The plot brought them together after the events on the farm of the Green family. Attacked by a horde of Walkers, Rick's group was forced to leave the farm and look for a new hideout. Such was the abandoned prison, located next to the tiny town of Woodberry. Run the last, of course, the Governor. By the will of fate, Rick's comrades bring him into his territory and ... The first meeting of these two ended for Grimes with the loss of an arm, the second - with the halving of the family, the death of friends, in addition, also with a temporary loss of reason. Not in vain, oh not in vain, the magazine "Wizard" once chose the Governor as the "villain of the year."

However, villains, as you know, are not born, and the Governor is no exception. What exactly is the book about.

Zombie Apocalypse Philip Blake found a pretty shabby widower, focused exclusively on his little daughter Penny. He is tough and demanding, but at the same time unhappy, and in some ways even vulnerable. Here the reader seems to sympathize with him.

After leaving their dying town, Blake and his group - Penny, older brother Brian, friends Nick Parsons and Bobby Marsh - begin to make their way to Atlanta, where, as announced on the radio, you can find salvation from the zombies. Walker-clogged roads, mangled bodies along roadsides, in cars, in homes and playgrounds everywhere, looters and rapists, death lurking around every corner, with every new mile left behind, hope in Blake's heart melts, and bitterness, on the contrary, grows. And here the reader must find reasons that justify Blake's actions in one way or another. The usual thing!

In general, a series of tests that alternately exude Blake's decency is the main plot of the book.

As the first part of a trilogy, The Rise of the Governor stops its narrative at the moment Blake arrives at Woodbury. Published for the start of the third season of the TV series, the continuation - "The Road to Woodberry" - tells about the events in the city until the appearance of Rick, Michonne and all the other unfortunate people from the comic. Accordingly, the third novel (which is currently in the process of being written) deals with Woodberry's confrontation with the prison, only this time the conflict is shown from the point of view of the townspeople.

For Robert Kirkman, the process of working on a novel was not much different from his work on comics. He sketched out story arcs, noted characters, “dramed” the drama, and Bonansinga (I was surprised to find that several of his novels were published in Russian, including purebred horror) painted the whole thing, multiplied it into words. In general, Del Toro and Hogan number one.

It turned out ... well, average. Even with the initial, not the most inflated expectations. The characters are rather flat, the triggers that send Blake to the "dark side" are not only known, but also sketchy, emotionally sterile. The final brawl with the Blakes is illogical, unconvincing, not one iota follows from the events that preceded it.

However, the fans are hiding, yes.

Verdict: pure fan service, rickety and lame. It's better for the governor to remain the same sick bastard that he remembers from the comics. There he is ... more convincing or something. More colorful for sure.

P.S. A fan translation is circulating online. However, with all due respect, friends, your interlinear is almost unreadable. Not even minimal editing.

Score: 5

The series "The Walking Dead" has been among the highest rated series for several years, and it is not surprising that a successful project is overgrown with side incarnations. There were comics before and, in fact, just served as the primary source, but over time, toys appeared, computer games, the series-spin-off, well, the matter was also gone for the books. The writing duo consisted of an original comics writer and an obscure writer working primarily in the horror and post-apocalyptic fields. I like to read novelizations, so despite the fact that I abandoned the series somewhere in the course of the third season, I was still curious.

As the title suggests, the book focuses on the first steps of a character nicknamed The Governor. I managed to watch until his appearance in the series - there he, not shunning any means, ruled the small town of Woodbury, which became a more or less safe haven for several hundred people during the general zombie apocalypse. But on the first pages of the novel, this is still far away, and the future Governor is still only one of the members of a tiny group of people trying to survive and get somewhere where they don’t have to fear the attack of the walking dead every minute. I don't know if this character's personality was revealed in the series; here I had two candidates for his role - the Blake brothers, the active and determined Philip, and Brian, who is poorly adapted even to his usual life, through whose eyes, however, everything that happens is basically shown. In the end, my final guess turned out to be correct; not that it was that difficult, but still a nice little thing.

And the book in general is a continuous series of skirmishes, moving, infrequent meetings with other people, far from always benevolent; a large proportion of active actions falls to the lot of Philip, the rest of the heroes most often, at best, try to help as much as they can, or even pointlessly rush around. However, it turned out to be quite fascinating, although in general it is no more than a comic book transferred to an entirely text format. It's hard to say why he had two authors... additional information about what is happening here compared to the series, as far as I can tell, either. Although it was surprising that the book actively uses the word "zombie", both in the speech of the characters and in the author's text. I was surprised because, if I'm not mistaken, it never appeared in the series or in the original comic book. Curiously, is this the freedom of translation or a conscious decision of the authors?

Score: 6

Mixed feelings left the novel by Robert Kirkman and Jay Bonansinga "The Rise of the Governor." On the one hand, this is a pretty good book, albeit with a disgusting translation. Dark, confusing, atmospheric, but no less interesting. Fans of the comic book will be pleased with the multiple references to the original work. As a fan of The Walking Universe, I immediately declared that the book is an excellent addition, answering one of the most burning questions: Who is the Governor really and how did he come to such a life? ?..

For me, Philip Blake has remained one of the most charismatic and interesting characters in comics. In the book, we see his formation as a dictator and a maniac. I will say that the final scene discouraged me and unsettled me. This is exactly the ending that this piece should have had. In a word, perfect.

But at the same time, I cannot help but note a bunch of minuses, starting from the flat characters of absolutely ALL secondary characters, their unsuffering and other things. Walkers in the early days for the heroes do not pose any danger at all, but serve only for a colorful description of “leaking cerebral fluid” and “gutted intestines”. Is it worth talking about the feigned stupidity of the main characters? "Pianos in the bushes" at every turn, trials are overcome with a wave of a magic wand, which is why the narrative loses absolutely any connection with the "reality" of the world created by Kirkman.

Score: 7

A strong-willed, tough leader, Philip, who is kind to his little daughter, and ready to do anything to protect her; the sickly moralist-whiner Brian, with humility and passivity, following his older brother; enterprising, religious, kind and sympathetic Nick, a friend of the brothers; fat man Bobby, ready to help in any situation, but obviously unadapted to a new world that has changed catastrophically for the worse and dies very quickly. These people sought salvation, but as the series suggests, none of them ultimately found it.

However, about the book, positioned as a prequel. I must say right away that it leaves a mixed aftertaste after reading.

On the one hand, a lively and intriguing beginning, but then, almost exactly the same, events occur similar to one of the episodes of the series, more precisely, the fourth season, episode six: “Live Bait”, which also contains a sick old man and two his daughters, one of whom he (having previously died) almost bites. Philip saves the victim, but in the series with an oxygen cylinder, and in the book with a bat, however, all the same, couldn't the authors have come up with something else?

Perhaps to justify this, the second part of the book turns into a rather significant drama when, in light of the loss of loved ones and the lack of "self-restraint", Philip finally goes to the dark side under the power of madness ...

But there are flaws here too. First, one can rightly find fault with saying that even up to that moment, from the very beginning of the book, Philip was not himself and was restrained only because of his daughter.

The second is an ill-conceived plot move regarding the fact that Philip will not necessarily become the Governor. It quickly becomes clear who it will be, and then new questions arise, such as the discrepancy between the height of the characters in the series and the book, the names of his associates and their professions (Like Martinez the doctor in the book and Martinez the soldier in the series).

Yes, take the same episode above - the exact same event that happened a second time should surely completely blow the brain of the Governor - but this is not in the series that came out later than the book. But what is a prequel then?

In general, if the text of the book is quite successful for itself - it is concise in script, there is no excessive sentimentality in it, just as there is no attention to detail, on the other hand. The characters are typical but well written.

The pluses include the presence of a couple of assumptions about the presence of the remnants of the mind of the walkers. This is not only a reference to the comics of the same name, where this topic is revealed more fully, but also gives an additional share of tragedy in a situation where you have to kill not just a senseless and hungry creature, but perhaps a person who is still aware of his terrible fate, but unable to control it.

The atmosphere of general plausibility has a positive effect on the absence of deaths due to stupidity, such as covering with an unprotected hand from a slowly wandering walker, which the series has been sinning lately.

A very good second half of the book, written almost in the manner of McCarthy's "Roads", when chaos is created not so much by walking people as by the people themselves, who have descended to the level of the beast.

And separately - the ending, which is strong for the level of this book, leveling the failure of the first half. It was clear who would kill whom, even if there was no special logic in this, but it delivered.

The disadvantages of the book, as it is already clear, are primarily plot inconsistencies and still excessive cinematography - after all, you can see it in the series, but the book would benefit from all sorts of digressions, at least the same banal memories of the past.

The walking Dead. Rise of the Governor Robert Kirkman, Jay Bonansinga

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Title: The Walking Dead. Rise of the Governor
Author: Robert Kirkman, Jay Bonansinga
Year: 2011
Genre: Horror and Mystery, Thrillers, Foreign fiction, Foreign fantasy, Foreign detectives

About The Walking Dead. Rise of the Governor Robert Kirkman, Jay Bonansinga

There is no more monstrous character in The Walking Dead universe than The Governor. A talented leader... and a prudent dictator. He forced his captives to fight zombies just to entertain the crowd and killed those who crossed his path. The moment you've been waiting for has finally arrived - now you can learn about how The Governor became one of the series' most tyrannical characters.

On our site about books lifeinbooks.net you can download for free without registration or read online book"The walking Dead. Rise of the Governor" by Robert Kirkman, Jay Bonansinga in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and a real pleasure to read. Buy full version you can have our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginner writers there is a separate section with useful tips and recommendations, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at writing.

Thanks

Robert Kirkman, Brendan Deneen, Andy Cohen, David Alpert, Stephen Emery and all the good folks at Scattering Circle! Thank you very much!

Jay

Jay Bonansinga, Alpert and the whole Scattering Circle, nice people from Image Comics and Charlie Adlard, our helmsman - I take my hat off to you!

Rosenman, Rosenbaum, Simonian, Lerner and, of course, Brendan Deneen - my deepest respect!

Robert

hollow people

The entrance is over.

One day he opened his own audio CD shop. The business failed, but remained forever in his soul. And now, sitting in the closet, Brian heard the music. It must be playing in hell. Something in the spirit of Edgar Varese or John Bonham's drum solo under cocaine. The heavy breathing of people… the shuffling footsteps of the living dead… the whistle of an ax cutting through the air and piercing into human flesh…

… and, finally, that disgusting chomping sound with which a lifeless body falls on a slippery parquet.

Silence again. Brian felt a chill run down his spine. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and through the gap he saw a trickle of thick blood. It looks like engine oil. Brian tugged gently on the girl's arm, dragging her into the back of the closet, into the pile of umbrellas and boots against the far wall. She doesn't want to see what's going on outside.

Still, the blood managed to splatter the baby on the dress. Penny noticed a red stain on the hem and started rubbing the fabric frantically.

"It'll be all right, honey," Brian whispered, clearing his throat.

Penny muttered something back without looking up. A tear rolled down her stained cheek.

What, Pen? Brian asked, carefully wiping wet marks from the girl's face.

Penny muttered something again, but it didn't look like she was talking to Brian. He listened. The girl whispered again and again, like some kind of mantra, prayer or spell:

“It will never be good again. Never-never-never-never...

- Shhhh...

And again silence.

And then, in complete silence, there was a soft click and the doorknob began to turn. Brian's hair stood on end, but he didn't have time to get scared. The closet door swung open and a living person appeared behind it.

- All is clear! said Philip Blake in a hoarse, smoky baritone, peering into the depths of the closet. His face was flushed with sweat, and a strong, muscular hand clutched a massive axe.

Rise of the Governor read. "The walking Dead. Rise of the Governor Robert Kirkman, Jay Bonansinga. Robert Kirkman, Jay Bonansinga The Walking Dead. Rise of the Governor

Robert Kirkman, Jay Bonansinga
The walking Dead. Rise of the Governor

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Rise of the Governor read. "The walking Dead. Rise of the Governor Robert Kirkman, Jay Bonansinga. Robert Kirkman, Jay Bonansinga The Walking Dead. Rise of the Governor

Robert Kirkman, Jay Bonansinga The walking Dead. Rise of the Governor

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Part 1 hollow people

Chapter 1

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About The Walking Dead. Rise of the Governor Robert Kirkman, Jay Bonansinga

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