I blinked. And the light faded.
…
The earth shook from under her as Andrea awoke from a distant dream. Already fading in clarity, only the scent of blood remained pungent, warm and a vague sense of urgency and fear. A faint static buzzed in her ear, demanding, against the cacophony of endless drumming.
"Wake up."
Her arm. Something warm was sliding up her arm. No. Get away. More insistent now, it pulled at her tender flesh. She struggled to open her eyes; a distorted silhouette hovered over her. She screamed.
"Quiet." Firm, dry hands covered her open mouth. "The walkers will hear."
Walkers. Right. Andrea stopped. She blinked. Her vision adjusted as she surveyed the tiny moonlit room. Gradually, things became clearer. Michonne sat next to her, where Andrea lay on a frozen concrete floor.
"Sorry 'bout that."
"You're fine. I told you." She reached over and pressed something into Andrea's hand where it lay limp beside her. "Here."
But Andrea didn't move right away, her arms were heavy and she was so tired. Plus, she liked the way the other woman's fingertips lingered on her wrist.
"Antibiotics. Take it." Michonne lifted Andrea's hand to her mouth, patiently, gently.
The pills stuck to the back of her parched throat and the gag turned into a cough that didn't stop, even after a few sips of water.
She closed her eyes. Everything disappeared once more.
…
She was back in that cabin, lying in that pile of blankets in front of a dying fire, Michonne beside her, eyes closed and still. Outside, snow was falling at a languid pace until a delicate layer of white crystals covered the tips of the pine trees.
"Do you think it's Christmas?" she asked suddenly.
Michonne opened her eyes and looked over without turning her head. "With the way the cold affects these walkers, it may as well be."
The colder it had become, the fewer walkers they seemed to run into but since they had been heading for more and more rural areas, they hadn't thought too hard about their good luck. Until, they had awoken one morning, to find Michonne's special friends barely able to move.
"They're frozen," Michonne said.
"Well, I'll be." Andrea could only shrug her shoulders in reply. They took the opportunity to raid the nearest town for supplies. They had a truck now, a blue ford. The walkers rode in the back, strapped down like luggage. Later, while hunting for venison, they found the cabin, deep in the woods off an old dirt road.
It was an oasis in a dry, dry desert. It was abandoned but clean. Fireplace was in working order. They settled in quite nicely. It felt good. Damn good. The apocalypse may have taken their old lives but that damn well didn't mean they wouldn't fight to take something back.
Andrea turned to Michonne, propping her head up on her elbow. The flickering firelight danced in the pupils of Michonne's warm eyes; she smiled. Something new and good twisted in Andrea's stomach.
…
"Behind you!" Andrea screamed. Michonne spun around with the grace of a prima ballerina, katana held high, and beheaded the rotting walker just before it could lay its hands on her.
"That was close," Andrea mumbled, clenching her hands to her sides to stop the shaking.
"Hurry up," was the only reply.
Andrea quickly glanced around the small store before hurrying through the cramped isles. She spotted what she needed. Then she dumped as many of the boxes that would fit into a new duffle bag, taken from the isle before. Small boxes, filled with such tiny pieces of slick metal, yet worth so much now. They had hit the jackpot coming into this town. Most of the gun stores they'd passed by had already been thoroughly looted.
"Are you coming?" an impatient voice called from the front. "We've got walkers. They're slow, but still moving."
"I'm coming," she replied. As she jogged to the front door, where Michonne stood guard, something caught her eye in the glass case. "Oh, wait."
Andrea ran behind the counter opening drawers frantically. "Come on, come on, come on."
"What are you doing?" Michonne had left her place at the door. "Let's go!"
"That." Andrea pointed to the glass case, in which lay a display of pistol silencers. Michonne rolled her eyes, lifted her katana and brought it down, handle first into the glass. The sharp noise of shattering glass pierced the silence. Andrea smiled.
After that, they took out any walkers that had the poor luck to meet them with ease.
…
"Where are we going?" She crouched low behind the tree, the truck and freedom lying a few short meters away. And a only a few more meters away from the truck the biggest herd she'd seen since that night on Hershel's farm, slogged along, oblivious to the humans' presence, for now.
"Relax, my boys have our back," Michonne whispered back. She nodded to the chained walkers. That's what she always called them my boys. Andrea tried to imagine hacking of Amy's arms and lower jaw and carting her around while her flesh rotted off her skeleton. Surely, that wasn't the case here. Those weren't people she used to know. Though, Andrea couldn't know for sure. They never spoke about the ones they had lost or what they had had to do to survive.
Andrea and Michonne walked slowly between the two walkers towards the truck. They remained unnoticed until Andrea started the engine but by the time the nearby walkers reacted, the truck was already headed down the well worn dirt road in the opposite direction of the hungry dead.
…
They sat on the edge of the bridge, legs dangling over the edge. Sure they'd lost the truck, who cares? They still had Michonne's walkers, her katana, and Andrea, her guns. They could live for days off the food they'd found in that last town. For that reason alone, it was hard to wish they'd never went there.
In the purple haze of twilight, Michonne's face wore an ethereal glow. So beautiful. It was all Andrea could do to still the turmoil roiling around in her gut just enough to keep it from boiling over and spilling out in her voice. It had been three days since—whatever you wanted to call what happened between them, and it wasn't that she hadn't spent nearly every minute since thinking about it or anything. It's not like she hadn't rehearsed a thousand different times, what she would say, when she brought it up. Should she? The doubt infected her mind, until at last she settled on doing nothing time and time again. She swallowed down the words rising in her throat again and settled for watching the sunset, her hand just a few inches short of where she'd like it to be. Still, she had Michonne. She allowed herself a small smile.
…
Pain tore through her esophagus as another ragged cough shook her body. I'm dying, she thought. Michonne still hadn't come back. In her dreamlike haze, it seemed as though days had passed since the other woman had wordlessly pressed the water bottle to her lips. She's abandoned me. Worse, walkers got her. Something warm and wet dripped down her face. "Don't leave me. Don't—"
"Shh, I'm right here, baby," Michonne crooned gently from somewhere behind her.
"Michonne?" Andrea gasped out between coughs. "When did you get back?"
The warmth at Andrea's back disappeared. She began to feel even more disoriented as she realized that Michonne had leaned over, coming into Andrea's field of view. "I've been right here the whole time. Quiet now, rest."
Andrea closed her eyes again.
In the darkness she could just hear a harried whisper: "Those pills didn't work like you thought, Mike, should I try the others? Or wait longer?"
…
Sleeping during the apocalypse is a bitch. The nightmares came often. In your sleep you were either running or you were dying and awake you were either running or you were dying and sometimes it was hard to remember if you were sleeping or not. Sometimes the dreams were memories, those moments that've been seared into your subconscious, a permanent part of you. Some of them were good. Those hurt the worst.
Those were the real nightmares, the memories your sisters face, grinning wide and easy, at the peak of Mount Bierstadt on that summer trip to Colorado. Your dad, that time he took you to the county fair, before Amy was even born, just the two of you, and you got to eat cotton candy all day. Or your mom's face the day you graduated from NYU.
It was a punch in the gut, waking up and realizing you'll never see Disney World again, that you've long since listened to your last Kansas song, without even knowing it at the time. You'll never see your tiny but cozy condo again. All your stupid little hopes and dreams are fucking blown apart like that walker's face as it met a shotgun blast. Dust in the wind, baby.
…
"In here," Andrea panted, breath ragged, as she nodded towards the door in the back ally. They'd run out of gas a ways back. Another horde, nearly as big as the one they'd just left behind, took them off guard and had caught their scent. Andrea had been standing too far from their walker escorts at just the wrong moment.
Michonne ran up next to her, her pets tailing behind. They ducked through the now open door together, slamming it behind them. They were in a small pastel colored room, an office. Andrea moved quickly, grabbing for the nearest piece of furniture, a file cabinet and pushing it in front of the door. When she turned back around, Michonne was facing the door way, still. Ahead of her, in the doorway, a small figure slumped toward them. Long dried blood caked the grey skin around its mouth. Filthy clothing, hung off the tiny skeletal body. The small creature tilted its head upward and let out a high pitched growl. It was only a child.
Michonne stood slack jawed, frozen in place. Her katana was loose in her limp hand.
"Michonne!" Andrea gripped her gun tighter, as she stepped up beside the other women. It's not a child anymore. She told herself but her hand was still shaking as she lifted her gun and pulled the trigger. The body hit the floor.
Next to her, Michonne fell to her knees. She screamed, a garbled sound that resounded in the empty room.
Another small walker appeared behind where the first one lay.
And another.
"Michonne?" Andrea looked at her friend. The other woman only shook her head; she was muttering something to herself. Andrea shivered. Michonne was the strong one. She was supposed to be the strong one. This, this is bad.
The crowd of walkers near the door was steadily growing, no doubt drawn out from the noise. Their waxen skin gave them a surreal appearance, as if they were little dolls. Waxen, bloodied dolls. Inhaling deeply, she lifted her gun again. God, forgive me. She pulled the trigger, again.
And again.
And again.
Andrea walked out into the next room, next to white bookshelves stacked with neat piles of books and toys and dispersed between little tables and chairs, covered with brown filth, were more bodies, and- parts, none moving. Thank god. A banner hung on the far wall over a little coat hanger, "Miss Amy's Daycare." Andrea closed her eyes but she couldn't stop her imagination from straying. . .
Stop, she commanded herself.
All business now, Andrea cleared the rest of the building. When she returned to the office, Michonne was curled up, unmoving on the floor. "Michonne?"
Vacant eyes stared back at Andrea. Michonne didn't move. "Let's get out of here."
"I can't," Michonne finally spoke, the words sounded hallow and small. Andrea swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. She had to be strong. She could do this. Not with those things so close.
"What?" Andrea grabbed Michonne's arms and pulled. "Come on, get up!"
But the other woman pushed her away half-heartedly. Andrea's stomach plummeted and a new wave of primal fear washed over her. Andrea grabbed Michonne again, fingers digging into her bare shoulders. "You're not doing this to me. Don't you leave me!"
Michonne closed her eyes. "Please, just go."
"Dammit! What's wrong with you?" Andrea shook Michonne, who stayed limp in Andrea's grip. "Fine. I'll carry you out of here."
And she did, somehow. She carried Michonne up to the rooftop where they set up a sort of camp. No fire, of course, that would attract the nearby horde they had just escaped. At least they had some food. There was actually quite a bit downstairs. They must not have lasted very long. Andrea's stomach lurched and if she'd had more to eat the past three days than a few spoonfuls of kidney beans maybe she would have lost her appetite but she didn't. So, her stomach growled in anticipation.
"Hey, hungry?" Michonne just stared back at her, from her position, leaning against a brick half wall. Andrea, crouched next to her, shoved the package into Michonne's hands. "Come on, please."
"Everyone I've ever known is dead!" Michonne snarled and threw the package of cookies at Andrea. It missed her head by a few inches.
"You think it's not the same for me? You think my family's sitting around safe somewhere?" Andrea shouted, fists clenched at her sides. Michonne only glared back at her. "What about us?"
Michonne's face broke. "My daughters. My babies."
Andrea's stomach clenched. She flashed back to those dull white eyes and dirty pigtails. Those vacant white eyes, staring back at her as she pulled the trigger.
"I can't," Michonne whispered.
"I'm so sorry." Cupping Michonne's face, Andrea used her thumb to wipe away the tear trailing down the other woman's cheek. Then she continued, lightly tracing the outline of Michonne's jaw until she reached her chin. Michonne placed her hand over Andrea's and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again Andrea could see clearly the need there and it stirred something deep inside her, something that wouldn't be pushed aside, anymore. Andrea sucked in a ragged breath, "I—"
But her words were cut short by the meeting of their lips, soft, hesitant and open. Michonne reached behind her and grabbed Andrea's neck pulling her in closer. Andrea yielded until they were pressed against each other chest to chest. She sighed into the kiss, sliding her tongue in and tasting. Michonne kissed her back, biting Andrea's lower lip gently as she pulled away to look at her.
Andrea smiled nervously, the fear of rejection lurking nearby and the corner of Michonne's mouth twitched just a bit. Andrea opened her mouth to speak again, maybe apologize but Michonne placed her finger on her lips. "Shhh," she traced Andrea's lips, sending sparks down Andrea's sides. Then Michonne pulled her in for another kiss, deeper this time, hesitation lost.
…
After nearly three weeks in the darkness of the basement of Gary's General Store, Andrea walked out into the blinding noon sunlight. Her muscles ached, still stiff from too many nights spent laying a concrete floor. She pulled the blanket tighter around her as the crisp spring breeze blew past her. Ahead of her, flanked by her two undead, Michonne beckoned. Her head tilted in annoyance.
Andrea smiled.
fin.