There's no one who will take me by that shore
But the waves rushing out the waves rushing out on your shoulders
But if I'm awake this time, this time I'll know
All over your isle the storm is nearly over
Nearly over
-Basia Bulat
...
It was a new moon, a piss poor night to be wandering around in the pitch dark of an unfamiliar place. The stacks of crates created a maze out of the boatyard, a million places for walkers to jump out at you from.
The weight of the pack she was carrying dug into her shoulders. The groans echoing in the distance against a background of waves crashing into the shore did little to quell her racing heart.
Beside her, Michonne was silently calculating the route ahead of them. She gave Andrea's hand a firm squeeze before releasing it and spinning around. A second later, the first walker they had seen since arriving fell to the pavement with a low thud. Andrea winced. She hadn't even noticed that it had been approaching directly behind them, despite being on high alert. Sometimes she wondered if her time was quickly approaching. If it weren't for Michonne. . .
Focus. She chided herself.
Darkness enveloped the narrow tunnels between the huge shipping crates that they traveled down. Each passing moment a silent pounding grew louder insider her, a rising swell to the looming climax. She desperately tried not to imagine her possible final moments as they approached the open waters. She glanced at Michonne again. At least she wasn't alone. She had her best friend.
The open space between the shipping crates and the docks was thick with walkers. Their groaning echoed off the metallic walls and rebounded into the black sea. Andrea bit her lip as she surveyed their position.
They had traveled for so long to reach this place, avoiding every major city, traveling only at night. With such little distance left to reach their goal, it seemed absurd that they would be prevented from it. Yet she knew that traversing those last few meters would be their most difficult so far. Sudden desperation threatened to overwhelm her.
A hand pulled her body in. "We got this. Don't worry," Michonne whispered, her warm breath tickling Andrea's ear.
How they made it to the boat, Andrea couldn't say. Everything was a blur of rotton corpses and blood and salt water.
They made it.
Now, her hair blew behind her in the wind. Michonne handed her the binoculars and bid her to look. The island before them was lush, green and exotic. The sand of the shore was white against sapphire waves. Home. Suddenly, she knew it. She smiled at Michonne, who grinned back at her.
…
They anchor the ship several yards from the beach.
Michonne jumps out into the shallow turquoise water; it laps at her thighs. She turns to Andrea and beckons. "Come on."
As they grow nearer to the shore, the sound of bird calls can be heard in the distance and the ruffle of leaves in the wind form an orchestra of isolation. And yet,
"We should find shelter."
Michonne nodded in reply.
As they pushed through the dense vegetation the feeling crawling up her spine intensified. "Do you feel it?"
Michonne paused, looking at her, "Feel what?"
"Someone's watching," Andrea's eyes darted around them even as she spoke. But no ghoul appeared to attack them.
Michonne nodded her head, "Let's keep going. We'll be ready for them." Loudly. A warning.
It was nightfall when they spied a small cabin ahead, light dancing from the windows. Unease flowed through her. Michonne only had to look at Andrea to signal her, quiet.
They crept up to the building, which could now be seen to be no more than a decrepit shack, a strange sound could be heard. Humming, Andrea thought she even recognized the song. Caution aside, she peered into the window. She could see the back of the woman, petite, blonde hair in a ponytail, as she stood over a table, working on something. Abruptly, the woman turned and looked out the window, directly at Andrea.
That face.
Shock and terror gripped her, only for a moment, before screaming, Andrea turned to flee.
That face. -
Branches clawed at her as she made her escape. In the darkness, she didn't see the exposed root. As she fell she thought she cried out for Michonne. Her head met the hardened earth with a thud that left her disoriented. In a haze, she cursed herself for her rash actions and questioned if she had really seen what she thought she had. Perhaps, she had finally lost her mind afterall.
She steadied herself on the trunk of a nearby tree as she willed the world to stop spinning. She pulled her gun from her side and her fingers fumbled to unlock the safety. Someone was approaching her, she could hear their footsteps. "Michonne?" she whispered.
"It's me," came the reply. Her strong arms pulled Andrea upright. "What happened back there?"
"Did you see?" Andrea leaned into Michonne, her body relaxing into the familiar curves of the other woman.
"Yes, it's really her."
"How?" her head was still spinning and she didn't understand.
"Just come," Michonne gestured towards the cabin, her arm wrapped firmly around Andrea's waist.
Andrea relented.
Amy smiled warmly at her sister. "I've been waiting for you."
"Amy?" Andrea's voice cracked.
"That's me," she reached her arms up tentatively towards Andrea. Andrea closed her eyes as she entered the embrace of her twice dead sister. Her body was solid, real. Not a ghost then. Andrea inhaled the scent of patchouli and jasmine, Amy's favorite perfume. "Are you okay?"
Andrea stepped back.
"I just-, it feels strange."
"I know, it's because we are still on the outside. We have to go deeper."
"Deeper?" Andrea furrowed her brows, looking at Michonne who remained silent.
"Into the forest. There's a place, a safe place," Amy smiled again. "I'll take you."
Andrea looked at Michonne, who nodded in acceptance. "Okay," Andrea finally agreed.
"We can leave after sunrise," Amy said, handing Andrea one of the cups on the small table. "It's tea."
"Thank you," Andrea glanced back at Michonne who remained in the farthest corner of the room, past the reach of the small lantern which lit the room. Irritation suddenly rushed through her. "Michonne might like some as well."
"I'm fine," Michonne said from the shadows.
The tea was bitter but seemed to settle her nerves somehow. Just as she set the cup down, Amy spoke again, "Why don't you rest for a while?"
She motioned towards a small bed in the corner of the shack.
"I'll lie with you," Michonne spoke suddenly.
"Oh, okay," Andrea had began to feel very strange, as though she were floating. She was starting to think that there had been some kind of drug in her tea or that maybe she had been knocked out when she took that tumble earlier and she was still dreaming. As she walked towards the bed, sudden vertigo overwhelmed her.
She was in a small room, the smell of piss and metallic blood filled her nostrils. A choir of death groans could be heard just outside the door. Walkers, a horde, they were coming for her. Panic blossomed in her chest. She struggled against the ropes which bound her to a wooden chair. Deeper pain filled her, regret. She was alone. If only she had stayed with Michonne. If only she hadn't been so stubborn. "Michonne!"
"I'm here," soothing tones answered her as strong arms held her upright and guided her towards the now inviting bed.
"I'm so sorry," Andrea sobbed, warm tears were streaming down her face. She was back inside the cabin, Michonne holding her. The vision, it had felt so real. "I would never leave you," she mumbled into Michonne's neck and she hoped it was true. Now, lying in the bed, she pulled the other woman next to her. "Please."
"I'll be right here, Blondie. As long as you need me to be," Michonne looked down at her and smiled.
"I love you. I really do," Andrea felt the tears stinging her eyes and the undeniable feeling of an absence. Strange, when Michonne was within reach.
"I know you do and I love you too."
She was laying in Michonne's lap, pain and heat searing through her body. One last glimpse, that's all she needed. One last look into those endless dark eyes. "You knew me," she gasped through her broken throat.
"I'll always know you, babe," Michonne's voice cracked and Andrea understood.
"I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. This is-"
"No," Michonne hushed her and pulled her closer, her lips brushing Andrea's. "No."
She pressed her lips on Andrea's again, the kiss was rough, urgent. "No," she mumbled.
As the light faded, Andrea's grip loosened, her fingers falling from Michonne's hand. The kisses grew lighter. The sound of wailing tapered off and the air grew cooler.
A memory.
"Where am I?" Andrea asked, realization setting in.
"You're safe now," Michonne answered.
"It's not really you, is it?"
"Of course it's me," Michonne answered. "I'm right here."
"No, I'm dead. Aren't I?" Andrea turned her head towards the ceiling, a spider crawled across the web there between two of the dusty beams. Saying it aloud made it truer somehow but that didn't explain what was happening now. Michonne squeezed her hand. "You are safe now. Amy's here."
"But you..."
"I'll always be a part of you."
Andrea watched the wisps' of the dawn's light peaking through the window, how had the night past so quickly? Through the streams of light, Michonne appeared transparent, like she was fading.
"Please, I can't do this without you." She buried her face in Michonne's shoulder.
"I'll be with you again, someday," she promised softly.
"Michonne," Andrea pleaded but it was no use. Even as Andrea gripped tighter, she could feel her slipping away through her grasp until it was her own hands her face pressed into.
She sobbed helplessly for hours or for days; time passed, the grief overtaking her, until finally, she looked up.
In the early morning light, her sister stood before her. Amy reached out her hand and beckoned her. Andrea stood a calm flowing over her. Somehow she felt renewed, almost at peace, perhaps.
She took Amy's outstretched hand and they walked out into the light, together.
fin.