A/N: Hi everyone! Thank you for your patience while I've been writing this. It's been a long, strange few weeks. Before the chapter, I just wanted to encourage everyone who has the ability to do so, please see the new African American Museum in DC! It is an amazing tribute to the life, culture, and people who helped build this country and the history of African Americans in this country is filled with struggle and endurance through some of the most horrendous acts committed by our nation. I had the opportunity to visit a couple of weeks back and it completely shook me. What men and women suffered during the Middle Passage into slavery, is unfathomable and there were several times when I cried reading the stories of people sold at auctions and inspected like horses, of masters offering up dolls in exchange for returned runaways, and of escaped mothers who would rather kill their own children than let them go back to being slaves when backed into a corner. My fictitious imagining of some of those scenes pale laughably in comparison, so please please please go visit and learn the history of the United States.
After reading the real stories, I considered not continuing with this for a while. This story is a bit difficult, so please bear with me as I take my time to finish it.
Thank you again for reading.
It would have been a grossly inaccurate assumption on anyone's part to think Michonne was in a calm state of mind as the gang's horses galloped thunderously through the darkness towards the Hilltop. While they could not see the look in her eyes, they could sense it…
Fierce, vengeful, and fully committed to a terrible deed.
As they neared the ridge where they had plotted, the enormity of the task quickly and unceremoniously fell upon the entire group. They had been with Michonne for years and as expansive and thrilling as their adventures had been, nothing prepared them for the feeling of standing on the edge and preparing to leap.
This task was not in service of a grander purpose. There would be no freed slaves, no asshole would be robbed of his riches to fund their mission, no auction disrupted, and no greater meaning would be derived.
This was revenge.
Nothing would be accomplished except, they hoped, her own personal peace. Perhaps Andre's image would no longer plague her and his voice would encourage her towards a less destructive goal.
Upon reaching the high point, they slowed their pace, watching Michonne as they awaited her cue.
She stopped her horse and looked out over the town. In the back of her mind, she could hear Rick's voice. She could still feel him. Deep down, she wish she had never left that house.
Closing her eyes, Michonne shoved him deep down. She pushed away thoughts of Alexandria. As she did, she could see only one thing left ahead of her and as she opened her eyes again, she resituated her katana and took the plunge.
"Time?" She asked.
"Six thirty two," Tara responded quietly after checking her pocket watch.
The wooded area where they waited was deathly silent, the impatient huffs of the horses and rustling leaves beneath their shifting hooves breaking though to accentuate the stillness. The gang collectively held their breath.
"On six forty five."
They did not see the tears that fell from her eyes as she spurred her horse and took off into the trees.
For a moment they were paralyzed, stunned by how rapidly she had left without a goodbye. After years of helping her get to this place, it was impossible to believe that it would all end with a call for time.
Abraham shook his head and charged his horse after her. He whistled sharply and caught her attention, causing her to slow to a stop, eyes wide as he swiftly dismounted his horse and rushed over to her.
"Get down," he ordered and she instantly obliged, gasping as he pulled her into a bone crushing embrace. "You better come back to me."
Michonne closed her eyes, failing to stop the stream of tears down her face as she clung to him. "Abraham," she gasped.
Abraham pulled away and took her face in his hands. "Hey, I ain't fuckin' with you. Don't go pullin' any of that hero self-sacrificing bullshit. I need you to come back to me."
She released a watery laugh. "Or what? You gonna kill me yourself?"
He shook his head. "No. I'm just gonna come find you and drag you back to this miserable, shit heeled world of the living so you can continue to suffer with the rest of us assholes," he growled, choking back tears of his own. "You ain't getting out of this life so easy."
Michonne uttered a pained cry, leaning in to press her lips to his quickly before burying her face in his chest, holding him tightly to her. It was genuinely excruciating to part with him after ten years together and she knew he felt the same.
"I love you," Abraham murmured into her hair and she tightened her grip.
"I love you," she responded, taking a deep breath and pulling away from him. "Take care of them."
Abraham's eyes hardened with resolution. "Come back and take care of them yourself," he countered.
She looked at him for a moment before she turned and climbed back on her horse. "Goodbye Abraham," she rasped and then took off. He watched her leave, aware of another presence behind him.
"We're gonna see her again," Rosita murmured as she approached on her horse. Abraham looked torn between listening to her and going after Michonne. "Hey!" She snapped, invigorated suddenly by the reality of the situation. "She needs us to do our part, so let's go!" She pulled up alongside Abraham and reached out to him. "We will see her again."
The fire in her eyes pulled him out of his daze and he nodded. "Let's go!"
"Rick!" Glenn yelled, pounding on the man's door intently. "Rick, get out here! We gotta problem!"
Rick roused himself from the chair in the corner of his bedroom where he had fitfully stayed since Michonne had left, unable to find any rest. Checking his watch, he frowned and headed to the door. It was still dark outside.
"What is it?" He asked before he even got it open.
"Daryl just got in from checking the infirmary and the Cavanaughs are missing," Glenn explained quickly, entering the home. "He's keepin' an eye Peter, but the other two are missing."
"Shit. How? How the hell did they get out?!"
Glenn took a deep breath. "Talked to Bob. Said one of the Anderson kids been hangin' around the infirmary since those two arrived. Said Mrs. Anderson stopped by once earlier in the evening as well… and then there are these..." He held up letters for Rick.
The shock was written all over Rick's face as he glanced over the opened envelopes and crumpled parchment. "You read people's mail?"
Glenn pointed to the letters in Rick's hand. "People were sending the word out to a couple of bounty hunters. We needed to get ahead of this."
Nodding, Rick looked over the names and caught one that gave him pause. He read the letter quickly and then threw the letters away angrily.
"Fuck," he snapped. "Where's Sasha?"
Glenn motioned behind him. She had been the first person he had gone to. "She's checking the roads to see which way they went."
Rick glanced at his watch and frowned. It had been about forty minutes since Michonne had left and already more problems arose.
"Fine, give me a minute. Carl!" He called. "Carl!"
There was no response and Rick rushed to the children's room, opening the door to find Judith alone in the room.
"Damn it," Rick swore, running over to the boy's empty bed.
"Papa!" Judith gasped from her bed, scowling at him as he gathered her up in his arms. Rick looked around for clues but was too distracted by his son's disappearance to actually focus on any one thing.
"Where's Carl?" He demanded and she shrugged, not recognizing her father's panic.
"Carl left."
"Where? When?"
"I don't know," she mumbled as her father went to the window and found the latch to be unlocked. Lifting it up, he looked out to see a set of footprints disappear around the corner of the house.
There was only one reason why Carl would sneak away so early in the morning and Rick cursed himself for not thinking that after all the bonding his son and Michonne had done that the young man would not take any drastic measures.
"God dammit!"
Without fully realizing how, Rick found himself in front of the Anderson residence, pounding on the door. Glenn had gone around back to check out the premises. Judith was on his hip.
"Rick," Jesse gasped when she opened the door. "Rick, what is this?"
"Do you know where the Cavanaughs are?" Rick demanded, barging into her home and looking around intently.
"What?"
"The Cavanaughs," he growled. "They're missing."
Jesse's eyes widened and she shook her head. "Rick, I don't know anything about that."
"The doctor said you were at the infirmary last night," Rick countered angrily. "You need to tell me what happened to those men."
"Rick, I don't know anything." She motioned to Judith. "Perhaps you should let me-"
"Mother?"
Rick turned to see Samuel standing in the kitchen, eyes wide with fear at the sheriff's intimidating behavior. Rick stared at him for a moment before looking back at his mother.
"Where's Ron?"
Jesse glanced over at Sam and shook her head. "He's sleeping."
Rick's eyes narrowed in suspicion and he pointed down the hall. "Go get him."
Jesse took a deep breath and shook her head. "No. Rick, you cannot come in here and just boss me around. I don't know what that doctor told you, but I did not do anything and neither did my boys. Now get out!"
"Where's Ron?"
"He's gone," Sam blurted out, grabbing their attention once more. Jesse's face lost what little color was left and Rick's body froze.
"What?"
Sam pointed to their room. "Ron left earlier this mornin'," he confessed.
"Rick!" Glenn yelled, coming back around to the front door and entering the home. "Three of your horses are missing," he informed Jesse breathlessly.
Rick's mind was racing at this point. With Michonne on her deadly mission, Carl missing, and the Cavanaughs escaped, there was too much going on in one moment for any of it to be brushed off. He needed to get a handle of this and quickly otherwise he would lose more than just his mind.
"Where did they go, Jesse?" Rick heard Glenn demand. "Where your horses?"
Jesse was hyperventilating at this point. "I don't know… I don't know where they are! Ron promised me he wouldn't do anything."
"WHERE IS HE?!" Rick bellowed, unable to restrain his anger anymore.
"Hilltop." They looked over at Sam. "He said something about a murderer at the Hilltop… I think he was gonna go stop it."
Glenn turned to the sheriff. "Rick, isn't that where-"
"Yes," Rick managed before he turned and headed out the door. "I need to drop Judith off with Father Gabriel. Go get Sasha and go ahead of me."
"Rick, what the hell is going on?" Glenn demanded and Rick shook his head.
"I don't…" He stopped himself. He did know, but he did not want to say. "We need to get to the Hilltop now."
Ten years. Thousands of miles. Dozens of lives.
In seeking revenge, Michonne had carved out a legacy for herself and yet as she slipped into Hilltop, a hooded figure fading through the shadows, there was only one history she wished to address.
Passing by a butcher, who groggily swept the front of his show, unaware of her presence, Michonne found her mark among some hedges around back and looked to the hills. She knew they were out there, watching, waiting, anxious for her to be done with this horrid quest. It was an aspect of her life they had nebulously signed up for, but she knew they wanted nothing more than for her to move forward.
Checking her pocket watch, she slid down the outer wall and bided her time in concealment.
Three minutes.
In that moment, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to think of him... of why she was here...
"Mama!"
Michonne looked up slipping off her shoes and smiled wearily as her small boy waddled over to her from the other room. Leaning down, she scooped him up in her arms and hugged him closely.
"Hey," she murmured. "Child, you supposed to be asleep."
Andre giggled as he nestled into her lap. She caught sight of his wrapped fingers and she reached out for them, her face falling quickly.
"What happened to your hands?"
"Cotton."
Michonne's body seized. "You out in the field?" She asked, seeing the blood staining the thin linen. Her son did not seem to register her concern for his pain as he waggled his little fingers and nodded.
"Papa took me out," he told her. "I helped with the pickin'."
Michonne closed her eyes and took a deep, trembling breath, forcing down the rage that boiled up inside of her. The very idea that Andre's father had dragged their child out into those fields... in the presence of those who cracked whips, brandished guns, and demanded explicitly faster work. Those people that she sworn to loathe with all of her being and eventually escape...
"Your father took you too the fields?" She gasped and Andre nodded, still not understanding his mother's anger. Instead, he took her face and grinned.
"Mama, I picked one basket! One!"
"Oh you're back."
Hateful tears threatened to spill onto her dirt stained cheeks as Michonne looked up to see the father of her child step into the room, eyes dark and suspicious of her. She could barely bring herself to care about his appearance as she drew Andre closer to her, her breath quickening as she struggled to control her temper.
"You took him to the fields?" She asked quietly.
Michael sighed and moved across the room, sitting down at the table across from her. "Ain't got much of a choice, seein' as you ain't out there anymore."
"I told you not to take him out there."
"He's been in the fields before."
"Not to work… his fingers are bleeding."
"They'll get tougher."
Michonne's face twitched but she steadied herself and looked back down at Andre's little hands, watching as he played with the hem of her shirt quietly, too young and ignorant to understand how his mother's heart was being ripped to shreds.
"You know why I ain't out there right now," she muttered, catching his eyes. "Ella's out and they needed someone to step up 'til she can get back in."
She watched him roll his eyes and snort. "Ella is the way she is and that's her own damn fault. You ain't got no business bein' in that fuckin' house."
"Watch your mouth," she snarled, smoothing out Andre's tight curls before running a hand over one of his ears. "He ain't got no business bein' out in those fields."
A moment of silence fell over the small room they were in as the two adults glared at each other. As she sat there, Michonne's mind raced once again with thoughts of escape. She had hoped, rather than believed, that her time in the house would be different than her time in the fields, but she had witnessed, however briefly, the ignominy of being a lesser being in the presence of the masters and it did little to quell her desire to attempt to leave once again.
In her arms, Andre sat, a small child for one his age, disadvantaged by a difficult birth, yet brighter and more willing than the other boys his age. Her heart broke at his bandaged hands, his dark, ashy skin, and the determined way he clutched her skirt.
"He's old enough to do some work so that's what he's gonna do. You can't keep hidin' him in here," Michael finally snapped.
"He ain't goin' back in those fields," she countered.
Michael straightened up at the table, eyes narrowed. "That' ain't your decision, MIchonne."
She slammed her hand down on the table, causing Andre to jump in her lap. "I'm his mama, the hell it ain't! I told you he ain't goin' out there."
"And I told Mr. Randall he's good to go, so he's goin'," Michael retorted, standing up to loom over her. There was a mixture of anger and fear in his eyes at her dissent. "This ain't up for discussion. We ain't producin' the way they want and we 'bout to get sold, Michonne. I ain't breakin' this family up because you don't want that boy out in the fields."
"He's not goin' out there again," Michonne responded once more, livid now that these conversations had taken place behind her back. She had been explicit in telling him that Andre would not be in the fields, especially while he was so young. She had begged him to avoid that scenario. To find that Michael had disregarded that request and subjected her son to such pain and dehumanization so early in his life...
In what seemed to be an attempt to end the conversation, Michael turned away and headed towards their room. "This ain't up for discussion, Michonne. He's gonna be out there."
She watched him get to the door before she responded. "I swear Michael, you take him out to those fields one more time, I will slit your goddamn throat."
Michael turned around to see Michonne standing with their son at her side, defiant, enraged, and unable to control the tears that streamed down her ashen face. Andre was deathly silent, clinging to his mother's leg as he awaited what was next.
"You threatening me?"
A shaky breath escaped her trembling lips as she tried to stand tall. "I'm promisin' you. He ain't goin' back out there..." She shook her head. "This ain't gonna be his life."
Michael stared at her for a moment then turned his eyes to the child.
"Andre, come here," he called, breaking the boy out of his stupor and causing Michonne to jolt at the gentleness in his voice. "Come here, son."
Andre moved to obey, but Michonne grabbed his arm, stopping him and pulling him behind her skirt, out of view of his father. She saw the darkness fall upon Michael's face when he saw this action and she took a step back, glancing around the room quickly as she weighed her options.
"Andre, come here," Michael demanded, glaring daggers at Michonne as her grip on her son tightened and she prevented him from moving to his father.
"You ain't takin' him out to those fields," she murmured resolutely.
Michael's eyes narrowed dangerously. "And what you gonna do, Michonne? You gonna keep him here? Useless? They gonna sell his ass the moment they can if he ain't useful here, and you fuckin' know it."
Michonne felt Andre trembling behind her and she wished she could hold him, but instead she took another step back, bringing him with her. "I will not let him have this life." It was a promise she had made to herself the moment she had birthed him.
"There ain't no other life, Michonne!"
"There's the North."
Michael advanced on her so quickly, she could barely respond. "Shut your fucking mouth!"
Andre cried as Michael grabbed her shoulders and shook her. For a brief moment, it seemed as if she would let him, but then the child shrieked as his mother lunged for the cast iron skillet near the stove and swung it, catching Michael in the shoulder and knocking him down briefly as she broke away from his grasp.
Michonne made a move for the back of the small hovel they survived in, but he caught her foot and brought her crashing to the ground with a cry of agony. Andre's wailing stung her ears as she struggled to get her bearings, the pain of the fall spreading across her side. She knew immediately something was broken.
"Michonne, you ain't takin' my son," Michael snarled, pulling her towards him. "We stayin' here."
She kicked back and caught him in the mouth, sending his head into the corner of the table.
In an instant, the place was still save for Michonne's labored breathing and Andre's tears. Painfully, Michonne sat up and stared at Michael's prone body for a moment until she was galvanized by sudden realization. Gasping, she scrambled over to him and took his head in her hands, shaking him desperately
"Michael," she whispered. "Michael!"
It took a moment to realize that he was unconscious, but still breathing.
"Mama!"
Crying out, she gathered Andre up in her arms and crushed his body to hers, unable to stop the tears pouring down her face. She stared at Michael's form for a couple of minutes, knowing he would be angry when he woke up. Knowing that this incident would spread through the community like wildfire... A closer eye would be placed on her and her son...
She needed to act and act fast.
Michonne stood up without delay and rushed into the next room, wincing at the shooting pain up her side. Under their bed, she ripped up a wooden floor panel and pulled out a rucksack. Checking the contents to ensure nothing had been tampered with, Michonne gathered a couple of blankets, stuffing them into the bag as well before she gathered up her field shoes and shoved them on. A sudden fear struck her as she momentarily forgot the song her father taught her when they had initially tried to escape back when she was a young girl. Gasping, she grabbed her head and swayed, muttering fitfully as she willed herself to remember the words. She needed to remember the words.
"Papa, wake up!"
The words returned to her as she peered into the other room, horrified by the image of her son shaking his unconscious father. For a moment, she considered staying. She loved Michael, there was no denying that, and Andre needed a father.
But she could not let her son grow up with the life his father had…
"Up the river, up the river you go," Michonne muttered to herself and then turned her back on the scene, changing quickly into darker clothes before she returned to the other room with a thin, weathered coat for Andre.
"Mama, what's happenin'?" Andre whimpered, still sobbing near his father.
She knelt in front of him. "We're leaving baby," she responded, moving him around so she could get the coat on him. "We're leaving."
"What about Papa?" He demanded and she shook her head.
"Papa ain't comin' child," she told him, wiping his puffy cheeks and kissing his temple. "I need you to be brave. Can you be brave for Mama?"
"What we gonna do?"
Michonne took another deep breath and began blowing out the lights before she looked out the window to take a look at their neighbors.
"We're gonna be free..."
Opening her eyes, Michonne wondered briefly what would have happened had she stayed in that room. Could she have saved Andre, or just subjected him to more pain before inevitable death... would they have still been separated, as Michael had suggested... would she have still lost her child if she had remained at the plantation?
Michonne's chest constricted to the point where she could barely breathe and she clutched her heart, gasping for air as her mind bombarded her with images of Andre... her sweet little boy... her innocent, beautiful child... lying in a ditch...
"Forgive me," she cried, burying her face in her hands. "Andre, please forgive me..." She bit into her hand to stifle the screams that bubbled in her throat, drawing blood as she struggled to get a handle of her emotions.
The creaking inside the butcher shop drew her out of her thoughts and she swiftly wiped her face, looking around her. Breathing deeply, she checked her watch and sighed.
Thirty seconds.
"Andre..." She leaned her head against the wall. "I love you."
The sound of footsteps against soft dirt alerted her to an approaching party. Ensuring she could not be seen, she watched as a man come around the corner of a shop several buildings down.
It was him...
Michonne's heart clenched painfully as she watched the man move towards her.
"Brian Blake," she muttered, unsheathing her katana. "Up the river you go."
"Can you see her?" Tara asked for the fourth time since Michonne had left. It was six forty-five and she was going out of her mind, wishing she could be in the town.
"Yes," Noah responded as he watched Michonne huddled behind the butcher shop. He glanced over at Tara as she paced. "You wanna see?"
He offered her the binoculars, but she shook her head.
"No," she muttered. "Just keep an eye on her."
Noah nodded and returned to watching Michonne. For a while she just rocked back and forth, seemingly hyping herself up for the task at hand. He wondered what she was thinking.
After another minute her head turned and she froze. Frowning, Noah trailed her gaze and he held his breath.
"It's Blake," he announced, causing Tara to quickly move to her perch where her rifle was set up and focus.
"Where?"
Noah provided her with the proper location and he heard her shift beside him.
"Wish I could just shoot him now," she muttered.
"After ten years, she needs to do this herself," Noah responded, watching as Blake moved down the path behind the storefronts, clearly unaware of the predicament he was going to walk into.
"He's alone," Tara pointed out.
"Just make sure you back her up."
The firing of a gun stopped the entire operation in its tracks. Noah turned his binoculars to the outskirts of town where three riders surged in, horses throwing up dust as they raced to the center, shooting another gun as they came.
"What the hell?"
Tara could see Michonne looking around from her spot, trying to find the source of the noise while Blake was equally as concerned. From their position on the ridge it was impossible to make out what was being said, even as the riders shouted.
"Noah, what is it?"
He shook his head, watching the riders before looking back to see Blake suddenly moving around the side of the butcher shop, away from Michonne's position. Michonne immediately abandoned her position and followed quickly after, disappearing from their view.
Moments later, the riders began to fire towards the butcher shop and all hell broke loose on the Hilltop.
"Shit!
Michonne only recognized one of the voices that yelled for Brian Blake. It was the voice of one of the men who had attacked she and Abraham back in Alexandria. She imagined it was the one who's hand she had severed. She could not imagine the other man getting on a horse.
"BLAKE!" the man shouted. "It's Cavanaugh from Alexandria! You out here?!"
"Someone's come here to kill you, Governor!" someone else, a younger voice, yelled.
Michonne's heart stopped as she watched Blake stop in his tracks and pull out a gun, eyes sweeping around his surroundings.
"BLAKE!"
Blake bolted for the front of the stores and in a split second, Michonne knew she had to either let him go or take action.
There was no way she would let him go.
Sheathing her katana, she took out her gun and sprinted after Blake. He was just about to reach the front of the store when she raised the weapon and fired, striking him in the shoulder. He tripped and collapsed right by the porch, crying out in pain.
Michonne's mind clouded over with nothing but red as she strode forward, completely indifferent to her surroundings. All she could see was him as he clutched his bleeding shoulder and scooted up the steps onto the butcher's storefront.
She fired again but missed.
Someone fired at her and missed, striking the dirt at her feet as she approached Blake. Unbeknownst to her, Abraham appeared on the roof of the building across the street, fired on her attacker, and shot him dead, drawing bullets to his location.
"KILL HER!" Blake screeched, frightened by the woman before him as he slowly made his way to his feet. "SOMEONE KILL HER!"
Before she could move, the entire town erupted in gunfire. From the far end, Jesus and Rosita could be seen shooting at the three riders, forcing them to retreat to the store across the street from the butcher.
Five men, Blake's men, stormed out of the manor and surged down the street towards the shops, guns drawn and aimed at Michonne's people.
A shotgun blast from inside the store finally forced Michonne to take in her surroundings and gave Blake a chance to stagger into the shop. Michonne ran after him, but another blast from the shotgun nearly rendered her obsolete.
As she entered the shop, she was struck in the side by some of the shot.
Screaming, she fell to the ground and slammed the door shut before she could be struck by one of Blake's men on the road. She heard the cock of the shotgun as it was being reloaded and she scrambled behind a shelf, groaning in pain as she took a moment to assess the damage.
Removing her coat and raising her shirt, she gasped at the ripped skin on her side, bleeding profusely from where the pellets had shredded through. Feeling the other side, she gritted her teeth, knowing some of the shot had not passed through completely.
"Govna' Blake, you okay?" someone, the butcher she assumed, asked on the other side of the shop. She heard Blake swearing and panting and took solace in the fact that he too was in a lot of pain.
"Did you get her? Is she dead?" Blake demanded.
"I don't know… Sir, you're bleeding!"
Ignoring the man, Blake glanced around the corner to see the front door was closed, but there was more blood on the ground than he remembered. Above the gunfire outside, he could hear labored breathing from the other side of the store.
"Who are you?" Blake asked loudly, wondering if his attacker would respond. He could not recall a time in his life where he had met such a determined assassin, let alone a black woman, so hellbent on killing him.
It was a brief moment before she did. "You killed my son."
The voice itself, low and filled with hate, sent a shiver up his spine.
"I killed a lot of sons," Blake muttered, watching as the butcher attempted to bandage up his shoulder.
Michonne cursed loudly and a couple of items fell to the floor in a clatter as she kicked out at the shelf in front of her. "You killed my son," she repeated through gritted teeth. She checked her gun and began reloading it. Outside she heard Blake's men yelling directions about getting closer to the butcher shop before a shot rang out and a call to retreat was ordered.
She knew her gang would buy her time, but the plan was over. She would have to improvise here on in and with her injury, she knew she had to move quickly.
"You here to kill me then," Blake yelled out when she fell silent. "You just made the biggest mistake of your fuckin' life."
Closing her eyes briefly, she could not help but laugh.
"Too late," she muttered to herself before she began to move along the shelf, looking for a way to get to the back. She was stopped once more by the butcher's shotgun, which blew a hole into the shelf right where she was about to go and forced her to stand, revealing her position.
The butcher shot. Missed.
She fired back once. Missed.
Blake's men leveled a barrage of bullets into the butcher shop.
"STOP IT!" Blake roared, covering his head as glass and splintered wood flew everywhere, cutting up the store occupants all up as they threw themselves to the floor. "STOP YOUR FIRE YOU ASSHOLES! I'M IN HERE TOO!"
When the guns stopped, Blake looked up to see the butcher dead, struck in the head by a bullet no doubt fired by one of his men.
"Boss! Boss, where are you?!"
Reaching out, Blake grabbed the shotgun out of the dead man's grip and checked for extra bullets.
Michonne could hear him moving around and tried to figure out how she would get to him without getting struck from a stray bullet. She needed to get over to him.
"In the back! She's killed the butcher!" Blake announced and she peered around the corner to confirm the corpse lying nearby, bleeding out. "She's gonna kill me too!"
Michonne leaned her head back and cursed once more. Her body was weakening the longer she stayed still. Along the outer wall on her side she could hear strange scratching noises and garbled voices. She needed to move.
"What do you see?" Jesus demanded as he reloaded his gun.
"Nothin'," Rosita responded tersely, firing her weapon to prevent one of Blake's men from taking a step out into the street. "Two of them went down the side of the shop and I can't see them anymore."
Jesus took a steadying breath and raised his weapon to take aim. "You think she's still alive in there?"
"She has to be." Taking a deep breath, she looked around frantically at the rooftops down the street. "I don't see Abraham."
"He should be on the roof."
"I don't see him!" Rosita froze and motioned further down the street. "Look!"
He turned to see Tara and Noah rushing down the street on foot, ducking in and out to avoid being shot. They stopped short of the butcher shop and Jesus waved to get their attention before he and Rosita were fired upon.
"Damn it," Rosita growled at him, kicking his leg before she rose up and fired back quickly. In the brief moment of reprieve when Blake's men cowered, Rosita quickly signaled to Noah to move behind the shop before she was forced to duck behind the barrels once more.
"Shit!"
"You think they got it?"
Rosita reloaded her gun and sent up a silent prayer. "Let's hope so…"
Noah led the way down the narrow alley between the butcher shop and the pharmacy next door. They could hear muffled yelling from within the shop, but it was difficult to make out with the loud exchanges of gunfire on the main street. Tara kept an eye on the street as they slowly moved to the back, treading softy as loud scratching noises drifted from behind the store.
Peeking quickly around the corner, Noah frowned when he saw nothing. He motioned for Tara to follow as they moved to the other finally catching sight of three of Blake's men, fixing something to the ground.
"Light it up," one man ordered and Noah pointed his weapon, firing on the closest one to them while Tara took aim and struck the bigger man in the gut.
"DAMN IT!" the remaining man yelled, pressed up against the shop and firing back at them. They saw him fumble with something then heard the telltale sound of a match being struck. Five shots could be heard from inside the shop and then something heavy hit the floor.
"Shit!" Tara fired at the man, but it was too late. He took off for the street, struck by a bullet the moment he emerged.
"Tara!" Noah pointed to the large sticks of dynamite, leaning against the wall, fuse burning down swiftly. Too fast to stop.
"Michonne!" Tara screamed, hoping to warn their leader as she and Noah scrambled away from the building. "MICHONNE GET OUT!"
BOOM!
Michonne clutched her side in agony as she continued to look for a path to the back of the shop that would not end in her getting shot. If she moved away from the shelves, she was exposed to Blake, who had managed to find a better position in the back. However, if he made a move to exit the shop through the slaughterhouse in the back, she had a clear shot for his head.
They were both trapped.
"You're gonna pay for this," she heard him growl. "You're gonna pay for this whole god damn thing."
"People been sayin' that to me my whole life," she retorted. "Today, it's your turn."
"I don't remember you!" he yelled, as if to make an argument for why she should just stop.
"I did not come here expecting you to."
That only seemed to infuriate him.
"I'm an honorable man in this town! You ain't got the right to come in here and just try to kill me without any good reason!"
"I DON'T CARE!" she bellowed back, gasping as the muscles in her side spasmed and tore under the stress of her movements. "YOU KILLED MY SON! THAT IS MY REASON!"
Blake fell silent and she trembled in her own blood. She wondered how a man like him had come so far in this life, only to forget the lives he had ruined in the process.
"So… you the official in this town?" Michonne asked loudly, trying to ascertain his mindset.
"Ain't none of your fucking business."
She snorted and then instantly regretted it as the movement sent excruciating pangs up her bleeding side. "Not that it matters," she grumbled weakly, cocking her gun loudly in an attempt to rile him up.
"You gonna kill an elected official?!"
Michonne rolled her eyes at the tremor in his voice. "Well, asshole, seein' as I ain't even allowed to vote, that don't much matter to me," she shot back.
"Bitch." Blake winced as he maneuvered around, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of her, but she was well hidden. "You're not getting out of this alive, you know that, right?"
Closing her eyes, Michonne leaned heavily against the shelf, trying desperately to ignore the seizing pain that seemed to spread across her chest. She could taste blood in her mouth and spat it out.
"Yeah I know… You ain't either!"
He shot at her, striking the floorboards near her legs.
She blindly shot back, forcing him back into shelter.
Wheezing, she put the katana in front of her and checked her guns. She was quickly running out of bullets and there was no telling what else Blake had at his disposal. Time was running out.
"Up the river, up the river," she muttered, steeling herself for what would likely happen next. At this point, her entire right side was seeped in blood and she could feel it pooling around her. There was no way out of this.
Michael's face flashed across her mind and she gripped the hilt of her katana painfully. Tears streamed down her face as she thought of Rick and Carl, her heart stricken by their absence. Of the life she could have lived with them. She thought of Andre and wished she could hear his voice one more time. "We're goin' up the river baby." She hit her head against the shelf, psyching herself up and suppressing the pain. "I'll see you soon." She prayed she would see him soon.
Once again, she heard scratching on the other side of the wall followed shortly by an eruption of shots and yelling.
"DAMN IT!"
She wondered if the noise had bought her a distraction and peeked around the corner. She could see Blake. Without another thought, Michonne bolted out from behind the shelf, lobbing her katana at Blake like a spear and surprising him into retreating towards the slaughterhouse in the back.
It was the only chance she would need.
Raising her arm, she fired.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Brian Blake, missing most of his skull and a portion of his shoulder, crumpled to the ground.
Dead.
"Michonne!" She barely registered the sound of Tara's stricken cry. "MICHONNE GET OUT!"
Numb.
Michonne felt absolutely numb.
BOOM!
A/N: Please let me know what you think.
