The Deepest Red (13 page)

He picks up a small pebble and throws it into the burning fire.

“Or someone,” I reply.

He glances at me.

“I want Clover to have a place where she can be safe- if only for a little while.  I want her to be able to sleep at night without waking up scared and gripping her knife.” He pauses studying my expression. “I want to take her to your home. We’ll earn our keep and she’ll finally be able to breath again.”

“Okay.” I nod slightly, ending his rambling.

“I’ll take you both,” I promise.

Connor stares at me speechless before relief shines from his beautiful face.

“Thank you, Millie.”

Warmth gathers after listening to the way my name rolls off his tongue. My eyes flicker from his mouth to his eyes, then back again. Connor’s face turns serious as he watches my desire surface unguarded. The side of his mouth twitches into a smile as his fingers slip through the length of my hair.

I unconsciously lean against him, my body relaxing into his. As his hands continue to slide along my hair, my eyes drift closed. I listen the rapid beating of his heart as I curl against him. Connor repositions himself so I’m more comfortable. Exhaustion quickly deadens any nerves from before.
Had I really been worried about sleeping in the same room with him?
The thoughts seem silly and so far away in my sleepiness. The idea of having him and Clover at the prison is oddly calming. I like the idea.

“Is this okay?” I ask, voice breaking, when I realize my position. 

He nods briskly. I yawn, attempting to stay awake. “I told Clover I would lead you both to the prison. I want her to be safe too.” I force my eyes to open. “I think she deserves it. I think you deserve the same thing.”

His hand comes to a halt within my hair.

“I don’t deserve anything. I’m not a good person,” Connor whispers.

I’m surprised by the condemnation in his voice.

“Yes you are,” I say, willing myself to believe it even though I know very little about him. “If you weren’t I wouldn’t be here, right now.”

I feel his chest expand as he breaths in, struggling with rather or not to speak.

“A war is coming and it isn’t with the infected,” he states, “We’re going to need to stand our ground- your home is the best place to defend ourselves. I’m sure you have tall fences, sturdy walls and supplies stored. Anyone who hasn’t seen an infected at your age-” His voice trails off.

The sleepiness I felt before dissipates with his uneasy words.

“Clover and I can’t seem to outrun it, even though we’ve been trying.”

“What war, Connor? Is someone after y’all?” I ask as I raise my head to look into his beautifully tortured face.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, not tonight,” he says with a blank expression. “You need your sleep.”

“Well, you can’t say things like that and then not finish.” Annoyance creeps onto my face. “Its rude.”

His hand drops from my hair as he straightens.

“You can’t keep me in the dark,” I continue.

“We need to go up into the tree house- it’s not safe out here in the open,” Connor replies.

His eyes search the woodline as if realizing the danger we’re in. I watch as concern and determination gather on his profile- softening my irritation.

I imagine reaching up and turning his eyes back toward me. I imagine I’m not so naive and understand what seduction is. Connor stiffens, no longer aware of the monsters among the trees. His lips seem only a breath away- so tempting to lean into him, to lose myself in his touch. I yearn to let myself experience these new emotions I continue to struggle with. The foreignness of them frightens me. I lean away from him picking up a small pebble.

“You’re right. We should go,” I say rubbing my fingers against the rough texture.

I toss the pebble into the flames and then proceed to stomp out what little is left of the fire. The embers glow mockingly in the dark, giving me pause. Connor knows how he affects me. I’m not experienced enough to figure out how to hide my emotions but I’m skilled at distracting myself.

“The fire’s gone. Hurry before something gets you,” I say, making a sarcastic motion toward the tree house.

“I’ll figure out if something is coming,” he says with a smirk.

“Oh, really?” I reply crossing my arms.

He peers backs into the woods.

“Come on. We shouldn’t be stupid.” He makes a motion to stand.

“What’s with the ring on your lip?” I ask before I can stop myself.

The nerves of before flutter but I push them down. For some reason, I’m convinced that stepping foot in the tree house will cause him to build a wall between us and as much as I do know better, I’m attracted and fascinated by him. It’s like chains are wrapped around my whole body and he’s tugging me toward him. The process is slow and daunting as I’m trying to resist. Once again, I’m failing.

Connor gives a knowing half smile letting me glimpse a glimmer of his white teeth.

“I pierced it in a moment of rebellion,” he announces, standing and taking a step toward me. “My dad wasn’t excited at the fact I used some of our first aid supplies to clean the wound twice a day.”

He flicks at the silver with his tongue, a devilish light shining in his eyes.

“You like it?”

I did.

“Saw a how-to magazine in one of the condemned houses of our town that listed instructions,” he says.

I shrug.

“I think your dad had a point,” I say, attempting to keep my face blank.

He nods his head, losing some of the amusement in his manner.

“Yeah, he did but at the time I didn’t care.”

His eyes scan the trees one more time before leaning toward me.

“But if you like the piercing, it was worth it,” he says with a rakish smile. 

I blush in spite of myself as he laughs seductively.

“You know, you’re right. We should get to the tree house.” My statement only makes him smile brightly, giving me the full view of his perfect teeth.

“You first,” he says, enjoying my awkwardness.

I grab my hat abruptly, shoving the worn material crookedly onto my head. With my supply bag clung behind my back I ignore Connor as I walk toward the darkness of the treehouse. I can hear him kicking dirt onto the glowing embers of our dead fire behind me- the sound of his knowing laugh lost in the darkness.

Chapter Eight

I clamber up the tree house’s unstable ladder. I can feel the looseness of the nails from having my weight placed boldly upon them. I pray I don’t fall on top of Connor, although I wouldn’t mind seeing his face if I knocked all the air out of his lungs. As I climb, the feeling of his eyes on me brings an awareness to my movements. I grib each wooden plank tightly.

“Be careful when you reach this plank,” I warn, tapping the feeble wood with my finger.

“Should have let me go first,” Connor calls from the ground.

“You were too slow,” I reply as my hand touches a hidden spider web.

I withdraw my arm quickly, letting out a strangled gasp.

“Careful,” Connor scolds.

When I reach the wooden sanctuary, I’m surprised the small space doesn’t have an odd smell. Small open cut outs serve as windows and are probably the clue to why it doesn’t. Moonlight pours through the tree’s branches into the cramped space. The shadow designs sway back and forth as the wind blows. I crawl forward wishing my eyes were more focused in the darkness. The worn wood is cold under my touch but also smooth and sturdy. My knees apply pressure to the wood and ache in response. As my eyes grow used to the lack of light, I locate Clover’s body curled and wrapped in a thin blanket. She lays with her back against the old wooden wall, Chevy snuggled into her side like a fluffy pillow.
You have got to be kidding me!
The realization I will be sleeping, not just in the same room with Connor, but right beside him makes my nerves stand up on end and back dive off my skin into the empty air.

The sound of Connor entering the room is almost soundless if not for the cracking of a board.

“Damn it.”

A loud thump of a wooden plank hitting the ground causes me to wince.

“Told you,” I say.

Connor ignores me as he slips into the darkroom. I’m relieved as the thought registers that he isn’t always so quiet and fluid.
He’s human like me.
Connor studies the dark allowing his eyes to adjust. With his grace returning, he moves throughout the restricted room- placing his supply bag under one of the makeshift windows. He unzips the dirty bag and pulls out a thin blanket. I watch him as I braid my hair.

“Do you want your bag?” he asks.

“I’ll get when you’re settled.” He hands me my bag in spite of what I said.

“Make sure to keep this near you at all times,” he demands.

I reach out and grab onto the strap, our fingers touching.

“Sure,” I say, not wanting to argue.

My voice sounds hollow in the night air. He releases the bag and begins crawling over to where Clover is sleeping. I rustle through the contents, grabbing my own thin throw blanket issued to me by the prison.

My stomach knots as I shove my bag under my head, using it as a pillow to stretch out in the only available spot; right between Clover and Connor. The branches from a neighboring tree scrap the tree house’s outside wall. I cover myself with the blanket smelling the faint aroma of home and curl into the softness. My stomach’s well form knot tightens. I miss my tiny bed inside my assigned quarters. I miss the noises of those who live in the same cell block as I do. I miss having a space to call my own. I bang my head against the sturdy canvas of my bag trying to get comfortable and distract myself from my own thoughts. The situation isn’t cozy but for a night I’ll make do. I shift finally getting settled and disregard the fact I’m squeezed in between the two cousins, two people I know so little about. I listen to Clover’s light snores and endure the heat of Connor’s body flushed against mine.

Moments pass before I realize I’ve matched my breathing to the slow and steady pace of his. My fatigue sets in and my eyes close on their own accord. Dread engulfs me as I lay motionless with nothing to distract me from my memories. I listen intently, wanting to redirect my thoughts. The sounds of the night surround me; small animals scurry around in the leaves, crickets chirp in the distance, all enjoying the cover of darkness. My ears strain detecting a noise beyond the call of night; a strange static? The sound pops and crackles as goosebumps ignite on my arm. Rising, I glance around confused, a cloud of white appearing with my every breath. The air around me freezes so much so, I’m afraid that if I move my body will shatter into a thousand pieces. I try to adapt to the weight crushing my heart but the static gets louder, flooding my senses.

Moving slowly to the tree house’s ladder, I peep out into the forest. Fog blankets the ground, swirling against the unearthed roots of a live oak.  My slender foot touches the hidden floor and the forest falls silent- the crickets no longer singing. The pulse of my heartbeat drowns out the quiet. My knife appears in my shaking hand, gleaming. In the blade’s reflection, Tom’s eyes stare back at me. I muffled a cry of surprise peering back only to find no reflection. I attempt to calm my breathing. A cold breeze lightly touches my face, bringing with it the low hum of static.

I glance before me and notice a ranch style house resting only a short distance away. The fog parts, creating a pathway as if to invite me to the home’s closed door. I stand baffled on the front porch. The old wood creaks under my bare feet. Apprehensively, I reach for the rusted door knob. The door slowly opens inward with my hand mere inches away. It groans with the movement as I slowly step inside.

My heart beats wildly as I enter the coldness and stop short. I’m in a dark room, the fading scent of water and vented air filling my nose. Old Tom sits still on a cardboard box. Shadows seem to play around him as blood streams down his face in a constant flow. His shirt is the color of burgundy and clings to his weathered body. Tom’s aged face stares at the concrete floor, brow furrowed. I watch as his blood drips from his body; the stream below him bending left then right as the liquid makes its way to a rusty drain in the floor.