The Deepest Red (29 page)

Her response is to glance to the man sitting to her left. The cold eyes of Mr. Jensen are not focused on my face but rather on my hips where the weapons I found at Tom’s childhood home are still strapped into place. I guess one of Connor’s lessons stuck.

“You forgot to turn in your supply bag, Millie, and I see you’ve acquired new weapons,” Mr. Jensen comments.

My nerves prickled as he leans back in his chair. The muscles under his dark brown skin tense. His intimidating aura gives the impression of authority and dominance.

“I needed to see my dad and with all the commotion, I simply forgot I had the bag,” I say, pretending innocence.

“And the weapons?” Mr. Jensen inquires, his expression probing.

“They’re mine. I claimed them when being attacked by the infected,” I pause. “You now know about the infected? Right?”

              Mr. Jensen toned arms cross in front of his muscular chest giving me the sinking feeling I should keep my mouth shut. Mrs. Emerson interjects before he can say a word.

“Yes, we do. No thanks to you.” 

Her face is a mask of irritation and displeasure.

“Calm down, Sidney. I can recall a few mistakes in your past,” Mr. Jensen comments and gives a nonchalant hand gesture to my instructor.

She straightens.

“Supply bags are important and she‘s an hour and a half late!” Mrs. Emerson exclaims and turns to glare at me.

“I don’t think you’re gonna help the situation if you keep talking,” Mr. Jensen replies, earning a glare of his own.

He begins to lightly rub the temples of his head.

              A tiny laugh escapes the elder woman sitting beside her. She tries to cover her mouth with her wrinkled hand, but it’s too late. Mrs. Emerson hears the laugh and begins to sulk in her chair. With a big sigh she states to no one in particular.

“Let’s get this over with then.” 

              “Great,” Mr. Jensen continues, “Now Millie, tell me what happened with Tom.”

His eyes transform into an appearance of sadness and pity, for me having witnessed the death. Mr. Jensen had grew up with a younger Tom, a Tom who had taught him most of what he knew and how to lead the scouts. The news of his death must be hard for him but Mr. Jensen remains strong, giving the outer appearance of control and confidence. I admired him as I braced myself for the words forming on my lips. I don’t want to talk about Tom’s death. My mouth opens and then closes without sound.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell us all the details, just start as to why y’all separated,” Mr. Jensen coaxes.

My mind instantly clicks to the image of Tom falling. I begin.

“Tom decided to take a direction off the main path. He spoke as if he was searching for something but wouldn’t tell me what- only told me to be useful for a change.”

I glance at the white haired woman. Her intelligent gleam gives me the impression that I’m missing something important. I continue.

“I walked ahead of him because he stopped to peer out onto the creek. I didn’t see what made him fall- only saw him tumbling down the steep embankment. When I got to him he’d broken his leg and had minor cuts and bruises.”

I glance toward Mr. Jensen to find him satisfied with my answer. He tilts his head at me.

“And you decided to leave him?”

I take a deep breath.

“Yes. I set the leg and realized I’d nothing to brace it with. He wasn’t going to be able to travel without being treated. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if he would be able to travel treated. Luckily, I was able to find supplies a few miles away and was hopeful to be on our way back to the prison the next morning,” I say.

“That’s when you met Connor, correct?” Mr. Hendon questions.

I glance toward him, his hands resting on the surface of the oak table, his face completely enthralled by my words.

“Yes,” I answer. “I also encountered my first infected. I informed Tom about the experience and of the two strangers I’d come across.”

              Mrs. Emerson decides to speak up.

“If you met these two young people and by their accounts they killed the infected, why leave them?”

I make sure to stare her down when I answer.

“I had an objective to get back to Tom and keep him safe. I didn’t trust them then and didn’t want to put him in danger. He was well hidden and waiting for me.”

She nods accepting my explanation.

“Very well. What happened the next day?”

              I freeze as I attempt to bring the next words to the surface.

“Remember Millie, you don’t have to tell us every detail,” Mr. Jensen’s voice echos in my head while I struggle to voice my troubled thoughts.

“We’ve already gotten everyone’s accounts of that day,” he says.

“Okay,” I reply quickly, trying not to linger on the images conjuring in my brain. “That morning, I woke up in a daze from a lack of sleep. Tom realized when I’d awakened and started teasing me. He was at the creekside when the attack by an infected happened. The trench I dug for shelter was too far away for me to react in time.”

I take in a long breath. 

“She ripped at him like he was something to eat. Blood was everywhere.”

I choke on the memory.

“I rushed toward them but it was too late. He was gone. I killed the woman and remained by the water, holding onto Old Tom’s body.” I pause, remembering his lifeless eyes. “Clover found me there and explained about the theory of beheading the victims so the disease wouldn’t spread.” 

I turn my head unable to meet the eyes focused on me.

“I buried my friend in a grave of rocks. It’s marked on the map incase...” I let the sentence drop and bite my lip, finding it difficult to hold in my emotions. One of the bricks of the wall surrounding my mind falls. I swallow hard.

              The room is quiet while I gather my distressed nerves. I lift my head in time to notice a silent tear race down the elder lady’s cheek. Mr. Herndon turns from me and abruptly stands.

“I’ve had enough.” His hands shake as he attempts to hide them behind his back. “I think we have a good idea of what happened these last few days.” He pauses before addressing me. “If we have more questions, you will answer them.”

The statement sounds more like a question.

“Yes,” I say without hesitation.

I want to leave this room just as much as he does. I remain seated as he storms out of the room without another word. The air is heavy with silence, thickened with the sorrow of a lost friend. Mr. Jensen is the first to speak.

“I’m gonna take your supply bag, inventory it and pretend you turned it in when you were supposed to.” He pauses, deciding on his next words. “Let’s not make forgetting about procedure a habit.” He stands, glancing at Mrs. Emerson. She nods her approval as Mr. Jensen straightens.

“From now on you’re to train with a new instructor.” He takes a breath, “and keep your weapons you’re going to need them.”

“What about a new scouting partner?” Mrs. Emerson questions.

“I imagine we’re going to have to rethink partners. With this new information, groups of five seems more efficient,” he remarks as she nods sharply.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Mrs. Emerson says, standing to join Mr. Jensen. She isn’t as intimidating as the scout leader but I know from my training, she can hold her own.

“Learn from this experience but never forget that Tom was very proud of your progress.”

They leave the room together discussing a new procedure and certain changes. My eyes follow them until I realize I’m alone with the white haired woman. She sits unmoving, observing my appearance and the wounds on my arms. When neither of us move to leave, she speaks. Her voice is like gravel and slow to form.

“Do you know my name?”

I shake my head still trying to force back the images of Tom’s last moments.

“I’m Elizabeth Shackleford,” she announces.

I meet her gaze.

“Tom and I were good friends. We were even classmates at our school before life changed.” Her pale hand lifts to wipe away a tear. “He was a blessing to everyone of this community and will be deeply missed.”

I smile at her kind comment.

“Tom referred to this community as lazy ass scared folks. I’m not sure how much he’ll be missed.”

Elizabeth chuckles at my blunt statement.

“Oh yes, that’s my Tom. Well, I will miss him,” she says with a mischievous glint.

“I’ll miss him too.”

The admission is too difficult to elaborate on so I examine the new slender scabs on my arms, tracing the rough texture with my fingers. I can feel her perceptive gaze as she regards me. I attempt to focus on anything but her.

“You’re very much like your mother and aunt.” She pauses. “Spunky, and a little wild.”

Wait, What?

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I ask.

All emotions drain from her face leaving a mask of indifference.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m an old woman, my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

I stiffen.

“Did my mom have a sister?”

Elizabeth stands using the table for balance.

“I’m sorry child. I don’t remember.” She takes in a breath. “Lonnie.” She raises her voice- her voice being louder than what I expect from a fragile looking lady.

“Wait!” I exclaim, moving toward her.

              Lonnie opens the door cutting off my attempt to speak.

“Mrs. Shackleford?” he questions.

“Oh, stop calling me that. Call me Elizabeth.”

He smiles warmly as she ignores my presence.

“Please.” I beg quietly so only she can hear.

Stepping out from behind the table she shuffles toward the door. Wearily, she glances at me.

“Forgive me dear.”

Her expression is one of distant past and mournfulness. 

“Would you like me to walk you back?” Lonnie gently takes hold of her thin arm.

“Yes, sweet boy but I want to go to Tom’s room first.”

I stand motionless replaying her words in my head.
Did my mother have a sister or is she mistaken because of her age? Tom didn’t have that problem. 

“Elizabeth,” I say, testing the unfamiliar and informal name.

Everyone in the community that held some type of title was addressed as a Mr. or Mrs. It was a form of respect. Elizabeth places her unsteady hand on the wooden doorway. I notice that one of the tips of her fingers is missing. It’s an old wound or she was born like that because I don’t see any redness on her flesh. She studies me.

“Millie, don’t pay any attention to me.”

She gives another kind smile and then she’s gone. I hear the mumble of their voices as they walk down the hall. Lonnie’s laughter fades after a moment and Jay enters the room.

“You know even though you were late, you still don’t have to sit here to make up the time.”

              Still focused on Elizabeth’s words I answer.

“I liked you better when you were quiet.”

Jay shifts, annoyed in front of me.

“What? That’s all I get? You would think after such a long rest you could do better,” he quips.

“I’m not in the mood,” I say, bypassing him.

Jay’s outstretched arm blocks my path as he allows concern to show on his face. It isn’t like him to care but then his eyes narrow. I feel myself squim under his scrutiny.

“Do you know if my mother had a sister? Ever hear anyone talk about it?” I blurt out.  He shakes his head.

“No one really talks about your mother. Only when…” He abruptly stops his sentence.

“Only when what?” I say, getting equally annoyed. He sighs.

“Only when they want to scare us into staying inside these fences. Like a cautionary tale of what happens if you leave.”

My eyes widen.

“That’s sick. Who says that?” I ask, disbelieving.

              Jay glances away, obviously uncomfortable with the situation, and lets his arm fall.

“Millie, don’t worry about it.”

I feel myself become hot, my irritation getting the best of me.

“No, I want answers! What are you not saying?”

Jay’s expression softens.

“Look, Emerson sometimes will say to a new recruit that if you don’t follow procedure you will end up like Kayla and never come back.”

I flinch at the use of my mother’s name.

“She never mentioned a sister.” He pauses. “Why do ya ask?” I try to ignore my irritation.

“Just something Mrs. Shackleford said.”

Jay grins.

“I wouldn’t read too much into what she says. Last week she called me Lonnie and told me a story about a cat she used to own as a child. Something about Snickers.”

The tension I didn’t realize was building up in my chest, releases.

“You’re right,” I say, walking toward the door. “She’s what, ninety?”