The Deepest Red (9 page)

“I’m sorry, Clover. I was so focused on the bad that I didn’t accept we’re on the same team,” I say. 

She leans back away from me still in our embrace.

“I’m sorry too. Lack of sleep must have gotten to me.”

She smiles a soft smile and I can’t help but return one of my own. Giving her one last squeeze, I feel my spirit lighten for the first time today.

“Well, that was touching,” says an annoyed deep voice from behind me.

I turn to face Connor. His demeanor tells me the smart ass guy of last night is back in full force. Clover sticks her tongue out at him in a silly big eyed way.

“Jealous?” she questions in a sing song voice.

Connor rolls his eyes as a smirk lifts the side of his mouth.

“Alright, enough of this,” he huffs as he brushes more dirt off of his camouflage pants.

The gesture doesn’t do any good, we’re all covered in dirt and mud.

Connor reaches down and grabs my hat off the ground. I had all but forgotten it’s concealing fabric.

“Here, you’re going to need this.”

He hands me the hat, briefly staring at my wild hair. He cuts his eyes away as if nervous.
That doesn’t make sense
. I sweep my hair up and tuck the strands away- hiding the stark color under my fishermen hat.

“We all have had a rough twenty four hours; I vote we find a place to make camp, take today as a rest day.” Connor urges while peering back and forth between Clover and I for agreement.

Clover nods.

“As I was searching for a campsite I came across a tree house beside a small stream. The place would be perfect to stay awhile.”

I glance at Clover.

“Why not a house?” I ask.

Connor’s voice grabs my attention.

“Staying in a house can be noticed, a once broken window, now being boarded up,” he continues. “For example, someone shutting a door you realized was open earlier in the day.”

He eyes me knowingly.

“It’s not hard to recognize these things to anyone paying attention,” Connor taunts as I scowl at his amused face. “Not to mention, a house is the first place someone might go looking for supplies. If you can find some place like a barn, tree house, or even a one room shack, it’s better.”

“I see my survivor lessons have begun,” I sneer at him while shifting the weight of my supply bag still on my back.

“Not yet, just giving you some good ole fashion advice.” Connor chirps with a grin.

Clover lets out a giggle.

“Oh, great,” she says as she starts to walk down the path she had come from. “He’s about to shrink down, turn green, grow funky long ears and talk in riddles.”

My eyebrows crinkle in confusion.

“What?” I ask, confused.

Connor smiles as he walks past me and shrugs.

“I can’t even begin to explain that one.”

Chapter Five

The walk so far to the tree house is uneventful. We take our time searching the woods for anything threatening but nothing comes oozing out of the trees. I use the mundane hike to practice on keeping the sound of my walking quiet. The skill is one thing, I hate to admit, I admire of Connor. I must be doing a pretty good job of the exercise because every once in awhile Connor turns around as if to check on me. I take revenge on his sarcasticness from knowing that my lack of noise seems to be getting on his nerves. I smile.

The growing presence of my two new companions cause me to become a little more comfortable around them. I study the manner of their steps- Clover’s hopping grace and the curve of Connor’s back side as they continue to walk in front of me. I study the lines of Connor’s broad shoulders and the easy grip he keeps on his knife. His narrow hips seem to catch my attention repeatedly. Connor travels with an air of confidence and the threat of something lethal. The danger in his mannerisms only adds to his appeal. A part of myself tells the other not to gawk but the other replies with a warning, keeping my thoughts busy with Connor is better than the alternative.

I strive to replicate his deadly beauty with each move I make. In my mind, I pretend I’m a ferocious leopard, the beautiful animal I studied in one of our library’s books back home. She is sneaking up closely behind her prey, waiting for the right moment to jump and sink her teeth into it’s flesh. The images help to keep my brain off of other thoughts, the ones where Tom’s lifeless face is staring off into the distance, the wind blowing his white hair slightly. I snap out of the haunting memory, picturing the beautiful leopard again. I quiet my footsteps imagining I’m the sleek predator and glare into the back of Connor’s head.

“Alright,” Connor draws out as he turns around to face me.

His voice is highly annoyed.

“I can’t take it anymore.”

I come to a halt in an instance, my eyes wide with surprise.

“What?” I say innocently as my new leopard confidence fades with the stare of his eyes.

“Don’t what me. You’re walking in front of me from now on,” he barks, “Go.”

Stepping side ways he motions for me to pass around him. My eyes narrow at his stance.

“I don’t understand what your deal is,” I state, folding my arms in front of my chest.

“My deal is I can’t hear you behind me which messes up my concentration.”

Connor stares waiting for my compliance.

“And?” I say, egging him on.

“And I need to be alert, not wondering if you’re still behind me or snuck off somewhere.”

“If I wanted to, I’d be gone. So relax,” I reply, watching his eyes squint.

Clover, having stopped walking after the first words of our exchange, gives an exaggerated sigh.

“Fine.” Connor pauses irritated. “Just get in front of me. I feel as if I’m being stalked.”

He motions again for me to move.

At his words, an unexpected laugh escapes my mouth. Connor’s eyes grow large at the sound as I attempt to gain control. It’s the first real laugh I’ve been capable of since Tessa made faces at me while Mrs. Emerson was trying to lecture on the importance of rolling. The lesson had been weeks before I headed out on this horrible trip. The memory warms me from the inside out and I realize just how much I miss my little friend. Connor peers at me as if I’ve grown two heads.

“What now?” I question in an amused voice with a hint of surprise.

To be able to laugh in such a dark time, something must be truly wrong with me. He shakes his head as if to clear it.

“Nothing,” he mumbles.

“Come on, Millie, just do what he says or we’ll be here all day.” Clover’s voice rings out. “The treehouse is only about a half a mile away and I’m hungry.”

She spins impatient and continues hiking toward our destination. Deciding on defeat with a shrug, I begin to progress toward Connor, a smile still lingering on my face. He stands motionless watching me as I maneuver past him, my shoulder purposely hitting into his. By accident my fingers touch his rough hand. The quick harmless touch is something you wouldn’t see unless watching for it but nevertheless a unwanted thrill courses through my body, making my blood race as butterflies terrorize my stomach.

I decide if I keep my head down he won’t be able to glimpse my face. My hat does a substantial job at hiding me from the outside world, but the temptation is too great. I venture to lift my head and glance into his striking eyes. For some reason, I wish to rebel, to challenge and to do anything to make myself forget how much danger and pain I’m in.

When our eyes meet, I’m rewarded with a soft, deep growl. His eyes flare and pierce me with their steely gaze. I’m frozen in place by the lust I see reflected back. Loneliness, desire, acceptance and longing, all these emotions we share and battle with, tangle together. The realization that whatever is wrong with me might be wrong with him, eases my anxiety. Connor has somehow sparked something inside that I didn’t know existed. Warmth roams up my legs and spreads throughout my skin.
Oh God,  is my whole body blushing?
I recognize the sensation but can’t break with his eye contact. The mutineer in me doesn’t want to cower away from whatever this is between us. He’ll be aware of my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The idea thaws my limbs into motion.

I dare to take a step while transfixed on his face. I stumble upon an unearth branch, blocking my path. For all of the practicing I did earlier, I come to the conclusion I need to work harder. I feel myself fall and watch the ground rise up to meet me but as I move to right myself, a firm muscled arm snakes around my waist. I come to a halt, my breath catching in alarm. Forcefully, I’m wrenched backwards slamming against Connor’s chest.

His face is so close to mine, I feel his breath against my own as he whispers, “Careful.”

Concern and what I imagine passion sounds like, laces his tone.

“I’m always-” I begin but stop as one of his hands tightens it’s grip. My cheeks must be scalding red by now. He smiles a condescending smile, lifting his right eyebrow in question.

“We should work on your balance before I train you in fighting,” Connor proposes.

I watch as he wets his bottom lip, the tip of his tongue peeking out teasingly. The silver of his lip ring shimmers where the silver catches the light. I could almost purr at the sight.

“How about you let me go instead,” I say in an unsteady voice.

He shakes his head lowering to my lips.

I reach up and rest my hand on his neck, my fingers tangling with his muddy hair. A burst of irrational desire floods my senses. His eyes close as he bites his plump bottom lip, enjoying my unguarded touch. My other hand gravitates toward his broad shoulders gripping his muscles. He groans, drawing me closer, leaning in to coaxes a kiss from my lips. I shudder in anticipation. Suddenly my vision catches on a subtle movement.

“Oh look! A puppy…” my surprised voice squeaks out, startled.

Just above Connor’s shoulder, on the leafy hill lies a puff ball of an animal. My eyes widen at the site.

“Connor behind you!” I exclaim.

Connor turns to glower at where my finger points.

“What the hell?” he draws out.

The puppy boldly looks up at me with an almighty air. His snout held high as if he knew he was better than us. With his large puppy paws, he keeps his fluffy bottom from sliding down the embankment. The puppy’s hair is a mix of browns with white and black intertwined. He’s small but not tiny, maybe 14 weeks old.
What’s he doing here?
I know wild dogs aren’t uncommon in this area but a puppy by himself?
His mother must be nearby.
My gaze searches the area for any signs of her but I’m unable to locate her hiding spot.

Back at the prison, I’d loved to read about all the dog breeds created in the old society. Now, all you hear about are wild dogs in the red zone, mutts that came from abandoned pets. When I was about 10 years old, one of Tom’s scouting parties brought back a lot of books from the abandoned library in the old city. My heart gives a pang at the thought of Tom but I push the vision of him away. The pictures in my head of him lying in the infected woman’s arms, blood gushing from his neck, haunt me. My mind rushes to reclaim my memories of the found library books.

Zebulon had a pretty good size library tucked away from the main streets. I remember touching the cover of a book entitled “Boxers” and asking Dad what kind of animal graced the cover. After that first book, I devoured every breed book they brought back. I remember begging Lonnie to check the library one last time for any puppy books they may have missed.

He laughed at me and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

I’d fantasized about owning a dog just like so many characters in our books had done. There were stories about dogs being nannies for children, dogs saving their owners from disasters, even a story of a boy whose dog journeyed far and wide to find his beloved owner. The stories fascinated me. After everything that has happened on my trip into the red zone, the long ago dream of having my very own dog had disappeared back into the corners of my conscious. Now with a real honest to God puppy in front of me, hope stirs.

I realize I’m still in Connor’s embrace staring at this furry stranger. Connor’s face is turned away from me staring at the animal as well. He’s probably wondering how this little creature got the drop on him. As if reading my thoughts Connor’s deep voice reaches my ears.