The Deepest Red (18 page)

Chevy, who has stopped growling, places two paws against the tree’s bark.

“This dog may come in handy,” Connor states as he sheaths his weapons.

“Duh,” Clover replies gracefully swinging herself off the tree’s branches and landing gently on the hard ground.

She affectionately brings her arms up  to embrace him but stops short.

“Maybe you’ll get a hug when you clean up first, yeah?”

Connor observes his gorey clothing and tugs off the shirt. I turn away not wanting to stare at his well sculpted body. He lets out a quick laugh.

“Better?” he ask.

His supply bag lays open on the ground and a fresh black shirt clings to him.
Does he only wear black shirts?
Clover’s arms wrap around his chest.

“Good job cuz. Your dad would be proud.”

He embraces her fully.

“Thanks.”

With his words, she lets go and turns her gaze toward me.

“You coming?”

Without saying a word, I grab the same branch Clover had used to catapult herself. When I land on the ground, the weight of my body gives a loud thump. I turn to face Connor. We stand staring at each other for a long moment, the silence between us is deafening. His facial features show a questioning expression as if waiting for my response.

I admit to myself, I’m in shock to some degree. Watching him fight was like watching a battle of a revenging angel- so powerful and so graceful. I feel foolish as well because now I understand he was just playing with me the night we met. He could have killed me with ease any time he wanted. How stupid I am to think my skills are what got me so far. How stupid I must be to him. I try to crunch down the feelings blossoming inside for this deadly man. He fascinates me. It feels as though this whole situation enhances any spark I have for him.  It makes the emotion more intense than any other.

Before a word is said, I step forward and throw myself into his unsuspecting embrace. My arms encircle his chest gripping him close. The smell of his fresh shirt mixes with the sour odor of the infected’s blood, but I don’t care. I only want him near. The thought of almost losing Connor rips a hole in my chest.

His arms hesitate before surrounding me. The weight of my fisherman hat lifts from my head and is slung away. My hair escapes to cascade down my back. One of his hands gently curls around my head, cradling me to him while his other rounds to my back and rest on my shoulder blade. He holds me close and I feel his breath on my cheek, his face seeming to be buried in my hair. I don’t know if it’s him or me that’s shaking so I lean into him as much as I can and take comfort in his warmth.

“I won’t let you do that again,” I say as I close my eyes and breathe in his aroma. “Not alone.” My lungs fill with his scent. “Damn your tree,” I say indignantly.

I listen to his light chuckle and sense his smile against my hair. I shiver as Connor’s embrace tightens.

“Okay Millie. Whatever you want,” He whispers in amusement.

His nose gently runs up the length of my ear causing the tiny hairs on my neck and arms to stand. Connor’s hand lightly strokes my knotted hair. I feel his fingers entwining in the red strands.

“Alright, that’s enough. I can’t take anymore. Let’s move.” Clover’s embarrassed voice rings out.

He tenses as if forgetting she was there, a slight growl rumbling from Connor’s throat.

“Come on, come on,” she says.

I look down only to discover Clover’s foot tapping. A laugh escapes me as I back away from Connor’s embrace, his face displaying the same longing as I know shows through my own eyes. He reluctantly lets go to stare at Clover.

“What?” she shrugs nonchalantly at his glare. “Millie wants to search the house. Let the girl go see the house.”

She shifts on her feet looking at the ground, the heaviness of Connor’s stare cowing her slightly.

“You’re right Clover,” I say, saving her from Connor’s intensity, “I need to go inside. I can’t explain it, I just need to do it.”

Connor nods his head his eyes breaking away to rest on me.

“I’ll go with you. We’ll clear the house and Clover can take watch outside.”

He turns and starts walking toward the home as Clover and I stare after him.

“Let’s go.”

His deep voice sings out into the shady driveway as he continues to walk toward the disturbing house.

I step over the infected bodies attempting not to look too hard at them. My eyes search out the supply bags similar to mine but I force myself to continue following behind Connor.
That can wait for later.
Every other step, I hear the squish of my shoe stepping in the blood soggy grass and I cringe. We take position outside the closed front door, weapons at the ready. Clover stays alert watching the house from a nearby tree. Chevy lies at the foot of its trunk deciding to guard Clover himself.

“Are you ready?” Connor asks me from across the door frame.

“No,” I say watching his face grow more serious, “but that’s never stopped me before.”

I try for a smile but I’m sure I only seem nervous and scared. Connor opens the door. I enter expecting to see concrete walls and Tom’s distorted body but all that greets me is the old furnishings of a abandoned living room. The house smells of stale air and dust. Spider webs decorate the ceilings with their perplexing designs. An eerie sense comes over me. The house has been untouched, nothing out of its place.
This can’t be right.

“Stay here,” Connor orders, stepping deeper inside the house. “I‘m going to check out the whole house. If you hear me yell, run.”

Connor’s deep voice is cautious and low. I nod in understanding, braced within the doorframe. I don’t plan to run.

When he leaves the room, I walk into the living room, marveling at the time lapse. Picture frames fill the fireplace mantel. I touch the faded family photo with the tips of my fingers. There is a man and wife standing together posed toward the camera. In the lovely lady’s arms is a young boy. He smiles with bright eyes as if he is without a care in the world. The husband in the back has a slight grin on his face but his eyes hold a grim understanding. Some kind of secret lies buried behind his relaxed composure. I lean in closer and narrow my eyes. He looks so familiar.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and jump about a mile high. Connor smirks.

“Upstairs is cleared. You okay?” he asks amusement etched across his face.

“Jerk.” I whisper, making a face. “This place is so odd. Not a thing out of place. It’s like we stepped back in time.”

Connor gives a shrug.

“The house is in a good location to be forgotten.” He comments and glances around gathering in as much information as possible about his surroundings.

Bluntly I ask, “Were you and Clover forgotten?”

His head whips toward me.

“I’m sorry, what?”

His eyes are feral with a faintness of violence. I straighten.

“Don’t you think it’s important to be honest with each other?” I ask.

Connor backs away, retreating a considerable distance. We’re quiet for long moments.

“Does that statement go both ways?”

He steps forward.

“It could,” I say, waiting for him to decide.

He takes a breath, scanning the faded wall paper.

“No, we ran.”

I take a step closer to him.

“What did you run from?”

He studies me carefully.

“An evil I hope you never meet.”

I don’t want to know but I’m compelled to ask anyway. I have the urge to pry any information I can from him or about him.

“Evil?” I ask.

“Yes, an evil that we made ourselves,” he says in a loathing voice.

“The infected?” I question.

“No, the infected don’t have a choice of what they are. True evil does.”

His fingers run unknowingly along the handle of his knife.

“It’s coming Millie.”

My eyes widen as I hear the echo of Tom’s voice in my head.

“It’s coming Millie.” Tom’s broken voice repeats.

I shake my head to clear it.

“Tell me what’s coming,” I say, taking another step forward.

Connor releases a hard sigh.

“There is a group of individuals back where we lived in Americus. They felt they could heal the infected, but you can’t heal the infected. The people of the group were not all bad at first. Many of them were our neighbors I had lived beside my whole life. My dad and I would trade with a few of their leaders. Hell, one of Clover’s best friend’s family were heavily involved.”

He pauses.

“My family never got involved. Dad said he had enough responsibility without being a member. He was pressured to join many times but never gave in. It was one of his traits, never give in, never give up.”

Connor’s eyes become unfocused as if glimpsing back into time.

“In the last few year things changed. People of our community started becoming ill and no one knew why. A lot of blame was tossed around but theories and accusations didn’t help. We started getting more and more infected people at the hospital.”

“The gowns most of the infected wear?” I ask.

“Yeah, they come from the hospital back home,” he answers still lost in his thoughts. “When the majority realized the problem wasn’t just going to go away. Our community became frightened.” His vision clears as his gaze meets mine. “When you let fear possess you, evil takes root,” Connor says, taking a step closer to me. “The group started to warp into a kind of cult. If they even thought you were infected they would burn you where you stood. They began to take from the people of our city claiming they needed supplies; that they were going to cleanse the world of the infected for God, that they did God’s work.” He pauses. “My father died distracting them so Clover and I could escape.”

Mournfulness fills his features as he recalls his father’s sacrifice within his memories.

“They wanted our land and my mother.”

I inhale sharply.

“Your mother?” I ask, confirming what I already had guessed. “She was infected?”

The thought of her being infected frightens me as a horrible thought surfaces. Did my mother turn into an infected? I discard the thought, choosing not to entertain the idea. 

“Yes.” Connor answers. “She died shortly before they came though. They didn’t get the pleasure of burning her.”

He takes a deep breath as if pushing the memory aside.

“I’m so sorry.”

I reach out to gently touch his arm. He stiffens and I remove my hand.

“Anyway,” Connor says looking away. “The situation worsen when they initiated a new leader, one who dictated to all the leaders. I don’t know who the person was, I never met him. They kept the whole thing secret. I only remember his first act of business- the masks they wore when they came for us.”

A coldness seeps into me, filling my bones with ice. I look alarmingly at Connor’s face.

“What masks?” I say as my voice cracks on the words.

I dread the answer I already hear spoken in my mind.

“They wear crow masks- covers the whole face,” he says picking up a picture frame from a side table. His head tilts. “They make them out of leather from old abandoned sofas. The main leader has the audacity to wear white.”

Connor smirks as he places the picture back among the dust. I don’t respond as I realize the figure in my dreams is real. The monster that haunts me is in the world and he’s looking for me.
Why is he looking for me? Who am I to him? How does he even know I exist?

I can only guess that Connor sees the blood draining from my face. His hands cup my shoulders sternly- drawing me toward him.

“Millie? What’s wrong?”

I’m frozen in heavy air as insanity tickles my brain.

“My dream,” I whisper.

My breath comes out ragged.

“They were in my dream, the cloaked figure wearing a white crow mask.” My lip quivers. “It’s coming for me,” I say. “He’s coming.”

Fear slithers its way through my bloodstream causing my vision to dim. Connor’s face turns into a mask of determination, giving my shoulders a little jerk.

“Why would they come for you?” he questions.

I shake my head, baffled, but I’m confident the declaration is true. Connor stares at me.

“Nothing is going to hurt you Millie.” His voice is full of urgency. “You’re mine to protect. I won’t let you go.”

His forceful deep voice breaks into my stupor.

“Yours?” I questioned in a confused voice, my fear gives way to an excitement running untamed inside me.

I notice his fingers digging into my arms. My heart flutters, wanting whatever he will give. With him this close I can discern a faint scar etched on his left cheekbone.
How did he get it?
I long to run my fingers across the faded blemish and inquire on how the injury happened. He must have been young but I don’t dare ask. Connor seems to struggle with something I’m unable to recognize.