by Miriam Bell
“I don’t think your friend, Tom, heard the infected woman sneaking up on him. There were many flat rocks which were easy to walk across without much noise. If there was noise, it was drowned out by the roar of the creek.” I must look unconvinced because he tries again. “I bet his hearing wasn’t all that great either.”
“I didn’t hear her approaching and my ears are just fine,” I remark, wincing when Connor turns his head to study a nearby moth.
I swear under my breath at my unyielding snarkiness and the mention of Tom’s name. A sharp pang courses the blood through my veins. Since arriving at this campsite, I’ve been avoiding thoughts of Tom. There was nothing I could do and nothing else I could say. Grief floods into my lungs as my soul aches to be home, back in the safety of the fences with Dad. I swallow hard.
The unpleasant silence is like a thick wall floating between us. I’m sure this is the moment a normal person would be wanting to ask questions- important questions. However, the questions I would want answered are the ones they would deem unimportant- like why do they seem like experts on something I never thought existed. How do you ask about a topic you don’t want the responsibility of knowing? I don’t want the images my mind creates with Connor’s nightmarish words.
One truth I’ve held onto for as long as I can remember is that your life changes when you discover something foreign, a concept you couldn’t conceive on your own. The beliefs you grow fond of, bend and shift as you listen to a victim's story or figure out a random person’s secrets. I guess my world changed the moment I stepped out into the hellish red zone and perceived I wasn’t as tough as I thought. I didn’t realize obtaining the title of survivor was the final goal.
I feel their eyes on me as I surface from my deep thoughts. The right thing to say or ask seems too far from my reach. I glance down toward my muddy shoes but inspiration and comfort aren’t written on the side of my boots. I sigh, rubbing at my tired eyelids. My voice is timid when I finally ask my question. “How do you kill the infected?” Connor just nods as if he knew this would be what I would ask all along.
“Cutting off the head is the only way. There is something about removing the head from the person’s body that breaks all connection.”
I laugh at the comment without humor.
“Should do the trick for anyone, I suppose,” I say.
“Somethings can’t be explained,” Clover replies, shifting my attention away from Connor. “Once they’re infected, they’re dead- just a matter of time. I’m not sure what happens first, if the heart stops beating or the brain stops thinking. Hell, we don’t even know if what we’re telling you is completely accurate but our information comes from what we’ve seen.” She pauses. “What I’ve discovered is Infected don’t have emotions and they don’t sleep. They just keep coming- coming for you and everyone you love. ”
I recognize the undertone of sadness in her last sentence as if she knew from experience. I remember her comment from before about her sister and imagine what it would be like if my father became infected.
“What caused people to get infected?” I ask.
Connor shrugs his shoulders as he stares out into the darkness.
“We don’t know for sure,” he says listening to the wind blowing through the trees. “A lot of people in the town said the reason involved contaminated water from a new well we had dug. Others said it could be some kind of poison from a mutated spider.”
A smirk appears on his darkened face.
“No one knows,” Clover admits. “They had plenty of names to label the whole incident, but the only one to stick was The Black Death.”
Connor stretches out his legs and looks blindly into the fire. By the weariness on his face, I can tell this conversation has ended. There was another thing Connor and I had in common besides bad attitudes- our haunting memories. Through the shadows that the burning fire cast, I read the haunted expression I most likely display as well. Connor had his own reel of painful and cursed recollections to play before his eyes. He didn’t need me adding to them. I glance away in time to see Clover stand. She picks up Chevy from where he sleeps. The puppy gives a low growl in protest but quickly settles in her arms.
“Sorry, but I think storytime should be over for tonight. I’m going to bed.”
She carries the sleeping Chevy awkwardly to the tree house and proceeds to climb up the ladder with one hand. I wouldn’t be surprised with the extra weight if the couple find themselves in a pile on the ground. Nevertheless, I watch them disappear into the darkness of the treehouse. I begin to remember the sleeping arrangements Clover and I had discussed before. She had told me, not so kindly to “get over myself” and then proceeded to wash the remainder of her hair as she hummed a giddy melody.
The sensation of nerves start to ricoshay within my stomach as I peer at the wooden treehouse. The only other people I’d shared a sleeping space with was my Dad and more recently, Tom. When I was a little girl, the children would come together in the summer and sleep as a group under the stars. I never liked the idea since all of them were either a lot older than I was or too young for me to play with. Lonnie and Jay had been the closest to my age and I didn’t trust them not to cut off my hair as I slept. I spent those nights sleeping far away from the others, counting stars and watching them fly across the dark sky.
Now, the idea of sleeping in the same room with Connor makes my head swarm- not just because I would be letting down my guard but because it was Connor. I understood we weren’t going to be cuddled up together beneath the tree house’s roof but the fantasy conjured up by the notion, excited and scared me. Most likely, Clover would lay between us, so our closeness shouldn’t even matter. I rally my courage.
I shouldn’t be thinking about that kind of stuff anyway. I’m in the middle of the red zone, trying to get back home, not trying to make a guy interested in me. I can’t even comprehend how to accomplish such a task.
“Man, I would love to know what you’re thinking right about now,” Connor says with a grin.
“Excuse me?” I remark.
“It’s just you seem like you’re having twenty different conversations in your head all at once.” He shifts slightly allowing the fire’s light to highlight the sharpness of his jaw.
“It’s the first night and I’m completely alone,” I say in response causing Connor to tilt his head and frown.
“I don’t think that’s it,” he mutters.
I remain quiet.
“You’re not alone, Millie,” he says, rubbing his hand along the freshly shaven skin of his face.
“In fact as far as first nights go, this isn’t so bad. You got a full meal in your belly and a roof over your head.” He winks. “Not too bad at all.”
Ignoring him, I reach up and remove my fishermen hat from my head- tired of the weight of my hair. My imprisoned locks flutter down my shoulders and back, curling slightly below my shoulder blades.
“Thanks for reminding me why I prefer the twenty conversations in my head,” I say sarcastically.
I stretch my neck rotating it in large circles, thankful for the release and Connor’s lack of remarks. Running my fingers through my damp tangled hair, I replay all of the information I learned about the infected. The details of the knowledge sparks my gruesome imagination. After a while of only my thoughts, I shift my attention toward a silent Connor. His heavy lidded eyes follow the smooth movement of my fingers gliding through my red hair.
I stop combing my curls.
“Stop staring at me,” I say slightly embarrassed.
“Sucks for someone to be staring at you, huh?” he states back with an air of amusement.
“Oh, shut up,” I reply looking at the fire with a small smile playing on my lips.
“Your hair is beautiful,” he proclaims like a caress, “I have never seen anything like it.”
I look up to find Connor surprised and confused at his own words.
“My father liked to call me Nix when he was in a good mood. It’s sh
ort for phoenix.” My voice sounds bashful to my ears.
“What is a phoenix?” he ask.
“A beautiful mythical bird who burns itself on a funeral pyre, only to obtain new life by arising from the ashes of its predecessor.” I pause. “Every drawing in our library illustrates the bird as being tailored with flames,” I say, motioning to my hair.
Silence stretches out between us as I wonder why I told him something so personal. In my nervousness, I pinch out a small piece of my long hair and twirl it around my finger.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you today. I’m not as good with people as Clover,” Connor admits.
I nod my head while my fingers continue to swirl the red strand. He stands and comes to sit beside me.
“I’ve been a little nervous today about giving you this. I wasn’t sure how you would react.”
I follow the movement as he reaches into his side pocket and pulls out a silver pocket knife. Tears sting my eyes as I recognize the red centipede engraving along its front.
“I wasn’t stealing or anything. I just thought it was important for you to have this,” he insists.
Connor lifts the small knife toward me. I lightly pluck the small weapon from his hand, holding it like it was worth more than all the treasure in the world. I trace the outline of the centipede with my index finger feeling its rough edges. Written in a fine loopy font I read the engraved words “Red Centipede.” I want to hold back the tears forming but the moisture blurs my vision. My throat feels heavy and raw as I push back the sorrow crawling up my spine. The feeling is almost overwhelming.
“Thank you Connor,” I say, noticing how clean the pocket knife is.
I open the blade and view the newly sharpened edge. Connor’s eyes remain on me as he leans closer.
“You cleaned and sharpened it?” I mean to say the words as a statement but it feels more like a question.
“Yes, I didn’t want to give it back to you dull,” he answers.
The words gore and bloody skip into my mind but I’m glad he reframes from speaking them.
“I’m sorry Millie,” he says instead.
His deep calming voice has a rawness to it I’m unfamiliar with. I sit still for a moment looking at the pocket knife with a mournfulness that beats through my body and claws at my heart.
“I didn’t know Tom well but he had something I needed and now I’ll never know.”
Connor seems to stiffen at my declaration.
“What did you need?” I glance at him wanting to distance myself but lacking the strength to try.
“Information,” I say sharply. “He was my mom’s scouting partner when she was alive. I think they were close. She was killed out here in the red zone and I wanted to find out why. I can take a guess now and say the infected but it just doesn’t feel right. Tom would have warned me.”
I look down again at the pocket knife and decide to clip it on to the belt loop of my pants.
“I think everyone has lost someone,” Connor states mournfully, “It’s too dangerous out here alone. Drifters, Infected, and other horrors, you don’t even want to consider. They all want to take something from you.”
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 wrapp
ed 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.