The Deepest Red

by Miriam Bell

  The day has become increasingly gloomy as we travel. Rain threatens to fall at any moment from the dark clouds looming overhead. A light wind encircles us, chilling the sweat on my skin. Everything in the red zone seems to have foreboding characteristics. Even many of the trees hunch over to intimidate. Their welcoming branches beckoning, promising horrors if I only climb up their great height and peer out.

  I see a curve in the road ahead of us, nothing around us but those menacing trees. My thoughts start to race at the sight. What’s in store for us just around the bend? Will I find relief by discovering someone from our scouting teams or an army of disfigured infected? I continue to stroke the pocket knife.

  The voice of my Dad’s soft scolding enters my thoughts.

  ”Millie, why would you join them? I don’t want you scouting in the red zone. Do you even understand what you’re asking for?”

  I remember the creases on his forehead, the ones that only got deeper when he was upset.

  “Do you have any idea what it means to become a scout?” His tone weights down on my head till I’m bowed in front of him. I slouch, shoulders heavy at the meaning of his words. Throughout my childhood, I only remember a couple of times where my Dad was truly angry with me. In fact, most of the time he encouraged my training and told me to do my best with the assigned chores given to me, but this… I recognize the pain in his eyes every time I became brave enough to glimpse into his face.

  “Your mother was never the same after her first trip out into the red zone. Your actions shape who you are Millie. Don’t end up like her, alone in the dark.”

  He didn’t bring up my mother often. My dad hated to talk about her even now and if I did ask the occasional question, which I rarely did, he never answered it completely. I developed a great skill of discerning half truths. I always felt secrets around me without any evidence of them.

  “I made my decision Dad. I’m old enough now to do what I think is best.”

  I turn my head away from him looking at a stack of books piled on the floor.

  “Maybe mom would be proud of me for doing my part in making sure we survive,” I say.

  At that I got up and walked away from him. If I had understood the red zone completely, I might have done things differently.

  “Are you alright, Millie?”

  Clover’s voice breaks through my memory.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just lost in thought. I guess.”

  I give her an apologetic smile.

  “You don’t want to be lost in thought out here,” Connor states. “Well, unless you want to die,” he says matter of factly.

  I glance around searching for him and find his gaze. I wasn’t aware of his reappearance. Connor approaches thoughtfully and I take comfort in the fact he’s near.

  “You’re right,” I say, turning back around allowing my feet to carry me closer to the unknown.

  As I walk the sharp curve I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t see any armies of infected, no drifters or threats of any kind. In fact all I perceive is a mailbox in the distance. Green vines wrap around its wooden post and threaten to consume it.

  As we get closer to the mailbox, goose bumps begin to appear on my arms. A strange feeling surfaces, a feeling of deja vu. Large oaks and pine trees mix together in what seems like a thick wall, obscuring any view of the house. I stop to stare down its long driveway. Invisible hands push me toward that direction promising answers to unasked questions. The driveway is nothing special. Nature reclaimed the pathway long ago but it’s still passable over the tall grass and fallen trees.

  Beside me, Connor stands examining the same scene. He cocks his head to the side and studies my expression.

  “Why did we stop? Are we going the wrong way?” His questions are valid but I can’t answer them.

  “Who do you think lived here?” I ask.

  I’m surprised my voice is steady and calm because my insides are anything but. Chevy brushes up against my legs flopping down onto the ground beside my boot in a grateful rest. His leg elevates quickly to scratch at a spot behind his ear, the large paws surrendering him off balance.

  Connor’s eyebrows lift at the odd question.

  “Someone who doesn’t live there now.” He stares baffled at me.

  “I’m going to go check,” I say as I slide my knife out of its holder.

  “The hell you say.”

  Connor’s voice rises in a mock tone.

  “I can do what I want. Remember?” I say looking at him sternly. “We’re not holding you prisoner.” I mimic Connor’s deep voice in my best impression.

  My imitation does the trick since I recognize the look materializing on his face. The expression reminds me of the first time we spoke. I narrow my eyes.

  “Isn’t that what you told me, I’m not a prisoner?” I question, turning away from him.

  I begin walking down the long stretch of driveway.

  “Millie.”

  I hear the pleading words like a grasp and turn around to face Connor. A struggle within his eyes ignites causing my will to soften toward him.

  Clover’s annoyed voice speaks up.

  “We’re all going,” she says walking toward us.

  She bumps Connor playfully with her fist as she passes by and gives me a flirty wink.

  “Follow me,” she continues waving her hand dismissively. “The driveway ends sooner or later.”

  With a thankful expression, I follow her graceful steps as she leads the way. Only once do I look behind me to make sure Connor is still following. His expression is dark and angry so I decide to stay quiet.

  The driveway is long with a canopy of branches stretching above. Tiny chipmunks scurry across the open path, rustling the fallen leaves. The peaceful scene would be pretty if not for the threat of the infected suddenly appearing. I feel the weight of Connor’s stare baring into the back of my head but I ignore it. When we reach the house, my legs abruptly stop on their own. A hollow feeling of fear corrodes my nerves. As Connor passes by, my right arm stops him with a jolt. I don’t know if it’s the tension on my face or my out stretched arm that keeps him from walking, I don’t care.

  Instead, I stare disbelieving at a white ranch style house in front of me. It’s weathered porch identical to the one in my nightmare. Vines run along the walls racing toward the loosen shingled roof. Through the grass, I observe bits of debris littering the front yard.

  “What’s wrong, Millie?”

  Connor’s hand gently lays on top of my elbow pushing my extended arm down as he glances between me and the house.

  “This house,” I say, the words catching in my throat, “I dreamed of this house last night.”

  Understanding blossoms across Connor’s face.

  “Maybe we should go,” he says, taking a step back while holding onto my arm.

  He lowers his hand into mine, grasping my fingers. All of me wants to let him take my hand and lead me back to the main road. I would’ve gone too if it wasn’t for the sound of a tree branch popping.

  Clover runs past me in a blur snatching my hand out of Connor’s.

  “Infected!” she yells as I find myself running behind her, “Millie, tree!”

  Clover all but throws me toward the trunk of a nearby tree.

  “Climb, climb, climb,” she chants as she bounces up and down on the balls of her feet.

  Her searching eyes widen as they fall on the house. I manage to ascend up the rough branches quickly with Clover on my heels. My cuts from the other day open up to mark the tree’s bark. We’re far away from anyone’s reach but not too far from the ground that she can’t swing down to attack if need be.

  “What about Connor?” I rasp, my breath hindering my speech.

  “There.”

  She points out in front of me and I can clearly see him standing in the remains of the house’s front yard.

  “What the hell is he doing?” I breath.

  I’m about to yell out to him when Clover slaps her hand over my mouth.
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  “No. Just watch. If he needs us then we go,” she says.

  I peer out from my vantage point, scolding myself for allowing somebody other than scout leaders to tell me what to do. Muffled sounds travel to my ears and my thoughts go silent. One infected stumbles out into the old ranch home’s yard, then another. I stare in horror as a horde of infected filter out of the forest, their moans becoming louder.

  I count about fifteen of the creatures as they enter into the opening, adrenaline forcing me to pay attention to details. Connor takes a step back surveying the danger approaching. I want to grab him and force him to run but I made a promise that I now regret. To distract myself from the urge to jump from the tree’s protection, I study the advancing horde. The infecteds’ bodies display different stages of decay. Some wear ordinary clothes, torn and dirty, while others wear the same hospital gown as the woman who killed Tom. The horde shifts with Connor’s movement and I recognize four supply bags, like my own. The breath leaves my body as I identify two of the infected. I’m new to the raiding parties but their voices of good luck on my first day blare into my ears. I don’t even remember their names, just their faces as they waved goodbye to Tom and I.

  “Oh No!” I gasp, the shock of the situation plastering me to the branches of the live oak.

  “What?” Clover asks, positioning herself to better view the horde, instead of Connor.

  “Four scouts are down there. Two of them left with my group,” I answer and wipe at tiny beads of sweat forming on my forehead.

  I feel too warm in my clothes as I scan the faces below.

  “They were supposed to travel north. Why would they be this far south?” I mumble to myself in translucent fear.

  Connor stands alert in the tall grass among the scattered items from so long ago. He reaches down and grabs a long wooden pole from the weeds. The rusted metal rake’s teeth flash with the movement. He holds the old farm tool in such a way that aggression rolls off his body in waves. My heart stops at the menacing presence that he protrudes, his face bearing a mask of death and vengeance.

  I cringe as the first infected reaches for him. From this far away I’m unable to tell if it had been a man or a woman. Connor’s speed is unimaginable. He strikes with the wooden rod with such force and in such a way that the metal rake indents the top of the infected’s head. It screams as I watch Connor bring the metal teeth down to sweep across its legs. The fragile bones break away in a splash of discolored blood. With a fighter’s grace Connor swiftly brings the rake down hard upon the head of the fallen infected, silencing its shrill screams.

  All of the infected rush him at once. With a terror filled expression, I grimace as Connor slices through his victims.

  “We need to help him Clover!” I say, tightening my grip on a nearby branch.

  “No, not unless he’s in trouble.”

  I stare at her stunned.

  “This doesn’t look like he’s in trouble?”

  She motions for me to be quiet and points to Connor in the distance.

  “Pay attention,” she scowls, so I do.

  He’s swift on his feet, getting close enough for the diseased hands to reach him but too far away for them to lock hold. It reminds me of a dance, strike on strike, kick upon kick, thrust, jab and slice. It’s a sick and twisted dance only death can teach. When gore covers the rake’s rusted teeth, Connor breaks the wooden pole in half, creating a sharpened staff.

  He slides in and out of the way of reaching hands and snapping teeth as he jabs and blocks with his new weapon. Its length keeping the infected far enough apart that he can deliver blow after blow. Piercing into them with practiced accuracy, their bodies become bloody messes on top of the ground. Discolored blood begins to spill out of the tall grass as he continues his attack with precise movements.

  A large infected man wearing overalls steps up, once again, into Connor’s range. His decayed face is dented with one of his eyes hanging loosely from its socket. I can see the dark brown blood seeping out of the wounds Connor has already inflicted. The man’s one good eye is focused onto him not paying attention to anything else. Connor spins to jab an infected boy through the head with the sharpen staff only for it to lodge soundly into his skull. The weapon does not release in time to pierce the large overall man that grabs hold of Connor’s shoulder. I’m about to sling myself out of the tree’s branches when Clover tightens her grip on my hand. I hadn’t even realized she was holding it. She watches the scene before us never blinking, her mouth hangs open slightly as she leans forward transfixed on the battle.

  Before I comprehend anything, Connor has begun a sequence of exact movements resulting in the larger infected man flying through the air. His large body slams into a group of three infected women who were dragging themselves directly to Connor. The weight of the large man causes the women to all become a heap of entwined arms and legs. I hear their moans and observe the weight of the man’s large shoulder crush into the head of the thinnest woman. Her dimming eyes bulge and then with a sickly crunch, her face folds in on itself.

  Connor wasting no time rolls to a stand, pulling out his double knives from their sheaths. A flare of ruthlessness ignites in his features, bloodlust claiming him as a brother. In one quick swipe he runs a blade across the overall man’s neck. The man’s head doesn’t separate, only dangles by a not yet brittle cervical vertebra. Connor wasting no time hacks at the stubborn bone. One of his hands glide into the open flesh blocking the infected’s mouth incase he isn’t already dead. Clover twitches beside me, her resolve weakening until the head releases. It bounces to the ground rolling to a stop. I watch as Connor gives the head a powerful kick into the neighboring woods.

  Under the still jerking headless body, the two remaining infected women lay trapped, their decaying eyes searching for a release. With a cruel smile Connor stomps in their faces with the heel of his steel toed boot. My mind races to catch up to what I’m witnessing. I wonder briefly if he enjoys killing the infected until his shoulders slump. He kicks the motionless bodies, their silence bringing an end to the horde of infected. A gust of wind blows through the grass as Clover wiggles down the branch of the tree holding us up.

  Connor holds one of his hands up as if to signal us to wait. His gesture is hard to obey when everything in me tells me to run to him. I want to make sure he’s alright. I want to view his face more clearly so I can tell if bloodlust holds him closely but I‘m stuck waiting in this stupid tree like a helpless child. I made a promise earlier and I intend to keep my promises. I listen to the sounds around me attempting to pinpoint the noises of anymore infected laying in wait.

  All I hear is the low growling of Chevy. Looking down the trunk of the tree I notice our fearless puppy guarding us.

  “Good boy Chevy. Now let us down,” I say.

  Intensity radiates off of the puppy as he sits alert. His hackles are raised on his back and his lips are drawn in a ferocious grin. Clover makes a move to swing her body down to the ground but I hastily reach for her, grabbing her wrist.

  “What?” she whispers up to me.

  “Wait. Chevy is growling.”

  “Yeah, so?” Clover ask. “You wanted to go to Connor. Let’s go.”

  She tilts her head toward the old wooden house.

  “No. There must be more infected somewhere,” I say.

  My eyes glide over the surrounding area, taking in how the leaves are beginning to change. Patches of red and yellow speckle the trees around us.

  Movement catches my attention along the edge of the driveway. The appearance of this infected seems unreal to me. My brain tries to wrap itself around the hideousness of the creature. I shudder at the realization that my dreams will worsen tonight and I might not ever recover. Crawling out of the leaves is the form of a two year old baby, the gender unknown.

  “I’ve never seen-” Clover remarks fade into silence.

  “Is that?” I ask, shifting slightly to see better. “Is that the last stage?” I ask Clover.

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nbsp; She nods beside me in a daze.

  “Yes.”

  I observe the way the infected toddler clings to each handful of earth it grasp onto, pulling its tiny deformed body forward little by little. As it moves it twitches its legless torso, what skin remaining hangs black and shredded from its decayed muscles. I glimpse pieces of bone protruding outward, catching on unearth rocks and small plants. The baby creature’s jaw bone hangs loosely from its face, exposed.

  “Dear sweet God,” Clover whispers beside me when the baby quickens its pace toward Chevy.

  Chevy holds firm at the bottom of our tree, never leaving us to save himself. I latch on to the large tree trunk beside me and sit frozen on the safety of my hidden branch.

  “I don’t think God had anything to do with this,” I say as the creature creeps closer.

  A quick pounding resonates in my ears. I’m not sure if the sound is my heartbeat or Connor’s footsteps racing toward our tree.

  Chevy barks wildly, pouncing back and forth. The sweet loving nature of him gives way to a fierce predator that feels threatened. He attacks the very essence of the black death, the creature unable to defend or attack flares in a uncontrollable seizure as Chevy rips into the remaining muscles. My stomach constricts as if I’m going to be sick.

  The infected doesn’t scream or make a sound of any kind; any remaining remnants of a voice box or even a tongue are rotted away giving this once precious child a silent gruesome death. I know the moment the death blow occurs because I hear the savage crack of bone separating.

  Chapter Eleven

  Connor appears in a heartbeat, kicking the remains of the infected in two separate directions.

  “Good boy,” he says while searching the brush between the trees.

  His knives shake slightly in his hands.

  “Good boy,” he repeats.

  Chevy trots around his legs enjoying the welcomed praise. His tail swishes back and forth excitedly, smacking the splatter of deep brown blood coloring Connor’s pants. I study Connor from behind, searching for any signs of injury. His black shirt clings to him with a mixture of his sweat and the infecteds’ blood. He’s more beautiful to me now than before only because he’s alive and breathing. I want to ask him if he’s okay but the words seem absurd. He just fought a horde of infected of course he isn’t okay.