The Deepest Red by Miriam Bell Read Free Book Online Page A

understand what or where Phoebe Sumter is but the words medical center are familiar. At one point this person had been treated for an illness of some sort before she changed into a walking cadaver. I clean my knife on her ragged gown, sheath the weapon and step away.
    A bird chirps nearby as I struggle to perceive the world around me. I turn toward Tom’s marred body. He’s bloody and mangled, laying in the cool water. The emptiness hovers over my pierced heart.
    “Tom?”
    My child like voice cracks on his name. I stumble as I walk to where his blood fades into the flowing stream. There is no reason to run, he’s dead and I understand that I’m alone now. Completely alone.
    “Tom?” I repeat.
    The noise of the creek drowns out my desperation. I’ve failed him in the worst possible way.  Slowly, I pull his body from the water hearing his splinted leg scrap across the stones. Sitting on the banks, I place his heavy head in my lap and begin to stroke his thinning hair and survey the gore of his neck. The pieces of torn skin are angry and savage looking. I close his eyes with shaking fingers as a light breeze caresses my face.
    “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a small melancholy voice says from behind me.
    I’m not surprised she’s here. I’m not surprised I didn’t hear her sneaking up behind me either. I just sit numbly on the creek’s bank, tracing the wrinkles of Tom’s aged hand.
    “Why not?” I ask.
    She doesn’t bother to hide her footsteps as she walks to my side. She doesn’t go for her knife, doesn’t give me a death blow like I performed. She just stands there, looking at the violent scene.
    “He was a good man,” I whispered, placing his hand on his chest.
    Clover takes a breath.
    “That’s not always the case,” she says observing my reaction.
    I don’t give one. She tilts her head, studying Tom’s body. I have a strange sensation to cover him somehow, to keep him away from her observant eyes.
    ”Sometimes the sickness can be passed to the already dead,” she remarks. “I haven’t seen it happen but I’ve heard stories. We never stick around to test them out.”
    I turn my head and examine her for the first time since our meeting last night. The sun shines brightly, illuminating her fair skin. She is wearing the same pink dress as before with her long blond hair pulled back away from her face. On each side of her twisted bun, a wooden stick pokes out holding the fine locks in place. She’s pretty with her thin features and dirty face. Seeing her in the daylight, I realize she’s older than what I previously thought. Maybe 15 years old? She gives off the notion of an old soul; even more distinct when looking into her remarkable green eyes.
    I turn my gaze back toward Tom.
    “I’m sorry,” I say, holding back tears.
    I touch his crimson-stained cheeks hestantiantly with my blood soaked fingers. The weight on my heart feels heavier than a moment before. Once I’ve placed his head down onto the creek’s bank, I stand up. The numbness in my legs frightens me. I can’t walk without tripping. I catch myself as Clover backs away, giving me room. I can tell she is readying herself for if I decide to strike. I won’t though. All my fight has been drained out of me.
    “He needs to be buried,” I say with my back turned towards her.
    I don’t like the fact she is witnessing me weak. She has no obligation to help but if she wanted to kill me I would be dead already. 
    “I know burial is a luxury in the red zone…” I say, my words trailing off into silence.
    The first day of my training Mrs. Emerson had warned me about the dangers of the red zone. She never said anything about death but the idea was implied. Everyone knew it was a sore subject with my father and I, because of my mother, so no one liked to broach the subject with me. Today, though, Tom would get the luxury of a burial - with or without Clover’s help. 
    “Okay,” she agrees drawing a little closer,