Death of the Body (Crossing Death) by Rick Chiantaretto

where my people were or if any of them were still alive.
    Sobs rolled through my body while hot tears ran down my face. My breath was ragged. I cried for my people. I cried for our betrayal. I cried because I didn’t know what else to do.
    My eyes were too blurred to notice when heavy boots were standing in front of me, but I felt someone rest their hand lightly on my head before speaking. I was too exhausted to care, so I didn’t flinch. This was it. This was the moment I would be caught, but I was overcome by apathy.
    “Hey, kid, you okay? What happened?”
    I was startled enough by the familiarity of the voice that one of the sobs rolling through my body caught in my throat. I rubbed the tears from my eyes so I could see clearly, recognizing the face of the man who was now crouched over me. It was the man from earlier at my house, Max’s owner.
    It took me a minute to realize he thought my tears were for Max. I looked down at the black heap in my lap and curled my hand through the thick black hair. Max’s eyes were closed, the limp body cold under my touch. Tears sprang back to my eyes, this time for a friend I’d known just long enough for him to save my life.
    The man, Clayton, if memory served, had compassion in his eyes. “Come on, let’s get back to the house,” he said. “It isn’t good for you to be out here now.”
    I glanced down at Max.
    “Leave him,” Clayton answered, his voice soft. “I’ll take care of him after you are asleep.”
    I knew that following this man back into town would ensure my survival for at least a little while, so I stood and followed him down the hill.
    I watched as the general’s eyes followed us closely.
    “I know the boy. He is not who we seek,” Clayton stated as we passed him. The testimony seemed to ebb any suspicion.
    When we reached the town gates, I glanced back toward the hill. From this vantage point, Ralph’s red hair stood out like a bush on fire. I was glad to see he had found Hailey. They were sitting together and managed to make their way up toward the tree line, putting the maximum distance between them and the small army descending upon the children. Still, I knew I had to do something to help.
    Clayton noticed my hesitation. “Come on, boy. The other kids will be fine.”
    I wondered how much longer he would remain unsuspicious while misreading my actions. What would he do to me when he found out I wasn’t the human he thought I was? Nevertheless, for the time being I was strangely grateful to this man.
    I used the opportunity, the moment Clayton thought I felt concern for the children, to attempt the salvation of two of them. I knew there was no way to get Hailey and Ralph out of the situation without being caught. I had seen Hailey’s plant sprout from between her fingertips and imagined that those new sprouts also had sprouts. Once her plant was seen, she would be exposed. If Ralph had been foolish enough to pluck his own blade of grass, it would be in the same condition. There was only one way I could think to disguise them. It wouldn’t require a spell, just a favor—and a messenger.
    I was immediately aware of the wind around me. It was calm, but fluid and cool as it brushed by my hot cheeks. I allowed myself to be encircled by it until I could almost hear where it had come from, almost see the fields and mountains it had passed through to get here, almost smell the sweet moisture it carried from faraway rivers and lakes. Then I asked it to carry a message. I added my words to the tastes, sounds, smells, and sights it already carried. Ask them to grow , I told it. Ask them all to grow . Then, for Hailey and Ralph I hastily added, I will meet you at the ruins.
    As my words were carried off, I turned back to the town, my town, and quickened my pace. I had just stepped back onto the cobblestone street when I began to hear stifled gasps. I knew what was happening: every blade held in the hand of every child was sprouting; every one was growing. I