The Deepest Red by Miriam Bell

and races the moment his eyes meet mine. Ignoring him, I focus instead on burying my partner. I busy my mind by filling the open end of the trench with the largest stones that Clover and I collected. I try my best to block out Connor’s presence by quickening my pace, the rocks making a scraping sound as they stack together. With a concerned look, Clover bends down and helps me in my task.
    “Don’t listen to him,” she says as her hands grip one of the smaller stones. “He is in a mood today.”
    “I didn’t plan too,” I reply.
    As the time to lay Tom into the grave draws near, I can’t help the single tear that runs down my cheek. I hate myself for the weakness in that solitary drop of moisture and yet I hate myself even more for not being able to allow all of my tears to fall. I turn away when Connor places his headless body inside the trench. When I’m finally able to look,  Tom’s head is hidden, wrapped in the hospital gown his killer had worn. I’m thankful to not have been the one to separate Tom’s head from his body. Kneeling down I begin to pile stones on top of his lifeless body. The wrinkle skin of his blood stained hand draws my attention. I’m mesmerized by the blueish tint surfacing through the crimson.
    The heavy stone I’m holding is lifted away from my clasp.
    “Why don’t you patrol the wood line?” Connor’s voice is soft and comforting.
    I shift my gaze, surprised by the kindness within it.
    “No.”
    My voice mirrors his as I pick up another rock.
    “He would’ve done this for me,” I reply and sit the rock within the trench.
    Once we have filled up the once meaningless ground with as many as possible, I begin to slide dirt within the cracks. I repeat the process, dreading the moment when I leave this creek’s bank without Tom’s wit and guidance.
    I don’t say any last farewells while my head is bowed. I can’t form the words and I know Tom wouldn’t need them anyway. If our positions had been reversed and I was laying underneath the heavy weight of these stones I would like to have thought he would have placed a hand on the pile and said something along the lines of, “Millie was useful and a good scout,” but Tom didn’t desire my approval or anyone else's.
    Therefore I remain silent battling with the emotions swirling in my head. Among them a tiny voice whispers I just lost another link to my mother- another piece. My thoughts turn to Dad and a sudden need to hug him consumes me but he isn’t here. He’s tucked away safely behind the prison’s fences, within the concrete walls. I stand trembling for a moment looking at the now finished grave and attempt desperately not to think of why now Tom can lay in the trench without his feet sticking out.
    I gather up what little belongings I have, place the supply bag again on my shoulders and begin to walk away.  I should acknowledge the two people still gathered around Tom’s grave- their heads bowed as if they knew Tom closely. I should speak with Clover and discover why they seeked me out. I should even thank Connor but I can’t make myself follow through. Burying Tom took more out of me than I thought possible. I need time, time for my head to clear. If Connor and Clover had wanted to kill me they would have done it by now, so I continue walking, stepping over the fallen tree trunks blocking my way.  I don’t talk to the two shadows that follow behind me. They don’t try to stop me or speak. They simply disappear for a moment only to come right back with bags of their own. We walk in silence together with only the bird’s singing to accent my haunting thoughts. Hours pass.
    Flashes of Tom with blood flowing freely continue to plague me. I stumble a few times but right myself before I land face first onto the hard earth. I must warn everyone back at the prison. Anger starts to spark as an unwanted thought enters into my sluggish brain. Were the leaders informed of these creatures? Why would you send your own