The Deepest Red by Miriam Bell Page A

practicing I did earlier, I come to the conclusion I need to work harder. I feel myself fall and watch the ground rise up to meet me but as I move to right myself, a firm muscled arm snakes around my waist. I come to a halt, my breath catching in alarm. Forcefully, I’m wrenched backwards slamming against Connor’s chest.
    His face is so close to mine, I feel his breath against my own as he whispers, “Careful.”
    Concern and what I imagine passion sounds like, laces his tone.
    “I’m always-” I begin but stop as one of his hands tightens it’s grip. My cheeks must be scalding red by now. He smiles a condescending smile, lifting his right eyebrow in question.
    “We should work on your balance before I train you in fighting,” Connor proposes.
    I watch as he wets his bottom lip, the tip of his tongue peeking out teasingly. The silver of his lip ring shimmers where the silver catches the light. I could almost purr at the sight.
    “How about you let me go instead,” I say in an unsteady voice.
    He shakes his head lowering to my lips.
    I reach up and rest my hand on his neck, my fingers tangling with his muddy hair. A burst of irrational desire floods my senses. His eyes close as he bites his plump bottom lip, enjoying my unguarded touch. My other hand gravitates toward his broad shoulders gripping his muscles. He groans, drawing me closer, leaning in to coaxes a kiss from my lips. I shudder in anticipation. Suddenly my vision catches on a subtle movement.
    “Oh look! A puppy…” my surprised voice squeaks out, startled.
    Just above Connor’s shoulder, on the leafy hill lies a puff ball of an animal. My eyes widen at the site.
    “Connor behind you!” I exclaim.
    Connor turns to glower at where my finger points.
    “What the hell?” he draws out.
    The puppy boldly looks up at me with an almighty air. His snout held high as if he knew he was better than us. With his large puppy paws, he keeps his fluffy bottom from sliding down the embankment. The puppy’s hair is a mix of browns with white and black intertwined. He’s small but not tiny, maybe 14 weeks old. What’s he doing here? I know wild dogs aren’t uncommon in this area but a puppy by himself? His mother must be nearby. My gaze searches the area for any signs of her but I’m unable to locate her hiding spot.
    Back at the prison, I’d loved to read about all the dog breeds created in the old society. Now, all you hear about are wild dogs in the red zone, mutts that came from abandoned pets. When I was about 10 years old, one of Tom’s scouting parties brought back a lot of books from the abandoned library in the old city. My heart gives a pang at the thought of Tom but I push the vision of him away. The pictures in my head of him lying in the infected woman’s arms, blood gushing from his neck, haunt me. My mind rushes to reclaim my memories of the found library books.
    Zebulon had a pretty good size library tucked away from the main streets. I remember touching the cover of a book entitled “Boxers” and asking Dad what kind of animal graced the cover. After that first book, I devoured every breed book they brought back. I remember begging Lonnie to check the library one last time for any puppy books they may have missed.
    He laughed at me and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
    I’d fantasized about owning a dog just like so many characters in our books had done. There were stories about dogs being nannies for children, dogs saving their owners from disasters, even a story of a boy whose dog journeyed far and wide to find his beloved owner. The stories fascinated me. After everything that has happened on my trip into the red zone, the long ago dream of having my very own dog had disappeared back into the corners of my conscious. Now with a real honest to God puppy in front of me, hope stirs.
    I realize I’m still in Connor’s embrace staring at this furry stranger. Connor’s face is turned away from me staring at the animal as well.