The Girl in Red

Crossing the country through the woods meant a lot of bad footing and slow going. Mama had insisted that Red’s half-leg would tire over the course of the journey, and she was right. Despite all of Red’s preparations the truth was that her amputated leg did tire faster than the other one, and at the end of some days she limped until she couldn’t go any farther. She’d started out with a grand notion of hiking eight or ten miles a day but the truth was that most days it was more like five or six—especially if there were any hills to climb—depending on how energetic she felt and how difficult the ground.

The two nights’ rest in the cabin had helped, though. It had been a relief to be off her feet, real and prosthetic, and to sleep for as long as she needed.

She wasn’t making terrible time, she considered as she folded up the map, but it could be better. If she’d been really fit and two-footed she might have made that ten or twelve miles a day. But Red had to take her body as it was, not as she’d like it to be. She’d prepared for the walk, but it was harder than she’d thought it would be (this was easier to admit to herself than it would be to admit to anyone else).

But the snow would come soon. Snow meant not only cold but poor footing, and heavy snow would probably stop her in her tracks for a day or more.

Red set off that morning without the nagging sense of being watched that she’d had before she found the cabin. That’s because nobody was watching you before. You were just paranoid because of that man at your fire. But you made sure he wasn’t getting up again to come after you and there was no one else and you need to stop thinking enemies are lurking behind every leaf, Delia.

She only called herself Delia when she was thinking a thought that sounded like something Mama would say, or if she was trying to be especially firm with herself.

The exercise soon warmed her muscles but a brisk wind made her nose and cheeks cold and she wished she’d thought to pack something like a balaclava.

Can’t think of everything, Red.

Though she had tried, she really had. Her packing list had been refined with surgical precision. She pulled her scarf up over her nose and her hat down low over her eyebrows and kept on, because that was what she had to do.

Around midday she stopped to eat a cold lunch of a protein bar and raisins and tried not to think about the pile of spaghetti that she’d eaten the night before. She’d lost a day sleeping in the cabin and she couldn’t afford a long, leisurely lunch hour.

A couple of hours after lunch she came upon the trail she’d expected to find. It surprised her a little, because she hadn’t realized she was so close to it, and that meant that she’d walked farther than she realized the night before she found the cabin. No wonder she’d been so tired when she got there. Adrenaline and fear (because she could admit to herself now that it was in the past that she had been afraid; she never acknowledged her fear unless she had to) had pushed her harder than she would have if she’d been in her right mind.

There hadn’t been any sign of people all day—not a crumpled candy wrapper or discarded water bottle or any kind of sound. Still, she listened carefully before stepping onto the trail and made sure to scout all around for potential hiding places in the event that she did hear someone coming.

The trees were quite thick on either side of the path—oaks and evergreens, mostly—and it would be easy to disappear from view just ten or fifteen feet away from the trail. The key was not to be seen first, not to attract any interest or attention. Since most people made so much noise (unless they were trying to be quiet, and that made them suspicious in Red’s eyes) she would have a chance to dart away before anyone caught a glimpse of her. She hoped.

Red had no doubt that there were still good and ordinary people left in the world, people who were just trying to get by since everything had gone crazy, people who were probably a lot like her. And those people might make reliable companions, might make this long lonely walk more bearable. Especially since she’d had to leave Adam behind.

(don’t think about Adam)

People were herding animals, and of course there was safety to be found in a herd. But there was also danger. Herds were easier to track and find than one lone person.