The Girl in Red

“Be very careful there,” D.J. said. “There isn’t much tree cover, and the houses are spread much farther apart than they are here.”

“I’m always careful,” Red said. “To a fault.”

It was a little past five, according to D.J.’s watch, when Red left the house. The sun wouldn’t be up for another couple of hours, and while D.J. didn’t like the idea of her possibly running into the more dangerous night patrol, he also saw the value of darkness. It would be easier for her to travel without worrying about being spotted. And she considered that she had the advantage, because she knew about the existence of the patrols in the first place. Most travelers wouldn’t.

The night sky was covered in clouds, and the frost that crunched under her boots told her that if she didn’t get back on the road to Grandma’s house soon then the impending snow would make that decision for her. She pulled her hat down around her ears.

At first she darted from house to house, staying in the back yards and out of reach of any headlights that might appear on the road. After a while she realized that dashing between buildings was stupid. She’d get worn out faster that way, and anyhow it wasn’t as if the houses were especially far apart. She’d be able to hear the approach of any engines or the chatter of the foot patrol easily, especially in the intense silence. Her jacket was made from down and nylon and the rasp of the cloth as her arm brushed against her body sounded like a chain saw.

People made so much noise

, Red thought. She’d never realized it until all the people were gone. Even where she lived, out in the middle of nowhere, there was a kind of constant background rumble of sound—the far-off hum of cars on the road, the low buzz of lightbulbs overhead, the refrigerator whirring, the rhythmic thump of clothes in the dryer, the sound of the television drifting out the window screen, Mama and Dad talking, Adam tapping away on his phone. Red and Adam had gone camping in some fairly isolated places as well, but even there she’d found there was a surprising amount of noise. You’d have to go to the ends of the earth to escape the sounds of planes flying overhead, for example. And there were very few places in America where there were no power lines.

Red surprised herself by reaching the first turning point at Sparrow Hill Road fairly quickly. She’d forgotten what it was like to walk without a heavy pack dragging her down, and the continual fatigue that had dogged her for weeks had been partially remedied by a bath, food, and sleep in a soft bed.

There was a little strip mall a short distance past the turning onto Sparrow Hill. Red thought that would be an ideal place for a home base if you were a militia. There was a Target and a grocery store anchoring a scattering of other small shops.

The Target and the grocery would be beyond useful—dry goods and clothing and all sorts of other things would be readily available. It was the kind of place Red would choose if she wanted to establish a fiefdom in this broken world.

The locals didn’t agree with her, though, for she saw no sign that the gang of kidnappers was anywhere nearby. Still, it would be worth it to come back. There was the off-chance that all the food wasn’t taken, and at the very least she would be able to find clothes for Riley and Sam in the kids’ department at Target.

She wished she had time to go there now, just to take a quick look around, but that was violating one of the many rules of life in the postapocalyptic war zone. Rule number eight, or whatever—Red had lost track although she thought she probably should write them down—Never Deviate from the Plan. If the protagonist decided on a course of action and then was distracted like a magpie from that course, then Something Would Happen.

Something Would Happen, Red decided as she turned onto Sparrow Hill Road, should be its own rule. Of course, it was the consequence for violating so many of the rules, like Never Separate, so maybe it should just be an addendum to every rule.

Sparrow Hill Road had no particular cohort of sparrows that Red could see, although it did have several rolling hills. She didn’t care for the hills, although it was much easier to maintain her balance on the downhill without the weight of the pack.

D.J. had been right—there really wasn’t much cover on this road. The residences were far from one another, and there were very few trees. The houses were mostly set far back from the road as well, with long winding driveways. The only place for her to hide—if such a thing became necessary—was in the ditch that ran along the road.

And that, Red realized, was not a practical solution now that the sun was up. The patrols would have returned to walking in groups of three, not six, but she would be easier to find without the cover of darkness. It would not be a good thing for Red to encounter them. She’d been feeling a little too free and easy, letting her mind wander around.