“But we have to be sure,” Red said. “What if we’re wrong? What if they are using a larger area and we’re only seeing one circuit of patrols when they’re actually sending out more? I can’t take a chance that anything will happen to you.”
“But, Red,” Sam said, and she looked down at her hands folded in her lap as she said this. “You . . . you can’t get away from them really fast.”
Red sighed. Sam didn’t mean to treat her like Poor Slow Crippled Girl. She didn’t really understand that Red could do a lot more than most people thought.
“I don’t need to get away from them really fast,” Red said. “Because I am going to use my eyes and my ears and my brains to avoid them.”
Riley tugged her sleeve again, and he leaned into her arm. “But what if they catch you?” he whispered.
Red thought of her axe, and the things she had done with it.
“I’ll make them sorry,” she said. “They’ll regret the day they tried to catch me.”
• • •
The next day Red was awake long before the sun was up. D.J. packed her a small sling bag with water and some food and a few other essentials, because she would be leaving her heavy pack behind. Her axe, however, went into its accustomed place on her belt.
She needed to move quickly, and while she was certain she couldn’t do the circuit in two hours she was fairly confident that she’d return by early evening—if she discovered the base.
“And if you don’t find it by midday,” D.J. said quietly, for Sam and Riley were still asleep, “you will return to us regardless and search again tomorrow. I don’t want you caught out at night. And those children will fret about you until you’re back.”
Red had told them they could see her off in the morning, but she wasn’t about to wake them. She was a little afraid that they might try to follow her, or that they would cry, and she didn’t think she could leave if they did.
Besides, the night before Riley had complained of a sore throat and Red didn’t want him getting sick because he didn’t rest.
(It’s not the Cough, though)
(It’s definitely not the Cough because their dad had it and they didn’t catch it so it’s probably just a regular kid thing a regular sort of cold and nothing to be concerned about and D.J. can give him tea with honey and by the time I come back he will be fine just fine because it’s not the Cough)
“I really wish you would take my rifle with you,” D.J. said.
“Why, so I can shoot off the only real foot I have left?” Red said. “I don’t have the first clue what to do with a rifle.”
“I can show you—”
“I told you, I don’t like guns,” Red said. “I’ve gotten this far without one and I’m not going to start using one now.”
D.J.’s lips pressed together, but he didn’t say anything else about the gun.
Red’s plan was to follow the road from as safe a distance as she could manage. If she didn’t find the base between D.J.’s house and the woods, then she would turn onto Sparrow Hill Road.
“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.