The Girl in Red

Or maybe D.J. Park isn’t as trustworthy as he seems, Red thought.

Paranoid, a voice in her head whispered, and it sounded a lot like Adam’s voice.

Red and Riley scooted inside, and D.J. followed, closing the door behind him. He took his shoes off immediately and slid his feet into house slippers.

The door was a modern, well-insulated type and fitted securely in the jamb without making a sound.

That explains how he got outside without us hearing him.

They stood in a neat little kitchen tiled in varying shades of cheerful yellow. The cabinets and appliances were all white and gleamed as though they’d just been cleaned that morning. The floor was hardwood, and though it was well-kept Red could see the marks that came from feet walking in the same patterns over the years.

She also noticed something else—the faint but distinct hum of electricity.

“You have a generator?” Red asked.

D.J. smiled. It was a ready smile, Red noticed, natural and given at the slightest provocation.

“You’re wondering why there isn’t more noise?” he asked.

Red nodded. Sam had come close to her again once Red and Riley had made their way through the door, but she hadn’t grabbed Red’s hand or coat again. It was almost as if she were trying to prove to herself that she didn’t have to.

“I have a natural-gas-powered standby generator,” D.J. said. “It’s designed to run quietly and come on automatically when the grid goes down.”

“Yeah, but it’s been weeks,” Red said. “Where are you getting the gas from?”

“I had a stockpile,” D.J. said.

Red waited for more information, but none was forthcoming.

“I also have water that draws off a well,” D.J. said. “And that means there can be tea with lunch. Or perhaps hot cocoa?”

He looked at Riley when he said this. Riley unclenched a little.

“With marshmallows?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes,” D.J. said. “My grandchildren also love marshmallows.”

There were acres of sadness in those five words and that, more than anything else, convinced Red to trust him. So she slung her pack off her back and dropped it at her feet. Riley took that as the signal that they were staying.

“You can put your things in the laundry room,” D.J. said, indicating a doorway next to the refrigerator. “There are hooks for your coats and a bench where you can remove your shoes.”

“Oh,” Red said, then made a shooing motion at Riley and Sam. “Go ahead, put your stuff in there.”

D.J. gave her a mildly inquiring look as the kids went into the other room.

“I have a prosthetic leg,” Red said. “I know my shoes are muddy and it’s rude for me to have them on, but it’s difficult for me to walk around without my shoes because the foot was made for the angle of a shoe.”

“What did you do when you were at home?” D.J. asked.

It wasn’t accusatory, just curious.

“Well,” Red said, tugging at her ear. “I would just take my leg off. I had crutches to help me get around in the house.”

“And you don’t have them with you,” D.J. said. “That is a problem. I don’t have any crutches.”

Red didn’t want to take her leg off, not really. She could technically walk with the prosthetic and a bare foot but it was slippery and really difficult to keep her balance.

At home she liked to take the prosthetic off because it meant she could relax—not unlike the way most women felt about taking their bra off at the end of the day. But she didn’t want to relax that much here—what if they had to leave quickly? What if those men found them here and they got taken away and her leg was left behind? She’d really be screwed then. It wasn’t like she could grab any old prosthetic to replace it, assuming she could find such a thing in the first place.

“I do have a cane,” D.J. said. “Would that help you?”

Red realized she’d need to unbend a little. She’d accepted this man’s hospitality and as such she also had to accept his house rules.

She decided to keep her leg on once she removed her shoes. D.J. disappeared into another room and returned with an ordinary wooden cane with a curved top and a rubber bottom. Red stood carefully, putting more weight on the cane than on her left leg. Riley and Sam and D.J. all watched her while she did this.

“I should have sold tickets,” Red said, unable to keep from sounding cross. She hated it when she was treated like a sideshow.

“Apologies,” D.J. said. “I just wanted to ensure that the cane was a good solution for you. I will prepare lunch now.”

His response made Red feel churlish. Riley and Sam followed D.J., but not before Sam gave Red a look that told her she should apologize too.

“What should I apologize for?” Red muttered to herself. “I’m the one who was being stared at.”

She left her backpack in the laundry room with her shoes. It was the first time in months that it had been out of arm’s reach, and she felt the loss of this more than her missing limb. The pack had become a very heavy security blanket.