Prologue
There have always been those who have and those who have not.
Chapter 1
A large house sits in darkness at the end of a cul-de-sac. No light shines from the windows, and a thin layer of grey ash covers the roof. A cold breeze blows past the leafless trunks of trees before moving along to other neighborhoods.
I hunt in total silence.
I step slowly, gingerly, from toe to heel. I stop, listen, and then move again. My shoulder brushes against the wall, and I pause once more to make sure the sound doesn’t echo. Reaching forward, I glide my hand over the handle of a sliding glass door, locating the lock. I insert a thin piece of metal inside the keyhole, manipulating the pins to mimic the lock’s key. I hear a click, quietly slide the door open, and step inside.
I ignore a line of shelves featuring books and a few valuables—well, items that would have once held value anyway—and head up a short staircase to the next level of the house. Though I’m almost positive the house is devoid of people or animals, I still keep close to the wall, watching everything carefully and preparing for the unexpected.
On a table next to a wingback chair sits a pair of reading glasses. I pick them up and shove them into the large pack at my side. Inside a desk drawer, I find a cache of batteries. Though their worth is immeasurable, I close the drawer without disturbing them.
People count their batteries.
In the next drawer I find a ball of twine, which I take before moving on to the next one. There are candles in this one, and I slip one of them, along with a pack of matches, into my bag.
A slight movement catches my attention, and I freeze in place. Turning my head slowly, I let out a slow, controlled breath. It’s only my reflection in a large, freestanding mirror.
I pause and take a step closer, staring at the golden-brown eyes in the mirror as they stare back at me. It’s been some time since I’ve seen myself. My black hair is longer than usual, falling over my face with a slight wave. My beard is much fuller than the last time I looked, and my face is a touch more haggard. The years of living outside have taken their toll, I suppose, and I appear older than my twenty-seven years. I glance down at my worn clothing—dark jeans and a T-shirt, a long, zippered jacket with a few slight tears in it, and a black leather belt with pouches for my various thieving tools. On either side of my belt in short, sleek scabbards are my prized possessions—a pair of bone-handled knives with carved silver blades.
I look away, urging myself back to the task at hand.
Around a corner, I find the kitchen and a basket of fresh fruit. I reach out and run my finger along an apple, surprised to find the fruit is real and not some plastic facsimile. I take the apple and place it in my bag, then rearrange the rest of the fruit so the bowl still appears full.
Inside a cabinet, I find several bottles and canisters. I take only those items that have duplicates so the missing ones won’t be noticed. I add them to my pack and then pull out three water bottles, quickly filling them from the sink and then placing them carefully inside my bag.
On the counter I find a wooden block of cooking knives. I slowly remove a large carving knife and examine the sharp blade. Removing it would be obvious, but the carving knife is a major find, so I slide it into a loop on my belt. I open drawers carefully until I find another, dull knife. It’s smaller than the carving blade but fits into the empty slot in the wood block. The ruse isn’t perfect, but it will cause the owner to question where the knife might have been misplaced instead of assuming it’s been stolen.
I acquire a few other items to add to my pack before making my way back to the sliding glass door at the rear of the house. I close the door quietly and then head through the back yards of several other houses, watching closely to make sure there are no residents around to catch sight of me. It takes only a few minutes to reach the wall surrounding the quiet, upscale neighborhood.
A tall, slender tree stands firmly rooted to the dry earth right next to the wall. I scurry halfway up before I have to slow down and plan my movements more carefully. I grasp the branches at the base, near the trunk, and pull myself higher up. When I am near the top, I balance on a limb barely able to take my weight, shifting my pack to the center of my back for stability. With a deep breath, I leap forward and grab for the top of the wall, my fingertips barely able to hang on long enough for me to get a grip and pull myself over. Vines growing up the dark side of the wall make my descent easy enough.
I drop the last few feet, and a cloud of ash billows around the spot where I land, adding to the layer of grey already covering the legs of my dark jeans. I pull my thin scarf over my mouth and nose and wait a moment for the ash to settle before taking a long, deep breath. My take has been good tonight, and I smile, pleased with myself. I head past the tall, leafless trunks of Deadwood Forest on the slanting trail away from the plateau community of Hilltop and toward the valley town of Platterston.
Halfway down the trail, my legs start to vibrate.