Day One

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Elle slipped through the door of the apartment building. It had been raining for hours. Her backpack had rubbed red, raw marks on her shoulders. She could hear the echoes of the Klan’s cries against the buildings, carrying all the way down Santa Monica Boulevard.

She looked at the gun stuffed into her belt.

She couldn’t believe she’d found it. Hidden in someone’s abandoned apartment, in nearly perfect condition. It was a 1911, a Smith and Wesson. Heavy for a girl her size, but better than nothing. It was something Uncle would have liked to shoot. Something classic. Something that packed a punch.

She moved toward the dark staircase in the building. Her backpack clanked. She had filled it with boxes of ammunition. She’d found no food today, but she’d found plenty of ammo.

Elle climbed the staircase, feeling her way down the hall. The building was silent. The quiet was terrifying, stifling. Something in the building creaked. She spun around, taking the gun out of her belt. It was so big—so heavy. But it gave her a sense of security to grip it.

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