When she woke up, Jane was gone.
Maura frowned, still blinking the sleep from her eyes. She strained her ears, hearing only the steady drip of the icicles melting from the eaves, the faint chirp of birds. After a moment, however, she heard a crash from somewhere in the house and Jane's barely-audible oath. She smiled drowsily, stretching her arms above her head.
It was nearly spring. She estimated it to be somewhere around the end of March; she'd tried to keep a reliable calendar but the events of the past few months had disrupted her timekeeping. Still, the days were longer and the sun was warmer; the snow had melted down to reveal patches of limp and tangled grass. They would have to leave soon.
Maura wasn't excited by the prospect; she hadn't relished the living situation they'd found themselves in but at least it felt safe, it felt consistent. She could see Jane vibrating with the need to move on, to keep searching, and she supposed there were times when she felt the intense pressure of their confinement, though she wasn't sure she was ready to start running again. Still, the look on Jane's face as she stared west into the sunset caused a pang of guilt.
Maura knew staying where they were had the potential to cause them trouble although she hadn't seen any sign so far. More than that she saw Jane's mounting unhappiness, even Frost's, and she had begun resigning herself to the idea that sooner or later they'd be back on the road, though she hadn't expected it would be so soon.
Before she'd even managed to pull on a pair of trousers Jane came bursting into the room, clutching something in her hand.
"Maura!" she nearly shouted.
"What? What is it? Calm down," Maura said, frowning.
"Look," Jane said, thrusting her hand out. A crumpled piece of paper rested on her palm.
Maura picked it up, still frowning slightly. "What is it?"
"I don't know."
"Then why are you showing it to me?"
"Just look at it, Maura, and tell me what you think."
Maura smoothed out the slip of paper, no bigger than a receipt. "Eighty-one," she read, "seventy-eight, one-eighty three, two twenty-two, township four-thirty-one." She looked up at Jane. "What is this?"
"Frost found it," Jane said. "In the mailbox. It's not your handwriting, right?"
"No," she said. "Why was Frost looking in the mailbox?"
"The flag was up," Jane said impatiently. "What do you think?"
"What do I think of the flag being up?"
"God, Maura!" Jane cried. "Of the note! What do you think of the note?"
"I don't know," she frowned. "It could be . . . I don't know, Jane, it could be anything."
"Well, it couldn't be anything. Frost only noticed it today, noticed that the flag was up, I mean."
"How do you know it hasn't been like that for weeks?"
"Because of the snow, Maura, and because this piece of paper wasn't inside anything watertight and because there may not be any police departments any more but that doesn't make us not detectives."
"Okay," Maura said softly. "Sorry."
"Someone was here," Jane said, pacing back and forth between the bed and the door. "Someone was here, at this house, and they left this for us."
"That's an awfully big assumption," Maura said, though the words felt unnecessarily cautious, even to her.
"It's not, Maura. How long has it been since you've seen someone else's handwriting? Aside from the grocery lists the Coles left on their refrigerator?" Jane asked, jerking her thumb toward the kitchen. "If this had been left before, it would've totally disintegrated. I'm not even a scientist and I was able to put that together."
"I don't want to jump to any conclusions, Jane, especially not when those conclusions could put us all in danger. Suppose someone did leave this; discounting any further inquiry into what the message means, what do you think it means that someone was here and didn't come up to the house? That they knew we were here—just supposing —and left this specifically for us to find? Why not knock on the door? Assuming—and I'm only willing to assume because of the apocalypse, Jane, get that look off your face—assuming it was someone and they were here recently-"
"Today," Jane cut in.
"—recently, then they must have a vehicle, they must have some way to move around, they must have access to technology that would allow them to get here and leave without us knowing."
"They could've walked."
"It's five miles to the nearest house, twenty-five to what's left of the nearest town. And I don't know that you've noticed, since you seem particularly averse to warm clothing, but it's quite cold outside, especially at night, which is when this hypothetical person or persons would have had to have left this, if they'd come on foot."
"Frost didn't see any tire marks."
"Did he see any footprints?" Maura asked. Jane squinted at her as though she desperately wanted the answer to be yes, but shook her head. "Well, the snow has melted from quite a lot of the paved road," Maura continued. "It's possible they wanted to escape detection and so used alternate routes or perhaps drove on a different road and walked a shorter distance to the mailbox."
"So you're saying it's definitely someone who isn't us and it definitely came today."
"That's not at all what I'm saying," Maura sighed.
"But you're saying it could be that."
"It could also be some fluke of atmospherics; perhaps the conditions inside the mailbox were weatherproof enough to enable a scrap of paper to survive both freeze and thaw."
"Okay," Jane sighed, "which sounds more likely? I mean, scientifically."
Maura hesitated. She didn't want to encourage Jane's guesswork, but she had to admit it did seem more likely that the paper had arrived recently, as opposed to weathering the harsh winter.
"Scientifically," she said slowly, "it does seem less likely that a scrap of paper this insubstantial would have been able to endure the changes in temperature and humidity without significant degradation, at least to the ink."
"So it came today," Jane said, grabbing the paper back from her and turning to run out of the room.
"I didn't say that, Jane," Maura cried.
"Close enough," Jane groaned. "Seriously."
"Fine," Maura folded her arms. "Whatever."
"Don't 'whatever' me," Jane said, affronted. "Maura, this is evidence. This is a clue. Do you have any idea how long me and Frost have gone without clues to anything? And come on," she smiled slyly, crossing back to her. "Don't try to tell me you're not interested."
"I . . ." Maura frowned slightly. "I might be interested," she admitted after a pause. "It has been such a long time since we've had any indication of human life outside of myself and Frost," she said, not pausing to acknowledge Jane's affronted grimace. "I'm still not entirely sure I feel comfortable with this, though."
"With what?" Jane raised her eyebrow, trying her best to look innocent.
"With whatever it is you and Detective Frost have been planning since he brought you that piece of paper," she said.
"We haven't been planning anything," Jane argued lamely. "Okay, we've been planning like one thing, but it's pointless until we figure out what it means."
Maura sighed. "Let me see it again," she said, holding out her hand. Jane hastily smoothed the paper and gave it to her. She stared intently at it for a moment, biting her lower lip as she tried to parse the set of numbers.
"Coordinates, maybe? Though they don't look like any latitude or longitude I've seen."
"Of course!" Jane shouted, grabbing the paper back from her. "You're a genius!" She grabbed Maura's arms and kissed her suddenly before darting out the door.
"But what did I-" Maura sighed, then retrieved the trousers she'd been reaching for before Jane had burst into the room.
Once dressed she went into the kitchen where Jane and Frost sat at the corner of the table, huddled over the scrap of paper. Jane had pulled out an unwieldy roadmap. "This stops at Susquehanna County," she was saying, scowling at the map in frustration.
"Yeah, but at least it's a step in the right direction," Frost said encouragingly.
"What's a step in the right direction?" Maura asked, pouring herself a cup of weak coffee.
"It's not coordinates, Maura," Jane said, looking up excitedly. "Not exactly—it's directions. Eighty-one, that's gotta be I-81, south into Pennsylvania. The rest of the numbers, they must be interstates or highways, and 'township 431,' that's probably some unincorporated county road or something."
"I suppose," Maura said slowly. "It would make sense, since the 78 cuts east-west across most of the state."
Frost and Jane stared at her.
"Odd numbers are north-south, even numbers are east-west," she shrugged. "I-78 goes into New York City."
"See?" Jane punched Frost's shoulder. "We don't even need a map, we've got Maura."
"We need a map, Jane," Maura frowned, her brow furrowing. "I have a basic knowledge of some highway systems, but this seems-"
"So we're going!" Jane crowed. "Come on, Frost, let's start saddling up."
"Jane!" Maura cried. "I need to think about this!"
"Think about what? Whether or not to follow this lead? This first solid evidence that there are other people in the world besides us? I mean, Frost's okay—"
"Thank you," he said skeptically.
"—and you know I think you're great, but come on, Maura, this is exciting."
Maura folded her arms again, looked at Jane sternly.
"We'll do all the right stuff," Jane mumbled. "Guns, bullets, food, water, medicine. All that stuff. Come on, Maura!" she said again. "Please?"
The drive south through New York State had been mostly uneventful, save for Jane's insistence that they listen as loudly as possible to the battered Led Zeppelin III cassette she'd found stuffed under the seat of the Cutlass when searching for spare keys.
"People are idiots," she announced as she held a scuffed leather key fob aloft. "If you're gonna keep a spare set with the car, why would you leave them inside?"
"To help out the people who need to borrow your vehicle after the government unleashes a sinister plot to turn everyone into the crawling undead?"
Neither Frost nor Jane had laughed, but both had shaken their heads in tolerant resignation, which Maura supposed was good enough.
They'd traveled down the eerily empty highway for hours, snow still clinging heavily to the landscape, though the runoff was beginning to turn the culverts lining the roads into small rushing rivers.
"We're only stopping for gas," Jane had announced as they climbed into the slightly-dented Oldsmobile.
"If you're driving, you're siphoning," Frost shot back. Jane looked as though she wanted to retort, but clutched at the keys for a moment before shrugging in agreement.
"This Robert Plant, he's a very good guitar player," Maura said after the third repetition of "Since I've Been Loving You." Jane groaned.
"Jimmy Page is the guitarist, Maura, jeez."
"Well, I'm sorry," Maura huffed, "not everybody spent their teen years getting loaded and listening to rock and roll while the quarterback tried to put the moves on them in the back of his father's Dodge."
Jane turned to look at her, eyes narrowed. "When did I tell you about that?"
"You didn't. I guessed."
"Do you hear that, Frost? Dr. Isles guessed!"
Frost rolled his eyes.
"It wasn't a postulation outside the realm of likelihood," Maura said, making eye contact with Frost in the rearview mirror. He snickered.
"Fuck both of you," Jane muttered. "It was one time. And what did you do, listen to Bach with the headmaster's son while sipping Earl Grey in the rose garden?"
"It was the headmaster's daughter, actually," Maura smirked. Frost nodded approvingly as Jane jerked the wheel to keep the car on the road. "I believe we've had quite enough experience with you not paying attention to your driving, Jane," Maura chided her, though she was smiling at Frost in the rearview the whole time.
"Whoa, Jane, there it is," Frost cried suddenly. "Junction 78."
"Watch this," Jane grinned. She jerked hard on the wheel as she braked abruptly, the car whirling around the deserted road, snow spraying in great white blasts.
"Jane!" Maura cried, clinging to the armrest. "You're going to kill us!"
"Benefit of hanging out in the quarterback's dad's Dodge," Jane said triumphantly, "nobody can turn a donut as tight as I can."
"I'm just gonna . . . I'm just gonna leave that right there," Frost said, looking a little green at the gills as Jane steered the car onto the off-ramp.
"East or west?" Jane looked at Maura expectantly.
"I have no idea!" she cried. "I told you we needed a map."
"Looks like it only goes east," Frost said weakly from the backseat.
Jane frowned. "But I know we're supposed to be heading west," she muttered.
"There's a Buddhist saying-" Maura began.
"All right, all right," Jane cut in, swinging the car back east. "We'll just go this way."
"Don't you want to hear what Lama-"
"No," Jane said. "I mean, maybe later?"
Maura sighed and shook her head. The opening riff of "Immigrant Song" blared through the speakers as Jane tore down the snowy freeway.
After a few more hours, as the light was fading, Maura spotted a sign for Highway 183. "This way!" she cried, excited despite herself. Well, she thought, we've come so far already, what's a few more miles?
The sun was beginning to set fully when they reached Highway 222, and it was nearly too dark to see the small, battered sign indicating the turn for Township 431, but Frost, who had been studiously ignoring Jane and Maura's playful sniping, had caught it just before they sailed past.
Jane carefully inched the Oldsmobile down the rough stretch of road; it was a poorly-maintained dirt track, deeply rutted even with a foot of slowly-melting snow covering it. "Okay," she breathed, "now I'm a little nervous."
"Now you're nervous?" Maura said, throwing up her hands. "I'm afraid it's too late to turn around, Jane."
"Nobody's turning around," Jane grumbled. "Frost, you turning around?"
"Only so I don't have to look at you in the mirror any more."
"Hey," Jane said, "I did my hair nice just for you." She fluffed at a straggling curl that had missed the loose knot at the nape of her neck.
"Uh-huh," Frost said.
"I'm gonna gun it," Jane said after a brief silence. "It'll be fun."
"Your definition of 'fun' is very different from most peoples'," Maura said, pre-emptively clutching the armrest again. "I'd advise you to hold on, Detective Frost," she added.
"Way ahead of you, Doc," Frost called from the back, his hand wrapped around the shoulder strap of his seatbelt.
"Here we go!" Jane shouted, flipping the volume as high as it would go for half a second before Maura turned it back down. Jane rolled her eyes and punched the gas, snow spitting out from under the tires.
"Jane!" Maura shouted suddenly, after they'd gone no more than fifty feet. "Stop!"
"We're fine," Jane said. "We're only going what, like 40 right now? American cars," she sighed.
"No, Jane, stop!"
Jane glanced at her, frowning. Maura was pointing straight ahead at a faint shape lumbering out of the near-darkness.
Jane pressed on the brake pedal, the car shuddering to a halt.
The figure drew nearer. "Frost," Jane whispered.
"Yeah," he said, lifting his pistol just above his lap.
"Maura, do you have your—"
"Of course," Maura said, touching the barrel of the rifle tucked between the passenger seat and the door.
"Everybody be cool," Jane said. "I'm gonna get out."
"No!" Maura and Frost cried at once.
Jane didn't reply, but cracked the car door open. The figure kept advancing.
Jane stuck her head out the door, made sure her weapon was visible. "Hello?" she called.
"English." The man's voice was raspy, rough, as though unused to speaking loudly, though they were all able to hear it despite the man being several yards away. "You are not welcome here."
"We're—we're uhh—" Jane looked at Maura and Frost frantically. They both shrugged. "We got directions?" she said.
The man stopped, still too far away to see clearly, though Maura was able to make out a heavy rough-spun cloak and a broad hat.
"Amish," she whispered. "Turn off the car, Jane. Put your gun down."
"This guy doesn't seem real friendly, Maura," Jane whispered back.
"He's unarmed. Put your gun down, he won't talk to you otherwise."
Jane glanced at her once more, unsure.
"Just do it, Jane," Frost said. "I'm freezing and hungry and I gotta piss like a racehorse. Apologies, Dr. Isles."
"No need," Maura said, not taking her eyes off the man in the hat.
He watched them silently for a few moments until Jane lowered her pistol. "Okay," she called. "I put my gun down."
"How did you come to be here?" he asked, his voice tinged with an odd accent.
"Like I said," Jane said, edging out of the vehicle. Maura unbuckled her seatbelt and opened her own door; Frost did the same. "We got directions."
"Who gave them to you?"
"We don't know. Do you know?"
The man regarded them for a long beat. "Come with me," he said finally. "Leave your guns in your vehicle, we do not allow them."
Jane looked at Maura. She nodded. "Let's go, Jane. We're in no danger. At least, we shouldn't be."
"Famous last words," Jane muttered.
The man in the hat had already started moving back the direction he came.
"Come on," Maura said, feeling unusually bold. "Let's go."
A/N: I once lived in the Midwest and all I really remember are distinct seasons and the wooden flute I got in the Amish-themed tourist trap. PS: things are gonna get innnnnnnteresting!