I wake up at 4 in the morning expecting peace and quiet-It's too early for anyone else to be awake, and I'm looking forwards to waking up slowly for once.
Instead I find static and radio chatter, a low hum of activity that can only mean one thing.
A military raid.
I shove myself out of bed, momentarily grateful for the bad habit that is sleeping in my clothing, and rap on the door.
"Raid?"
The doors are old and the walls thin, and the reply comes clear as day.
"We got a tip off that they're doing a sweep of the area first thing tomorrow."
I gather what I have into a bag prepared for just this purpose, and I'm out of the room in minutes.
"Go pack up." I tell the guard at my door. "There's nothing in there worth protecting anymore."
He nods and bustles away, all urgency and impatience.
By Four fifteen, I'm jogging past the barracks to the mess hall, and when I pass the girl's room I stop dead.
She's not coming back, Marlene. You've got people to worry about. People who are here right now.
I look around at the bustle of people moving past, some panicked, packing to run and hide away for a day. It would be selfish to bring an extra bag. It would be selfish to take more space then I warrant.
Most of Riley's things are already packed neatly into a duffle bag- she was supposed to leave a few days ago. I gather the rest of her belongings and stuff them in, grabbing the bag and running to keep up with the crowd.
Just in case she comes back. After all, it's expensive and difficult to replace personal items in this day and age. If she comes back, it'll be in our best interest not to have to find her new things.
In the mess hall, there's a rapidly growing pile of duffle bags, soon to be shuttled off to safe houses and hidey holes where the military- dense and always eager not to find anything- won't look.
The girl's bag is covered in cartoonish drawings, sharpie scribbles of faces and animals. The name Ellie is signed near the zipper, next to a lopsided smiley face.
I get a few odd looks when I pile up her bag along with my own, but when I meet the onlookers' eyes they shrink away like ice in summer sun.
By seven in the morning, everything's been packed away into safe hiding holes but the Fireflies themselves, who shuffle and talk amongst themselves.
Everyone's got a place to hide- or else a friend with a place to hide- and they're all just waiting for their dismissal.
At seven thirty, I stop waiting for stragglers and give the orders to ship out. The Fireflies scatter from the mess hall like pool balls, rushing towards their safe houses in every direction.
At eight, I'm in my own hideout, this old to floor hotel room with the stairs blown out. There are two big guys with more gun then brain with me, personal bodyguards in case the military decides to actually do their job properly for once.
I'm not betting on needing them.
The room's dark and musty, windows boarded up, the rope ladder that is my only way up and down coiled safely in the corner of the room.
I settle in to wait, taking a seat on a rotting couch that probably wasn't even clean before the outbreak. I'm calm, but the two big guys clearly haven't done this before- they're restless, shuffling and pacing and fussing impatiently. Their fidgeting is driving me crazy, catching in the corner of my eye like a hangnail.
I don't want to tell them to stop-the fidgeting's clearly a nervous tick, and I don't have time for Exercises in futility- so I shut myself in the bathroom, not bothering with the rusted lock.
Wherever she is, I hope the girl's found a safe place to hide. Getting caught with a firefly pendant in this city's worse then a death sentence.
The kid was smart, though. She'd figure it out.