The two figures jogged across the overgrown field. It was late at night, with only a pale, silver crescent moon and a few faded stars lighting up the night sky. There were no other houses for miles--but one. It sat in the middle of piles of dead weeds, with vines growing over the cracked brick and broken shingles. A small woodshed stood nearby, and an old tree, now rotting, had toppled over on top of it.


They climbed over a mess of rusty barbed wire, and moved to the side of the house. The boy pulled a crowbar out of the beat-up backpack slung over his shoulder while his sister pulled weeds off a window sill.


Unknown to them, in the second-floor bedroom of that house was a girl. Her pale face, framed by long, straggly dark hair, leaned forward into the stream of moonlight as she pushed moth-eaten curtains aside to peer out of the window. She saw the two dark figures, one raising an arm with a long object in it, over a window below her. He brought his arm down and the crowbar smashed through the window.


The girl above stiffened, and pulled back from the window. She leapt into action, grabbing clothing scattered around the room, and scooping up books from shelves and small tables. She slid papers off a desk into a cardboard box, and piled the books in on top. She jammed her clothes into a duffel bag, and zipped it up hurriedly while she threw it over her shoulder. She grabbed the box, and ran out the bedroom door. She could hear movement downstairs.


Below, the boy pulled the rest of his body through the window, and landed below the window sill, wincing as a shard of glass cut through his jeans. He pushed the broken glass away from the window with the side of his boot, and helped pull his sister through. Inside, he glanced around the room. Cobwebs hung over everything, and a thick layer of dust covered every available surface--except for the floor. Were those--footprints?


"I thought this was abandoned," his sister said. "But if someone lived here, there would be lights, right?"


"Yeah, I guess, but still let's be quieter," the boy replied. "If we can get these out," he said, surveying the antique furniture, "these would be worth a fortune."


"Just looks like old, beat-up furniture if you asked me." She poked an overstuffed armchair and a tuft of yellowed stuffing fell to the floor from a hole in it.


"Careful, Emmi," he hissed. "It's antique. People want antique. But for now, we need to start with the smaller items. Jewelry, vases, or anything like that. Okay? And be careful. An old vase could be worth a couple hundred."


"Gotcha, Jex" Emmi said over her shoulder as she headed into the next room. Jex headed towards the stairs.


Meanwhile, the girl upstairs was hurrying out the door of her room, clutching the box tightly to her chest while she pulled a duffel bag over her shoulder. She froze as she neared the staircase. She heard the unmistakable creaking of the steps before her. She slowly backed up, reaching one hand behind her to feel the wall for a doorframe. Anywhere to hide. Then she saw a head, then shoulders, then the full figure of someone. She held her breath, not daring to breathe. She glanced down the hall behind her. There was the doorway. But if she moved, she would be in the ray of moonlight coming in through a skylight in the ceiling. He would see her.



His foot hit something on the floor, and he bent down to pick it up. And she darted into the room. He looked up and saw a shadow of movement. A flash of hair.


"Wha--?" He breathed. He strode forward quickly. He looked in the room, and--nothing.

***

Kila hung on to the rim of the windowsill, her fingers already beginning to ache. She glanced down, and saw the next window sill below her. She stretched out as far as she could, and her toes brushed the sill. She dropped carefully onto it, balancing precariously on the ledge. She crouched down, and then stepped off, hitting the ground and rolling with the impact, landing on the duffel bag she had dropped down before. She checked that the cardboard box had landed safely, then gathering up the box and the bag, she quickly began the long march out of this field.

An hour and a half later. Rain soaked through Kila's coat, and she shivered. The cold seeped into her skin, chilling her to the bone. Her plastic poncho was wrapped tightly around the cardboard box, and she hoped fervently that risking pneumonia was worth it if the papers remained intact.


Kila struggled through the knee-high grass, and tripped over a root. A root. Kila pulled herself to her feet, and pushed her soaked, heavy hair out of her face to peer through the sheets of rain. Was that a shadow of a tree? She stumbled towards it, gasping with relief at the sight of the huge evergreen.


She sat down, leaning against the rough bark. She pulled a small pot out of her duffel bag, and set it just outside the ring of shelter provided by the tree's branches. She curled up at the base of the tree, wrapping her jacket tightly around her. She fell asleep to the sound of her teeth chattering and raindrops plinking steadily into the pot.