It’s the first sign of martial law that I’ve seen. I listen, hardly daring to breathe, remembering the radio warning about being shot on sight. If I hear the sound of another motor, I’ll have to find a hiding place for the car. Or possibly turn everything off and duck down in the seat, hoping no one notices me.

I roll across the lot toward the pharmacy. No chains here. Maybe I can break a window. I pull into the accessible parking spot beside the abandoned Humvee and turn off the car. I toss Hazel’s floral purse into the backseat beside the Monstrosity, and I quietly slip out.

But I stop short, grabbing Emmaline by the ruff so she can’t move forward.

A patch of snow lingers in the lee of the curb. Inside it, clean and clear, is a large shoe print.

It’s fresh. It has to be. It only snowed last night. Someone is alive out here. Someone besides me. Maybe the driver of the Humvee? Looking for people to shoot on sight? I put my hand on the fender. It’s ice-cold. I was right the first time; no one has driven this thing in days.

I’ve read the books, seen the movies; I know how this goes. In the apocalypse, humans turn against each other out of desperation and distrust. I have to be careful. See them before they see me, size them up, decide if they’re friend or foe.

Emmaline sniffs the print, ears cocked forward. Too bad she’s a herding dog and not a tracker. I could have let her sniff them out.

“Let’s go, Emmy,” I murmur, and I step onto the sidewalk. Every whisper of wind, every birdcall, every swaying tree branch, is cause for alarm. They could be watching me right now.

Soaking garbage is piled up near the door—candy bar wrappers, beer cans, and a raggedy stuffed bear holding a plush heart. Spray-painted on the faded brick wall is a giant oval with a line cutting diagonally through it, in bright, dripping orange. That symbol has been all over Columbus lately, the tag of the notorious street artist who calls himself Null.

I press my face to the glass of the doors. It’s dark inside, but my eyes adjust. The store has been ransacked. Shelves are overturned, clutter blocks the aisles, broken glass shimmers on the floor near the cash registers.

Not everything is a mess. Some shelves still hold items, though I can’t make them out from here. The entire east wall seems intact. Maybe people were just starting to loot when the Humvee pulled up and scared everyone off.

I turn the door handle. It rattles, but it’s locked tight. Worth a try.

The tinted window glass seems impenetrable. Maybe Paul kept a crowbar in the SUV.