There are no other houses close to this one. I’ve been watching since the sun was still white hot in the sky, and I don’t think there is a dog, either.

I ease up from my crouch, my calves screaming in protest, but keep hunched at the waist, trying to be smaller than the bush. The way up the wash is smooth sand, a pale pathway in the light of the stars. There are no sounds of cars on the road.

I know what they will realize when they return, the monsters who look like a nice couple in their early fifties. They will know exactly what I am, and the search will begin at once. I need to be far away. I really hope they are going out for a night on the town. I think it’s Friday. They keep our habits so perfectly, it’s hard to see any difference. Which is how they won in the first place.

The fence around the yard is only waist high. I get over easily, noiselessly. The yard is gravel, though, and I have to walk carefully to keep my weight from shifting it. I make it to the patio slab.

The blinds are open. The starlight is enough to see that the rooms are empty of movement. This couple goes for a spartan look, and I’m grateful. It makes it harder for someone to hide. Of course, that leaves no place for me to hide, either, but if it comes to hiding for me, it’s too late anyway.

I ease the screen door open first, and then the glass door. Both glide silently. I place my feet carefully on the tile, but this is just out of habit. No one is waiting for me here.

The cool air feels like heaven.

The kitchen is to my left. I can see the gleam of granite counters.

I pull the canvas bag from my shoulder and start with the refrigerator. There is a moment of anxiety as the light comes on when the door opens, but I find the button and hold it down with my toe. My eyes are blind. I don’t have time to let them adjust. I go by feel.

Milk, cheese slices, leftovers in a plastic bowl. I hope it’s the chicken-and-rice thing I watched him cooking for dinner. We’ll eat this tonight.

Juice, a bag of apples. Baby carrots. These will stay good till morning.

I hurry to the pantry. I need things that will keep longer.

I can see better as I gather as much as I can carry. Mmm, chocolate chip cookies. I’m dying to open the bag right now, but I grit my teeth and ignore the twist of my empty stomach.

The bag gets heavy too quickly. This will last us only a week, even if we’re careful with it. And I don’t feel like being careful; I feel like gorging. I shove granola bars into my pockets.

One more thing. I hurry to the sink and refill my canteen. Then I put my head under the flow and gulp straight from the stream. The water makes odd noises when it hits my hollow stomach.