Sleeping Dogs Lie

Prologue

Cold and dark and blowing snow. That's all I've ever known. I have only ever been cold, ever since the day I was born.

We are on the move again.

The last neighborhood we camped in was nothing more than a collection of dark specks and sparklers weaving in and out through the swirling snow  in our rearview mirrors as we drove away.

Up in flames.

Of all the places we've squatted over the years, I think we stuck it out there the longest. Or at least longer than any other place we've been since before my Mama was bitten by Blood Fleas when I was fourteen. That's got to be two or three years back now. I think. After a while, time kind of slurries together when you're always cold, always on the move like we are.

If I were the kind of person who added things up or kept track of time, I'd suppose we must have camped out in different neighborhoods around that town for maybe a couple of months altogether. Don't hold my feet to the fire on that account, though, because I am definitely not the kind of girl who keeps track. There are others among our number who are much more faithful about those things.

I have my own talents.

We don't usually have it so good on the road when we're squatting, but that town practically treated us like royalty while we were there. Lots of big houses for the whole group to set up camp together in. And every single one of them had a fireplace.

I think before the Freeze there must have been plenty of places in this world with more warm weather than cold, because it isn't unusual to find houses after houses in our travels with no fireplaces at all.

My dad used to lead our group way back when he was still alive, and he had solutions for houses with no fireplaces. He'd unpack his tools and tear up the ground level floor of a house till he hit either stone or dirt underneath. Then, he'd start a raging fire smack dab in the middle of his big, messy hole. One time, Daddy made a fire that got way out of hand after everyone fell asleep. Burnt a whole house down right in the middle of a little farming town. Luckily, some chump in our group at the time happened to be a particularly light sleeper. Woke us all up in the nick of time and we got the heck out of Dodge.

If it isn't Blood Fleas or Skulkers that'll kill you in this world, something else is coming to get you, that's for sure.

My dad was awesome, though. You might've thought a big obnoxious house fire was something he dealt with every day. Once we were all awake, he hustled us out, four houses down the street from it.

We could still feel the heat from his last incident.

And what did he do then? Ripped up the floor like it was nothing and started another big crazy-person fire in the middle of the next living room. The four-alarm event down the street served as a precautionary tale, though, and from then on he set people to take turns staying awake.

Nothing like an to make a bunch of already jumpy people even more hyper-vigilant.

My dad's been gone for five years now, and we've never had anyone else like him who's been brave enough to attempt those kinds of house fire shenanigans. He was one of a kind.

This last town we stayed in must have had winter during some part of the year way back when there used to be seasons. The fireplaces were beautiful. Some houses had them in almost every room. They don't heat every corner of a house the way my dad's community fires did, but at least you're not sleeping beneath a gray blanket of smoke, either. Blinking it out of your eyes. Sweating it out of your pores. And everyone can sleep sound without having to worry about the ceiling catching fire. That's nothing but an added bonus.