Two blue eyes scanned the length of the street, up and down the rows of market stalls that were just preparing to close for the evening. The sweltering Jakkard afternoon was just starting to cool, at least where the buildings offered their precious shade. Out in the Waste, it would remain a furnace until the sky darkened completely, and the ground would continue to burn even longer than that. The owner of those steel-blue eyes shuddered, just slightly. She hoped it would be a while before she had to venture back out there.

Again and again, she cast her gaze along the street. She tried, as hard as she had ever tried at anything, to take in every detail. But it was difficult. Impossible, really. There was simply too much going on, too much to see. And besides, she hadn’t slept in three nights. Or was it four? No, three, she thought. I’m pretty sure I nodded off that night for an hour or two. At least twenty minutes. Right? She could feel the exhaustion coursing through her like a venom. But she would not succumb to it. She couldn’t. They were counting on her.

She shook her head, trying to clear it and refocus. The street was what mattered. Four lawmen, three at the near end and one at the far. Seventeen merchant stalls, six of them selling food. Seven, if you count the stall selling sweets, but that wouldn’t help, as much as they would appreciate it. Besides, the sweets stall was second from the end, and the stalls at the end always had better security. Thieves usually stole from them first, thinking to make a quick get-away. And there were always thieves. She just had to be smarter than them.

As she was looking down the street, just over half-way to the end, she caught sight – not sight, exactly, just the briefest glance – of red. For just a second, she froze. It was from beneath the shawl of an old woman who just happened to be glancing her way. Or was it truly chance? This was the fifth time she had caught a flash of red in the eyes of someone in a crowd, the fifth time that someone, always hidden beneath shawls or veils or something, who was, inexplicably, staring directly at her. It couldn’t be a coincidence. She was tired, sure. Truthfully, she was ready to collapse and never move again for as long as she lived. It couldn’t just be her imagination, could it?

But just as quickly as she had seen the flash of red, it, and the old woman, were gone. She shook her head again. There was no time for this. Whether she was right or not, whether she was being followed or was growing paranoid, it didn’t matter. She needed to make something of today, or it would be trouble, and the kind she might not be able to fix. She looked one more time down the street, and this time, she did not see red. She did see two kids at the far end, who were standing around awkwardly, clearly waiting for something. She struggled to not shake her head. Always trouble.

She sighed, knelt down, and reached for the heavy bag she had set down beside her. She patted the bag three times, knowing that it was her best friend right now. Then, summoning strength she was not sure she still had, she hoisted the bag up, throwing the strap up over her opposite shoulder. She took a deep breath, and resisted the urge to close her eyes, fearing that she would not be able to open them again. Then, spending no more time thinking about it, she trotted forward into the busy street and straight toward the three lawmen nearby.

“Excuse me, sirs?”

The lawmen all turned toward her. The Rattler was virtually unreadable to her, but the human and the centaur’s expression both softened slightly when they saw her. It was the centaur who spoke, his voice surprisingly caring.

“Yes, little lady?”

“I know it’s almost closing time, but would it be alright if I tried to peddle here?”

The human cocked an eyebrow. “You want to sell? Little young, ain’t ya?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. But we’re struggling a bit, and I thought this might help a little. But I don’t want to get into any trouble, so if I’m not allowed…”

“What are you selling?” The centaur asked.

She reached into her bag and pulled out an apple, holding it up. The centaur reached out and grabbed it, inspecting it closely. “You steal this?”

“No, sir,” she said. “We grow them. Usually we don’t do much with them, but after papa lost his job out at the mine…”

“We don’t have time for this,” the rattler interrupted. “I don’t care what you do, kid, just don’t waste our time.”

The rattler and the human turned away while the centaur looked her up and down. Finally, he shrugged, and took a big bite out of the apple before turning away himself. He took three or four steps, then stopped and looked back. With a sigh, he tossed her a small coin and then hurried to catch up to the others as they moved toward the end of the street.

She counted to thirty in her head before she moved to follow them, working her way toward the center. Closing time on a market street was one of the busiest times of day, when the heat was less oppressive and people were off from their jobs before heading home or, more commonly, to the saloons. She moved slowly through the crowd of people, careful to not allow any of them to bump into or in any way jostle her bag. Its contents were far too precious to risk.

Finally, at almost the exact middle of the street, she managed to wedge herself in between two stalls, one selling bread and cheeses, and the other selling cheap meats, mostly dried and salted. She wasn’t about to risk setting her bag down, even though the strap was beginning to dig into her shoulder, so instead she simply reached in, pulled out a second apple, and held it up as though offering it to the passers-by.

Before she could say anything, though, the far end of the street erupted in chaos. The two kids who had been standing around waiting were fighting now, and they had somehow managed to knock down the awning of the furthest merchant stall. The lawman closest to them had tried to restrain them, but they had evaded him, and now the other three were pushing through the crowd to help out. This sent a virtual shockwave of confusion through the street, and everyone was trying to figure out what was going on.

Everyone, including the merchants in the two stalls next to her.

The moment she was sure they and anyone else who might have been watching her were distracted, she flung open her bag and a small rattler child jumped out. The child, a young girl named Maroa, quickly started to grab as much bread and cheese from the stall next to them as she could and stuffed it into the bag. As she worked, the young woman holding the bag grabbed as much of the dried meat as she could and did the same. When the bag was filled, she gave a quick signal, and Maroa quickly slithered away into a nearby alley, where friends were waiting.

Maroa hadn’t been gone a minute before the cries of “Thief! Thief!” sounded from the meat stall, and a moment later, from the bread and cheese vendor. The lawmen, still trying to calm the situation at the far end, gave up on capturing the two boys and quickly pushed their way toward the new trouble. It took nearly an hour to sort everything out, and accusations were thrown around everywhere, especially at her, but when she produced five more apples, one at a time, from her bag and swore that her merchandise was still intact, she was eventually allowed to leave. The vendors had tried to insist that the lawmen search her bag, but the centaur lawman refused, assuring them that her bag had been that full when she arrived. The market had already closed when she was encouraged to leave, which she did gladly.

She had a contented, if exhausted, smile on her face as she left the market street. As she cast one last look behind her, though, from out a shuttered window, Scarlet was certain that she saw red.

Scarlet and the other runaways were holed up in what had once been a tiny gambling hall that had been abandoned when its owners had upgraded to a larger, classier building. The place was miserable. It was freezing at night and broiling throughout the day. Many of the floorboards had broken, leaving large holes in the floor that led to a basement that seemed to have no other means of either access or escape. The front and back doors had been boarded up, and thoroughly, leaving only one side door leading out to an alleyway that was poorly lit even during the day.

But for the kids, it was better than home.

The entire way back to the gambling hall, Scarlet thought she was being followed. She refused to believe that she had been made as the market thief. If that were the case, the lawmen would have taken her there. And the vendors would not have followed, even if they were convinced she had been involved. Not to this part of town. And every time she turned or looked around, she never saw anyone following her. Maybe she was just tired, she thought. Maybe, for once, everything was going to be alright.

But she knew better.

When the young centaur finally made it to the alley leading into the gambling hall, she took one last look around, saw nothing, and ducked inside. Just beyond what could only figuratively be called a door, Derec and Prayson were waiting. They would have leapt on any stranger who tried to enter, and the fight they brought would not have been fake like their tussle in the market. They were still young, and any seasoned fighter would have taken them both, but they were tough for their ages.

Beyond them were Vorena, Honeysuckle, and the younger kids, including Maroa. Scarlet looked over each one in the dim light of the single oil lamp they had managed to steal. Their features were sunken and drawn, and they looked thin and weak, but their eyes lit up as Scarlet entered. They, of course, had had to get away from the market street before anyone could question them. Scarlet took the risk for them, because somebody had to. If she had been caught, at least the others could get away.

But now, they had food, at least for a few more nights. Maybe a few weeks, if they were smart about things. But now they had another problem, and Scarlet found herself shaking as she tried to decide how to tell them. All of the kids gathered around Scarlet as she reached into her bag and started to distribute the food. Once everyone had theirs, she pulled the two oldest kids, Vorena and Derec, aside.

“Bad news,” she said, trying to hide the weariness in her voice and in her eyes. “We’re going to need to skip town.”

“Again?” Derec said. “I thought we would be okay here for a while.”

“I did, too,” Scarlet said. “But I think I was followed. I don’t know who, but…it’s not good.”

“You need to get some sleep,” Vorena said. “You can’t keep doing this.”

Scarlet shook her head. “There’s no time. Look, assuming that rancher just outside of town hasn’t realized his herd’s bigger than it should be, we should be able to grab those acridians we stole and be miles from here before anyone following us knows we’re gone.”

“You want to leave tonight?” Vorena asked. The human girl’s eyes sunk deeper. “I don’t know if we can make it. The kids are exhausted. You’re exhausted. If we could just sleep for one more night…”

“If we can get past the Gorge, we can make camp,” Scarlet said. “Then we can get some sleep before dawn. If I’m reading the map right, it’s less than three days to Toppletown.”

Derec shook his head, unconvinced. “I heard Toppletown’s basically a ghost town, ain’t it?”

“Exactly,” Scarlet said. “A ghost town means abandoned houses and buildings, but I think there are enough people there that we can make it work, at least for a while.”

The other two were silent for a long time, and eventually Scarlet prodded them on. “Well? What are you thinking?”

The two glanced at each other, but eventually Vorena nodded. “I trust you. If you say we need to get out of town, then we need to get out of town.”

Scarlet felt like crying, but held it in. “Derec?”

He hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Scarlet nodded. She could feel the ache in her knees and hooves. Another three days of running was not something she was looking forward to. It was not, in fact, something she was sure she could handle. But there was no choice. They had to keep moving. The others would be tired, too, but they would at least be able to ride. Scarlet would have to run. She also knew, even though she would not say it, that she would not sleep that night. If they made camp after passing the Gorge, someone would need to keep watch, and Scarlet would volunteer. She had to. The others were relying on her. And even though none of them would be riding on her back, she felt their weight on it nonetheless.

They let the others finish eating before they broke the news that they were leaving. The kids took it surprisingly well, and Scarlet was proud of them for it. They had all been through so much since they had first run away from the various things that drove them onward. None of them ever talked about those things, and none of them ever asked. They had each other, and they had Scarlet, and that was all they needed. The older kids helped the younger ones get ready, and within the hour, they were ready to go. They all filed out into the alley and Scarlet forced the side door closed with all of her strength, hoping to close off any investigation from anyone following her.

Scarlet knelt down to finish tying the shoe of a young human kid named Treys when a sound at the opening of the alley made her blood freeze.

“We need to talk.”

Suddenly, Scarlet couldn’t breathe. Her back was to the woman who had spoken, and mercifully, Scarlet’s body was between the speaker and the other kids, but there was no escape. Even if she could open the door back into the gambling hall, they would only be trapped in there instead of in the alley. The other kids were looking up at Scarlet, their eyes wide with shock and fear. Scarlet felt it, too, as she slowly stood up and turned around to face whoever had tracked her down.

There, at the far end of the alley, stood a lone woman dressed in black, hat, serape, glasses, and all. At her hips hung two six-shooters, but her arms were folded casually in front of her. When Scarlet turned to face her, the woman moved her right hand up to pull her glasses away from her face, and in that instant, she saw red.

Scarlet’s breath caught in her throat again, and tears formed in the corner of her eyes. Everyone in the Waste knew what those red eyes meant. Jakkard’s most notorious bandit, probably the most dangerous criminal in the world, was standing less than an alley-length away from Scarlet and the kids she had sworn to protect. Her crimes and deeds were legends of the Waste, and it was widely known that whatever Red Jackie wanted, she took, and the people who tried to stop her wound up dead.

In a darkened alley on a chilly Jakkard night, Scarlet stared down death, and death stared back with blood-red eyes.

Without looking away from the famous red-eyed bandit, Scarlet ushered the other kids behind her. Then she brought her arms forward, balled her fists, and held them up defiantly. When she spoke, she tried to put as much force and bravery into her words as possible, but they sounded trembling in her ears.

“You will not hurt these kids.”

The red-eyed woman smiled then, a strangely genuine smile that flashed gold. She took one step forward and tipped her hat up, then nodded.

“You’re right. I won’t.”

Scarlet stood there for several long moments, her fists up and ready to fight, until all of her weariness crashed in on her. She stared into the other woman’s eyes, searching for truth, for sincerity, for hope. Maybe it was optimism. Maybe it was exhaustion. She didn’t know, but she found herself believing the bandit woman. She looked into her eyes and she saw truth. She saw sincerity. She saw hope.

She saw Red.