red hill - jamie mcguire

An army Humvee turned the corner, and I pulled Tobin to the dark side of the closest house. A
small pop came from Tobin’s ankle. He grimaced and let out a small grunt.
Tobin tried to keep his labored breathing quiet. “They’re armed, too. I don’t get it. Why would . . .
why would they be patrolling the streets if they’re just trying to keep—what do you call ’em”
“Shufflers.”
“Yeah, shufflers. Why patrol inside the city limits if they’re just trying to keep shufflers out
Maybe they’re looking for survivors Maybe they’re just gathering people to take to a shelter”
“I don’t know that we should walk out and ask them for help,” I said, pulling him along once the
Humvee passed.
“A black man can get shot sneaking around in the dark, that’s what I know.”
I offered a half smile. “C’mon. We’re almost there.”
Tobin’s limp became more pronounced. A block away from Tavia’s, he was in agony. He moaned
and groaned through the pain; every step was torture.
“If you don’t quit making that noise, someone is going to think you’re a shuffler and shoot us from
their window.”
“I’m sorry,” Tobin said, genuinely regretful.
“I’m kidding. You want to rest”
He shook his head. “No. You need to get to your girls.” He looked at his sister’s house, just three
houses away. “I wish I could return the favor. I wish I could help you find them.” His large hand that
was cupped over my shoulder squeezed gently into my skin, and I hugged him back.
We stopped at Tavia’s front steps. Her house had a screened porch and a rickety screen door.
Tobin’s voice was barely over a whisper. “Tavia! It’s Tobin! You in there” He paused, waiting for
a response. “Tavia!”
I pointed to my grandparents’. “I’ll be right next door. Holler if you need me.”
Tobin laughed. “You’ve done enough. Thank you, Scarlet.”
I nodded to him, and then crossed the yard to my grandparents’ drive. The grass was just beginning
to turn green, and it was half soft, half crunchy under my shoes. My footsteps sounded loud amid the
quiet night. Muffled noises Tobin was making next door were barely audible, but I felt like my every
breath was picked up by a megaphone.
I pulled on the screen door, and it whined as it opened. I turned the knob, half expecting it to be
locked, but it wasn’t. I walked in, trying to see through the darkness. “Mema” My voice was as soft
and nonthreatening as I could manage. My grandparents were getting older. If they weren’t obsessed
with the news, they could have been completely oblivious to the outbreak. “Mema, it’s me, Scarlet.” I
crossed the living room to the hall, and turned toward their bedroom. Pictures of our family lined the
walls, and I stopped in front of one 8 x 10, noticing it was a picture of Andrew and me with the girls
in happier days. No, that was a lie. We were never happy.
When I called my mother to tell her I was leaving Andrew, she scolded me. “You don’t know how
good you have it, Scarlet,” she would say. “He’s not an alcoholic like your father. He’s not on that
dope. He doesn’t beat you.”
“He doesn’t love me,” I told her. “He’s never home. He’s always working. And when he is home,