The cold asphalt bit through the thin soles of Anabelle's canvas shoes.
She walked in the pitch black, guided only by the faint sliver of moonlight cutting through the clouds. She didn't look back.
A heavy thud echoed behind her, followed by a string of breathless curses.
The cameraman assigned to follow her was already sweating through his shirt. He was panting heavily, his heavy boots scraping against the pavement, but he kept his heavy rig perfectly stabilized, refusing to let the lens drift away from her for even a second.
Anabelle kept her pace. One hundred and ten beats per minute. It was the exact marching cadence she had learned during her private equestrian and orienteering training. It conserved the maximum amount of energy while covering the most ground.
In the production control room, the overnight live stream was quiet. Only the hardcore insomniacs were watching.
Comments scrolled lazily across the screen. They called her crazy. They said she was walking off the cold.
The sky began to bleed a pale, bruised purple. Thick morning mist rolled off the hills, soaking Anabelle's jeans up to her knees. Her shoes squished with every step, the freezing water numbing her toes.
She stopped abruptly in front of a rusted green mile marker.
She closed her eyes. The cold wind whipped her hair across her face. In the darkness of her mind, a high-resolution map of the fifty-mile commercial radius snapped into focus. She had memorized it three weeks ago.
She opened her eyes, her breathing steady. She took a sharp right turn at the upcoming fork in the road.
Back at the camp, thick black smoke billowed from the fire pit.
Kody shot up from his cot, coughing violently. The wind had shifted, blowing the toxic smoke directly into his face. His eyes watered, stinging and red.
He looked around and noticed the empty cot by the boulder.
"She quit!" Kody laughed, pointing directly at the nearest camera. He smoothed his hair back, his chest puffing out. "I knew the trailer trash wouldn't last one night. She probably cried all the way home."
The live viewer count spiked. People waking up across the country logged in, fueled by Kody's arrogant declaration. They wanted to see the failure.
The broadcast cut away from Kody's smug face.
The screen filled with Anabelle. She was standing at the edge of a desolate strip mall.
The cameraman groaned, leaning his entire body weight against a concrete light pole. The camera lens shook wildly.
Anabelle didn't look tired. She walked straight past the glowing neon signs and headed for a large, overflowing metal trash can near the alleyway.
Her fingers ached from the cold. She scanned the ground near the trash can and spotted a crumpled, discarded fast-food napkin that had blown against the curb. She bent down, picked it up, and flattened it against her thigh. She tore it carefully into two thin sheets, creating a makeshift barrier against the grime.
She plunged her hands into the garbage.
The live chat exploded. Thousands of messages flooded the screen, calling her disgusting, starving, and desperate.
Anabelle ignored the smell of rotting food. Her fingers moved quickly, pushing aside empty coffee cups and greasy wrappers.
She found it.
She pulled out a thick, crumpled copy of yesterday's local community newspaper.
She shook off a few drops of stale coffee. Her eyes scanned the pages with the precision of a hawk. She ripped out the glossy, brightly colored manufacturer coupon inserts hidden in the middle.
She folded the glossy pages into a tight square and shoved them deep into her front pocket. She tossed the rest of the newspaper back into the trash.
She turned and looked at the massive red CVS Pharmacy sign glowing at the end of the strip mall.
The glass doors were locked. Two homeless men were asleep on a nearby bench, wrapped in dirty blankets.
Anabelle walked right up to the glass doors. She sat down cross-legged on the cold concrete, pressing her back against the windbreak of the building.
The freezing morning air bit into her bones. She wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them tight to her chest. Her teeth chattered, but her eyes were completely dead. Cold. Calculating.
At exactly 7:00 AM, the fluorescent lights inside the store flickered to life.
A woman in a blue polo shirt walked toward the front doors, a ring of keys jingling in her hand.
Anabelle stood up. She brushed the dirt off her jeans. In a fraction of a second, the cold calculation vanished from her eyes.
The employee unlocked the door and pushed it open, jumping back slightly when she saw Anabelle standing right there.
Anabelle smiled. It was a bright, flawless, American-sweetheart smile.
"Good morning!" Anabelle said, her voice dripping with fake cheer.
Her fingers tightened around the folded coupons in her pocket. She stepped through the sliding doors, the warm air of the store hitting her freezing skin.
