Ava sat on her bed, her back up against the wall, arms wrapped around her knees. She stared out of the window to her left. Snow. That's all she ever saw out that window, the ground simply a sheet of snow, the trees wrapped in a permanent blanket of white. But she knew there had to be more to the world. More than she was allowed to see.

      Though it had been summer only a month ago, the impact of the meteor had created an immediate white-winter. As the rest of the world reported a sudden rapid increase in acts of violence, their frozen town had become a haven, a fast flowing river the clear border separating the next town from theirs. An area unaffected by the virus that had caused the crime, the virus that had taken the minds of the people and twisted them. The possibility of a cure was minimal, no one lived long enough to carry out the necessary tests and trials. The virus had a firm grip on the human race, which is probably why it came to be known as The Fist. 

      But now, Ava often found herself wondering if it would have been better to have been killed by The Fist rather than just exist, so hidden away. She had told her mother exactly that, just last week, and her mother had painted a red hand print over her cheek. She no longer wore the mark, but kept her thoughts to herself. She definitely wouldn't be telling anyone that she'd like to go beyond the river. Because, you see, that was just it. Since the meteor, she had been kept inside Smalltown, which got its name for obvious reasons: It was tiny. There was no forest, no park and no one had a big garden, which made living there very hard for an adventurous ten-year-old like Ava Hargrove. 

      This time, following the daily thoughts of what was on the other side of the river, Ava found herself leaving her bedroom and creeping down the stairs. Carefully avoiding the floorboards she knew creaked, she entered the kitchen. "Hey, Honey, didn't hear you then," came her Dad's voice. He sat tall in his chair, one leg crossing in front of him, his ankle resting on his knee in that weird way dads like.

      "Hi, Dad," Ava spoke calmly. She couldn't let him know-

      "You better not have been trying to sneak out."

      "Of course not," she lied, face twisted to make herself look hurt, hurt that he should think she'd do such a thing. It worked. 

      "Sorry, Hun. So, how are you doing?" He asked, putting last month's newspaper down on the table in front of him. She wondered if he ever got bored reading the same news stories every afternoon. He reached forward to take a sip from his glass of water, his glasses slipping down his nose ever so slightly. When she didn't answer immediately, he put down the glass, the clack of the glass hitting the polished wood rattled around the space between them. He lifted his head and then lifted his eyebrow.

      Concentrating hard on not rolling her eyes, she said honestly, "Not good. Staying in here all day."

      "Go outside then, just don't go further than the front gate."

      "Okay, can I take some food with me, please?" Ava did her best to widen her eyes, something her dad had always called cute, at least, when he thought she wasn't listening, which she hoped made it even more true. 

      "Of course," he smiled, a little softer than he usually did these days. 

      She mentally rewarded herself because the eyes had most likely made it for her. She silently shouted at herself for not using it sooner. She grabbed a couple of red apples, the green ones tasted nasty, a few chocolate biscuits and a bottle of water, putting them all in her school bag.

      "Just be back for lunch."

      "I will, Dad." It wasn't so much a lie as an uncertainty. 

      With her bag slung across her shoulder, Ava walked out through the front door. She'd originally planned to take the window but was hugely grateful for the easier route. Soft snow crunched beneath her small black shoes, echoing loudly in her head. It wasn't such a loud sound in reality, but any noise could hinder her escape.

      Once she'd made it across the garden, she turned to look behind her, heart suddenly pounding louder than her footsteps, ears ringing, piercing the suspicious silence of her surroundings. There was no one watching her that she could see, no one there at all, but she had left little footprints in the inch-deep snow, which was, quite literally, a trail right to her. Turning back towards the river that formed the border between her town and the next, between safety and freedom, her feet continued onward. Left, right, left, right, left. She chose to ignore the pathway of prints, she knew they'd quickly learn where she'd gone anyway, but no one would follow her. And no one was watching her at that moment, which was all that mattered. 

      There was no one there to stop her. 

      The river didn't scare her, even as she stared down at the rapid current aching to steal her away. A little further downstream there was a collection of stepping stones, thrown out of place but still a direct route across that no one could quite be bothered to finish destroying. Most likely, they were all too scared to get close to it. Though she didn't have the time to walk to it, not now when anyone could walk outside and see her at any moment. So she jumped. 

      She didn't hesitate: she saw no point. She simply jumped across the river, collapsing to her hands and knees on the other side before scrambling in the fluffy snow to her feet and sprinting towards the woods, as far away from Smalltown as she could before it became too much to stop from turning to look back. It was tiny now, a small grey dot in a sea of white. 

      Before she knew she was crying, her pale hand rose to catch her few tears on the tip of her finger. Leaving her parents was never part of her plan, but she knew it'd turn out that way, knew they'd never come. Her hand left her face and her palm turned towards Smalltown, her hand forming a small wave of good-bye. She'd always hated that town, yet somehow, she knew that some part of her was always going to belong there.

     Forcing her out of her stupor, the wind suddenly picked up, blowing her backwards, pulling her away as if it agreed with her decision to leave. Her hair shot behind and over her shoulders, racing off without her. 

      As if the universe had decided for her, she turned her back on Smalltown once more, never again looking back as she walked, feet sinking slightly, each step freezing her feet further as flecks of snow snuck in through the pores of her trainers. Arms crossed, her hands rubbed her upper arms tirelessly, sorry that she'd forgotten to pick up her coat. The cold wind ate away at her ears, tore her hair from side to side and cut across her bare skin. 

      But she couldn't go back for her coat, and she couldn't stop the wind. Out here, she suddenly realised, she had no control. 

      Ava carried on persistently, doing her best to ignore the biting cold and to enjoy the freedom of crossing the river. The freedom to adventure, to climb trees, to find animals other than those that live on the single farm in Smalltown. So she stopped at the next tree that directly blocked her undetermined path and climbed it. 

      What she wasn't prepared for though, was the ice. She slid straight back down the trunk of the large tree, landing on her feet in the red snow. 

      She blinked. The snow was red. 

      She blinked again and rubbed her eyes. The snow was red.

      Ava took a few steps back, standing on white again, staring at the red. The dark, rose coloured liquid that had spilled over the glistening white forest floor. Blood. And a lot of it, too. A scream rose up in her throat as she stumbled backward, falling onto her bottom in the snow. Her hands behind her, her fingers tense, curling into the powder snow, burning. Her feet kicked out frantically in front of her, burying the blood. 

      Finally, her scream died out, along with all her energy. She let her head drop down behind her and land on a pillow of snow, her arms out to her sides. She took several deep, shaky breaths. 

      Sitting back up, Ava looked at the pile of snow underneath the tree, shivering from something other than the cold. Slowly, her eyes followed the path back to her feet, where a small patch of green had been uncovered. Excited, she pushed more snow away, revealing more and more grass. Of course the snow hadn't killed all the grass, of course it hadn't. That had all been lies. Lies fed to her by the adults of Smalltown. 

      This is why she had run away.

      Eventually, her initial excitement subsided and she was left with a stretch of grass the size of the biggest garden in Smalltown. She was lying down in the middle of it, arms folded behind her head, staring at the clouded sky. 'So I was right,' she thought. 'There is still life out here.' And then came the worst thought, the one she'd struggled to accept. 'My parents lied to me...' And if they'd lied to her about this, how much else had been lies?

      A shrill noise cut through the morning air, shattering the silence. Ava's eyes shot to the tallest branches of the tree to her left. A small shadow perched between the thin, spindly, snow-covered branches. The shadow flapped its wings.

      Squinting, Ava caught sight of a tiny beak too, and suddenly recognised the shrill noise to be the tawny owl's alarm call. She got to her feet slowly and took careful steps towards the tree, but her efforts went unnoticed as the small owl picked up the sound of her movement and quickly flew away to the safety of a new tree, out of her area of sight. Ava didn't hesitate to follow the bird, her curious mind wanting to know if it would lead her to more.

      Excited by the living bird and focused on her latest adventure, she ignored the wind whipping her hair around her face, throwing it into her mouth. It felt amazing, in that moment, to have something to do. Smalltown had even cancelled school, the only thing left was to work on the farm or in the orchard. Ava was always the first to admit that it had been the smartest decision to make in the circumstances, but it didn't half make life more boring. The same tiring tasks every day. 

      Coming up with new excuses to do less work every day.

      She spotted the owl in a tree a little further along. "Tuh-wit-tuh-woo!" She shouted, trying to mimic the classic owl hoot to encourage the bird towards her. The noise only scared it off again. Clearly, the quietly sneaking method wasn't working, and neither was the bird calls, so she gave up on slow and silent and broke into a sprint, chasing the bird through the snow covered forest.

      But no matter how far she ran, she couldn't escape the splash of blood that weighed her down, sitting at the back of mind quite comfortably, refusing to move.

      The tawny owl kept flying, Ava kept running. It continued like that for a while. Ava found herself tiring long before the owl, slowing to a jog as the bird flew further away and she could no longer make out the brown feathers.