Shane Jones - Light Boxes

Daniel Hill —considered lost in the woods on February the 212th

Joyce Aikey —drowned while diving for turtles on February the 188th

Joseph Mendler —taken from his bed on February the 139th

Estrella Roberts —vanished during a game of hide-and-seek on February the 144th

Emily Boyce —drowned during a snowball fight on February the 222nd

Sarah Lock —disappeared in a blizzard on February the 247th

Bianca Lowe —taken from her bed on February the 255th

Peter Tuner —never came home from school on February the 199th

Jessica Chambers —vanished while walking with her dogs on February the 312th

Suzy Peck —taken from her bed on February the 322nd

I was Thad’s number-one guy during the war against February. That’s right, number one. The righthand man. Top wolf. Or top dog. Whatever.

I thought Thad was crazed because of the kidnapping of Bianca. But after I noticed a change in the ways of the town during the season of February, I went to his house with the Solution to talk about the war. Each week we recruited more and more people from the town, a whole mess of us cramped up there. Everyone drank tea or some shit. I drank vodka with mud.

Before Thad spoke, the Solution told me he was the one they were looking for to lead the war. He was their guy. He was their wolf to lead this war. All right, I thought, let’s see what this guy has got to say.

The one thing that really made me want to be a part of the war, besides the fact that it was bloody exciting, was what Thad and the Professor showed us one night. It was called a mood chart. It explained how our moods change by the seasons. Now, I’m not the Professor, but it was real clear that something was happening to us during the season of February. The sadness quotient peaked, or whatever it’s actually called. Thad pointed to a chart with an ascending line and a frowning face. And to hear about his poor little girl missing and to see my own kids knocking their heads against a wall all February long, it made me so angry that I decided I would give my heart, my blood, for the War Effort.

The first attack on Februaryoccurs. Thaddeus, Selah, Caldor Clemens and the Solution devise a plan to trick February by pretending it’s summer. The men take their shirts off and roll their pants into a ring at their kneecaps and call them shorts. Selah wears a thin summer dress, the one she wore while on her first balloon trip with Thaddeus. It smells like cedar and grass clippings from the floor of his workshop. The rest of the women wear skirts. They unbutton their blouses and untie their bonnets.

The War Effort claps while discussing the warm weather. They imagine beams of unfiltered sunlight striking their backs as they tend to the crops.

Caldor Clemens pretends to pick berries. He wipes sweat from his brow before diving into a pile of snow and swimming.

Thaddeus and Selah move away from the group to make love in the naked snow. They tell each other to concentrate on the ocean teasing their toes, the sand in their hair. Selah imagines that the melting snow between her legs is sweat. Thaddeus licks the ice from her lashes, pushes into the snow. They feel watched and excited.

At the end of the day, the group struggles to smile. Their bones are frozen. They walk into Thaddeus and Selah’s home to have tea. Everyone is exhausted, their faces beaten red by February.

We should continue with this tactic until we see some progress, says Thaddeus.

They all agree by way of tipping their teacups.

One of the strongest supporters of the war was a wild man named Caldor Clemens. Clemens was a former member of the group of balloonists known as the Solution. The Solution was a collective of nine or ten bird-masked men who refused to obey the laws of the end of flight. The Solution staged free falls off the tops of buildings and tied kites like leashes to shop doors. They were an aggressive bunch.

I wanted my daughter back. I wanted my husband to be safe. So when I saw Caldor Clemens, all seven feet, three hundred pounds of him standing at my door with tears running down his cheeks, I pulled him into my home by the wrist and told him that the blame could be placed directly on February. That a war can only help us.

This is Caldor Clemens, I said.

It’s nice to meet you, said my husband.

Scraps of Parchment Found Under Selah’s Pillow

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

I want my daughter back.

Today I took a trip into town with Caldor Clemens. The air was cold and smelled like apples. I saw a fox sitting on a mailbox. He had duck feathers in his mouth. People asked about the war against February. We couldn’t answer the questions fast enough. The crowd circled us ten rows deep.

Here, said Clemens, and he knelt down. Feeling somewhat foolish, I climbed onto his shoulders, where I sat perched high above the crowd once he stood.

I told the townsfolk that the war against February was as necessary as the air we breathed. If we refused to fight back, the cold and gray would settle like an endless blanket of rocks. I told them to remember what it was like to hold hands with May. I told them to remember what the streams sounded like outside their bedroom windows, the water pouring over August rocks, the birds calling from branches of green, dogs howling in the plains. I told them to close their eyes and ignore the snow melting on their faces but to remember what it looked and felt like when they woke in the morning to the sun draped over their beds, over their bare feet.

Clemens reached up and grabbed me around my ribs. He lifted me from his shoulders with a strange grace and elegance and placed me back on my own two feet.

Great speech, Thad. Really, really, really good.

Clemens punched me in the shoulder. It left a bruise the shape of a mallet’s head.

Thad paused for a moment. The smell of mint leaves rose like smoke from his skin. Then he mumbled a few positive comments. LIFE IS GOOD. PEOPLE LAUGH WITH JULY. FEBRUARY IS NOTHING, BECAUSE FEBRUARY IS SHIT. He didn’t really say that last one. I said that. The smell stopped. He pointed at the sky. He told me to look for a girl’s feet through a hole. He said they could be Bianca’s. I didn’t see anything but clouds suffocating little stars. We watched for a few minutes until he said that a man and a woman were in a second hole. Still I didn’t see a damn thing. Thad said that the man and woman were fighting, throwing balls of paper at each other. I kept looking. Kind of crazy to think about holes in a sky. But maybe I did see two shadowy figures in that one hole. Who knows? I was drunk on cider, vodka and mud.

Today we go up the hill with our weather-changing poles. Some of them are fifty feet long, requiring a dozen men to raise them. The idea is to destroy the clouds that cover the sun. An old Peter tactic he never had the chance to try.

It fails, because when we raise the weather poles, an ice storm freezes them together. They blow down the hill and toward the town. One weather pole spikes a shopkeeper’s window.