Ronald Malfi - Snow

“But you don’t know that.”

“When I was up in the bell tower with Chris, I could see that the windows of the Pack-N-Go had been blown out. Chris said he saw two women come running out of there.”

“What about Fred?”

“He said nothing about Fred.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s dead. And what about Shawna? We don’t know that she’s dead, either. Not for sure. She’s lasted the whole week out here on her own, holed up in that convenience store. It’s possible she’s still around, hiding and waiting things out.”

“Listen,” he said, “I don’t like the idea of leaving them behind any more than you do. I feel like shit about Nan. But it’s not like we can tool around the neighborhoods honking our horn and shouting their names, Kate. What do you suggest we do?”

She paused. He thought she was angry with him, but when he looked at her, there was a strange expression on her face.

“What?” he said. “What is it?”

“I have to pee.”

He snorted, smiling. “So pee. I’ll wait here.”

“No. I’m not traipsing off by myself. Just turn around. I’ll do it right here.”

He took the torch from her, then turned around. He stared at the treetops while she unzipped her pants and, a few seconds later, he tried not to get embarrassed by the sound of her urinating in the snow. To make light of the scenario, he said, “Man, I hope you’re pissing on one of those fuckers right now.”

She barked laughter, then scolded him: “Don’t make me laugh! I’m squirting all over the place back here.”

When she’d finished, she balled up some snow in her hands to clean them, then took the torch back from Todd. Together they continued walking along the muddy culvert until they could see the houses looming up on the other side of the street. Someone had driven a Ford Taurus into a fire hydrant, the car’s occupant gone. A stop sign was bent at a perfect right angle, the large white STOP printed vertically.

They crossed up over the embankment and out into the street with considerable trepidation. Every footfall seemed to echo down the street. It was like walking onto a movie set. Nothing seemed real and everything was eerily quiet.

“Where do you think they all are?” Kate said. She was holding the unlit torch like a baseball bat now.

“I have no clue. But let’s not take it for granted.”

“Deal. Which house?”

“The closest one.”

They moved up the snow-packed sidewalk, their feet sinking straight down to their ankles in the freezing muck. Beyond a copse of pines, Todd thought he recognized the backs of some of the buildings. “I think we’re on the other side of the town square,” he said, trying to peek through the trees.

“God.” Kate froze.

“What is it?”

“I feel like someone’s following us.”

“Someone?”

“Or one of those things.”

Todd surveyed the empty road, the strip of houses, the surrounding wedges of trees. “I don’t see anything.”

“I think that’s the idea.” She shivered, hugging herself. “Let’s keep going. I feel like a moving target out here.”

They hurried up the sloping lawn to the first house, a quaint little Victorian with Christmas decorations in the darkened windows. Off to their left, something sizzled. Todd spun around, the gun aimed in. Kate said, “What was that?”

Across the street, a thick black cable snaked through the snow, occasionally spitting sparks from its truncated end.

“Downed power line,” Todd said. “I saw that from the bell tower, too.”

“You’re a regular Quasimodo.”

Kate advanced up the lawn but Todd grabbed her sleeve. “Wait. I think we should go around back.”

“Okay.”

The backyard was protected by a wooden fence roughly six feet high. Todd could just barely see over the top but there was no hope for Kate. However, an ivy trellis clung to the side of the house, flimsy but workable. Todd slipped the handgun into his waistband, then propped a foot into one of the diamond-shaped grooves. Hoisting himself up, he felt just how weak the trellis was. He managed to secure another foothold before leaning over the fence. A quick survey of the yard showed nothing out of the ordinary—a drooping hammock dipped in ice and a bird feeder that was, like everything else in this town, deserted. In fact, it occurred to him at that moment that he hadn’t seen a single animal—not a bird or a squirrel—since arriving in Woodson. It troubled him to think of what might have happened to all the little woodland creatures…

He clambered over the fence and dropped down on the other side, his boots plowing through several inches of snow. Kate’s head appeared over the fence next, looking nervous and unsteady.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“I’m afraid of heights.”

“You’re eighteen inches off the ground. Come on.”

She managed to swing one leg over the fence, then panicked when she didn’t know how to get the other leg over. Todd lifted her up beneath her thigh and buttocks and hoisted her over and into the yard. It wasn’t until she’d thanked him and turned back toward the rear of the house that he registered his disappointment—he had hoped she’d kiss him.

Brilliant, asshole, he thought. Great time to start thinking with your libido.

It wasn’t his fault—the last woman he’d slept with had been some floozy he’d picked up in a bar in the Village; both of them drunk, they’d stumbled back to her place and he’d gored her like a bull in heat right on her loveseat. Then she’d gotten up and vomited in the bathroom where, presumably, she’d spent the rest of the evening.

What a life I lead, he thought. Makes me wonder why I’m trying so desperately to stay alive.

But he knew the answer to that.

His son.

They went to the back door, a sliding glass door behind which hung heavy drapes. If it had been his hope to peek in through the glass, he was shit out of luck. He produced the gun from his waistband and held it by the barrel, intending to use the butt of the weapon to shatter the glass.

“Wait,” Kate said. “Try the door.”

He tried the door and it shushed open, unlocked.

“I grew up in a small town,” she said, beaming. “No one locks their doors.”

Todd pulled aside the curtain to reveal a house that looked relatively unharmed. They stepped into the kitchen, a cozy little room with bright ceramic tiles on the wall and plastic fruit in a basket on the table. Photos of children cluttered the refrigerator.

Out of habit, Todd’s hand went immediately for the light switch…but of course, nothing happened. Kate went directly to the telephone on the wall, picked it up and listened, then shrugged and hung it up. “Was worth a try,” she told him with a wry grin. “You think we could hit that fridge?”

“Let’s do it quickly.”

They devoured sliced lunch meat, half a loaf of bread, two pieces of strawberry shortcake, and washed it all down with half a carton of milk.

“I think that was the best meal I’ve ever had in my life,” Kate said through a mouthful of cake.

“Those five-star dives in Manhattan have got it all wrong,” he agreed.

When they were done eating, they walked through the rooms of the lower level, but the place was deserted. The sunlight that spilled through the windows looked dirty, like a sepia-toned reel of film. It had something to do with the sky, Todd was certain, and that bizarre cloud cover. In fact, it even occurred to him that the air tasted funny, as if the whole atmosphere were slowly deteriorating. He tried to think how long the air had tasted like that and remembered some sense of disorientation when he’d followed Eddie Clement through the trees only to arrive in the field that overlooked Woodson. It had started back then…but he’d been too preoccupied with other matters at that moment to notice something so subliminal. Now, however, everything was suspect.