The Boys of Winter - Chapter Eleven

The sound of wolves howling jerked Oz out of a sound sleep, setting his heart hammering against his ribs. Beside him York muttered something in a sleepy grumble and snuggled back in against him, warm against his chest. Oz absently ran his fingers through York’s thick hair, listening and waiting for his heartbeat to slow down. The wolves howled again and he glanced automatically at the car’s windows, but they were completely frosted over and he could see nothing.

Something thumped against the outside of the vehicle and Oz tightened his grip on York, feeling heat build in the palms of his hands. York made a protesting noise and pushed away from him, opening his eyes to give Oz a sleepily annoyed look.

“Hurting me,” he mumbled. “’S wrong?”

“Hear them?” Oz asked, head tilted slightly.

“Hear what?”

“Wolves howling.” Oz relaxed a little and kissed the top of his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

He stroked York’s hair until York had drifted off again, then twisted gently until he could rub away the frost coating the inside of the nearest window. The cold burned the tips of his fingers until he concentrated and warmed his hands, melting the frost away in a fan-shape around his hand. He thought suddenly of Sarah, twisting and screaming as fire consumed her. He forced the thought away and peeked out the window, breathing shallowly to keep his breath from steaming up the glass again.

Lean black and silver shapes flowed over the snow outside, more shadow than solid beast. One came up close to the car and looked directly at him, eyes glowing golden, then it slid back into the darkness. Oz found he wasn’t afraid of them, though he’d seen a flash of sharp white teeth when the wolf had approached. Something about them was too beautiful to be threatening.

A howl rose into the air from directly behind the car and he felt a chill of excitement tingle down his spine. He tried to get out of the car but York’s solid weight trapped him and after a few moments he gave up and settled back again. Sighing, he closed his eyes and listened as the wolf song rose up around him, until he gradually slipped back into sleep.

The sunlight of the next morning barely took the chill out of the air and Oz refused to crawl out from under the warmth of the blankets and York until his full bladder demanded it. He awkwardly shoved his feet into his boots and crawled out the side door, breathing shallowly so the biting cold wouldn’t send him into a coughing fit. It didn’t take much effort at all to keep himself warm with a thought, and he didn’t even open his eyes fully as he crossed to a nearby tree and emptied his bladder into the fresh-fallen snow.

As he walked back to the car he almost stumbled over new tracks in the snow, kept from obliteration by the overhang of the car. He crouched down to inspect them, holding his hand out with fingers spread to judge their size. Even the smallest of the tracks was bigger than his hand and the biggest—a massive pawprint missing one toe—made him shiver just to see it.

“Oz?” York climbed out of the car and made a face, wrapping his arms around himself, his breath billowing out white. “Yuck. What are you looking at?”

“Wolf tracks.” Oz got up and went to wrap his arms around York, nuzzling his neck. “First animals we’ve seen in a while.”

“I’d rather see a grocery store,” York grumbled. “We need to stop and get more food soon. Ready to get going?”

“Yeah.” Oz kissed his cheek and moved around to the other side of the car, sliding into the passenger seat.

He tipped his head back against the seat as York coaxed the cold engine into life, trying to ignore its choppy, unhealthy sound. The Jeep had been a well-maintained vehicle and equipped with snow tires, but the heavy snow over the past week had taken its toll, especially without snow plows to help clear the road. York had already been forced to throw up the same shield that had protected them on the highway, though he still refused to learn how to control it. The ability only manifested itself when he was scared, and it only made him more frightened and determined not to use it.

Oz himself had been practicing with his new ability every time he was alone, until he could call up heat at will. The sensation of fire just under his skin had become a comforting and familiar one, though he hadn’t yet tried to do anything big with it. He was torn between his pride at his accomplishments and worry over York, who was only looking paler and more drawn with each passing day.

He shifted in his seat and turned his head to look out the window at the white landscape creeping by. A slim silver shape paralleled the car, easily keeping pace with its long legs. It looked like a wolf, pink tongue lolling from its fanged mouth as it loped, but looking at it directly made Oz feel suddenly dizzy. He found he could see it better if he used his peripheral vision to watch it, but even so it sometimes seemed to disappear in spots. More silver and black shapes soon joined it, until there was an entire pack bounding along beside the car.

Oz glanced at York but York was still looking straight ahead, his brow furrowed in concentration as he followed the faint trail that was the road. Smiling a little, Oz looked out the window again but his smile faded when he saw the pack was gone. The unending drifts of snow and ice looked even bleaker without the slim silver shapes to break the monotony.

At noon York pulled over and they ate a quick, dry lunch, washing it down with bottles of half-frozen water. When they were done, York crawled back into the front to start the engine again while Oz packed up. He pulled on an extra sweater, sure it had gotten even colder, and got out of the car to stretch out his legs.
He heard movement to his right, in the shadows under the trees, and immediately pressed his back to the side of the Jeep, raising a hand to call up the fire. He relaxed as one of the now familiar silvery shapes padded out of the shadows and sat in the snow, panting gently. Smiling a bit, he turned the defensive gesture into a slight wave, and felt his mouth drop open when the wolf solemnly lifted a front paw in return. He watched as it slipped back under the trees and almost took a step forward to follow it, then stopped himself and got back into the car.

“We might have a problem, Oz.” York pointed to the key in the ignition then tried to turn it. The engine made only a choking, whirring noise and cut out before it even got started. Frowning, York turned it off and waited a few moments, then tried it again. The engine almost caught, then coughed and choked. Looking panicky, York tried it a third and fourth time, until Oz caught his wrist and pulled his hand away.

“Now you’ve probably flooded it. Give it a few minutes.” He raised a hand and stroked York’s cheek, then slid his fingers across the back of York’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. York leaned into him, looping both arms around his waist, and for a few minutes Oz forgot about the snowy world outside.

He reluctantly let go when York pulled back and tried to turn on the car again, but after another ten minutes they were forced to admit defeat. Even the lights were beginning to dim and Oz made York stop, afraid they would completely kill the battery. The day was growing dark as clouds covered the weak sunlight, and soon after snow began to fall in large fluffy flakes that quickly blanketed the Jeep’s windshield.

“Now what?” York asked, exhaustion colouring his voice.

“We walk. Not now, tomorrow, when it’s light out.” Oz glanced outside and saw nothing but snow. “Let’s just try to keep warm and sleep.” He climbed into the back and built up their nest of blankets to sleep in, keeping his layers on as he crawled underneath them. After a moment York joined him, but turned away when Oz pulled him in and kissed his neck. Sighing, Oz settled for nuzzling him until he drifted off.

When he was sure York was asleep, he freed one arm from the blankets and cupped his hand in the air. A moment of concentration summoned up a small flame in the palm of his hand and he let it dance across his fingers and then down his arm. When it reached the edge of the blanket, he snuffed it out and closed his eyes, relaxing into a sleep fragmented by dreams of silver and black wolves running through the snow. Their song threaded through his dreams and he smiled a little in his sleep, relaxing.

They left the car at dawn, carrying as much as they could handle in the deep snow. York was silent as they shoved their way through the snowdrifts and Oz was content to let him think, caught up in his own thoughts and concentrating on not losing his footing. The snow still fell, though the flakes had shrunk small enough to sting their cheeks when the wind gusted. Oz distracted himself by thinking about summer and the beach, until he realized it was getting easier to walk.

He looked down and saw the snow was melting around his legs, though it froze again as soon as he moved forward. Oz hesitated, looking at it, then reached out and caught York’s arm, pulling him back. York jumped and gave him a startled look, blinking as the wind whipped snow into his face.

“Take my hand.” Oz offered one gloved hand and smiled when York took it.

“How... You’re so warm.” York looked him over, frowning slightly, then looked down at the melting snow around them. “Oz...”

“It’ll make our walk easier. Don’t complain, just stick close to me.” Squeezing his hand, Oz pulled him forward.

The snow grew heavier outside their little bubble of heat. Oz kept the pace fast, pulling York up when he stumbled. The wind gusted hard enough to stagger them, though its chill bite was tempered. They walked huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, heads ducked against the wind and swirling snow.

Oz saw it first, a human-shaped shadow darting at them from the deeper shadows beneath a tall stone wall. He swung towards it and let fire leap from his outstretched hand, ignoring York’s cry for him to stop. The creature shrieked as fire consumed it but still staggered towards them, snatching at Oz’s fingers. Oz shuddered in revulsion and shoved York behind him, trying to protect him as more creatures loomed out of the darkness.

“York, put up a goddamn shield.” Oz’s voice cracked and flames surged towards another of the creatures that had come too close. “I can’t do it all myself. York!” He risked a quick glance at York and groaned at the expression of frozen fear twisting York’s features.

The silver shapes came silently out of the darkness, there and gone with no more noise than the snap of sharp teeth as they brought the attacking creatures down. Their attack was vicious and well-coordinated as they appeared and disappeared through the shifting curtain of snow. Oz caught hold of York and pulled him against his chest, watching the wolves with wide eyes.

When it was over, the biggest of the wolves padded over to them, licking its chops though no blood stained its muzzle. It sat at Oz’s feet and seemed to become more solid, its silver fur shining gently in the half-light. Even sitting the top of its head came up to Oz’s chin. For a moment they looked at each other, then the wolf reached out its long snout and gently hooked its teeth in Oz’s coat, tugging him forward a step. Taking a deep breath, Oz looped an arm around York’s waist and followed the wolf.

It led them quickly through the blowing, drifting snow, its long silver tail a plumed marker in the dimness. The rest of the pack fell in around them in a loose protective circled, fading in and out with the shadows. Oz was forced to let the fire fade out of his skin, beginning to feel too exhausted to maintain it. The cold settled onto them and into them despite their layers of warm clothing and their steady movement. Oz kept an arm around York to support him, fighting the urge to lie down and go to sleep.

True darkness fell, sucking the last remaining warmth out of the air. Oz could barely feel his hands even with his gloves, and his clothes were crusted with snow; his feet and the bottoms of his pants were soaked and half-frozen. It hurt to breathe and he tucked his face into the collar of his coat, clumsily pulling his scarf up over his nose. He could feel York shivering against his side and still the wolf led them onwards.

“I can’t keep going,” York muttered. “’S too cold.”

“You can.” Oz gave him a squeeze, struggling to form words through numb lips. “We’ll get to shelter soon.” I hope, he added mentally and kept walking.

York fell to his knees only a few feet further, dragging Oz down with him. Oz tried to pull him upright again but York was little more than dead weight, his head hanging limply. Tears of frustration and fear pricked at Oz’s eyes and he punched York in the shoulder, yelling at him to get up; but there was no response.

The wolves closed in and Oz felt a momentary jolt of fear, but they only helped him tug and shove York over the pack leader’s broad back. Oz used one of the other wolves to steady himself as he got back to his feet and dragged himself forward. The world narrowed down to a long white tunnel with the lead wolf at one end.

A dark shape appeared suddenly, broad and squat, and the lead wolf disappeared into it. Oz ducked in after it and found himself in the mouth of a cave, dark and damp, but out of the wind. He looked around briefly but one of the wolves caught at his sleeve and pulled him down a narrow tunnel until they came out into a natural room carved into the rock. A man sat on a pile of blankets at the far end, his back against the wall and his chin on his chest, breathing in the deep rhythms of sleep. The wolves dragged York there and stepped back as Oz cautiously approached.

The man opened hazel eyes and in his peripheral vision Oz saw the wolves fade away into mist. The man studied him intently, his expression inscrutable, then gestured for Oz to sit. After a quick glance at York’s limp form, Oz did as he was told, trying not to show his fear. The man got up and went to kneel beside York, then wrapped a blanket around him and returned to his seat.

“He’ll be fine once he warms up.” The man stretched out his shoulders. “I’m Stefanos. You are?”

“Uh, Oz. And that’s York.” Oz’s hand crept out to stroke York’s hair. “Those wolves, they’re yours?”

“You could say that. I sent them out to find any other survivors.” He smiled faintly. “I was beginning to think there was just me.”

“I guess we owe you our lives. Thanks.”

“We need to stick together. You look exhausted. Sleep. You and your friend are safe here.” Stefanos indicated the pile of blankets and pillows in the corner and moved over to give Oz room to lie down.

Wrapped in a blanket, Oz watched the man through half-closed eyes, and saw him settle back against the cave wall. The wolves rose up around him, little more than misty shapes at first, until they bounded towards the cave entrance and disappeared into the darkness. Oz tried to watch a little longer, to see when they came back, but exhaustion soon caught up to him and knocked him down into a deep sleep.

The Boys of Winter - Chapter Ten

Skylar’s sudden collapse scared Robin badly, enough that he hovered by the end of the couch—where Shia had carried Skylar after catching him before he could hit his head on the floor—until Skylar groaned and rolled over onto his side. Robin reached out to catch his shoulder and keep him from tumbling off the couch, offering a worried smile and getting a fuzzy one in return. Gradually Skylar’s eyes cleared and he sat up, examining his hands intently; turning them back and forth as though waiting for the white glow to reappear.

“Here.” Shia held out the glass of water he’d fetched from the kitchen. “How you feeling?”

“Pretty good, actually. Just a bit tired.” Skylar drained most of the glass in one long swallow. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine.” Shia rolled his shoulder to show that he had no problems moving it. “I owe you.”

“Gotta stick together.” Skylar smiled a bit and rubbed at his eyes, yawning.

“You should go to bed,” Robin said, trying not to let his worry show in his voice. “Rest.”

“In a bit.” Skylar settled back against the couch cushions. “I want to hear about you guys first. Like where you came from, and where you’re headed.”

Robin gestured for Shia to go ahead and tell him the story, settling himself on the floor beside the couch and tuning most of it out in favour of studying Skylar. Skylar listened intently, nodding slightly when Shia brought up things about the creatures like their sensitivity to light, and told his own story when Shia was done. When he mentioned the pendant he’d found in the bar, he pulled it out from under his shirt and showed it to them, admitting that he didn’t know what it said.

“Can I see?” Shia leaned forward and laid the pendant across his palm. “Neutiquam erro. It’s Latin, I’d guess, but I don’t know what it means.”

Skylar shrugged and tucked it back under his shirt. “I’ll figure it out later. I just kind of like it.”

“What do we do now?” Robin asked. “Keep going or stay here?”

“I’m pretty good on supplies, and I’ve got electricity,” Skylar replied. “But with three of us... I don’t know, I don’t think we can stay here forever. But for a few days, yeah. Let Shia recover.”

“Let you recover,” Shia said, stretching. “No decisions tonight. I’m going to bed. Night.”

Robin echoed Skylar’s good night and watched Shia until he’d gone up the stairs, then turned back to see Skylar studying him. He started a little then offered half a smile and said, “What?”

“Sorry, I’m just trying to figure out what we have in common. You know, that would keep us sane and normal.” He looked down at his hands again. “Normal-ish.”

“Um... Can’t be a race thing, you’re white and Shia’s black.” Robin thought about it, chewing absently on his thumbnail. “Luck of the draw, maybe?”

Skylar laughed a bit. “Kind of seems that way. Can you do anything weird?”

“No,” Robin said automatically, then thought about it. “Well, I thought I saw something when I met Shia. A woman, and a college campus. And he said he was at college when all this happened. I figured I was seeing things.”

“Try and read my mind.” Skylar flashed a grin then frowned in concentration.

“I don’t even know if that’s how it works,” Robin protested. “I really might have been—” He stopped as, between one blink and the next, the living room disappeared and was replaced by the shadowy interior of a pub. It was half-full and the woman standing behind the bar looked bored as she swiped a cloth along the shining counter. He blinked again and the living room came back, along with a headache that made him close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“You okay?” He felt Skylar touch his hair and soothing coolness spread through him, washing his headache away. “What’d you see?”

“Uh... A bar and a woman with bright red hair. She looked bored.” Robin looked up at him. “Is that... what you were thinking of?”

“Pretty much.” Skylar ruffled his hair and pushed himself to his feet. “Congratulations, looks like you’re a telepath. I’m gonna head to bed.”

“What, just like that? You act like this is perfectly normal.” Robin glanced down at his own hands and folded them in his lap to stop their trembling. “What if I don’t want to read minds?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Skylar dropped down on his knees and to Robin’s surprise gave him a hug. “I just think it’s cool, being able to do this. Like suddenly becoming one of the X-Men. You can probably learn to block things out. Think of waterfalls or static if you start hearing things or seeing things you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Robin mustered a smile. “Sleep well.”

“You too.” Skylar clapped him on the shoulder and got up, heading for the stairs. Robin watched him go, wishing he had the same sort of confidence as Skylar, then leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes for a few moments.

Eventually he got to his feet again and stretched, cracking his back audibly in the silence, then wandered up the stairs to the second floor. He used the bathroom at the top of the stairs then glanced into the bedroom next to it. He could just barely see Skylar, snuggled up under a pile of blankets with his hand curled under his cheek. Robin smiled a little and quietly moved away, checking on Shia—also fast asleep— in the next room over before taking the small bedroom at the end. As he lay down a wave of exhaustion washed over him and he quickly dropped into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Shia woke him the next morning and he grudgingly pulled himself out of bed, sniffing appreciatively at the scent of frying bacon and eggs permeating the house. He pulled his clothes on and went downstairs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The sun had barely risen but it was enough to see that it had snowed again overnight, covering their tracks from the evening before.

One of them had gone out to fetch the map from the car before Robin came down, and Shia spread it out on the table as Skylar served up breakfast. Robin mostly tuned out their discussion on if they should leave, and where they should go if they did, happy just to have a hot meal. When he finished he pushed his plate away with a contented sigh and leaned back in his chair to let the meal settle, watching Skylar and Shia through sleepy eyes.

After nearly an hour of bouncing ideas back and forth, they came to a tentative agreement that they should find other survivors. Shia suggested that they move south, talking about a geography course he’d attended that had touched briefly on the fallout from a super volcano. He couldn’t remember everything about it but the idea that stood out in his mind was that the winter would be much harsher than anything they were used to.

“I guess it can’t hurt to go south,” Skylar said after a moment’s thought. “Other people have probably had the same idea, and I’m already sick of all this snow. The only thing is, how do we find other survivors? I don’t really want to just wander around and hope.”

“What about Toronto?” Robin asked. “It’s big enough that odds are good on survivors, plus it’s close to the border. If we have to, we can head into the States.”

“Zombie border guards.” Skylar snorted a laugh. “Probably not much difference.”

“Is it settled then?” Shia said. “When should we go?”

“How are we going to go? Your car’s trashed and I don’t really want to hike it.”

“Might not have a choice. Even if we could find a car and even if we can start it, we’ll run out of gas pretty soon. No electricity means no pumps.” Shia leaned over the map again. “If we plan out our route then we can plan on where to stop for shelter when it gets dark, or if it storms.”

“All right,” Skylar said after a moment of studying the map. “You want to do that, and I’ll take Robin to stock up on supplies?”

“Sounds good.” Shia bumped his fist against Skylar’s, making Robin laugh a little. “See you two soon. Be safe.”

“Will do. Come on, Robin.” Skylar got up and went to get his coat, handing Robin’s to him. “You ready for this?”

“I’m fine,” Robin said, trying not to get annoyed at the ‘you scared?’ he heard at the tail end of what must be Skylar’s thoughts. “It’s daylight, I’m good.”

Skylar just squeezed his shoulder then grabbed the rifle from the closet and led the way out. They walked in a comfortable silence into town, enjoying the pale sunlight as the sun slid in and out of the clouds. Skylar took him to one of the sports supply stores first to get two more sleds and more winter gear, then they browsed for food in the grocery. Down one aisle Robin stumbled across a box of grapes and carefully went through it until he’d salvaged as much as he could, carrying it back to where Skylar was loading the sled up with cans and boxes.

“I’m definitely keeping you around,” Skylar said when he saw the grapes, reaching over to snag one and pop it in his mouth. “Mmm. A little frozen, but good.”

“Hopefully they last a while.” Robin tucked the box carefully onto the sled and went back to searching.

They were back by mid-afternoon, ahead of a flurry that dumped another few inches of snow on the ground. Robin watched the snow come down from the kitchen window as Shia and Skylar went over the route Shia had drawn out, feeling restless and out of place. Wanting to do something besides sit around, he volunteered to cook dinner, trying not to think of his mother, a single parent who had taught him to cook as soon as he was old enough to turn on the stove. She’d died when he was 13 and he’d gone to live with a grandmother who didn’t really want him around, though she was always stiffly polite to him. He didn’t know what had happened to her that mad night; he’d been too busy just trying to survive.

He shook his head hard and pushed the thoughts away, concentrating on cobbling together a decent meal. By the time he served it Shia and Skylar had agreed on their route and the day they would leave—two days away, if the weather was still good. Talk turned to simple things as they ate and with the curtains drawn against the night outside, Robin could almost believe that it was a normal evening spent with friends.

The next day passed quickly as they gathered a few last supplies and packed everything ready to move out first thing in the morning. Skylar insisted they help him clean up the house the night before and Robin went to bed feeling tired but accomplished, though he still didn’t want to get up at the crack of dawn the next morning. He was still yawning when they set out, covering it with one gloved hand.

The morning was clear but bitterly cold, burning every time Robin took a deep breath. He pulled his scarf up to cover his mouth and hoped the condensation from his breath wouldn’t freeze the fabric. The sled he was hauling was the lightest one but the strain still took its toll on his unaccustomed muscles and within an hour he was tired of tramping through the deep snow. Sighing, he took a better grip on the sled’s rope, ducking his head against the wind, and did his best to keep to the trail that Shia, ahead of him, was breaking.

They stopped for lunch in the slight shelter of a stand of bare trees, eating on their feet with their backs against the tree trunks. Clouds began to skid across the sky as they ate, and by the time they started out again it was snowing, though only lightly. After a brief discussion they decided to keep going and hope they reached the first shelter Shia had marked out before the snow got too heavy. After the first few minutes the snow stopped and the clouds began to break apart, but only an hour later they returned, darker and heavier.

Heavy thick flakes began to drift down, gradually obscuring their surroundings until they were moving through a shifting white curtain. Early twilight descended on them, greying out the world within a few feet. Robin moved closer to Skylar, almost tripping over his own feet as he tried to look in all directions at once. It was hard to judge distance and the snow turned their path into an alien landscape hunched with oddly shaped lumps and hummocks. More than once Robin thought he saw movement and felt his heart leap into his throat, only to realize it was a trick of the snowstorm.

The steady fall of the snow began to make him feel sleepy and he stumbled again, nearly falling on his face. When he looked up again he was alone in the storm. Blinking rapidly against the snowflakes blown into eyes, he forced himself to move faster, calling Skylar’s name and then Shia’s in a voice that was halfway between a strangled whimper and a croak. Something loomed up out of the snow and he recoiled, then realized it was Skylar when the other boy caught his arm.

“Where’s Shia?” Skylar asked, leaning in to be heard over the rising wind. “We need to get out of this storm.”

“He was right in front of me. Didn’t you see him?” Robin looked around, catching at his hood as the wind threatened to swipe it off his head. “Shia!”

Skylar clapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t yell. We have no idea what else is out here.” He slid his hand down and laced his fingers with Robin’s. “Keep hold of me. We’ll head for shelter and hope Shia meets us there.”

Robin bit back the urge to ask what would happen if he didn’t and followed Skylar through the snow, trying to keep their sleds from tangling together. They stumbled on the shelter Shia had marked out—a combined gas station and convenience store—almost by accident and quickly ducked into the building. Robin stood by the door as Skylar made a quick sweep of the building, shotgun held at the ready, and came back to tell him it was safe. They used the shelving to block the one broken window and settled down to wait for Shia, both straining to see anything in the shifting mass of snow outside.

The storm broke just before nightfall, revealing a clear sky speckled with the first stars. Robin ducked out enough to look up and down the road but saw no sign of Shia, or anyone else. He stood outside for long minutes, waiting, even when he started shivering in the cold, but the road remained completely empty.

The Boys of Winter - Chapter Nine

Outside the window the snow fell steadily, glimmering in the dying light of the setting sun. Baz watched it fall, leaning one hip against the bottom ledge of the window, his arms crossed over his chest. He could hear Severin muttering behind him, though he tuned out the actual words; something he’d become adept at doing in the past week. Severin never seemed to actually realize he was doing it but as soon as he started concentrating on something, he started talking to himself. Baz didn’t need to look at him—or listen—to know that he was still going over the books they’d managed to salvage from the remains of the library, trying to find something that would help them. By now Baz thought they could both quote the books verbatim, and none of it had really helped.

The snow had started shortly after they’d brought the books back to the police station, and continued with only short breaks for most of the past week. It had covered most of the damage in town, but it didn’t seem to deter the creatures at all. Baz had ducked out the morning before to take a look around and come across a disembowelled deer in the adjacent parking lot, its blood staining the snow in a wide fan shape. Bloody footprints—some bare, some still wearing shoes—had led away from it in all directions.

Despite the snow the temperature had been dropping steadily, turning the nights chilly enough that Baz and Severin had taken to sleeping cuddled up together under a heap of blankets to keep warm. They had a small space heater, taken from the local hardware store, but Severin refused to let it run overnight in case it set something on fire. He’d become jumpier and paranoid since the snow started, spending half his time poring over the library books and the other half praying. Sometimes it was all Baz could do to keep his temper when Severin preached at him.

Baz rubbed at his forehead, feeling a sudden wave of frustration that seemed to come from outside his own mind. He glanced quickly at Severin and wasn’t surprised to see the other boy’s green eyes narrowed in annoyance. Reading Severin’s moods had become increasingly easy recently, something Baz had at first attributed to how much time they spent cooped up together, until he realized how eerily good Severin was at predicting storms and their intensity. More than once he’d called off a trip out by saying he had a bad feeling, and within an hour the sky had clouded over and the snow had begun again.

“Hey, Sev,” he said, reminded that they were low on food. “Feel like a quick run to the store in the morning?”

“Um...” Severin dragged his eyes away from the book he was holding. “Yeah, guess we should.”

“No storms about to blow in?”

“Well, there’s always a chance of a storm, especially a sudden one, springing up, given the time of year and the eruption—”

“Okay, no storms.” Baz walked over and plucked the book from Severin’s hands. “Take a break. You spend way too much time reading these.”

“They might hold something. Some explanation or clue I’ve missed.” Severin held his hand out for the book, waiting patiently. “Can I have it back, please?”

“No. I bet you could tell me everything it says from memory. Enough, Sev. You’re not going to find answers in a book, though I know that’s kind of your thing. And even if you did find something else, what could you do about it? You’re seventeen and stuck in a police station in a town full of people who think we’re pretty much the same as KFC. Unless the instructions for a time machine are in here somewhere, we’re fucked.” Baz took a deep breath, surprised by the extent of his own anger. “So just... chill.”

“It might give me a better idea of what exactly happened, how long it’ll last, and how bad it’ll get.” Severin gave him a steady look, though Baz thought he could see—or sense— the anger lurking just underneath. “An explanation for why people ‘think we’re KFC’.”

“They went nuts. Something in the air. Don’t tell me you didn’t smell it.” Baz tightened his fingers hard enough to dimple the book’s cover.

“Smell what? Debris in the air?” Severin sighed. “If they went nuts, as you so eloquently put it, there has to be more of a reason than rain that smells funny. And there are physiological changes there too, like their sensitivity to light.”

“What made the rain smell funny?” Baz asked, determined not to let it go.

“Debris, dust, by then maybe some of the fallout had been carried over by the clouds. Or some of it might’ve been your imagination. You were under a lot of stress.”

“Yeah, kinda happens when your father tries to kill you,” Baz snapped. Severin flinched slightly, dropping his eyes, and for a moment Baz felt a strong sense of guilt that definitely wasn’t his own.

“Look, I don’t want to fight, okay?” Severin pushed the books into a pile in the center of the table. “I think I’m just going to sleep. Rest up for tomorrow’s trip.”

“Sure.” Baz hesitated then carefully placed the book he was holding on top of the pile. “I’m sorry for snapping.”

Severin gave him a tired smile. “Don’t worry about it. We’re both stressed.”

Baz shrugged. “Sleep well.” He went back to the window and watched the snow until it grew too dark to see, then pulled the blinds and went to check on Severin. Severin slept curled up on his side like a child, his hands tucked under his chin and his dark hair fallen across his forehead. Smiling a bit, Baz pulled the blankets up a bit then grabbed his jacket and stepped outside into the snow.

He left the door slightly open behind him so he could duck back in quickly if he needed to, and looked out into the night, blinking as the wind swirled snowflakes into his face. Taking a deep breath, he tried to relax and listen to the night, clumsily attempting to focus his senses outwards. He refused to believe there was no one else out there, though they’d seen nothing in the dozen times they’d criss-crossed town.

For an instant he thought he felt something, tickling the edges of his senses like a feather. He closed his eyes and unconsciously rose a little on his tiptoes, as though physically straining would bring it into focus and stop it from feeling like an itch he couldn’t quite reach. Then just as suddenly it was gone and he was only standing outside in the snow, beginning to shiver. He sighed and turned back into the station, closing and locking the door behind him. Severin was still fast asleep and Baz was grateful to crawl under blankets already warmed by his body heat, snuggling up to Severin’s back. Closing his eyes, he quickly drifted off to sleep.

The movement of Severin sitting up woke him the next morning and brought the chill of the air across his back where his shirt had pulled up in the night. Grumbling, he pulled the blankets around himself and muttered at Severin to shut up when Severin laughed at him, then swatted at the hand that ruffled his hair. Severin let him be and walked away, the sound of his footsteps fading away in the direction of the bathroom.

Baz had almost drifted off again before Severin came back and snapped him awake by thumping down on their shared mattress. Heaving a deep sigh, Baz rolled over onto his back and pulled the blankets down enough to give Severin a dirty look.

“Good morning to you too,” Severin said, draping the towel he’d been using on his damp hair around his neck. “Sleep well?”

“I was until you started thumping around. What’s put you in such a good mood?”

“I...” Severin gave him a crooked smile, cheeks reddening slightly. “I guess I just had a good dream. It felt hopeful.”

Baz grunted and rolled out from under the blankets, stumbling into the bathroom. He was midway through washing his face in the sink when he remembered what he’d sensed the night before. He paused, looking at his damp face in the mirror, then hurriedly dried off and went back out to talk to Severin.

“Hey, Sev, I don’t think we’re alone.”

Severin glanced up from sorting out their supplies, surprise clear on his face. “Did you see someone?”

“Not exactly. I, uh, sensed it, I guess. Someone out there, too far away to really feel anything but their presence briefly.”

Severin frowned at him. “What do you mean, sensed it?”

“Well, like... like sometimes I can sense what you’re feeling.” Baz felt a flash of anger at the look of pity Severin gave him. “What? What’s that look for?”

“You’re probably just feeling a bit of cabin fever. We’ve been cooped up for a while. Don’t start thinking you feel things that aren’t there.”

“Yeah, that’s great coming from a guy who believes in an invisible sky fairy because he read it in a book.” Baz rolled his eyes. “I’m telling you, I felt something.”

“Fine, you felt something,” Severin said stiffly, moving past Baz to get his coat. “Let’s go, before the next storm comes in.”

Baz thought about pointing out Severin’s ability to predict storms then decided to just get his own coat and follow Severin outside. The cold stung them as they left the police station and the wind whipped their clothing against their bodies. Walking shoulder to shoulder they hurried down the sidewalk towards the middle of town, watching the shadows carefully for any movement.

They split up once they reached the store, going in opposite directions to gather food as quickly as possible. The silence pressed down on Baz and he unconsciously began to hum under his breath, snatches of song that he remembered listening to on the radio. It helped to pass the time as he salvaged edible food from under snow and debris.

The sudden sensation of utter rage hit him like a physical blow, making him stagger. He caught himself on the shelf and cast a wide-eyed glance into the dim recesses of the store. A shadow stood there, its shoulders hunched and its arms dangling loosely by its sides. Rage billowed off it so strongly that Baz felt as though he could almost see it, a heavy black cloud shot through with red. He shook his head hard, swallowing against nausea, and began to back carefully away without taking his eyes from the shadowy figure.

He stopped when he reached a shaft of sunlight coming in through the broken front windows and looked for Severin, unsure if he was relieved or frightened to see no sign of him nearby. He glanced back at the creature and saw it had stopped just out of range of the light, close enough that the dried blood streaking its skin and clothing was visible. It paced back and forth in the shadows like a caged lion, its anger only intensifying until it nearly sent Baz to his knees. He struggled to stay upright, blinking rapidly to clear his fuzzy vision and struggling to push the anger down to a more manageable level. A sob of frustration escaped him as it only grew stronger, slipping from his tenuous control and digging into the center of his mind like an ice pick, and sending him finally to his knees.

Strong arms wrapped around him and he made a strangled noise of panic, struggling weakly. The rage consumed him, threatened to swallow him whole, but through it he heard Severin’s steady voice, urging him to breathe and relax. Slowly the rage faded and he was able to concentrate on Severin instead; the warmth of his body and the slight hitch of his breathing, and the solid core inside him that Baz latched onto until he could think again.

When he finally managed to open his eyes again, he was still on his knees and slumped against Severin, kneeling beside him. They were alone again in the store, though Baz didn’t even know when the creature had finally left. Without the steady pounding of its anger, Baz was able to get shakily to his feet, leaning on Severin until his legs were strong enough to support him.

“You okay, Baz? What happened?”

“One of those things was in here.” Baz took a deep shuddery breath. “It was so angry.”

“Did it come after you?” Severin looked him over, gently turning his face from side to side. “Are you injured?”

“No. No, I’m fine.” Baz pushed Severin’s hands away, suddenly unable to take the physical contact. “I could just feel it. That wasn’t fucking cabin fever.”

“Okay.” Severin reached out as though to stroke his hair then apparently thought better of it and dropped his hand. “It’ll get better, Baz.”

“And how the fuck would you know?” Baz leaned down to pick up the box he’d filled with food, fighting the urge to just throw it at something in a fit of his own anger.

“I have faith.” Severin steadied him with one hand on his shoulder, offering a smile.

“Whatever,” Baz muttered. “The only thing I have is a headache. Let’s go.”

Spooked by the encounter, they took only as much as they could carry, stuffing it into backpacks and carrying boxes. The snow began again as they got back to the police station, big fat flakes that drifted down lazily out of the darkening sky. By the time they’d hauled everything inside and put it away, the snow was so heavy it brought visibility down to only a couple of feet. They ate dinner in silence and went to opposite ends of the room when they were done; Severin to his books and Baz to the window, where he leaned his forehead against the cold glass and closed his eyes.

He slept, and dreamed that he was walking into town with Severin, through corridors of snow so high they seemed to lean in at the top and threaten to drop on their heads. He shivered and moved closer to Severin, but Severin stepped away, his head tilted back as he looked up at the heavy grey clouds above them. He glanced back once and Baz flinched at the sight of his eyes, black from lid to lid. Then he began to climb into the sky, reaching up with one hand as the clouds lowered towards him in a twisting spiral. Baz lunged to catch him but his fingers missed, just brushing the edge of Severin’s shirt. He could do nothing but watch as the dark clouds folded Severin into their grey embrace, stealing him away.

He jerked awake, yelping Severin’s name and causing Severin to knock over the pile of books by his elbow as he jumped. The entire pile slithered to the floor with a series of heavy thumps and the sound of rattling pages. For a long moment Baz and Severin just stared at each other with wide eyes, then Baz mustered a sheepish grin and ran his hand back through his hair.

“Nightmare. Kinda worth it just for the look on your face.” He grinned again, more naturally this time.

“I’m too young for you to give me a heart attack, Baz.” Severin picked up the books and set them neatly on the table, then stretched and came over to glance out the window. “This is a bad storm. We might be trapped in here for a while.”

“So try not to kill each other?”

“That would be nice.” Severin glanced at him. “Want to just go to bed?”

“Are preacher’s sons even allowed to say those words? Especially to another guy?”

“Sometimes I really don’t like you, Baz.” Severin straightened up and walked away, going into the little kitchen and shutting the door behind him hard enough to make Baz wince slightly.

“It was just a joke,” Baz said to the empty air. “Don’t need to get so sensitive.” He debated going after Severin then decided to just leave him alone and instead turned his attention back to the hypnotizing fall of the snow in the darkness outside.

The Boys of Winter - Chapter Eight

Remy stood beneath the overhang of the building and watched the snow drift and spiral down, almost hypnotized by the patterns he could see in all the whiteness. The park across the street was almost obscured in the shifting white curtain but the occasional sight of an ice-streaked tree still startled him with its darkness against the lack of colour. He blinked a few times and rubbed at his eyes, telling himself to get inside before the snow dazzled his eyes any further, and found that the flickering light remained even behind his closed lids.

He shook his head a few times, waiting for it to fade, then turned to go back into the building—City Hall, with its thick walls and its heavy, easily barricaded front doors. His feet slipped on nothing and he went down on his knees, feeling suddenly dizzy and queasy. He braced himself on the cool flagstones and took deep breaths, feeling his arms tremble just with the strain of keeping him from collapsing on his face. The skin of his bare hands looked pale and washed out even where it wasn’t stretched over his knuckles.

He tried to get up and fell again, landing on his side this time. Lights flashed in front of his eyes and he had time to wonder if he’d caught it, if he was finally going to become one of them, before all his muscles spasmed, arching him like a fish caught on a hook. He heard someone saying his name and felt hands trying to hold him still, then darkness swept him away.

It was still dark when he woke, a near-complete darkness that frightened him into thinking that he’d gone blind. Gradually the room began to come into focus and he realized he was lying bundled up in blankets on one of the mattresses in what had once been an office. The blinds had been dropped and the only light that leaked in was the silver gleam of the stars and moon. He lay for long minutes, breathing deeply and taking inventory of himself, then gingerly sat up. His body felt like he’d gone a few rounds with a professional boxer but his head felt much clearer and he didn’t feel dizzy when he carefully got to his feet.

The lights, powered by a generator in the basement, hurt when he opened the door and a jolt of fear spiked through his belly. Shading his eyes with one hand and using the other to touch the wall and guide him, he made his way down the hall to the office where his sister and her fiancé had set up their own mattress. Just outside the door he heard them talking and paused to listen, unconsciously breathing shallowly so they wouldn’t hear.

“He’s not... He’s just not, okay?” That was his sister’s voice, sharp and angry. Remy had to lean in to hear more than the bass grumble of her fiance’s voice, willing himself not to stumble and give himself away.

“He went out into the light and had a seizure, Emilie. Who knows what he’s going to do if and when he wakes up? Try and eat our brains?”

“Not yours,” Emilie said shortly, “you don’t have any.” Remy heard her get up and scrambled back, looking for a quick place to hide before she called out, “I know you’re listening out there, Rem.”

“Just walking past,” he said after a moment, poking his head around the door. “I’m starving though.” He raised an eyebrow at Emilie’s fiancé, Zaidin, and grinned at the sour look he got in return.

“Don’t push each other’s buttons.” Emilie got up from her seat on the mattress and came to look him over, catching his chin and studying his eyes. “You look... How are you feeling?”

“Kind of tired still,” he said honestly. “I was just going to the bathroom, maybe grab some food, and go back to bed. And no, I don’t feel like eating anyone’s brains, whether they exist or not.”

“We’ll see,” Zaidin muttered.

“No,” Emilie said in response to Remy opening his mouth. “You need to take a look at yourself in the mirror. I’ll make you some soup.”

“Okay.” Remy followed her out of the room, puzzled, and ducked into the bathroom. He leaned on the sink and counter, and stared at himself, eyes wide—eyes which had gone from their normal brown to a blue so pale it was almost white under the fluorescents. He reached up to touch the skin beneath one eye and jumped at a sudden static shock, absently shaking his fingers out.

Tearing himself away from the mirror, he went to empty his bladder and then left after one last glance at his changed eyes. Emilie gave him a slight smile as he met her in the employee break room and handed him a bowl full of hot tomato soup, ushering him to sit at the folding table shoved against one wall.

“What the hell happened to my eyes?” he asked between mouthfuls. “What the hell happened, period?”

“I went out to call you in for lunch and you were having some sort of seizure. Then you passed out until just now.” She laid a hand on his forehead. “No fever, good.”

“Uh-huh, and Zaidin immediately thought I’d gone all, ‘raar, argh, brains’.” Remy hooked his fingers into claws and stretched his arms out in front of him. “Yummy brains...”

“He’s stressed.”

“And he hates me.”

“And he hates you.” Emilie took one of the other chairs and stretched out her shoulders. “I don’t know why your eyes suddenly changed colour. You can still see all right?”

“I see fine. Maybe it’s like your hair going white when you’re scared. I scared all the pigment out of my eyes.” He grinned at her.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s how it works. I guess as long as you can still see, we’ll leave it.” She reached out to ruffle his hair, but jerked her hand back at another static shock. “Ow, Jesus, that actually hurt.”

“Sorry. I shocked myself earlier too. Hey, maybe I should—”

“No. He’ll punch you in the face.”

“Fine.” Remy picked the bowl up to tip the last of the soup into his mouth. “Back to bed.” He got up and leaned over to give Emilie a hug. “Sleep well.”

“You too.” She patted his hand. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Will do.” He gave her a salute and left the room, covering a broad yawn as he walked back towards the office he was using as his bedroom. It felt good to lie down again underneath his heavy blankets, and he was asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes.

He dreamed of standing at the top of a great waterfall, watching the grey-green water rush down into the billowing mist at its foot. Whitecaps rose and fell through the river that fed the waterfall and the wind gusted hard enough to blow snow from the banks into his face. He looked down at his feet to see what he was standing on and saw that he was standing in the water itself, though he barely felt it around his legs. As though the thought had conjured it up, the rushing water suddenly struck him hard in the backs of his legs, knocking him off his feet.

He splashed into the cold water and felt it close over his head even as the current caught hold of him and spun him towards the waterfall like a bit of driftwood. He fought to swim against it but it twisted and spun him until he no longer knew which way was up. The cold sank into him and his lungs burned with the need for air, until the current flung him out into open air. He tried to scream as he fell but his mouth was still full of water and he only inhaled it, choking on it.

He jerked awake cold and shivering, wet clothes clinging to him. He scrambled out from under the blankets and shoved them down to the foot of the bed, pressing one hand to the mattress. It was as soaked as he was, water puddling in the depression his head had left in the pillow and stretching all the way down to the foot of the bed. More water ran down his spine, making him shiver violently, and dripped from the tips of his hair.

“One hell of a wet dream,” he said aloud, and had to clap a shaky hand over his mouth to stifle a burst of hysterical laughter. He stumbled to the wall and flicked on the light switch then hurriedly stripped out of his wet pyjamas, exchanging them for a dry pair from the cupboard in the corner of the room. Grimacing, he salvaged the top blankets, which had stayed dry, and took them into the employee break room to curl up on the couch.

Zaidin woke him again in the morning by punching him hard in the shoulder. Remy gave him a bleary look from his cocoon of blankets, trying to remember through his sleepy haze what he’d done recently to piss Zaidin off. “What?” he managed finally.

“What the hell did you do to your bed?” Zaidin snapped.

“Oh... that.” Remy sat up, wrapping the blankets around his shoulders. “I had a dream and then I woke up and everything was wet.” He took in the expression on Zaidin’s face. “With water, swear to God. Really cold water.”

“You know what?” Zaidin said after a moment. “I don’t care and I don’t want to know. Just get it cleaned up.”

“Yessir,” Remy said, sticking his tongue out at Zaidin’s broad back as he left the room. “You pompous ass.”

He got up and wandered back into the office, trailing his blankets behind him like a cape, and pulled some clothes on before spreading out the wet blankets and sheets to dry. He had just finished when the lights suddenly flickered and went off, dropping the room into a darkness broken only by the pale bands of sunlight creeping through the blinds. Remy made a face and made his way to the desk he’d pushed beneath the window, squinting to find the flashlight on it. The beam was dimmer than he liked but he still stuck it in the waistband of his jeans before leaving the room to go down to the basement.

It was cold and dark in the basement, and the flashlight did little to illuminate the various nooks and crannies between all the boxes of old files and piles of discarded furniture. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he approached the generator and paused a moment to smooth it down with one hand before trying to see what had put out the electricity.

A visible spark leaped from his fingers as he reached out to pull the generator away from the wall, bright blue in the dimness. Immediately the generator roared into life, running so hard and fast that Remy scrambled backwards, sure it was just about to explode. Instead the lights flickered and came back on, bright and steady. Remy looked up at them, his mouth hanging slightly open, then on a hunch checked the generator’s gas gauge.

It was pointing at empty.

The Boys of Winter - Chapter Seven

Skylar stood at the edge of the roof, breath steaming out into the cold air, and judged the distance between the building he was standing on and the one next door. Chewing lightly on his bottom lip, he leaned out to peek down into the alleyway between the two buildings, trying to decide if a fall would kill him outright or only leave him crippled and waiting to be picked off. A scuffling sound from behind him decided him and he backed up, taking a deep breath before bolting forward and launching himself off the edge of the building.

He landed hard on the opposite roof and rolled, wincing a little as gravel embedded itself in his bare palms. He pushed himself up onto his knees and picked at the gravel, his fingers clumsy with the cold; but at least he was so numb he couldn’t feel any pain. Growls rose into the air behind him and he hurriedly got to his feet. His pursuers hadn’t demonstrated much intelligence but he had no wish to stick around and see if they could jump roofs too. Limping a bit, he headed for the fire escape and inspected the shadows around it closely before starting down.

His boots clanked on the metal and he winced again, sure that he would attract everything within a ten-mile radius. He jumped the last few feet and took off running again, using all the tricks he’d picked up through years of living on the streets to throw off anything following him. Back then he’d thought the worst he could run into were cops, drug dealers, and the occasional bleeding heart, but that had been before the city had gone insane.

He made it safely back to the house he’d claimed as his own after the city had disintegrated into destruction that put most riots to shame. It was a relief to let himself inside and he sagged back against the door after locking it, taking deep breaths to try and relax his tense muscles. He’d left most of the lights on when he left that morning but he flicked on a few more as he wandered down the hall to the kitchen, until the entire house was blazing. It hadn’t taken him long to learn that the new human race preferred the dark.

He’d gone out to scrounge up some food from a nearby store, and now he set the bag on the counter so he could go through it later. Shrugging out of his sleeveless vest, he draped it over the back of a chair and picked up his baseball bat from beside the fridge. With his other hand he took a butcher knife out of the block on the kitchen counter and went through his nightly ritual of searching the house from top to bottom for anyone—or anything—that had gotten in while he was out. Eventually, satisfied that he was still alone, he returned to the kitchen and sat down at the table to eat, leaning the baseball bat against his leg so it was within easy reach.

As he ate, he examined his palms where the gravel had scraped the skin. Already the scrapes were smaller and less red, as though they were a few days old. He’d only discovered his body’s new healing ability the day before, when he’d accidentally sliced his finger open while trying to cut some cheese for lunch. That injury was almost completely gone now, leaving only a thin pink line to mark where it had been. He traced it with his thumb then shook his head; until he got the urge to start eating people he was just going to count himself lucky to be alive.

He finished his meal and got up to put the rest of the food away. The power was out over most of the rest of the city but he’d chosen this house in large part because it had a generator in the basement, along with enough gas to keep it running for a while. The lights made the place obvious to anything wandering around outside but he was willing to risk it in the hopes that it would attract rescue. He refused to believe that he was the only one left in this area, let alone in the world.

A ticking noise at the window over the sink made him spin on his heel, his breath catching in his throat.  He could see nothing from where he was standing by the fridge, but as he cautiously walked closer, he saw it had begun to snow, hard flakes that the wind was throwing against the glass.  He watched it for a few minutes, until a sudden violent shiver snapped him out of his almost hypnotized state. Rubbing at arms suddenly covered with goosebumps, he went upstairs to curl up under his blankets with a book.

Gradually his eyes drifted closed and the book dropped from his limp fingers onto his chest.  Outside, the wind swirled snow around, covering the dead ground with a layer of white.  Skylar shifted and turned onto his side, the book sliding off to land on the carpet with a muffled thump.  The noise pulled him half from his sleep, and he opened his eyes to look blearily around. The lamp on the bedside table had gone off and in the dim moonglow leaking in through the window, the room looked strange and unfamiliar, objects twisted up into shapes that were disturbingly human.

He pushed the blankets down just enough to reach out and fiddle with the lamp, muttering a curse as the switch clicked uselessly; the bulb had blown out. Rolling out from under the blankets, he made his way downstairs again to check his supplies. He was low enough on lightbulbs to warrant another trip out into the cold, though he’d been planning to hole up for a few days. He took one to replace the bulb in the bedside lamp and walked back upstairs, covering a series of heavy yawns. By the time he’d changed the bulb out and cuddled up under the blankets again, he was so sleepy that it took him only seconds to drift away.

He woke the next morning still huddled under his blankets, cocooned in their warmth. Gingerly poking his head out of the pile, he made a face at the cold air then grudgingly untangled himself and got out of bed. Remembering the snow that had startled him so much in the kitchen, he padded over to the window to take a look outside.

The snow lay in an unbroken white carpet, covering all the city’s little imperfections, rounding them gently and sparkling in the cold morning sunlight. Skylar stood and looked at it for a long time, then pulled himself away with a shiver and hurriedly pulled warm clothes on before going downstairs. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and stood at the counter to eat it, staring into nothing as he went over the day’s plan.

When he was done he dropped the bowl in the sink and gathered his gear, pulling on a heavy winter coat and gloves before ducking out into the cold. He gathered his sled from its storage spot in the garage and set off into the city proper, glancing around warily as he walked. He saw fresh footprints in the new snow as he approached the nearest plaza, and a long streak of blood in the alley between two towering apartment buildings, but the morning remained quiet and still.

By noon he was finished gathering supplies and had loaded them all onto the sled, lashing them down tightly with cords taken from the nearby hardware store. As he started back towards the house he saw the clouds had thickened and darkened, promising another storm. Within a few minutes snow began to spiral down again, thick fat flakes that swiftly began to add another layer to the snow already on the ground. The wind gusted and Skylar ducked his head against it, hiding his chin in the collar of his coat and pulling his hood further over his head. The temperature dropped steadily until it had numbed his nose and made it hard to breathe, and turned the heavy flakes into spits of ice.

Skylar stopped and raised a hand to protect his eyes as he looked up at the clouds, breathing hard with the exertion of pulling the sled through the snow and icy air. Instinct told him to find shelter as quickly as he could and he obeyed it, heading straight for what had once been Casey’s Bar, one of those institutions of higher drinking that people ended up in at the end of the night without quite realizing why. Skylar had just liked it because the regular bartender had been a no-nonsense woman with fire-engine red hair and tattoos all over her body, who nonetheless often slipped him food out the back door. He wondered what had happened to her as he yanked the sled in over the threshold, then decided he didn’t want to know.

The building was small and it didn’t take him long to make sure it was completely empty as well. He left the sled by the long bar—which had once been brightly polished and was now marred by several long scratches in the smooth wood—and went into the back room, stepping around a patch of dried blood. The desk and filing cabinet had been overturned, their contents scattered in a haphazard fashion, but otherwise the damage was minimal. Skylar glanced through a handful of papers but found nothing more interesting than bills and receipts. Getting up from his crouch, he kicked absently through the remains of the big wooden desk, and paused as something shiny caught his eye.

He used his foot to push aside a chunk of wood and leaned down to pick up a small pendant on a slim silver chain, holding it up so it rotated gently in the dim light. It looked like a ring of steel, beaten flat and inscribed with lettering that he couldn’t quite make out without a stronger light. After a moment’s hesitation, he put it around his neck and dropped it beneath his shirt, shivering a little at the cold metal against his bare skin; but it warmed quickly and he soon forgot about it as he went back out to keep an eye on the storm.

It was getting close to sunset when the storm eased enough for him to risk going out in it again, to get back to the warmth of his house before the creatures began to stir in the dark. He moved as quickly as he could, hauling the sled along behind him, and breathed a sigh of relief when he made it safely inside. After the ritual of checking the house and turning on all the lights, he unpacked the sled and made himself dinner, sitting down at the table to eat it.

A loud crash outside startled him out of his thoughts, making him jump like a startled cat. He turned a wide-eyed look towards the front door—still shut tightly and locked—and pushed his plate away, listening intently and wondering if he really had just heard a car crash into something. After a moment he got up and went to the closet, standing on tiptoe to take down the gun case on the top shelf. He carefully assembled the weapon and filled his pockets with cartridges, hoping he still remembered how to use it properly.

He snagged a flashlight from the kitchen counter and went to the door, holding his breath to listen before cautiously easing it open. The sun was a barely visible red eye just slipping below the horizon and shadows grew long from the buildings, blending into the coming darkness. In its baleful glow the sky looked painted with fresh blood. Breathing shallowly, Skylar flicked the safety off on the rifle and stepped out, quietly shutting the door behind him.

The street in front of the house was empty but when he walked around to the side, he saw fresh tire tracks in the slush on the road. He started to follow them then froze as a shadow flitted out from beside one of the other houses and ran in swiftly jagged movements along the path of the tire tracks. It didn’t appear to notice him but it was still nearly a full minute before he could master the trembling in his legs enough to keep going, and he kept his finger lightly on the gun’s trigger.

He saw the tracks in the snow where the car had skidded, and spotted the hulk of it further down the road, its hood caved in around a lamppost. Growling shadows skulked around the car but it had grown too dark for him to see what had happened to the occupants. Taking a deep and steadying breath, Skylar shifted his grip on the shotgun and swung it up to aim, then flicked on the flashlight in his other hand.

The nearest creatures, hunched caricatures of the humans they had once been, spun to face him, gaping mouths twisted in snarls. He shone the flashlight directly into their eyes and fired, hitting one of them high in the chest and tearing both its ragged shirt and the pale skin beneath into shreds. He didn’t wait to see if the shot took it down; as the others lunged at him, he spun on his heel and ran, the sound of the shotgun blast still echoing in his ears.

Shoving the flashlight down his pants, he slung the gun over his shoulder by its strap and leaped up to catch the lowest branch of a nearby tree. He kicked his legs up and hooked them over another branch, unaware that he was whimpering as he pulled himself up into the branches even as fingers slid across his back in an attempt to find purchase. The whimper became a yelp of fear and he climbed so fast he was in danger of slipping on the wet, snowy bark. He didn’t pause when he reached the branch he was aiming for, using it instead as a bridge to the roof of the house next to it.

He ran across the roof, slipping a little in the snow and catching himself on the chimney. He paused there to listen, clutching at it like a drowning man, and squinted into the darkness to try and see if they had managed to follow him. He could hear them snuffling and growling by the tree but none of them tried to come up after him, and after a moment he carefully climbed down the other side and ran back towards the car.

He hesitated a little in the shadows beside one of the house, watching the car; but the creatures had all joined the chase, no longer smart enough to remember how to divide and conquer. He still swung the shotgun down into his hand again as he approached, then let it go when nothing leaped out at him. Pulling the flashlight form his pants, he covered the lens with one hand so that when he turned it on only a little light filtered through his fingers, and opened the passenger side door.

“Hi,” he said softly to the pale passenger. “Come on, out.” He helped the young man out, casting quick glances back over his shoulder, handed the flashlight over, and went around to help the driver, who seemed unsteady on his feet. Slinging an arm around the tall man’s waist, he urged them in a staggering run towards the safety of the house.

They had reached the foot of the driveway when Skylar heard something snarl behind him. Untangling himself hurriedly from the tall man, he spun and brought the shotgun up. The creature leaped at him and he fired, already backing up even as the blast spun it halfway around. He briefly noticed that it didn’t bleed, then he spun on his heel and bolted for the front door.

He skidded as he leaped into the front hallway, losing his footing and falling hard on his backside. He let go of the gun automatically to avoid accidentally pulling the trigger, and heard the door slam shut behind him. For a moment he just sat on the damp tile floor, hugging himself and trying to slow his breathing down.

“Are you okay?” The younger of the two strangers crouched down beside him, dark eyes worried.

“I’m good.” Skylar picked himself up and offered a hand, proud that it barely trembled. “I’m Skylar. Sky, if you want.”

“Robin.” He shook Skylar’s hand and nodded to his companion, who had dropped down on the bench in the hallway and put his head in his hands. “That’s Shia.”

“Is he okay?” Skylar went over and gently lifted the man’s head. Shia’s face was an ashen grey and sweat stood out on his brow. He offered Skylar a weak smile, blinking painfully in the hallway light.

“Don’t worry about me.” Shia sat back, pulling free of Skylar’s hand, and rubbed at his eyes.

“He said he fell and hit his shoulder, but he wouldn’t let me look at it,” Robin volunteered.

“He’ll let me look.” Skylar caught Shia’s hands as the man tried to push him away. “I saved your life. Let me look.” Taking Shia’s grunt as assent, he pulled Shia’s shirt over his head and gently unwound the bandages around his shoulder, making a ‘tsk’ noise when he saw the inflamed flesh surrounding the deep gash in Shia’s dark skin.

“It’ll heal on its own,” Shia started.

“Oh shut up.” Skylar placed his hands lightly over the gash and tried to figure out what he was actually going to do. He didn’t know how he was healing himself, let alone how he would transfer that to another person. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and just concentrated on the feeling of fever heat and swollen flesh under his palms.

For long moments nothing happened and he started to think the effort was wasted; he’d only look like a fool and he didn’t think he had the supplies to treat such an obviously infected wound. Then coolness flowed through him, starting in his head and sliding down his spine, moving down his arms until it puddle in his hands. He forced himself to stay relaxed and let the coolness flow into Shia, memorizing the sensation in the hopes that he would be able to repeat it. Excitement quivered in his belly and he desperately hoped he wasn’t just imagining the sensation of the gash pulling itself back together beneath his hands.

He opened his eyes a little, just enough to peek through his lashes, and saw his hands glowing with a deep, pure white light. Colour had come back into Shia’s face already and his eyes had lost the glint of fever. When Skylar pulled his hands back the gash looked more like a months-old scar and the skin around it was cool and smooth. Skylar placed a hand against Shia’s forehead and waited until he felt only the warmth of human skin before letting go. Gradually the white glow faded from his fingers, leaving him feeling blissfully relaxed and satisfied. Smiling, he started to stand up, but his knees buckled and a wave of dizziness washed over him.

He didn’t even feel himself hit the floor.