“We’re going to make her a sled.”
“And you think she’ll actually stay on it? Ryan, I—”
He caught her hands in his, leveling his gaze on her. “Hey,” he told her. “Trust me, okay? Ten minutes tops. They won’t bother me if I have fire.”
Jane’s stomach churned with nerves, but she nodded anyway. There was no way around it. They were all eventually going to end up outside in the cold with those things stalking them in the shadows. It was either that or stay here forever, where they would eventually grow so weak with hunger those creatures would simply walk in and take them without a fight. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, hoping that maybe, by some miracle, they’d be saved. Maybe a ranger would show up, making sure people were okay after all that snow, or a lineman would appear, since the electricity was out; perhaps the new owners would arrive, ready to indulge in their brand-new home; or maybe, as if being drawn down from the sky by the hand of God himself, their father would come, responding to a bad feeling he couldn’t shake, a cosmic connection with his kids, knowing that something was wrong.
Ryan stood up, grabbed a torch, and turned to step out of the room.
“Wait,” Sawyer said, dropping what he was doing. The two locked eyes, Ryan looking defiant. Ryan hadn’t said a word about it, but Jane knew he had been hurt by Sawyer’s outburst, suggesting that Lauren hadn’t been important, that she had been some weekend thrill, when he had finally made a connection with someone. Whether Sawyer had meant what he had said, or whether he had been rambling his way through a breakdown, it was undeniable that Ryan was struggling to forgive and forget.
“I’ll go,” he said. “You stay here with Jane.”
Ryan furrowed his eyebrows at the offer. Jane’s heart rattled in her chest. She desperately wanted Ryan to stay, but she knew it wasn’t his nature. Once Ryan had a plan of action mapped out inside his head, he was the one who had to execute it. It had been that way their entire lives, one of their father’s lessons that had been ingrained in him despite Ryan’s animosity toward him—
if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.
That advice had gotten Ryan further than anyone had ever expected; the business, the traveling, following his passion.
Ryan shook his head in refusal.
“Then I’ll come with you,” Sawyer told him. “What are you going to do, hold a flaming torch while siphoning gas?”
Sawyer had a point, and it was apparent that he was confident in his reasoning by the way he sprang into action. He left Ryan standing there as he moved through the kitchen, heading to the hallway where most of their things were piled up. Suddenly, Jane realized something she hadn’t thought of until then. A sweeping numbness slithered over her insides.
“Hey, Ry?” she said softly. “He can’t go with you.” The backs of her eyes went hot. She felt the flare of tears burn the delicate tissue of her sinus cavity.
Ryan looked away from the kitchen, frowning when he saw the look on her face.
“Sawyer’s clothes,” she told him. “They’re in the Jeep.” Sawyer wouldn’t last ten minutes in jeans and a T-shirt before the painful itch of frostbite would start in on his toes. Jane and Ryan had their gear, but Sawyer’s things were halfway down the road.
Ryan pressed his hand to his forehead, shoved his fingers through his hair. “Fuck,” he murmured before stepping away, about to give Sawyer the bad news.
Ryan was biting back a laugh while Jane hid her mouth behind a hand, but her eyes gave her away as she watched Sawyer pull on her boarding pants. She was just as amused as her brother. Her pink-trimmed pants weren’t really Sawyer’s style.
“Maybe I should have taken my chances,” Sawyer mused, pulling the zipper up on a jacket that was nearly too small to close in the front. There was no way around it: he looked ridiculous, like Alice in Wonderland after she’d eaten the side of the mushroom that made her grow larger, except the clothes hadn’t grown with him.
“You look good,” Jane said. “Stylish.”
Ryan nudged Sawyer’s shoulder. “Maybe rather than attacking us, those things will just die laughing.”
Sawyer rolled his eyes. The jacket was biting into his armpits and the pants were riding up his crotch. And her boots were an impossibility unless he broke all his toes. He wasn’t sure whether to view the black galoshes Ryan had located in the garage as a blessing or a curse.
“You think this is really going to work?” Sawyer asked, pulling two pairs of thick socks over his original pair. He could hardly shove his feet into the galoshes with all that padding, but it was either that or lose his toes.
“It should,” Ryan shrugged. “At least for the time being. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to walk five miles like that.”
Pulling his woven beanie over his ears—the one that matched April’s scarf—Sawyer mumbled and let his hands fall to his sides.
“This too,” Jane said, offering him the jacket he’d stormed back inside the cabin in. It was the only piece of clothing, other than what he was wearing, that had made it back up to the house after his blowup with April. Sawyer stuffed his arms into his coat, zipped it up to his chin, and exhaled a humiliated sigh.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m ready.”
“You sure are,” Ryan told him.
Jane grinned as Sawyer stepped past her, waddling like a duck, unable to bend his knees because the pants were too tight.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said, stopping a few feet from the kitchen door. Ryan pulled his backpack on, the ax handle jutting out of the top of the pack like a flagless pole. He looped the plastic tubing he had pulled off the back of the washing machine around his shoulder. They could only hope it would work for siphoning gas out of the Nissan.
Sawyer gripped one of the sharpened pool cues in a gloved hand as Jane detoured into the living room, then stepped back into the kitchen with two torches in tow, one lit, the other not. The strips of drapery she’d wrapped around the tops made them look like giant Q-tips, but they wouldn’t last long. They had no fuel to soak the fabric in, which meant it would burn fast. Without fire, they would have no protection against what was out there.
“Don’t light this one until you put some gas on it,” she warned, handing Ryan the unlit torch while the lit one smoldered above Sawyer’s head, filling the kitchen with smoke. Ryan patted the front pocket of his jacket, and the outline of the revolver should have made Sawyer feel better, but it did little to soothe his nerves. All it would take was one slipup, one second of letting their guard down. And then there was the question of whether those things really were afraid of fire. Sure, the one that had wandered into the house appeared to have been, but what if they had fears as unique as humans did? What if the fear of fire wasn’t universal? Sawyer squeezed his eyes shut, trying to put all of the what-ifs out of his mind. Ryan stepped around him to get to the door.
“Wait,” Sawyer said. “Wait, wait, wait. What about the blood?” The pot of blood was still in the sink, at the ready. But Ryan shook his head.
“We need to save it.”
“Save it for what? A better time? Are you kidding?”
“Five miles is a long way. We’re taking it with us.”
Again, Sawyer wanted to protest. There was no better time than the present. They were potentially walking into the snapping jaws of death. But before he could argue, the kitchen door swung open and the oppressive chill of the air hit Sawyer head-on, biting at his face.
The snow crunched beneath their feet and Sawyer’s gaze darted to the torch blazing above him; he was scared that as soon as they were out in the open, it would blow out in the wind. But it stayed lit as they both maneuvered around the disembodied carcass and strewn innards on the deck. Jane shut the door behind them, sliding the dead bolt into place. She stared out at them, her palms pressed to the glass, the helpless look on her face rousing a wave of foreboding in the pit of Sawyer’s stomach. He took a moment to stare back at her, considering the fact that this might be the last time he’d see her, hating that if it was, he couldn’t see her smile instead.
Eventually turning away, he followed Ryan around the side of the cabin, his boots feeling impossibly tight. They descended the stairs and immediately sank up to their knees in powder. Despite all the layers of clothing, the cold still managed to make Sawyer’s bones ache.
They waddled around the Nissan, which was buried past its fenders. Sawyer searched the tree line behind them, his breaths coming in gasps now, steam puffing out of his chest like a locomotive. Ryan pulled open the hatch and grabbed a red gasoline container from the back before moving around to the driver’s side, fumbling with the little door that allowed access to the fuel cap.
Sawyer saw movement. His heart hitched in his throat.
“I see them,” he said. “Oh fuck, man, they’re here.”
Ryan’s face registered alarm but he kept focused, snaking the tube he’d torn away from the washer into the tank as fast as he could. He put the opposite end in his mouth while Sawyer’s heart rattled inside his chest. A second later he was spitting onto the ground, exhaling a moan of disgust while the liquid hit the bottom of the gas can.
“Sawyer.” Ryan motioned to the torch in Sawyer’s hand. “Give me that. Get the boards.”
Sawyer gave up possession of the one thing that made him feel safe—who knew if a bullet would do a damn thing to those monsters, and for all they knew the pool cues would be useless as well. He pulled himself onto the Xterra’s running board, then unsnapped the clamps that held three boards on top of the car. He tossed them off the roof end first, and they stabbed into the frozen terrain like toothpicks, pointing up toward the sky.
Ryan handed the torch back before shoving the unlit one between his legs, carefully pouring gasoline onto the rags twisted around the tip. Lifting it up, he touched it to Sawyer’s burning end. It burst into flames, the fire momentarily warming them.
“Put that out,” Ryan told him, motioning to the torch Jane had lit. “Stick it in the snow.”
Sawyer plunged the burning end into the powder, only to have Ryan pull it out a moment later, pouring gas onto the charred fabric, then relighting it with his own. He pulled the hose out of the gas tank, secured the cap over the plastic canister, and wrapped the leash that was attached to Jane’s board around his wrist. They weren’t even half done, and those things were getting curious. They were hovering just behind the trees, watching, waiting to lunge.
Ryan felt like he was having a heart attack. His pulse rate was through the roof, whooshing in his ears like a drum. They had to get down to the Jeep for Sawyer’s clothes and back up to the cabin before the fire went out, and these demon fucks weren’t about to give them a running start if they ended up on the bad side of luck.
“Maybe she’s in the Jeep,” Sawyer said after a moment of silence. Ryan said nothing as they moved down the slope. He didn’t dare look down as they crossed the exact place Lauren had died, didn’t dare mention that she’d been sprinting down the hill after she saw April’s scarf rolling across the driveway. Ryan tasted blood at the back of his tongue. His chest heaved. He was sure April was dead. There was no possible way she could have survived this long. But he couldn’t bring himself to solidify Sawyer’s loss. To shatter Sawyer’s already dwindling hope. He’d shut down, and then Ryan and Jane would lose him too.
Reaching Sawyer’s car, they piled two backpacks and a duffel bag onto the top of Jane’s board, winding the straps and handles around the boot bindings to keep them in place. Sawyer grabbed his snowboard off the roof rack and secured the leash to his wrist.
“Okay, let’s go,” Ryan said. There was nothing else they could salvage that was of use to them.
“Wait.” Sawyer leaned into his car and grabbed at a small voodoo doll that hung from his rearview mirror. Its lasso snapped with a firm tug. Ryan didn’t ask, but he assumed it was a memento, a token of lost love.
But Sawyer wasn’t given the opportunity to succumb to his emotions. A distinct, guttural rumble sounded from behind the nearby trees. It was followed by a bizarre cry, a whooping bark that was unmistakably some sort of signal. They stared at each other for a moment, frozen in place, before they pivoted and began to run as fast as the snow would allow.
That was when they saw it: one of those things had emerged from the trees, and it was blocking their way back to the cabin, watching them with that sick curiosity. Ryan’s entire body felt like one giant, throbbing heart. This may have been the exact creature that tore Lauren apart, back for more. But he couldn’t allow himself to think about that now, couldn’t allow himself to simply stand there and stare.
“Keep walking,” he said into the cold. “Don’t be afraid. We’ll burn this fucker down if he doesn’t move.”
The creature watched them for a long while, but its posture changed when Ryan and Sawyer continued toward it, refusing to back down. Ryan watched it hesitate, taking a few steps backward as it growled deep within its throat, those beady black eyes flashing with uncertainty. Ryan swung the torch in front of himself, jutting the flame outward to breach the distance between man and beast. The demon reeled back, then opened its giant mouth in a hiss, saliva sliding down its protruding teeth.
“Get the fuck back,” Ryan warned, waving the torch at it while the rest of the creature’s family watched from behind the trees. He was waiting for them all to spring into action at any moment, to fall on him all at once, leaving him without a shred of a chance. But they didn’t move from the shadows. They were cowards, seeing whether their prey was aggressive, whether it would attack in return. They were scared of people—that was why the one Lauren had screamed at had bounded away—but their hunger was forcing them to face their fears. They were all in the same situation, man and monster, left with no other choice.
Ryan’s eyes narrowed as he pushed forward, more determined than ever, his legs burning with effort. And then he lunged forward, jabbing the torch as far ahead of him as he could. He felt it connect, and the moment it did the thing bolted backward with a screech.
“Jesus!” Sawyer yelled from behind. “Are you
trying
to piss them off?”