Paul Curtin

GRAY SNOW

For those who struggle but don’t give up.

Chapter 1

SEAN

SEAN RAISED THE maul axe, pretending the log was his boss’s head. He brought the blade down and cleaved it into two clean pieces, stomped over to the wood pile, grabbed another thick log from under the tarp, and placed it on the stump.

His fat boss’s face appeared again on the log. In his fantasy, his boss was talking down to him in that tone of his. Arrogant. Dismissive. Unappreciative. Sean lifted the maul axe high into the air and dropped it through his boss’s skull, cutting off his words midsentence. Silence. Sean took off one glove and wiped his face, tipping his head back, breathing in the menthol-like air and releasing his anger little by little in vaporized breaths that floated into the darkening sky.

His family had already spent so much on the house and the supplies and the move. They couldn’t go back. Not even if his boss demanded it. Not after everything.

“Why aren’t you using the machine?” a small, high-pitched voice asked behind him.

He put his glove back on and looked at the wood-cutter—a bulky machine he could chuck logs into and receive split wood. He turned to his son. Aidan seemed so small, sitting on a nearby stump with his shoulders hunched to block the wind from creeping into his neckline. Sean said, “Just want to do it by hand today, bud.”

“Why do you chop so much wood?”

“Because it’s good to be prepared. Make sure we can keep ourselves warm if something happens.”

“Like what?”

“Like a lot of things.”

“Like?”

“You don’t need to be worrying about that.”

“Like if the power goes out?”

He nodded. “Something like that,” he said, grabbing the end of the axe and wiggling the handle back and forth to loosen the blade. “It’s always good to have more.”

“How long will the power go out?”

“I didn’t say it would.”

“No, I mean how much do we need?”

“Enough to last the winter.”

“Would the power go out that long?”

Sean freed the axe. “You won’t have nightmares if I tell you this, right?”

“I’m not a baby.”

“No, you’re not,” he said and moved the split logs to his already massive woodpile. “Sometimes bad things happen, and you don’t want to be unprepared.”

“What kind of bad things?”

He looked at his son. “You don’t have to worry about it. That’s my job.”

He set another piece on the stump and readied his swing before bringing it down. Split chunks flew in opposite directions.

“Can I try?”

Sean put another log onto the stump and looked at his son. The boy’s arms were the same diameter as the axe’s handle. Probably couldn’t lift the thing. “Maybe your mom needs help in the kitchen. I can take care of this.”

Aidan stared back at him, a fierce determination burning in his eyes. Sean didn’t want trouble from his wife, making the kid exert himself against doctor’s orders. But she didn’t understand men—about the need to be strong and rugged. A boy could only hear he was weak so many times before it crushed him.

“Come over here.” Aidan’s face lit up. He jumped from his stump and rushed over to his father. “Stand here,” Sean said, pointing in front of himself. The boy slid against his father’s legs, Sean towering over his frame. “Grab the handle.”

The boy took hold of it, looking up at Sean with a smile.

“Just hold on tight, okay? Make sure you’re putting enough force behind it.”

Aidan nodded and tried to lift the axe, but Sean reached out and stopped him. “Whoa there. You’re going to hit me in the head,” he said, stepping back. “The blade’s really sharp. Always make sure there’s nobody around when you swing an axe. Could hurt someone.”

When Sean was clear of the vicinity, Aidan looked back at him as if to ask permission. Sean nodded. “Keep an eye on your target. Where your eye goes is where the blade will go.”

The boy lifted the axe, resting its weight against his hip to keep it from wobbling. He didn’t have nearly enough momentum bringing it down, only lifting it a couple feet, so the blade chipped against the side of the wood and thudded to the ground.

“Try again.”

He did. The blade made contact, hard, with the wood. The handle vibrated, and he dropped it like it had burned his hands. He jumped back, startled, and crossed his arms.

“You’re all right,” Sean said, walking to the stump and picking up the axe. “You want to try again? I can help you.”

The boy shuffled snow around with his foot. “Maybe later.”

He roughed up Aidan’s hat, the boy smiling and readjusting it. Badgering him would only make it worse. Aidan had enough on his plate and had won plenty of battles in his few short years. There was no need to discourage him over chopping wood. “Go on and help your mother make dinner. Tell her I’ll be in soon.”

Aidan nodded and ran toward the house. “Slow down,” Sean yelled after him.

He smiled, watching his son disappear through the door at the back of the garage. As he returned to the task, snowflakes floated down like feathers settling toward the earth. He would not leave, no matter what his boss said. He couldn’t leave the majestic snowfalls, high and deep and wet. The smell of a fire nearby. The soft breeze carrying no sound at all except, maybe, someone shooting a rifle in their backyard miles away. No traffic, no people. Serenity.

Security.

He’d be damned before he let his boss take that from him.

He squeezed the handle and brought the axe into a perfect arc and tore the log open. A few more pieces and his anger would subside like a fire reducing to ash.

SEAN OPENED THE door from the garage and heard the television across the house. He kicked the snow off his boots, removed them, and threw his coat onto the couch in front of him. He walked around through a long rectangular den that led to the living room. The volume of the TV grew with each step. Cartoons. His son was settled into the living room couch. He grabbed the remote and muted the TV. “What’re you doing?”

His son looked oblivious.

“I told you to help your mom, not watch TV.”

“She told me she didn’t need help.”

“Did you ask her?”

“Yeah.”

“So she’ll say exactly what you just told me?”

He nodded.

Sean set the remote down and moved toward the kitchen, sighing. He could already hear her reasoning. He doesn’t need to be exerting himself. The doctors said he should be resting. She coddled the boy. Always did. But she couldn’t do it forever.

He adjusted a napkin on the dining room table before rounding the corner into the kitchen. Crossing the threshold was like hitting a wall of heat, like entering a furnace. Elise had the oven cranked to full blast, every stovetop burner simmering a pot or pan. She stood behind a counter, working a beige paste in a bowl with a wooden spoon. Sweat darkened the auburn hair around her temples and beaded on her forehead. She wiped it off with her sleeve and kept going. He waved to make his presence known.

“Hey,” she said, not looking away from her work.

Sean came around her side and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “Smells good in here.”

She didn’t acknowledge him. He flashed a smile, but it faded quickly. When she got this way, everything was about the task. No time for anything else. He started toward a plate of cookies on the counter. “Aidan said you told him you didn’t need any help.”

“That’s because I don’t.”

“You look stressed.”

“I’ve got a handle on it.”

He picked up a cookie. “You sure? You’ve said this before and then you tell me later how stressed you were.”

“I told you I’m—put that down.” She eyed him and stopped working. “I also seem to remember you saying you wanted to eat less junk food.”

“But they’re here.”

“They’re for later.”

He sucked in his bottom lip and set the cookie down. “The doctor said he could do moderate activity without any risk of a seizure.”

“Sean, please. I just didn’t need any help, okay?”

“All right, all right. You need anything else?”

Elise stopped, puffing her cheeks. “Actually, I need chicken stock but there’s none in the pantry.”

“You need one from the reserves?”

She nodded.

“We’re not supposed to be taking from the reserves,” he said.

“It’s just one can.”

“It’s not just the one can. It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Then you can explain to my brother and his wife why your principles made their food dry.”

Sean and Elise stared at one another until they both cracked smiles. Sean laughed. “God forbid. I would never hear the end of it.”

Whenever Michael and Kelly visited—which thankfully wasn’t often—there was always something not good enough for them. They never said anything outright, but they had an attitude about them, a snootiness. Sean just needed to tolerate them for a week and it would be over. Any more and Sean was sure they would end up killing each other.

Sean went toward the door leading down to the reserves. His wife’s voice stopped him. “Were you out chopping wood?”

“Yep.”

“I chopped a bunch yesterday.”

“I just had to clear my head.”

“Of what?”

Sean read the stress in his wife’s face. She didn’t need the extra burden of what his boss had told him, not with her brother and his wife coming into town. “It’s not important,” he said and changed the subject. “Where’s Molls?”

His wife paused. “Upstairs.”

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You hesitated.” Her jaw drew slack, but she said nothing. Sean lowered his chin. “Is he up there too?”

“Sean, please don’t.”

“I thought we talked about this.”

“We did. And we didn’t come to a conclusion.”

“I came to a conclusion. He’s not supposed to be up there with her.”

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

He scoffed. “Out of nothing.”

Before his wife could say more, he moved back into the living room. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he rounded the staircase railing. His son spun on the couch to look back at him. “Hey, Dad. The news. There’s something—”

“Shut that off.”

“But Dad—”

“Not now, bud. Shut it off.”

Sean charged up the steep stairs. When he came to the top, he gripped the rail, pivoted toward the hallway on the left, and walked to the end. A light bass thumped behind the closed door. A movie. To disguise other noises, if he knew anything about teenage boys.

He reached for the handle but stopped himself. He had always trusted his daughter, and she had done nothing to make him question her judgment so far. But she was sixteen. Sean’s most foolish and rebellious years didn’t start until then. He heard his wife’s words: Be more diplomatic, don’t jump to conclusions.

He pulled his hand back and rapped his knuckles against the door. Molly opened it ten seconds later. She said nothing. Her boyfriend, Andrew, sat on her bed behind her—on her bed—propped up by pillows. They were both clothed. A good sign.

“What?” she asked.

“Your mom said you were up here.”

“And?”

“What have I told you about having the door closed?” he whispered.

“Dad…” she said with eyes wide.

“No, it’s all right Molly,” Andrew said and looked at Sean. “Sorry, Mr. Cain. I didn’t know that was a rule.”

The kid had manners, sure. Always spoke politely, played the part of a good guy. Sean had known plenty of guys just like him. Two-faced. Said one thing and did another. Snakes like him would take advantage of girls and leave them crying—for their dads to pick up the pieces.

Sean pasted on a smile. “Good to see you, Andrew. Didn’t know you’d be over today.”

“Molly invited me.”

Couldn’t have guessed that.

“Mom said it was all right,” Molly said.

“Your mom is a little more lenient than I am.”

“She said if I kept the door open—”

“The door was closed.”

Molly took a few steps outside and pulled the door shut behind her. Sean nodded to Andrew with a toothless smile before the door clicked. “We weren’t doing anything.”

“I know that, sweetie,” he whispered.

“Then why are you being weird about this?”

“Because it’s my job.”

“Well, you’re doing great at it.”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge between them. “Please just keep the door open, okay? I’ve told you your whole life: if you knock down one barrier, you get momentum. Soon, the other barriers aren’t so hard to break down too. You’ll end up doing things you never dreamed of.”

“I don’t need a lecture, Dad.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

He raised his hand toward her and pumped it a few times to tell her to stop.

She said, “We’re not like that.”

“Not now, you aren’t. Just be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

It had happened sometime when he wasn’t paying attention, her drifting from him. When she was a kid, they were always close. They would spend hours together, go on father-daughter dates. She talked to him about everything. Something had changed after the move, or maybe before that and he had never realized.

“You know I love you, right?” She nodded, and he kissed her forehead. “Keep the door open.”

As he walked away, he watched her return to her bed. Return to him. He hoped she wouldn’t let the slow, creeping decay of her values take hold. Change for the worse never happened overnight. It was always slow, like a cancer. It was so easy and gradual, that change. So easy to rationalize that the bad behavior is actually good.

The human heart—so easily convinced.

Chapter 2

MICHAEL

MICHAEL HAD SEEN snow this bad before, but that didn’t make navigating through it easier.

The Appalachian terrain forced the luxury SUV to work hard just to stay on the roads. Or at least where he thought the roads were. Couldn’t be sure. Most were unpaved except for the main routes. And in hick country, there wasn’t a snowplow that would touch them.

The GPS on his cell phone had taken him into the center of no-man’s-land and then dropped its signal. Every house he passed was a mile away from the last. Rusted cars were scattered across many of the properties. Huge volumes of smoke poured from brick stacks. The smell of fire lingered in the crisp air.

Michael tried rubbing the windshield with his coat sleeve. No help. It was fogged with snow that stuck and froze instantaneously. The side windows were the only ones clear enough to see through. He cranked up the heat.

“Maybe we should pull over,” Kelly said.

“And do what? The forecast said it’ll be like this all night.”

“I can’t see a thing.”

“Neither can I, but if we stop, we’ll get stuck.”

Kelly, her blonde hair poking out from under her black cap, leaned forward and stared out the front window. “How far are we from the house?”

“Goddamn it, Kelly. I don’t know. My phone’s not working for shit right now,” he said, punching his fingers against the mounted display.

“Don’t say that.”

“What? Damn?”

“Are you going to talk like that in front of the kids?”

“It’s just—I haven’t had data in over an hour.”

“You still don’t have to cuss.”

He shook his head. It wasn’t just the snow or the phone. It was the whole week ahead. He loved his sister. Truly did. His niece and nephew were stand-up kids. But her husband…

Elise had been with him for about two decades, for reasons that escaped him. Sean was always spouting right-wing nonsense. To Sean, the world was always ending. This economy. That weather system. Mega tsunami. The government. It was exhausting. Knowing Sean, he was probably one of those dipshits who thought every major terrorist attack was orchestrated by the government. If it weren’t for Kelly wanting to visit, he would never subject himself to a week with his sister’s crazy husband. He had more important things back home.

“Oh, we got a signal,” Kelly said, clapping her hands.

Michael kept his eyes on the road. “About time. We’re close?”

“Yep. Turn right at the next intersection. Go one mile and there’s a slight left. Should be another mile after that.”

He eased the car toward the intersection, checked both ways, and turned onto the road. His tires gripped the paved surface, skidded, gripped again, and they were off. It was a minor miracle that the road was paved, even if it wasn’t plowed well. They cruised atop the icy surface, barely able to see more than a few feet into the dark.

“We just passed into Pennsylvania,” Kelly said.

“And to the land of guns and God we go.”

A few minutes later, the car crawled to a stop in the Cain’s driveway. He put the gear into park and pulled the emergency brake just in case. Slumped his shoulders.

“Try to behave,” his wife said.

Michael looked over at her as the interior car light dimmed to black. “Of course.”

She planted a kiss on his lips and held it there. “Please.”

“Do I get a reward if I do?”

“Michael—”

“We might freeze into a block of ice trying to get naked,” he said. If their last visit was any sign, Sean would keep the thermostat at thirty-nine degrees Fahrenheit. Roughly.

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all,” she said, poking at her phone. “No more data or cell service again.”

“Their house is a dead zone.”

“We can get the Wi-Fi password later,” she said, looking into his eyes. “I mean it. Behave, okay?” He nodded, and she opened the door to the outside.

The wind kicked up and rushed against her, trying to force the door shut. She yelped, stood up, and almost slipped on the icy driveway. Bless her heart. Michael loved his wife. She was a sweet woman, but naïve. She didn’t see what he saw in others. Most people didn’t.

He opened his door and braved the cold air. He met Kelly at the front of the car, most of her legs below the surface of the snow. “They’ll get our bags, right?” she asked.

“They don’t run a concierge service, honey.”

“I don’t want to come back out.”

They trudged through the deep snow toward the front porch. The chimney cranked out gray smoke driven away sharply by the wind. The sides of the porch were hemmed with hard, translucent plastic sheets intended to block the snow drift. Two giant pines towered in front of the two-story home. The wind whipped the branches wildly. Michael threw the porch door open and motioned Kelly through. Once inside, he fought with the door, the wind tugging in opposition, until it latched. He stared at his wife, her cheeks flushed. Their breath floated in a static calm. He pounded the front door and waited.

Here goes nothing.

Aidan opened the door and beamed. “Hey, Uncle Mike,” he said.

Poor kid. He seemed smaller than the last time they had visited. “How are you?”

“Good.” He turned his face toward Kelly, though he didn’t meet her eyes. “Hey, Aunt Kelly.”

The boy acted shyer around his aunt. Beauty does that to guys—even little ones. “It’s good to see you, little man,” she said and extended her arms. He fell into them with an embarrassed smirk, and she held him tight. “I think you’ve grown since the last time I saw you.”

Aidan broke away and opened the door wider for them. They stepped onto a small linoleum square in the living room that housed a myriad of boots and shoes. The house had a homely feel with a strong redneck influence. There was light wood paneling on the lower half of the walls and painted drywall above. A buck’s head was mounted near the dining room. A fireplace roared in the corner, a chainmail screen pulled tight in front. Very homely. Very redneck.

“I wasn’t expecting you all so early,” his sister said, emerging from the kitchen. She turned to Aidan. “Hey, turn the TV off.”

“But there’s this thing—”

“Aidan, please.”

Aidan glowered and zapped the TV off a few seconds later.

Dark circles surrounded Elise’s eyes, her wrinkles set in more since the last time he had seen her. Her hair was coiled in a loose bun, her apron caked with powder. He frowned. She had clearly been slaving away in the kitchen without help. Sean had better things to do, apparently.

“I’m so sorry. I’m not even showered yet,” Elise said.

“You’re fine,” Michael said.

She came forward and gave Kelly and Michael a brief hug. “It’s good to see you two.” Silence. “Can I take your coats?”

As they removed their layers and boots, Michael spotted Sean emerging from the den to his right. Time to put on the act. To behave, as his wife said. Sean extended his hand to Michael. “I thought the weather would’ve slowed you guys down. Good to see you,” he said, smiling.

Michael took his hand and forced a smile in return. He hated the pleasantries, the fake veneer of kindness he slathered on to make these visits palatable. It was phony, but expected. He didn’t want to touch Sean’s hand and act like everything was all right. Like Sean didn’t deserve a punch in his smug face.

Punching wasn’t expected though. Can’t go against expectations.

“We made it here just fine.”

They broke their handshake. Sean stuck his hands in his pockets. “Kelly,” he said with a nod.

Sean’s gaze lingered on her for a moment. Jealousy there. Not that his sister wasn’t a great woman—she was—but every guy got that way around Kelly. They got to thinking about what-ifs, like it was high school and everyone was dreaming of bagging the prom queen. Michael had gotten her, and everyone else reeked of envy.

“You got something on your face,” Sean said, pointing at Kelly.

There was a gray streak across her cheek, like she had been to an Ash Wednesday service and the priest was drunk.

Sean said, “Sometimes the ash falls down from the chimney.”

“There’s some on Michael’s coat too,” Elise said.

He looked down at his coat. The jacket was speckled. Strange.

“I’ll get a wet paper towel,” Elise said and grabbed Sean’s bicep. “And I could really use that can from the reserves, babe.”

Sean excused himself. Before disappearing into the kitchen, he turned back toward Michael. “Would you like to see it?”

“See what?”

“Just come on.”

Michael didn’t let it show in his face, but he wished he could refuse. One fewer moment with Sean was one fewer moment he had to concern himself with saying something inappropriate.

It wasn’t expected though. To refuse.

Pleasantries.

THE CONCRETE STEPS under their feet may as well have been made of ice. They descended the staircase into a dark, cold cellar. The walls were a smooth gray stone, and the floor was concrete at the landing. A chill hung in the air—not as bad as outside, but enough so that he had to wrap his arms around himself.

Sean walked ahead of him into the middle of the room and pulled a cord hanging from the ceiling. The light swayed and illuminated the space with a weak, yellow glow that left most of the basement crevices shrouded in darkness. Glass jars reflected the light like thousands of glistening eyes. They filled shelves on every wall, floor to ceiling. Sean looked back at him with a grin of self-satisfaction.

While not as dirty as he had expected, the cellar seemed to Michael like a dark, serial killer nightmare. He couldn’t tell what the jars contained, but he imagined human fetuses and horse hooves.

“We got into canning since you last came up. Elise has an organic garden outside—well, not right now with the winter, obviously—but we’ve been canning, jarring, dry-packing things up just in case.”

Michael approached a shelf and picked up a jar. “Canning what?”

“You can preserve just about anything. Vegetables, meat, fruit. Some of it’s from the stores too.”

“Horse hooves?”

“I don’t know why you’d want that.”

“I’m just poking fun. Lighten up.”

Sean laughed, but it puttered out within a second.

Michael said, “So how much do you have down here?”

“Never enough.”

“But how much?”

Sean clicked on a small LED flashlight from his pocket and washed the light over the shelves. “For my family, about two-and-a-half years worth. By next year we hope to bump that number up, but we also have to make sure we use up what we have before it goes bad.”

Michael perused the shelf, picking up an item or two and setting it back down. “You planning on getting snowed in or something?”

“I’m planning for anything.”

“Anything?”

“You never know.”

“I know I’m unlikely to need two-and-a-half years worth of food.”

“Maybe, maybe not. It’s better to be prepared in my view.”

“Well, if anything happens, I’ll make sure to come to you guys first.”

Sean stared back at him but said nothing. He always had a deadly serious look on his face when he talked about his paranoid fantasies. Michael didn’t prod him. It was best to play the role of buddy at Sean’s place. Things went much smoother.

A blinking light in the corner caught his eye. “What’s that?”

“A camera. Motion-operated. Battery-powered. It can run for months without me having to touch it. Feeds to my cell via bluetooth if I want. No cell service required.”

He shook his head.

“Listen, I know how you feel,” Sean said. “About me.”

So there it was. The real reason for coming down here. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“It’ll be a long week and I want to keep things civilized.”

“Who said we wouldn’t be civilized?”

“I never said we wouldn’t. But I want to make sure we will.”

“I plan on having a pleasant week with my family. How about you?”

Sean stared at him. “You have nothing you want to say?”

He looked him straight in the face though the light was behind Sean now, his features concealed in silhouette. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Michael said.

“Sure?”

“Positive.” He put on his lawyer smile, with all the charm. Sean opened his mouth but nothing came out. Michael put his hands on his hips, sweeping his eyes up and down the shelves and then back to Sean. “Do we need something down here?”

“Chicken stock.”

Michael grabbed a can. “Right in front of me.”

He tossed it to his brother-in-law. Sean caught it and motioned for Michael to lead the way upstairs. As he went, Michael could almost feel Sean’s eyes glued to his back.

Like they were burrowing.

MOLLY WAS IN the kitchen at the top of the stairs. “Hey, Uncle Mike,” she said, hugging him.

“It’s good to see you,” he said and pulled away.

“Was my dad down there with you?” As soon as Sean emerged in the doorway, his daughter said, “Can Andrew stay for dinner?”

Sean became rigid, so Michael pressed in. “Who’s Andrew?”

“Andrew’s my—”

“Friend,” Sean said. “Her—boyfriend.”

Michael kept himself from grinning. Molly said, “Can he?”

“I don’t know, Molls. We don’t get to see your family very often.”

“Mom said it was okay.”

Sean made eye contact with his wife across the room. Michael always found it amazing what he could discover in those brief, nonverbal exchanges. The look in Sean’s eyes read that he wanted his wife’s blessing to say no, but she arched her eyebrows and tipped her head down just a grade. A short conversation. No words.

Sean turned back to his daughter with the defeated look of a man used to getting his way. “I don’t know. Your uncle and aunt have traveled a long way. I think it’d be better just to visit with them for the night.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Michael said. “I’d liked to meet him.”

Sean smiled instead of bursting with anger. “Sure. We’ll set another place at the table.”

Pleasantries were always expected.

Chapter 3

ELISE

THE KIDS SET the table while Elise showered. She cranked up the heat as high as she could bear. Her skin reddened, becoming like prunes on her fingers. She leaned her head into the pounding water and let it stream down her face and hair. She moaned. The thoughts drained out of her head as if the water were carrying them away.

A draft kicked up as the door opened, and she snapped out of her daze. The stress about dinner gathered back into her clenched muscles. Sean said, “I got the purple sweater. The one on the left side of the closet, right?”

He closed the door. The handle squeaked when she turned the water off. She threw open the curtain and shivered at the blast of cold air. Water vapor hovered like smoke. Sean stood in the corner of the bathroom, the purple sweater on a hanger in one hand and her underwear in the other. His eyes fixed on her breasts.

“Eyes up here, buddy,” she said with a grin, grabbing a towel off the rack.

“I wish we didn’t have to be downstairs so soon.”

She smirked.

He said, “You’re amazing.”

She shook her head. Her features had rounded since they had gotten married, and carrying children had left permanent marks across her abdomen, but Sean didn’t seem to notice. He looked at her the same way he had twenty years prior. “Let’s try later, okay?”

He nodded, hung the sweater on a hook, and set the underwear on top of a shelf. “Hey, about earlier.”

She stopped drying her hair.

“About Andrew staying for dinner,” he said.

“What about it?”

“I don’t know. I felt like I couldn’t say no, or I would’ve been the bad guy.”

“You’re the one with the strong opinion about it.”

“It’s just—I felt like you forced my hand.” He shook his head. “It’s all right.”

She kept her eyes on him and said, “He’s a good kid.”

“Sure.”

“And Molly sacrificed moving out here too. Had to leave all her friends. I just don’t want to see you drive away one of the few friends she has.”

Sean said nothing.

She stepped out of the shower and wrung her damp hair over the sink. “They’re good kids.”

“I know.”

“You could cut them a little slack.”

He nodded. “Need anything else?”

She took a step toward him. “Come here.”

They embraced, his hands exploring her naked frame, a smile on his face. She said, “Thanks for the help.” She sealed her lips against his. He pulled her in tighter, and lust welled up from her gut. When his tongue brushed against her teeth, she pulled back. “Come on now, buddy. I said later.”

“You’re killing me.”

“Later.”

He kissed her cheek and turned toward the door. Elise blinked. “Hey Sean.”

He turned back.

“What did you want to say earlier?”

“Huh?”

“You said you wanted to clear your head.”

He was going to lie—she knew the look. He always made the same expression, an eyebrow raised, jaw tense. Every time. It let her know everything about to come out of his mouth was either bullshit or a dodge. “Just stressed about your family coming in. Your brother’s a piece of work.”

She half-smiled. On some level, he had to know she sensed his deceit. Especially since she had checked the landline caller-ID when Sean had picked up the phone. His work number. After he had taken the call, he had stormed out to chop wood.

She would not press the issue. He’d tell the truth in time. “Michael’s just strong-willed like me,” she said.

“I can only handle one of you.”

She waved him away. “I’ll be down in fifteen minutes. Make sure you pull the chicken from the oven when the timer goes off.”

He kissed her cheek again and left.

She traced the spot of the kiss with her fingers, feeling the lingering sensation there, thinking about his lies. About how they often caused more heartache than the pain he was trying to spare her. She rubbed the sensation away and put it out of mind.

THE FAMILY GATHERED around a table filled with a cornucopia of delicious food. As Elise came down the stairs, she regretted scheduling such a big meal the day of Michael and Kelly’s arrival. Everyone had already split off into separate conversations. Sean chatted with Aidan. Kelly, Molly, and Andrew conversed with one another leaving Michael, alone with his phone, mumbling about how he still needed the Wi-Fi password. Pizza and beer would have been better. Less formal. Easier. Then again, Michael and Kelly were New Yorkers like Elise. And they’d probably never shut up about how good pizza didn’t exist outside of New York.

The food did look good. A cream cloth with red trim blanketed the long oak table, the fixings spread out neatly on it. The kids had arranged the China plates as instructed. All the silverware came from the same set. She allowed herself to decompress. Everything was fine. No need to worry.

Sean’s gaze met her eyes as she came into the dining room. “Have a seat,” he said.

Elise relaxed into her chair at the end of the table opposite her husband. Michael had chosen a seat far away from Sean—which was good.

“Let’s eat,” Sean said and grabbed the dish in front of him.

Almost everyone reached for the food, but Elise cleared her throat. Their conversations swelled, so she cleared it again, louder. A silence struck the whole table like a bolt of electric current. “I think we should say a blessing over our food,” she said.

They paused. She bowed her head. Everyone followed her lead, Sean rolling his eyes before he did. “Heavenly Father,” Elise said, “thank you for this evening and the many blessings you have poured out on us. I pray that you would bless our time together as a family. Thank you for this food. I pray you would use it to the good of our bodies and our bodies to thy service. In Jesus name, Amen.”

A chorus of Amens rose from the table and a clattering of silverware and dishes replaced it. Plates filled. Sean sprinkled his chicken with salt. He always salted everything. Elise flushed with satisfaction. Feeding others a good meal was one of life’s small pleasures.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Aidan asked.

Elise looked at Kelly’s empty plate. “No, I’m fine, little man,” Kelly said, winking at him.

He smiled, diverted his gaze, and put a fork into his mashed potatoes. Elise said, “Is something wrong?”

“I just can’t eat right now,” Kelly said.

“Why?”

“I’m on a juice fast.”

“A what-now?”

“A juice fast,” she said, as if repeating herself explained everything.

Elise and Sean shared a glance but kept quiet. Molly said, “It’s a way of flushing the body of all the toxins we have because of stress and poor eating. All the celebrities do it.”

“Because Hollywood is filled with people who epitomize good health choices,” Sean said.

“It’s actually very healthy—fasting every once in a while.” She turned to Kelly. “How do you feel?”

“Great,” Kelly said. “You don’t really know how bad you feel until you’ve gone without food for a little while.”

“I know that all too well,” Sean said. “I haven’t eaten in hours.”

Elise concealed a smile. There was no pleasing Kelly. She rarely ate much of Elise’s cooking when they visited. A juice fast seemed like a convenient out for doing what she would do anyway.

“So, Andrew,” Michael said, “how’d you and Molly meet?”

“At school.”

“You guys have a class together?”

“Trigonometry.”

“Ah, trig. Don’t really use that anymore.”

“What do you do for a living Mr. —”

“Ambrucci,” Elise said. “My maiden name.”

“I’m a personal injury attorney.”

“I saw your car outside. Pretty cool.”

“Ambulance chasing has its perks,” Sean said.

Elise glared at him.

“Ambulance chasing. That’s good, Sean,” Michael said. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

“Sorry,” Sean said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Bad joke.”

“I was thinking about law school after college,” Andrew said after a brief pause. “Maybe pre-law in undergrad.”

“I would make sure the market’s good when you go to apply. They’re not hiring many associates anymore.”

“So I shouldn’t do that?”

“I wouldn’t say don’t do it. Just make sure you understand the market. A lot of people are saddled with a hundred grand or more in debt and no job prospects.”

Sean said, “And that’s why it’s good to pay cash for everything.”

“Pay cash for law school? I’d love to see that.”

“It could be done.”

Michael turned to Andrew. “Only rich people can pay cash for things like that. Just remember that you might take a risk.”

“Which you could minimize by paying cash.”

Elise shifted. It was never about the actual topic with Michael and Sean—it was always a dick-sizing competition. She said, “Molly was selected as editor-in-chief of the senior yearbook next year.”

“Congratulations,” Michael said. “That’ll look great on your college applications.”

“There weren’t a lot of people who wanted to do it, so it wasn’t that hard,” Molly said.

“Don’t be down on yourself. You earned it,” Michael said.

“She also helped plan the homecoming events this year,” Elise said.

Molly played around with her food, eyes lowered. She was thin with auburn hair and big brown eyes like her mom. Elise had feared early on that she would never develop a personality beyond her beauty, so Sean and Elise emphasized the importance of her studies and instilled in her compassion for others. That way, when she grew up, she wouldn’t be shallow and uninteresting. And marry for money like…

Kelly said, “That’s amazing. You know, I was homecoming and prom queen back when I was in high school.”

And when was that, three years ago? Elise thought.

“It wasn’t homecoming court or anything. Just the planning committee,” Molly said.

“It’s still super important. Homecoming planning, newspaper editor. You got a lot going, girl. You’re beautiful and have a big heart and smarts to boot,” Kelly said.

Molly smiled shyly, and Andrew gave her a nudge with his elbow. This made Elise smile, but when she saw Sean’s reaction, her expression fell.

“We’re very proud of Molls,” Sean said.

“I’m glad to hear she’s still doing well, all things considered,” Michael said.

Sean set his silverware down, laced his fingers, and propped his elbows on the table. Dick-sizing round two. “All things considered?”

It felt like the room temperature had risen a few notches, like bubbles forming on the bottom of a warming pot. She stopped chewing.

Michael said, “Well, you uprooted her from a good school—her friends—to live here. That would be hard on any teenager.”

“I wasn’t aware you were a psychologist,” Sean said.

“I’ve just learned a few things while chasing ambulances.”

Elise wet her tongue with a sip of water. “Guys.”

Sean said, “No, it’s okay. It’s a fair comment. She’s doing great because we tutor her and help her along. And the school quality here is fine, thank you very much.”

“Wasn’t implying anything,” Michael said. He took another bite.

“Of course you weren’t.”

Everyone else around the table stared at their plates.

“You never are trying to imply anything, are you, Michael?” Sean said. “Just planting little seeds then backing out before you’re caught doing it.”

“Sean, please.” Michael said to Elise, “This chicken’s good.”

“Just trying to back out,” Sean said.

“Come on, Sean.”

“Come on, what?”

“Just let it go.”

“What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have a fucking problem.”

“Hey, watch your language in front of the kids.”

“I’ll watch my language when you agree to watch your kids.”

Elise’s heart dropped into her bowels. Her husband’s eyes burned with cold fury. His body leaned forward like he was seconds away from lunging across the table and slugging him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sean asked with clamped teeth.

“Yeah, what does that mean?” Elise said, growing angrier.

Michael slid his chair back and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“I asked, what’s that supposed to mean?” Sean said.

Michael set the napkin down and told Elise, “The food was great.”

He walked around his sister and exited into the kitchen. The air followed him out, leaving a void. She couldn’t believe he said that. He crossed that line.

Sean sat back in his seat, but every muscle fiber under his skin was taut. He picked up a fork and jabbed his food. Elise tried to make eye contact with him, to show her support for him, but he just looked down at the middle of the table. He needed to know she didn’t hold the accident against him.

Because he never had forgiven himself for what happened to Gracie.

Chapter 4

SEAN

SEAN LAY IN bed wishing he had taken one of his sleeping pills. His mind played the events from dinner as if on repeat. Every replay was an opportunity to change what he had said, to fantasize that his words were stronger, more impactful. Or that he had punched his brother-in-law’s teeth out.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Clearly there was.

He spun around until his feet came off the bed, listening to the steady rhythm of his wife’s breathing. He set his elbows on his knees and planted his face into his hands. Michael and Elise’s after dinner screaming match replayed. Sean had taken Aidan upstairs to shield him from it and ushered Andrew out. Then he had gone up to his bedside nightstand, to his gun safe disguised as a battery-powered alarm clock. He entered the code and a metal slide, just big enough to fit his pistol, popped out. He stored his gun inside. Dangerous weapons plus a temper were a terrible combination.

Now, he watched the red numbers on another clock switch over to four a.m., and he thought he heard an engine outside. His mind playing tricks. He rubbed his face and revisited dinner. It was foolish to replay the argument again. He tried to shake it away, but it stuck in his mind.

While he usually would grab his gun during his late-night walks around the home, he decided against it, his temper still flared. The bed squeaked, rising from it. He shuffled toward the door and left without making another noise.

The darkness sapped most of the color from the hallway, leaving just blacks and grays. The floorboards creaked under his weight. When he reached the banister, he turned instead of going down, walking along the railing overlooking the stairs before diverting into a short hallway. At the end was an office with a desk, safe, and full bookshelves. He didn’t turn the light on.

The swaying trees outside brushed against the home’s siding. He stood by a window, pinned one venetian blind down with his finger, and looked out at the front yard. It was something fierce outside, worse than usual. The snow was cloudy and thick.

Getting Michael and Kelly out would be difficult. Elise was adamant about them leaving—and so was Sean—but the snow wouldn’t cooperate. Michael’s luxury car was practically buried.

A loud thump carried through the wall like something had hit it. He froze and then reached down for the gun he didn’t have. He waited. The room next to the office was Molly’s, and she kicked while sleeping. That was it. Had to be.

It nagged him though. He tiptoed around the banister and toward Molly’s room, trying to be quiet, but a groan escaped from the floor every few steps. He leaned toward the door and listened. The wind howled outside, but otherwise everything was silent. He reached out to turn the doorknob, just to check in on her, but relented. If someone had broken in, Sean would have heard movement in the baseboards. He relaxed and returned to bed.

As he pulled the covers over himself, his mind replayed his earlier conversation with Michael. No use trying to fight thoughts that wouldn’t stop. Michael had said, “Well, if anything happens, I’ll make sure to come to you guys first.”

Sean changed the scene, a grin on his face, and said, “And I’d turn you away.”

SEAN WOKE TO the smell of faint smoke.

He scrunched his nose and reached toward the other side of the bed to find crumpled, cold sheets. He looked over at his safe/clock. Eight in the morning. He was usually the first awake, even after a sleepless night. Maybe it was for the better.

The curtains, normally back-lit by a translucent flush of morning light, were opaque instead. He bent at the waist and rubbed his arms. Nobody had turned up the thermostat. He shot out of bed and threw on a sweater, thick robe, and slippers. Considered going downstairs. Elise would be there—but he wasn’t sure who else might be. He couldn’t spend his whole day in hiding, so he walked to the banister.

He looked down the hall. Aidan’s door was wide open—he was an early riser like his dad—but Molly’s was still closed. He tried not to hound her for sleeping late, but the last few months she seemed to do it more than normal. He detoured toward her room and tapped his knuckles on her door. “Sweetheart, you up?” He waited. And then knocked again. “Molls, it’s time to get up.”

“I’ll be down in a few,” she said, muffled behind the door.

“You want breakfast?”

“I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“I’m fine,” she said, agitated.

Sean backpedaled. He couldn’t get into her head. Since the move—since she met him—it had been a nonstop parade of strange behaviors. Before the move, she would have never spoken to him with that tone. He shook his head and took his wife’s advice: cut her some slack.

He crept down the stairs, watching the room below come into view. It was petty, but he wanted the choice to go back upstairs if he saw Michael in the living room. The best course of action was avoidance.

Seemed to be Michael’s goal, too, because Sean poked his head below the plane of the ceiling and found nobody there. The blinds and the drapes were undrawn, leaving the room with a sulky, depressing ambiance. The only bright light came from the kitchen. He descended the remaining steps, looked around the railing into the kitchen, and watched. A few seconds later, his wife walked into the frame of the door.

“Morning,” she said with a smile that looked like it took effort. “What’re you doing?”

Sean chuckled and came into the kitchen. “I don’t know.” He kissed her cheek and then leaned in the dining room doorway. Past the table and off to the side, the guest bedroom door was clamped shut with a halo of yellow light surrounding it. Michael and Kelly were awake.

“They haven’t come out,” Elise said.

He looked back at her, trying to act natural. “Hmm?”

“Come on, Sean,” she said and pulled the coffee pot off the percolator. “Want some?”

He nodded, his eyes drifting back to the door, trying to redirect his gaze, convincing himself it was okay. If Michael came out, Sean would skirt to the other end of the room. He would act civilized. No reason to not be peaceable.

A cup of steaming black coffee floated in his peripheral. “They’re not coming out,” she whispered, tapping his arm, holding the cup out to him. “Well, at least Michael isn’t. I told him last night that he better stay out of sight or I’ll shoot him.”

Sean smiled and grabbed the cup. “I knew there was a reason I married you.”

She let a few seconds pass. “He was way out of line.”

“I know.”

“I really want you to know I’m on your side.”

“I know.”

“It was completely inappropriate for him to bring up Gracie like that—”

“Elise, please. We don’t need to talk about this right now.”

She curled a few loose strands of hair around her ear. She had always reassured him, even right after the accident, that she didn’t blame him. Never had and never would. He appreciated it, though sometimes he wished she had. And that she wouldn’t bring it up so much.

She wrapped her arm around him and squeezed. A second later, she returned to the stove. “I just think the sooner they’re gone, the sooner I can forgive him.” She sighed and grabbed a carton of eggs from the fridge. “Want some?”

“Sure,” he said and took one last glance at the guest bedroom. “You burn something earlier?”

“I left some toast in too long.”

“Smelled it upstairs.”

“I’m surprised it carried that far.”

Elise scooped up a dollop of butter with a plastic spatula and smacked it into the pan. Sean walked toward the window, blinds still closed. “Did it stop snowing?”

“Don’t know. It seemed so dreary outside, I didn’t want to look.”

Sean’s fingers wrapped around the cord to lift the blinds when he heard a scream.

“Mom!”

Aiden’s voice, shrill and frightened. Sean and Elise’s eyes met, and panic spread across their faces. Sean dropped the coffee cup, the glass shattering as they darted into the living room.

Aidan stood in the middle of the room, arms drooped to his sides. He was dressed in his snow pants, boots, and a heavy jacket, the hood pulled over his head. His gloves lay at his side. Everything had gray soot on it like he had been rolling in a spent campfire, except where his gloves had covered his skin. Sean and Elise knelt in front of him. Tears streamed down his cheeks, leaving clear trails through the soot. His chest heaved like he couldn’t get any air. “I’m getting his inhaler,” Elise said and rushed into the other room.

“Calm down, bud. Relax,” Sean said, his hands resting on Aidan’s shoulders. “Breathe deep.” He looked him over. “Did you climb in the burn barrel or something?”

Elise reappeared with a white inhaler in her hands. She plopped back down on her knees next to Sean and extended it to her son. Aidan, shaking, grabbed it and squeezed a puff of medicine into his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said between trembling sobs. “I’m sorry.”

“Just calm down. Breathe,” Sean said. He pulled back his hands from Aidan’s shoulder and looked at his palms and fingers printed with a gray film that smelled of fire. He looked his son up and down and stopped at his feet. A trail of small, ashy prints in the white carpet led to the garage. Aidan’s footprints. “Aidan, what happened?”

The boy sobbed. Through his broken words, he said, “I w-w-wanted to p-play in the snow.”

Aidan wasn’t supposed to be exerting himself, trudging through the snow. It wasn’t the first time he was playing outside without permission, but other times he hadn’t come back inside covered in ash.

“Did you burn something?” Sean asked. Maybe the shed? Or a part of the house? His heart beat faster.

“I s-snuck outside,” Aidan cried.

“Why are you covered in ash?”

“I don’t know,” he stuttered.

“Did you light something on fire?”

“No!” His sobs grew louder, his words becoming incomprehensible.

“Aidan,” Sean said, looking him in the eye, “I need you to be honest with me. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he shouted.

Kelly stepped out of the guest bedroom. Dressed in a pair of long pants and a button-down cardigan, she pulled her clothing closer to herself, crossing her arms. “What’s going on?”

He wished she would stay out of it. “We don’t know.”

As soon as she saw Aidan, she rushed over to him and got on her knees like the others. “What happened?”

Aidan, probably thinking his mom and dad would punish him, sought safety with Kelly, and wrapped his arms around her. Despite him being filthy, she returned the hug without hesitation. “It’s okay, little man,” she whispered.

Kelly raised her eyebrows as if to ask what was going on. Sean put a hand on his forehead, the sound volume of the room shrinking, Sean hearing nothing now, not even his son’s sobs, his eyes tracing Aidan’s steps back to the garage entrance. He pushed himself up and followed them. Each footstep wasn’t a perfect print but had a tail like a comet where Aidan had dragged his feet. Sprinkled around them were specks of gray.

He threw the door to the garage open. A cold, bitter wind wafted toward him. He walked through the breezeway and onto the concrete floor of the garage. The backdoor was wide open. He crept toward it.

He shoved his upper arm against his lips.

The air stunk like sulfur and smoke. It couldn’t be wildfire. Too much snow. Yet, out of the sky white snow floated with what appeared to be gray ash and spent embers, the tones intermingled and contrasting. He stepped closer.

A gust kicked up, Sean shielding his face. He bent down toward the settled snow, careful not to step into it. Grabbed a handful. The white and gray juxtaposed with one another in his hand, the white fading as it melted leaving a wet, black residue in his palm. He rubbed his fingers together and smelled them. Burnt wood. Even as he pulled his hand away, the odor lingered in his nose.

His eyes widened, and he wiped his hand on his pants. Whatever was happening was something he didn’t understand. Something the wind had brought in.

Something monstrous.

Chapter 5

MICHAEL

WHEN MICHAEL CAME out, Kelly was holding Aidan and Elise was looking toward the garage at something he couldn’t see. Sean was nowhere in sight. Elise might snap at him for coming out of the bedroom—she had been firm about not wanting to see his face again—but all the racket sounded like the world might be ending. If he didn’t show concern, he might be accused of being heartless. Yet, if he did, he might be accused of trying to instigate conflict. A no-win situation, so he went to investigate.

“What’s going on?”

No answer. Aidan was caked in something. The room smelled like the bonfires he had attended during law school, minus the odor of cheap beer. “What happened?” he asked Kelly.

She shook her head. His nephew’s sobs permeated the room and assaulted his ears. The air hung in tension like it was saturated with aerosolized gunpowder and someone was seconds away from jumping inside with a torch. He edged around the coffee table, closer to his sister, as if any sudden movement would cause an explosion. “What happened?” he whispered.

Elise didn’t look at him. “Nothing that concerns you.”

“Why’s Aidan crying?”

“My son is not your business right now, Michael. Get out of here before Sean sees you.”

“He’s crying like somebody died.”

She put a hand in his face. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what. Trying to play some moral superiority card. Out of my face.”

The heat of his temper flared in his chest, Aidan’s sobs chipping at the last bit of restraint he had. He expanded his chest and put his tongue between his teeth. He started to backpedal toward the guest room.

Elise walked past the fireplace toward the window, took the cord for the blinds, and yanked them up. She clasped her hand over her mouth and yelped. He stopped, their eyes meeting, Elise’s eyes wide, her arms shaking. He hurried toward her.

It looked like ash. Ash and snow. Everything outside was coated in a thin layer of gray, more drifting down to join the pile. “Holy shit,” he said.

Elise looked over at him, the hand over her mouth lifted, her lips moving but no sound coming out. He looked back at his wife, Aidan still strapped to her like Velcro on felt. They conversed without words. She asked what was happening, and he saw the panic rise within her. He had nothing to say, no plan to execute. For the first time he could remember, he had no response.

“Elise,” Sean yelled from the other room.

She snapped out of her daze. He yelled her name again before barreling into the living room. “Babe, the snow,” she said.

Gasping like he’d just finished sprinting, he straightened his back. A raw determination reflected in his eyes. “My emergency radio should have gone off.”

“The weather one?”

“The one in the bedside table drawer.”

Elise drew back, like she expected Sean to punch her in the mouth. “I took the batteries out.”

Sean stared her down. “You did what?” he said through his teeth.

“I needed batteries for the clock in the kitchen. Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

He wiped his face with his hand and smeared ash across his skin. He shut his eyelids. “Just—can you get Molly? Grab some blankets. Meet us in the reserves.” He pointed to Kelly. “Take Aidan to the basement.”

As Elise charged up the stairs, Kelly picked up her nephew and saddled him in her arms. “Where’s the basement?”

Sean told her and wiped his brow with his shirt. Michael couldn’t hold his tongue anymore. “Sean, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” No animosity, like yesterday was forgotten.

“Is that ash outside?”

“It smells like—sulfur or something. Burning. Like there’s a forest fire.”

“Then we need to get out of here.”

Elise yelled upstairs, pounding on Molly’s door without ceasing. The hair on Michael’s arms stood. Sean said, “We can’t go out there.”

“Well if there’s a goddamn forest fire coming toward us—”

“It’s the middle of winter. The entire woods are covered in snow. This isn’t a forest fire.”

Elise hurried down the stairs, pulling Molly along by the hand. Molly, hair a mess of bedhead, dazed but in control—more than he would be if someone had ripped him out of bed—blinked a few times when they came to a stop.

Sean asked Elise, “Did you grab the emergency radio?”

She froze, frustration in her face like she was kicking herself. They stared at each other, anger growing on Sean’s face. “I’ll get it,” Michael finally said. “Bedside table, right?”

Michael couldn’t pinpoint what was happening behind Sean’s eyes, the thought process there. Sean said, “Be quick. Meet us in the reserves.”

As Michael sprinted up the stairs, he watched in his peripheral as Molly wrapped her arms around her dad. Sean yelled for everyone to hurry. Michael wasn’t sure why everyone was panicking when they didn’t have all the facts yet. But everyone was spooked, and now he was running for reasons he couldn’t explain.

He ran to the bedroom, almost slipping when he maneuvered around the banister at the top of the stairs, and pushed the door open. He scurried to the nightstand and pulled the drawer open, nearly tipping the whole thing, the lamp and the clock on top wobbling forward, Michael catching them before they fell. The whole table had a poor center of gravity, he guessed. He rummaged through the first drawer. Nothing except towels and lube. He grimaced and pushed it closed. He pulled the second one open and rustled around inside until he found the radio buried under some socks.

Radio in hand, he pushed off the bedside table, once again rocking it back and forth, and ran out of the room. He bounded down the steps three at a time. Near the bottom, his foot slipped, and he landed on his rear and skidded five steps before coming to a stop. Pain shot up through his tailbone and radiated into his torso. He seethed and limped toward the kitchen.

Before he descended, he grabbed the clock Elise had mentioned earlier. The emergency radio was no use without batteries. Someone had closed the door to the reserves, so he threw it open and descended.

The basement was like a scene out of a cold war bunker. The women stood huddled together, shaking, black and gray gas masks secured on their faces, their eyes peering out through goggles. Little Aidan, hands gripped around Kelly’s leg, had a small, clear mask attached to an oxygen tank around his nose and mouth, his ashen clothes removed and wrapped in a blanket. Michael’s feet settled against the concrete at the base of the stairs. “What’s going on?”

Sean appeared from behind the family. His gas mask was bigger, his eyes like coal behind the goggles, reflecting the swaying light in the middle of the room. His breath was more pronounced through the ventilator attached to the mask. What the hell was happening?

“Did you get the radio?” Sean asked.

Michael nodded and extended it to him. The entire scene felt surreal, like the world had gone and changed somehow. He pushed back against the thought. There was no big fire outside. Freak anomalies happen, but there was no need for gas masks. No need for panic. Maybe. God, feeling the panic coming back. “I got the clock for batteries,” he said.

Sean was already loading AA batteries into the radio. “We always have batteries down here,” he said. “There’s no reason they should have been taken out to put in a clock when we have plenty down here.”

No sugarcoating who the comment was aimed at. Elise said, “You kept telling me not to take things from the reserves.”

“I didn’t say take the batteries from the emergency radio. Of all the things to take batteries from.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I made a mistake.”

“We could have been warned hours ago.”

A grunt carried through her ventilator. It occurred to Michael that neither Kelly nor he ever got the Wi-Fi password yesterday. They could have gotten warning without the radio if they had a data signal. Michael said, “Nobody needs to blame anyone right now.”

Sean’s eyes locked onto Michael for a few dragging seconds. Finally, he looked away and loaded another battery. Michael asked, “Why’s everyone wearing a mask?”

“We don’t know what’s going on. Could be an aerosol weapon attack. I don’t know,” Sean said, lodging the last battery into place.

He paused. “So where’s mine?”

Sean stopped. “Yours?”

“Yeah, mine.”

“We don’t have another. I already gave Kelly the one I bought for when Aidan’s older.”

He looked at the others, safe and secure in their masks, shielded from whatever was outside, and he stood there exposed. He felt a cough in his throat. “You don’t have any more masks?” Michael said.

“We didn’t expect to have any more people than this,” Sean said.

“If that shit outside is poisonous—”

“Watch your language in front of the kids.”

“If that shit is poisonous, then you’ve already been exposed.”

Sean stepped back. A static crunching blasted from the radio trying to find a signal. “What are you saying?”

I’m saying give me your mask, you prick. “How is it doing any good if you’ve already been exposed?”

“I have medical masks you can use.”

“Sean, if you’ve been exposed already then you wearing a mask is useless.”

Elise inched into the space between them. “Michael.”

“We don’t even know what’s outside,” Sean said.

“Then why’re you wearing a gas mask?” Michael asked.

“We need to take precautions.”

Elise told Michael, “Just calm down.”

Michael was primed to rip that stupid mask off Sean’s stupid face. He just knew Sean was concealing a smile behind that mask. That’s how Sean was. Always trying to teach a lesson—and, oh boy, was this a good one. Don’t prepare, die first. But Michael wasn’t about to die over a lesson. Not without a fight. “You’re being selfish,” Michael said. “If you’ve already been exposed—”

“Back off.”

“Michael, you’re out of line,” Elise said.

“There’re plenty of medical masks over there,” Sean said, pointing. “Go get one. We don’t have enough gas masks for everyone.”

Michael stepped forward, a second away from lunging at him when a small voice spoke from behind them.

“Take mine.”

Molly had her mask in her hand, extending it out. A few tears rolled off her pale cheeks, and she thrust it closer toward him. “Come on. Take it.”

Chapter 6

ELISE

ELISE COULDN’T SEE his face under the mask, but she heard Sean’s breathing pick up and his horrified yelp. They had spent so much time and energy prepping for a disaster, and now it was here. To see Molly vulnerable to whatever was outside…

“Molls, what are you—? Molls,” Sean said.

“What’s the point of the masks,” Molly said, “if we’re going to kill each other over them.”

Elise sighed. That wasn’t going to happen.

“Please, please put your mask back on,” Sean said.

Molly sniffled. “I’m giving it to Uncle Mike.”

Michael seemed beside himself, his face filled with shame. “I can’t take that from you.”

“But you’ll take it from my dad?”

“I can’t.”

“I’m giving it to you,” she said, her eyes dripping with each blink.

“I’m not taking it.”

Sean stood in front of Molly, his hands on her shoulders, whispering, “Sweetheart, you need to put your mask back on. Please.”

“I won’t take it,” Michael said.

Her bottom lip trembled, eyes toward the ceiling. She set the mask into place and tightened the straps. Sean fell forward and wrapped his arms around her, a sigh escaping from his mask’s ventilator. Elise said a brief prayer for Molly’s protection, hoping she hadn’t hurt herself.

He broke away from her. Sean and Michael looked at one another, saying nothing. Michael soon grabbed one of the surgical masks and then embraced his wife. Kelly pressed her head against his chest.

Sean signaled for Aidan to come closer, and he came and hugged his dad’s leg. Elise watched her husband rub Aidan’s back, his touch so gentle she found her own nerves settling too. It would be okay. They were a family. If they stuck together, they’d make it through.

Aside from a few sniffles and the crackling radio, the cellar was silent. She eyed the supplies. She had been canning and preparing for something to happen for years, but always hoped the day wouldn’t come. Now she wasn’t sure there was enough. She should have listened when Sean said he wanted to buy a freeze-dryer or more supplies. Listened when he said there was never enough.

Sean adjusted the dial on the radio. A modulated signal came through, fuzzy and distorted. He rotated the dial back, and the signal peaked in volume and settled. A computerized voice spoke: “This is the emergency broadcast system. This is not a test.”

A dissonant tone blared out of the speakers. Again. And again, the sound slamming into her chest each time, shattering any calm she had. It had always been a test. Now it wasn’t. Molly hugged her, Elise pulling her closer.

A sound clicked on the radio like a phone receiver had picked up. The voice came on again. “This is the emergency broadcast system. This is not a test. Be advised: The Volcanic Ash Advisory Centres in North America have issued an ash advisory across the continental United States. Please remain indoors as inhalation of ash can cause severe respiratory issues.”

“Volcanic ash?” Sean said, the radio shaking in his hands.

“There aren’t any volcanoes nearby, right?” Michael said.

“No. Not at all.”

Elise said, “Then how is this happening?”

Sean hushed them as the radio voice continued: “Weather patterns are carrying ash over the continental United States. Do not leave your homes. Wait for local emergency personnel for further instructions. This is the emergency broadcast system. This is not a test. Be advised: The Volcanic Ash Advisory—”

Sean silenced the radio, leaving only the ticking sound of the clock Michael had grabbed. He lifted his mask off his face. Everyone reluctantly followed. He grabbed the medical masks and distributed them. “I think we’ll be fine with just these.”

“What did they mean, the continental United States?” Kelly said.

“It means it’s bad.”

“What could even cause that?”

Elise could almost see the thoughts processing behind his eyes. “All right,” he said, “we’re going to lay down some rules right now. First, nobody goes outside under any circumstance unless I tell them to. We don’t open windows, and we don’t open doors except to the garage.”

“What if the police or firemen come?” Kelly asked. “Like from the radio?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“And if the power goes out?” Michael asked.

“The furnace is wood burning. We have a few solar panels on the roof—won’t be much good covered in ash though. We have a generator too and a propane supply, and the fireplace in the living room is a secondary furnace. It’ll heat that room. We’ll be all right if we all stay inside.”

Michael said, “I don’t think any of us are in any hurry to go out there.”

“We have to seal all the cracks in the doors and the sides of the windows. As a precaution. There’s tape down here and in the junk drawer upstairs. Molly, Kelly, Michael and I will do that first.”

“What about me?” Elise asked.

“You and Aidan watch the TV. We need more information, and you can keep him calm.”

“I’m not a baby,” Aidan said.

“I know you’re not, bud. We just can’t have you running around. Especially now.”

Elise’s guts drained to the bottom of her abdomen, and she felt like vomiting. Especially now. They had limited medication for Aidan. For his asthma. For his seizures. But she didn’t need to worry. Whatever was causing the ash would stop soon enough and they wouldn’t have to get anxious about shortages. Yeah, that was right. Don’t freak out yet. “I can do that.”

“Let’s get to work then,” Michael said.

“I’m not done,” Sean said.

Elise looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. They needed to get working. “Babe—”

“We need to bar all the doors too.”

“Bar the doors?” Michael asked.

“And the windows. Nail them shut. Make sure they can’t be opened. Board them up.”

“What does that have to do with the ash?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?”

“We need to be prepared.”

It struck her—the fear that begins in the diaphragm and steals the air before it can reach the lungs. Sean didn’t think this was temporary. Elise said, “Babe, I think we should focus on first things first.”

“I am,” he said. “That’s why nobody comes back into the reserves unless I say.”

Michael blinked. “What?”

“We don’t know how long we’ll be stuck here, so we need to calm down and make sure we have enough.”

“You mean make sure we don’t steal anything.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s exactly what you said.”

“Both of you shut up!” Kelly yelled. “We have ash falling from the sky. The children are terrified. I’m terrified. And all you two can do is bicker.” She pointed at her husband. “You shut up and do everything he says.”

“Kelly—” Michael began.

“Save it. Listen and do what he says.”

Elise caught Sean’s glance and rubbed the smile from her lips. She had always thought of Kelly as a doormat, a little mouse who never questioned Michael for fear he would leave her and take his money with him.

“We need to start taping the cracks first,” Sean said. “Follow me.”

Everyone ditched their gas masks for surgical ones before leaving the basement. Elise carried Aidan to the living room couch and set him down. She searched around and put her hands on her hips. “You know where the remote is?” She got on her knees to look around, ran her hands inside the contours of the cushions. Aidan stayed quiet before saying, “They said there was activity under Yellowstone yesterday.”

She stopped and brushed the hair out of her face. “Who’s they?”

“The man on the TV.”

“The man said something about Yellowstone?”

“Just that there was activity under the park.”

She paused. “Do you know where the remote is?”

He shook his head. Molly charged into the living room, duct tape in hand. “I’ll do my room,” she said, more as a statement than a question.

Sean came in behind her. “Start there and move to each of the rooms around yours.”

She dashed up the stairs as if something were chasing her. Sean pointed to Kelly. “Start with the guest bedroom,” he said and pointed to Michael. “You start with the mudroom and move out back to this room.”

Michael made eye contact with his sister but didn’t argue. Sean lifted his medical mask and leaned down to kiss his son on the head. “Stay strong, bud.” He put his hand on top of hers and gently squeezed. She held on when he tried to leave. “Sean.”

He stopped.

“I don’t know about this.”

“About what?”

“Do we need to do all this? Board up the windows?”

He bit down on his tongue for a minute and said, “Remember when we moved out here? You said you trusted me.”

“Yeah.”

“You still do?”

She considered this for a second and nodded. He kissed her cheek and left. As soon as he was gone, she longed to have him back, to keep her calm. She kept a strong face, but felt her grip wearing thin. She lifted the skirt around the bottom of the couch and found the remote. Clicked the button. The TV warmed up. Her hand trembled, awaiting the deluge of fear about to come onto the screen. The media always laid it on thick.

Aidan said, “Mom, I’m scared.”

She sat next to him and pulled him close, praying for him. For her family.

The TV audio ended her talk with God. The signal was fuzzy, probably from the snow accumulation on the satellite dish, and every few seconds the screen lagged and then resumed. She recognized the anchor from the national news. He looked haggard. The audio began midsentence: “…this cataclysmic volcanic eruption. We are going now to Kayla Petacki in our Kansas City affiliate KCTV4.”

She came on the TV, standing outdoors. The image was a little fried, but Kayla was wearing a medical mask and held an open umbrella. Ash fell around her like a blizzard. No white in that snow. Just gray. It should have been sunrise there, but it was dark. She stood in front of a shopping center.

“Scott, the eruption last night was heard as far as southern Colorado and into North and South Dakota. The VAAC said the ash release is unprecedented in modern times.”

Elise covered her mouth.

“Authorities here in Kansas City have been trying to calm the crowds, but reports of widespread looting have been coming into our station. The temperature has plummeted today from the expected high. Behind me you can see the shopping center here on the west side of Kansas City,” she said, moving out of the shot to show the cars and people scrambling around the parking lot. “So far, everything is orderly, but the police have been dispatched to make sure it remains that way.”

Elise saw no blue or red lights. In the center of the image, as Kayla talked, a man came around a car and set a dozen grocery bags on the ground. Another man joined him, yelling. A gun glimmered in the parking lot lights. The muzzle popped three times, and the first man collapsed.

The image came back to the anchor. “Cut it away,” he yelled. “Get off it, get off it, get off it.”

Too late.

“We’re so sorry about that,” he said, and the screen cut to a commercial.

Elise looked away and pulled Aidan closer to herself, stroking the top of his head. She clicked the television off. Somewhere in the room, a clock ticked off the seconds. She tried to think of something—anything—other than those gunshots, but couldn’t. She hoped Aidan didn’t understand what had happened. Tears lined her eyes. She wiped them away. For Aidan. For everyone.

Sensing something behind her, she turned her head. Sean stood in the doorframe of the kitchen, his jaw tight, staring at the blank screen. He had seen it. His eyes told her everything. His mouth opened like he had something to say, but he left the room instead.

She was hit by a familiar emotion she couldn’t quite place at first. It was the feeling of finality, of loss. Like when her mom and dad had died. The feeling she had at their funerals.

Chapter 7

SEAN

HE LIFTED THE last piece of wood onto the frame of the backdoor. “Hold it there, Molls,” he said. She came up to his side and held it steady. He marked a few dots with a pencil and then nailed the board into the frame. “You can let go,” he said.

They stood back and looked at the door, at the two by fours nailed into the doorframe, each piece six inches apart and parallel to the next. All the other window and doors had been boarded the same way except the one leading to the garage and the garage doors themselves. The cracks had been sealed too, so their surgical masks now hung around their necks.

There was still a chance, he hoped, this whole thing would blow over and life would return to normal. He doubted it. He had studied this before—not volcanic eruptions, but disasters in general. Things always got worse. But he was prepared. More so than if he had moved back to the city like his moron boss had wanted.

It felt good to be right.

“I can’t believe we need to do this,” Molly said.

Sean looked around the mudroom, at the laundry units, the utility sink, the deep freezer. He picked up his tools. “Boarding up the house is the best way to keep us safe.”

“That’s not it.” Molly sighed and leaned against the humming deep freezer.

Sean turned to her.

“I can’t believe we actually have to board the house up.”

“We don’t get to choose when big things happen to us. We all like to believe we’re in control until that illusion slips away. Then you realize you don’t really have control at all.” He cleared his throat, realizing he was lecturing. “We just have to do it, is all.”

“Are we in danger?”

She wiped her face, on the verge of tears. His heart always broke seeing her cry, ever since she was a baby. Even when the cries were silly. Now, there was real fear and pain in her face, and it tore him up. “Come here,” he said, setting the tools on the washer next to him.

She hugged him tight, the first real hug she had given him in a while. Her tears soaked into his shirt. He said, “We’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’m really scared.”

“We’ll be all right, okay?”

A beat passed. “Are you mad at me?”

He leaned back, looking at her. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“For taking my mask off.”

He rested his hands on her shoulders. “You just need to be careful. Think things through. One mistake could mean—” He stopped. “I’m not mad at you, Molls.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” She rested her head back onto his chest. He said, “We’ll be fine,” planted a kiss on the top of her head and picked up the tools. “Let’s go check the other rooms.”

He started out of the room when he heard her say, Dad. Molly stood in place, her cheeks red. Not fear in her face like before, but a look he couldn’t place.

“What’s wrong?”

“A lot of things.” Her eyes down at the floor.

“What is it?”

She tried to smile but couldn’t manage it. She picked up a few wood boards, passed her dad, and left.

He watched her walk away. When she disappeared behind a wall, his heart swelled with nostalgia for the years when she was still a little girl—when she would come to him with anything. Another reminder that those days were over.

He frowned and came into the living room. As soon as he entered, Elise turned off the TV. “The signal’s getting really bad,” she said.

“It’ll only make us more scared. How’re the others doing?”

“They just finished this room ten minutes ago. Molly went upstairs. Did you finish the mudroom?”

Sean nodded. “Where’s the little guy?”

“Around. I think he’s just fidgety.”

“And the news?”

“Some looting. I think most people are still afraid to go outside.”

“I’m afraid to go outside,” he said.

“So far the world hasn’t ended yet.”

Sean stifled his reaction. When the winter got worse, it might. Desperate people were like any other desperate animal: back them into a corner and they’ll show you their true nature. These sorts of events brought out the worst. It was just a matter of time before people got hungry and had no grocery stores to go to. Then they’d see if the end had come. “You holding up?”

She strained a smile. Dark circles sagged below her eyelids, a sharp contrast to the whites of her eyes. “I don’t know how to feel.”

Sean set the hammer and nails on the coffee table and joined his wife. “We’ll be okay.”

“Then why are we boarding up the windows?”

Because the world outside was dangerous—people were dangerous. He tensed his jaw. “It’s just a precaution.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie?”

“To make me feel better.”

“We prepared for this, remember? For this. Right now. We’re ready.”

“I don’t know.”

“We are.”

“I never thought—”

This would happen. He did. That was why he had moved his family to this house.

Elise whispered, “We have two extra mouths to feed and I don’t know if we stored enough food—”

“We have plenty. And one of those mouths only drinks juice, so…”

Elise laughed, hearty and full, tears forming in her eyes, and smacked his arm. “You’re so bad.”

He smiled. She laughed for another few seconds before settling down. Sean said, “We’re ready.”

Her smile faded. “Things aren’t going back to the way they used to be.”

“We play it safe and stick to the plan, we’ll be fine.” He chuckled. “And to think my boss demanded I go back to the office, move back to the city. Can you imagine what trouble we’d be in if we were in the city right now?”

Elise tilted her head to the side. “What’re you talking about?”

Shit. He coughed. “It’s not important.”

“Was he going to fire you if we didn’t move back?”

“I didn’t want you to worry about it while Michael and Kelly were here.”

“How much time did he give you to decide?”

“What difference does it make? We weren’t going back.”

“So you weren’t going to discuss it with me?”

“Elise—”

“You think I didn’t deserve to know?”

He sucked in his lips. Elise handled things emotionally. If she had the opportunity, she would have gone back to her comfortable life in the city and put her entire family at risk. “We’ll talk about this later,” Sean said.

“We’ll talk about this now.”

“This is—I’m not doing this right now.”

“Of course you don’t want to.”

“Know what? This’s why I didn’t tell you. Because you overreact,” he said, his voice growing louder. “You’re going to debate me about whether going back to the city was an option when there’s ash falling from the sky?”

He forced air out of his nose like an angry bull, put his hands up, fingers splayed, and motioned for her to forget it. She wouldn’t listen to him, and he couldn’t even imagine the nonsense she might have to say. He went straight to the stairs. It was time to get the guns, anyway.

Even with his temper flared.

Chapter 8

MICHAEL

MICHAEL LOOKED BETWEEN the wooden boards to the outside. The light faded with each passing minute. Sunset. The ash accumulation increased. Instead of picturesque white mounds, the ground was dark and speckled, as if stained with mildew.

He pulled back from the window and dropped the hammer. “Is that the last one?”

Kelly nodded. “I think.”

“You think, or you know?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

He rubbed his temples, each hand servicing one side in a circular motion. “This is insane.”

“I can’t get over it.”

“Not the ash. Does it make any sense why we’re boarding up the windows?”

“For our safety.”

“Safety from what? Are deer going to be breaking in through the windows? There’s, like, a hundred people within twenty miles of us. Who’d want to get in here?”

“I don’t know.”

He wanted to laugh, but was too exhausted. Sure, there was ash falling outside from a volcano that exploded half a country away, but it would be gone in another two days. In the meantime, the whole house was panicking, and Michael was slaving away boarding up windows so that mysterious boogeymen didn’t break in and steal anything.

“Think about it,” he said. “Volcanoes erupt all the time and ash falls a long way away. Nobody freaks out about it.”

“You don’t think this is a good idea?”

“I think it’s making things worse,” he said, softer. “Sean’s scaring everyone—putting gas masks on us. Boarding up the windows.”

“You seemed pretty convinced down there. When you tried to get his mask.”

“That’s what I’m saying. He’s scaring people—he scared me. Poor Molly and Aidan have to hear the world’s ending every time something unusual happens.”

“Yeah, well, I’m freaking out.”

“Exactly what I’m saying. It’s because of all this,” he said, motioning. “It’s ridiculous.”

“You’re wrong.”

He stared at her. “You’re falling for it?”

“I don’t get why you hate him so much.”

“Where do I start?”

“I don’t know. He seems to love your sister. He has two great kids—”

“He had three great kids.”

“I loved my niece too, Michael. It wasn’t his fault.”

“There’s more than that.” He grunted. “Listen, you want to get caught up in this little fantasy, sure. Fine. But I’m out of here the moment the snow melts.”

“That won’t be for a while,” Sean said, poking his head in the doorway before disappearing.

Michael cleared his throat. He didn’t really care if Sean had heard him. Last night’s dinner had left everything out in the open. He followed Sean, Kelly behind him, and said, “Why do you say that?”

“Why listen to me? I’m living in a fantasy.”

He clenched his teeth. “Humor me.”

Sean paused as if to savor the moment, Michael not knowing something. “Volcanic eruptions don’t just send ash into the air. A lot of it gets trapped in the upper atmosphere. And that blocks the sun. All sorts of chemicals get released too. Even with small eruptions, the temperature of the earth cools afterward. This kind of eruption—it’s worse. It’ll be global.”

“How do you know that?”

“Read about it.”

Michael shook his head. “So, you’re saying it won’t stop snowing?”

“Not saying that. Just that—this might be a long-haul kind of situation.”

Sean grabbed a set of keys from his pocket. They came into the master bedroom. He placed a key into one of the gun safes and let the door ease open. Opened another. There were fewer weapons than Michael had expected—only a dozen handguns, a few hunting rifles, two shotguns, and a few thousand rounds of ammunition. Still overkill, but less than he had expected.

“Listen, Mike.”

He cocked his head.

“We’re stuck here with one another. Like it or not.”

“We’re not stuck here, Sean. I’m leaving as soon as the snow melts.”

Sean whistled. “You don’t listen, do you?”

“I listen fine. You’re being a little paranoid.”

“There’s ash falling outside, and you’re still holding onto the idea that I’m paranoid.”

“Who’s to say this won’t blow over in a few days?”

Sean reached into the gun safe and pulled out a shotgun. “It won’t. I’ve read about this before—Yellowstone. Ash raining in Pennsylvania means this’s way worse than anything they could have expected.” He sighed. “You know, we don’t have to like each other. But we’re sure as hell going to have to learn to work together.” He paused. “Ever shot a gun?”

“I have a 9mm at home.”

“Ever shot it?”

He shook his head.

Sean extended the black weapon to him, the barrel catching the light, shimmering dark and cold. No stock, just a pistol grip. An efficient contraption for killing. Sean said, “A twelve gauge. Close range loaded with bird shot. Just point and shoot. Nothing fancy.”

Michael’s heart sped up just looking at it. “I’m not taking that.”

“We need to be able to defend ourselves.”

“From what?”

“Everything out there.”

“There’s nothing out there. All we have is you, and you’re scaring the shit out of everyone.”

“Maybe we should be a little scared,” he said, grabbing a rifle. He shut the doors, locked them, and grabbed the keys. “We’re meeting downstairs.”

Sean left.

Kelly stood in the doorway. “You just can’t help yourself.”

“What?”

“From being an asshole.”

She shook her head and left too. He listened to her footsteps, tilted his head back, face angled toward the ceiling, and closed his eyes. Just perfect. Now he was the bad guy.

THE TELEVISION, PRONE to spats of snowy pixels, played the news silently behind the group. Nobody spoke. Molly hugged her little brother. Kelly had already joined them. As Michael took a seat, she looked at him and then away. She whispered something to the kids, and they smiled. Elise sat across from them as if stewing on something.

Sean set a shotgun on the coffee table with a clank. That brought an end to any smiles. “Everyone did great today,” he said.

Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Thanks, brave leader.

“We need to cover the ground rules and make sure we all understand the situation.”

Or at least his interpretation of the situation.

“We’re going to stick to the house. As of right now, the electricity is holding strong, but I don’t expect it to stay that way. But we have our backups. We have a ton of wood outside for the furnace and the fireplace, and we can always cut more down. We can charge the chainsaw battery with the generator and we have the wood-chopping machine on standby. Regardless, everyone needs to stay inside.”

“So we’re prisoners?” Michael asked.

Sean sighed. “I didn’t say that.”

“It was implied.”

Kelly hissed Michael’s name.

“I implied that it’s not safe outside,” Sean said, “and that we should probably err on the side of caution.”

Kelly silenced Michael with another sharp look. He bit his tongue.

“We’ll boil our water, just in case. We have a sealed well on the property—a mechanical pump as a backup, so we’ll be good on water. Food is looking fine for now. I’ll make a ledger after we’re done here to track that too.”

The kids shifted.

“We need to be ready at all times. So, I’m asking the adults to be armed.”

Michael understood that it was key to control his volume and tone when he spoke. His wife was already at his throat, and he didn’t need to add fuel to her indignation. He spoke softly as if in disbelief. “Sean, you know how crazy this sounds?”

“I know it does. But that doesn’t make it less real.”

“Elise?”

“What do you want me to say?” she asked.

“I want you to tell him how insane this is.”

She rubbed her chin and turned her head.

“I see ash,” Michael said, “not people coming to take the food.”

Aidan’s voice cut through. “Is that why we covered the windows?”

Silence. Sean licked his lips. “There are bad people out there, bud.”

“You’re going to scare him,” Elise said.

Aidan stood up. “I’m not scared.”

“You don’t have to be,” Sean said, “because we’re here to protect you. All of us.”

“Can we maybe talk about this later?” Kelly said. “This’s too much.”

“Dad, we just boarded up our home to keep people out,” Molly said. “People I know are out there right now. My friends. My—”

A tinge of guilt hit Michael. He had forgotten about her boyfriend. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t much care about anyone else outside the room. His mom and dad were long dead. No real friends. Molly, though, had people she cared about close by.

“Then maybe we can talk later,” Michael said.

Everyone agreed silently. Sean said, “Let’s all try to get some sleep.”

With a rifle slung on his shoulder, Sean turned to his daughter. They shared a long hug before he kissed her forehead. The weak smile drained from her face when Sean couldn’t see. But Michael saw. Her smile returned when Sean looked at her.

“Take your brother upstairs, all right?”

She nodded and took Aidan’s hand. The other adults watched them ascend and then stood quiet for a few tense seconds. He watched the back of Sean’s head and waited for him to speak. When he turned, he looked tired, like his shoulders were worn down and curved from carrying a heavy weight. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” Sean said.

“We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“I won’t stop you.”

“You won’t?”

“It’s not my business,” he said. “Just don’t come back.”

Elise gripped Sean’s arm.

“Excuse me?” Michael said.

“You can stay. But if you leave, you’re on your own. Nobody gets back into the house.”

He huffed. “Unbelievable.”

“Realistic.”

“You think I’m doomed if I leave?”

“It’s your choice.”

Sean led the way up the stairs and out of sight. Elise didn’t look at Michael. He rubbed his eyes, feeling incredulous. There was no way he was the only one seeing it—the delusion. He couldn’t be the only one. Kelly had to see something. She…

Kelly disappeared into the guest room and closed the door. He plopped down on the couch instead of following her.

He couldn’t find the remote, so he watched the TV in silence. There was footage of people in lines at grocery stores. Civilized. Then a map came up of the areas under a state of emergency. Most of the continent covered in red. He leaned forward on the couch. It was everywhere. More footage rolled. Gray-colored dust fell like a blizzard in Kansas, Illinois, Tennessee, Ohio. Snowplows were useless. Cars crashed in the road.

The signal fuzzed for a second and the image turned to black.

He walked to the TV and shut it off. As he came back, his eyes rested on the shotgun laying on the coffee table. The barrel glimmered in the light of the lamp and dimming fire. He put a hand on it, fingers curling around the barrel, and something leaped in his chest.

He stepped back and sat at the far end of the couch, away from it. It wasn’t necessary—the guns, the worry. Nobody was coming to Appalachian Pennsylvania to take anything from them. Yet, his eyes kept wandering back to the gun, and his heart pounded every time he looked at it.

Every time.

Chapter 9

SEAN

SEAN WAS ALREADY awake when the power went out.

It wasn’t the first time. A week after the ash started falling, the power had ceased without explanation. It hadn’t bothered him then, not with the generator, solar panels, batteries, and extra fuel he had to power his home.

But this time it did.

He had been lying in bed staring at a digital alarm clock across the room, its red pixels like a burning coil against the dark. Each passing minute seemed longer than the last. The sleeping pills were always an option, but they didn’t bring real sleep. They just knocked him out. He had a supply that would last him a few months even, but he feared dependency when there would be no refills.

As the weeks had passed, the reality had sunk in further: the ash would not stop falling. Everyone had guessed it would stop after a few days, but two weeks had passed. Then two more. It would stop a few days and then sprinkle again. There wasn’t much ash accumulation, just a dusting, but the sight of it falling brought back feelings of helplessness. When the live radio broadcasts stopped, he had seen the situation with grave clarity. It was day forty-five.

No new pills ever again. No rescue. No relief coming.

He hadn’t slept well in weeks, just an hour or two here and there. He stared up at the ceiling and thought he saw his own breath, though it was nonsense. With the wood-burning furnace running less, most of the house was cold, but not frigid. Not yet.

When he looked back to the clock, the piercing red coils zapped off, leaving only a ghost image of the numbers. The generator had run out of fuel. The solar panels—which he had to risk his body often getting on the roof to clean—weren’t picking up enough sun, so he had to run the generator every other day. Even that thought brought doom and gloom. He would refill it in the morning, but there would be nothing to replace the spent fuel in the main supply.

No relief coming.

He pulled the covers closer to his neck.

“You awake?” Elise whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Can’t sleep again?”

He touched her shoulder. “You cold?”

“A little.”

“Come over here.”

His limbs were stiff and restless, but he allowed her to shuffle in next to him. Elise had been complaining that he had been distant. And he had been. So, he let her rest her head on his shoulder and pulled her close. Her hot exhales grazed his chest, and he imagined her mouth, and her tongue. Her tongue further down…

He snapped out of it. She didn’t want it. A cruel irony in that. She thought he was distant, but she never wanted to have sex. And she wondered why.

“Did the power go out?” Elise asked.

“Yep.”

“Wasn’t Molly supposed to fill the generator up before bed?”

“I asked her to.”

She sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on with her. It’s like she’s not here, you know?”

He had noticed the same thing. “If I could, I would hide in my room all the time too.”

“She didn’t say a word at dinner.”

“She hasn’t said a word all week. I don’t know what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything. Things are just hard, you know?”

Sean grunted.

“Is that what’s keeping you awake?”

He stayed silent. That and more. The slow-moving time, the diminishing resources, the lack of sleep itself. That was the most frustrating. He was upset that he couldn’t sleep, and so it caused him to get even less sleep. Then he grew more frustrated. Like a sick game being played on him.

There were also the ungrateful guests downstairs. He never saw them unless it was time to eat. All they did was eat and sleep like there was no sacrifice involved in providing for them.

“I weighed Aidan yesterday,” Elise said.

“Do I even want to know?”

“I think he needs to eat more.”

“We can do that.”

It sounded like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t. They lay quiet, listening to the wind against the walls. He finally said, “I never thought it would go down like this.”

“What would?”

“I thought it would be the economy crashing. If anything. Money would become worthless. People would panic. I never expected nature to wipe us out.”

“God has His reasons for things.”

He wanted to laugh. If God had any sense, this wouldn’t be happening. A lot of things wouldn’t have happened, for damn sure.

They didn’t talk. The clock was no longer there to occupy him. So, he stared at the blinds through the gaps between the lumber, imagining he could see out beyond them, beyond the hills and valleys and into the outside world—into the hearts of the people suffering and starving. He held her a little closer and hoped the figments of his imagination would never find their way to his home.

AFTER AN HOUR, he pulled his arm out from under his wife and reached for the nightstand. He clicked three buttons on his faux alarm clock, and the little compartment popped out. He grabbed his pistol, wrapped a belt around his pajama pants, and clipped the holster onto it. Grabbed his LED flashlight, slipped on his suede loafers, and tiptoed out of the bedroom.

The slow march downstairs took twice as long as normal, Sean cringing every time the wood boards beneath him creaked. It felt like the whole house would wake up. He looked around the dark living room. A soft light glowed from between the boards nailed to the window. A dull red smoldered from the fireplace. Cold seeped into his clothes. He pulled aside the chain mail and placed a log on the coals. As the flames licked the edges of the log, he looked back toward the sealed guest bedroom.

He warmed himself at the fire before walking into the kitchen and turning the knob to the reserves. He clicked on his flashlight, the beam shining as bright as car headlights. He descended the stairs. A chill radiated off the foundation. A hint of fog from his breath rose into the flashlight’s beam.

He reached the bottom and swept the light over the goods. His father used to tell him that a rich man’s wealth was his strong city. He eyed the hundreds of cans and jars of food, medicine, vitamins, batteries, cleaning supplies, and soaps. Relief settled into his soul, the secure feeling of being protected. His strong city.

Yet, the feeling turned sour. The supply would run out. Nobody to trade and barter with for goods and services. And if the sun never came out from behind the clouds, they couldn’t grow more food. Everything in front of him. That was it.

He shone the light over one shelf and something in the middle caught his eye. Every night after dinner, if Elise had used something, he would enter the reserves and front and face everything on the shelves. Then, he would mark it in the ledger. Yet this morning, a single can was pushed back from the others—black beans. He approached the small, empty pocket and pulled the cans to the front. After he faced the label, he stepped back and looked around the shelf. Another hole. A can of corn.

He snarled and set it back into place. Black beans and corn were in the dinner the night before, but Molly was supposed to have fronted and faced for him. She had neglected that responsibility too. He shook his head. It was like she didn’t care.

After organizing the other shelves, he walked back up the stairs to relative warmth. He wouldn’t sleep, but at least he had his strong city.

THE COLD AIR penetrated his clothing, sinking into his skin, reaching for his bones. The fibers of his clothes became crusted with ice. His eyes were the only flesh exposed.

It was the worst day since the disaster. He tried to chop wood every day—sometimes with the wood-cutting machine, sometimes by hand, sometimes felling a tree every few days with the chainsaw—so he would never run out. But the cold was breaking his will. Each gust of wind shook trees and branches and threatened to knock him over. White powder and gray flakes emptied off the branches and roof. The ash was only a smattering now, just bits releasing from the upper atmosphere, but enough to darken the snow.

He planted the axe into the ground, the handle like an ice block. Looked up at his chimney. The smoke drifted upward. A gust of wind flattened it and pushed it away from the house. Thirty-five mile-per-hour winds, he guessed. Brutal.

He collected as much chopped wood as he could, trudging from the tarp to the garage door, tossing each piece in before repeating the process. When he threw the final piece inside, he glanced at the mercury hanging on the garage’s siding. Negative fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. He blew into the cloth covering his mouth to warm his lips, stepped inside, and closed the door.

Then came the worst of it. His clothes were caked in ash from weeks of chopping wood, and he insisted on keeping as much grime out of the house as possible. So, he stripped down in the enclosed, unheated breezeway between the garage and home. He peeled the layers off slowly, wanting to go faster, but the cold seeming to have invaded his joints, thwarting his movements. When he came to a garment that needed even a little force to remove, his fingers burned. When he removed one of his gloves, pain emanated from his index finger like he was being stuck with a needle. He sucked in air and pulled the glove off, throwing it away from himself. The skin underneath was the color of hot flames, and a strip was missing from his middle knuckle. A bead of blood sat upon the wound. “Damn it,” he said, sucking on it.

He checked his jeans and sweatshirt for any ash, put the outdoor clothes into a large trash bag, and threw it over his shoulder. He grabbed his axe, so cold he thought his hand might stick to it, and headed inside. No more cold handles. It was coming in.

He entered the living room to find Aidan reading a thin paperback aloud with Kelly listening next to him. He leaned the axe against the wall and knelt near the fire, extending his hands toward the heat, letting it flow over him.

“Were you chopping wood, Dad?”

He turned his head to them. “Yeah. Sure is cold out there.”

“Maybe I can help tomorrow?”

He smiled and rubbed his hands. The wound on his finger itched. “Not sure that’s a good idea. Might turn into a popsicle.”

“I could help.”

“Maybe if it’s warmer tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

It would not get warmer. Not tomorrow and not anytime soon.

He faced the fire and absorbed the heat before planting his hands on the ground, springing up from the fireplace, and walking into the den between the living room and garage. He grabbed the farmer’s almanac off a bookshelf and perused the historical temperature for that day. Twenty degrees. He sighed. Thirty-five degrees below average. It was the trend. Each day the temperature sank further below the average since the eruption. Each day the sun seemed less and less likely to come out. He closed the book.

“Hey Sean,” Kelly said from the doorway.

They had never spoken much over the years. Not much to say to one another. They would nod and speak pleasantries during visits, but not more. He had a hard time relating to a twenty-seven-year-old fashionista.

“I just wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“For letting us stay here.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, we do. I don’t know where we would be if we had left the day after all this started.”

Dead. You would be dead. “You guys are family.”

“We want to help more. With things.”

“Like what?”

“I thought maybe Michael could chop the wood sometimes. For starters.”

A month and a half into this thing, and he wanted to offer help. And it wasn’t even him offering. He wanted to help, he could say it himself. The useless sack of crap. At least Kelly would watch the kids. She did something. “That’s not necessary.”

She curled a strand of blonde hair around her ear. “Really. I don’t know what I have to offer, but I want to earn my keep.” She reached out and touched his arm. It was innocent, but he found himself drifting into thoughts he didn’t want to have—thoughts about what she could really do for him if she wanted to earn her keep. To make herself useful…

“I’ll try to think of something we can get you guys working on. Sound fair?” he said.

She retracted her hand and slid it under her armpit. “Thanks.”

He nodded and reopened the book. As she turned to leave, he trained his eyes onto the pages like it was the most interesting thing he had ever read. He wanted to look at her ass—tight in those yoga pants—but kept his gaze away. Even so, he couldn’t shake the image. When she disappeared out of his peripheral, he rubbed his eyes. Stayed there a few minutes, grimacing. He loved Elise. He loved her only.

The baseboards upstairs crackled. He was sliding the book back into place when he heard a cry—guttural, terrified.

He pulled the pistol from his waistband and sprinted into the living room, stopping a second later. His son thrashed around the couch as his aunt, tears cascading down her cheeks, looked back at him. Her lip was split open in the middle and her chin dripped blood. “He just started shaking,” she cried.

Sean’s mind clicked. He set his pistol on the coffee table and sprinted toward the stairs. Elise emerged from the kitchen. “Oh my God,” she yelled.

“Get something for him to bite down on,” he shouted, running up the stairs.

“Are you getting the medicine?” she yelled back.

He ignored her, leaping three, sometimes four steps at a time until he was at the top. He bolted into the main bathroom to a wooden medicine cabinet mounted on the wall. Almost tore the door off getting into it. He grabbed a pill bottle next to the acetaminophen and his sleeping pills. Aidan’s pills wouldn’t stop the seizure, but they might prevent a second one. And the doctor said the second one would do the most damage. He might stop breathing. If it lasted too long, he would suffocate. Sean ran out of the bathroom.

Molly came into the hall and closed the door behind her. “What’s going on?”

“A seizure.”

He was already halfway down the stairs before he finished his sentence. He came around the banister and rushed to his son. Elise cradled him, holding his head against her body, his chest heaving and his legs and arms spasming. His eyes had rolled back into his head, and he bit down on the handle of a plastic spoon like it was a piece of tough steak.

Michael watched from a distance, Kelly sobbing into his shoulder and staining his sleeve with her bloody lip. Sean pointed to him. “Get a glass of water.” He paused. “And the small knife we keep in a baggy in the silverware drawer.”

Elise shook her head. The knife was a last resort, if the medicine didn’t work. If they needed to make a hole for Aidan to breathe. Sean seemed to hear Elise’s thoughts, so he grabbed her arm and looked her in the eye. “Just in case.”

Michael highballed into the kitchen, and Sean got on his knees in front of the flailing boy. Molly sat in a chair, bowed her head, and clasped her hands together. Sean knew her prayers weren’t being heard, but he put his hand on her knee and squeezed it to encourage her.

After one more agonizing minute, his son’s fingers loosened, and his limbs dropped and ceased twitching. He lay back, sweating, tears rolling down the sides of his cheeks. Sean smiled. Elise hugged him tightly. “How are you, bud?” Sean asked.

“I had a seizure.”

“Yeah, you did. It’s been a while.”

Michael set a glass of water and the knife on the coffee table, Sean staring at Elise. Last resort.

They were on borrowed time. If there was another seizure coming, it would hit soon. “I need you to take one of these pills,” Sean said.

Aidan took the glass. Sean popped one pill into his hand. The medicine was white and powdery, encased in a clear shell designed to break down and absorb quickly. “Open up.” He slipped the pill into Aidan’s mouth. The boy took four large gulps of water. “Like a pro.”

Then they waited. The pills were fast acting, hitting the bloodstream within minutes, but they had to wait to see if another seizure came. The clock ticked off seconds. Then minutes. The sobs died. “I think I’m okay,” Aidan whispered, his eyelids flitting.

Elise released him from her grip and Sean hugged the boy, relief spreading through his whole body in a wave. He rose, pill bottle in hand, his mind filled with a fog like he could faint at any point.

He walked around the couch and steadied himself against the wall. Soon, he was in the reserves. He pulled the cord for the light and sat against the side of the steps, watching the cord swing like a pendulum, gripping the clear bottle so hard his veins were popping out of the back of his hand, looking inside it. Seven pills left. He sighed and leaned his head back.

No more after that. He hadn’t needed one for a while, but still. If his son’s seizures became more frequent…

No rescue.

He sniffled and swallowed. He couldn’t be seen crying. The morale of the house stood on a teetering edge. If they saw him weak, they would assume he was losing control. And he couldn’t do that.

He wiped his eyes and looked out at the reserves. His strong city. He watched the light play off the bottles and cans and tried to relax.

Wait.

The cans. One was out of order. He dropped the pill bottle on the ground in front of him and got up, walking closer to the shelves. Every label was faced, except one. Instead of a can, a shadow. Nothing there.

He tried to rationalize it. But Elise wouldn’t have taken anything this early in the morning. She needed nothing from the reserves today. He tried to think back when he had fronted and faced the shelves. Maybe he had missed a spot. Sean looked at the label behind it.

Black beans.

He covered his mouth. There was no way somebody was that selfish.

There was no way somebody would steal food.

Chapter 10

ELISE

SHE FOUND SEAN in the basement teetering on a wobbly stepstool a moment away from collapsing. He had disappeared so fast. She had put Aidan in bed—rest being the best thing for him after an episode—and then went to find her husband. He wasn’t out chopping wood or in any other room of the house. Should have checked the reserves first—he was spending a lot of time there lately.

She stopped in the middle of the room, rubbing her arms, her teeth chattering. “Why’d you disappear like that?”

He rummaged around a wooden stud along the ceiling for something out of reach. The stool legs shook. “I’m sorry, babe,” he said, not looking back at her.

“That was a really bad one.”

“I know,” he said, almost as if he wasn’t listening.

Her son’s windpipe could have sealed shut, and he didn’t seem to care. She turned to go back upstairs, too exhausted for a fight, but the pill bottle on the floor caught her eye. She almost didn’t want to look. It had been a while since they had filled the prescription, but Aidan’s last seizure was two years ago. The doctors thought they might be finished.

“How many are left?” she asked.

He stopped and looked at her. The step stool wobbled. “Huh?”

“How many pills does Aidan have left?”

Sean paused. “Seven.”

“Seven?”

“Did you get into the reserves after dinner last night?”

“What?”

“Did you get into the reserves at all today?”

“No. I didn’t do anything—” she said. “Sean, what are you doing?”

There was a small clinking noise, and Sean said, “I got it.”

“Got what?”

He lowered himself from the stool and showed her a small box, a cord dangling from the back. But his fingertips were bleeding.

“Oh my Lord, Sean,” she said, rushing toward him and grabbing his wrists. “What did you do?”

He pulled away. “It’s just a cut. I needed to get a nut loosened.”

Her breathing hastened. “What’s going on?”

He held the device close to his chest. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“Only if you are.”

He smirked, and then his expression deteriorated into a frown. “Someone’s taking food,” he whispered.

“Food?”

“Taking it.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve been fronting and facing the shelves almost every day. Last night, I couldn’t sleep so I came down here and pulled everything to the front of the shelf. When I came down after Aidan’s seizure—the black beans. The black beans.”

“What?”

“I made sure everything was fronted and faced. And now there’s a can missing,” he said, pointing.

There was a gap on the shelf.

“We need to do a full count again. We should have been doing it before.”

He sounded like he was beating himself up. The whole thing sounded crazy. They weren’t even close to the stage of meager rations, so it made no sense why someone would need more than they already got. It wasn’t as if there was suddenly an extra stomach to feed.

But he was going down a path. She could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. He used to have that tone before making a huge purchase he knew she would disapprove of, but that he insisted was vital. “We can count later, babe. Aidan—”

He walked toward the stairs. “We need to count now.”

“Aidan just had a seizure.”

“Elise, someone is taking our food,” he said. “The food we stocked. That we saved. Taking it like it doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know who it is. And I can prove it.”

She didn’t have to guess who his prime suspect was. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, but as soon as I watch this—”

“Watch what?”

Sean held up the device—the camera he had installed a few months back. Her brother was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a thief. Although he was stubborn and prideful. Always thought he knew best.

There it was: the feeling that exchanges rationality for panic. Sean had infected her with it, and now she could not see how Michael wasn’t the culprit. He had to be, though she had no evidence to support the accusation. “I don’t—”

He was already halfway up the stairs. She followed, each step a slow march toward something tragic. Like a dirge. She could hear each footstep. Her stomach knotted up. Don’t let it be Michael, she prayed. Please, let it be something else. Anything.

Sean disappeared to the second floor, and she paced around the kitchen. There was no doubt what would happen if it was Michael stealing. He was gone. Kicked out. Sean wouldn’t tolerate it. Any sliver of hope that she could convince him otherwise was quickly tossed aside.

Time itself stretched. She looked back to the doorway every few seconds, but her husband hadn’t come downstairs. Then Michael popped into the kitchen.

He looked back and forth. “Sean around?”

“You can’t be here.”

The harsh tone made him blink. He leaned his head back and widened his eyes. “What did I do now?”

“I think you know exactly what the problem is.”

“I really don’t.”

“Damn it, Michael. How am I supposed to defend you?”

“Defend me?”

“Stop playing dumb. Just admit it and we can try to move past it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

For a second, he had her fooled. His indignation seemed so genuine she was sure he was telling the truth. His eyes told something different. The lies always came to the surface.

Sean walked into the kitchen, a laptop under his arm, and stopped just inside the doorway. Michael looked up to him and then to his sister. “I’ll leave.”

“I think you should stay,” Sean said, opening the computer and hitting the power button.

He passed them and went into the dining room. Elise’s head whirled. Tears formed in her eyes. She had to stop herself from hugging her brother and simultaneously choking him. Michael watched Sean leave and then turned to her. “The hell’s going on?”

“Just admit you did it,” she said.

His lips curled inward, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what this is—”

“Maybe this’ll refresh your memory,” Sean said from the other room.

Michael blew air out his nostrils and followed Sean. Elise stayed back for a few seconds, gripping at her chest.

“Did you forget about the camera in the reserves?” Sean said.

Elise inched into the dining room. Sean sat at the table, looking up at Michael. He had plugged the camera into the laptop, and a still screenshot of the footage was on the screen.

“Your camera?” Michael said.

“You’re taking food.”

He scoffed. “You kidding me?”

“Let’s take a look.” He typed, and the footage jumped back to around four a.m. on the video’s time stamp. “This is the last straw, I’m telling you. From now on, I’m having the camera forwarded to my phone.”

Elise’s eyes drifted from the screen and back, torn between curiosity and not wanting to know the truth. The images shuffled forward. The pictures jumped in ten-minute increments or where the camera was activated by its motion sensor. Her hand shook, and she covered her mouth. Couldn’t bear it. She retreated to the kitchen, resting her back against the fridge. She closed her eyes and waited.

A minute passed, her nerves soaring into overdrive. “That’s not right,” Sean muttered. She opened her eyes and turned her head toward the dining room. “What the hell?”

“Rewind it,” Michael said.

She dragged her feet into the room and saw them hunched over the computer, blocking her view of the screen as Sean slammed down on the arrow keys.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Holy shit,” Michael said.

“Guys, what is it?”

Sean leaned back in his chair, mouth hanging open. As Michael took a step back to show her the screen, Sean rotated the laptop toward her. The culprit was in the center of the frame. No need to guess who it was. It was clear.

She reached out for a chair to stabilize herself, hunched over like someone had punched her in the diaphragm.

Chapter 11

ANDREW

ANDREW SWITCHED ON the weak flashlight, illuminating the space at the far end of the closet. The clothes and shoes had been pushed to the other end, leaving him modest room to stretch out. The closet opened with two sliding doors that ran along a metal track embedded in the carpet. They had jammed the glide on his side of the closet with a broken toothbrush. Only the other door would open. So if someone entered the room, Andrew could slip through a small door leading to Aidan’s closet, concealed by a dense layer of hanging clothes and shoes.

He opened a book he had read before and would have to read again. Garbage chick-lit Molly had around. The protagonist was a capricious ass who bought a house hoping he would get his former girlfriend to return. When she did, though she was engaged, they slept together because it was “true love.” It pissed him off. The girl’s fiancé was a good guy too—even accepted her back when he found out she had cheated. He put it down. Molly insisted her dad might notice if she took a thriller from downstairs. What a shame.

He rested his head against the wall. Molly spent a lot of time with him, so he didn’t have to occupy himself for too long. When she wasn’t around, and he couldn’t distract himself with crappy fiction, his thoughts drifted to his mom and little sister. The day it all started, he woke up in Molly’s bed and saw the ash outside. He called his house’s landline and his dad’s cell—his mom wasn’t allowed to have a phone because his dad said she was a whore who’d cheat on him the moment she got one—but nobody picked up. He left before Molly boarded up the windows, a scarf wrapped around his head. Told her he had to do it. He trudged through the gray to his dirt bike only a half mile away. But Andrew’s house was empty, and the family pickup was gone. His dad probably left with a spring in his step. No more worrying about feeding his son, not that he ever did.

Molly had it good even though she didn’t see it. Both her parents loved her, especially her dad. She would always say he didn’t give her space, but Andrew saw a man who cared about his daughter. A man who cared for his children. What an idea.

Since he didn’t know what happened to his mom and sister, he spent a lot of time imagining where they were. He liked to think they made it somewhere south. Somewhere safe and warm.

Right now, Molly was getting supplies. It made him feel like he was taking advantage of her. She denied she was depriving herself for his sake. Every night she brought back a quarter plate of prepared food, Molly telling him she just served herself extra, but each week her ribs seemed to grow more defined. She shouldn’t be shrinking, but she was.

The door creaked. “It’s me,” she said, and it clicked closed.

Her voice was quiet. They had to speak in a constant whisper, so much so he had almost forgotten the sound of her full voice. Andrew pushed the clothes aside and pulled the other sliding door toward himself. She stood there in skinny jeans and a brown hoodie, cans and jars resting in the front pouch. “I almost had to abandon the trip,” she said. “I heard people upstairs and freaked out. Then my aunt and brother were reading on the couch.”

She tipped her shirt to the side so that the contents spilled out onto her bed. He emerged from the closet and looked over the bounty she had brought—a couple cans of black beans, green beans, canned soup, and a big jar of beets. “I love me some beets,” he said, licking his lips.

She smacked his arm. “I tried to grab something nutritious. The basement freaks me out.”

“There’s nothing down there.”

“It’s not that,” she said, but no more.

He picked up one jar and looked at the distorted image through the glass. “We have to come clean eventually,” he said.

Molly’s jaw tightened. “They can’t know.”

“Why not?”

“It would break his heart.”

“This isn’t easy for me either.” Frankly, he was tired of sponge bathing, tired of pissing and shitting into a Tupperware container.

“I know, sweetie.”

He set the jar down. “He won’t disown you.”

“He would hurt you.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know,” she said, trying to smile. “I don’t know.”

He lowered his voice even though they were already whispering. “There’s only so much time before we have to tell them. Before they figure it out.”

She looked down at the food and nodded, leaning toward him, brushing her lips against his unshaven cheek, and then pressing them against his lips. His heart exploded with joy. There was nothing better—nothing that could make him forget about everything else—than a kiss from her. His lust roared into overdrive, and he drew her in deeper, nudging her closer to the bed. When her legs hit the side, she fell backward onto the mattress, and he landed over her.

“Ouch,” she said, scrunching her face.

Andrew pulled back. “What?”

“Something’s digging into my back.” She bit her bottom lip and reached under herself. A second later, she came up, giggling, with a can of beans. “There it is,” she said and tossed it to the other side of the mattress.

He kissed her neck, Molly closing her eyes, Andrew reaching under her sweatshirt.

“Whoa there, buddy,” she said.

“Cold hands?”

“Freezing.”

He rubbed them together and grabbed the edge of her hoodie, pushing the fabric until he exposed her midriff. She looked down at him with her beautiful brown eyes, tears there, smiling. He kissed her navel and her bony hips and nestled his head against her stomach as if he could hear a secret message inside.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love—”

A blood-curdling scream downstairs. Molly sat up. Andrew dropped to his knees and stared at the door.

“Get back to the closet,” Molly said, jumping up and pulling down her hoodie.

“It wasn’t just someone freaked out by a spider, right?”

“Did it sound like it?”

It didn’t. She grabbed the doorknob and glared back at him. “Go,” she said.

“The food.”

“Crap.” She kneeled in front of the bed and tossed the cans and jars under the bed skirt. He hurried into the closet, closed the sliding door, and soon heard the bedroom door open and slam shut. He climbed through the mess of clothes and shoes back into his spot. His mind wandered downstairs to whoever was screaming. He wasn’t religious, but he prayed that everything was okay.

And he wished he could join them. No longer hidden.

THE DOOR OPENED, then shut, and he heard the distinct compression and release of the bed springs as Molly’s weight settled onto the mattress. He pushed the clothes to the side and slid open the closet door. She lay on her stomach, head buried into a pillow. He stayed back for a second. “What happened?”

She kept her face down for a few more seconds before turning over, her eyelids puffy, cheeks flushed. She curled into a ball.

Andrew sat next to her. He rubbed her back, and she turned around and latched onto his hips, resting her head on his lap.

“What happened?” Andrew said.

“Aidan had a seizure. A bad one.”

“Is he okay?”

“Mom and I just put him to bed.”

“Who was screaming?”

“My aunt.” A beat. “I don’t want to talk right now, okay?”

“Sure.” He lay down, and she cozied up next to him, resting her head into the curve between his chest and shoulder. He closed his eyes, smiling.

Drifted into sleep.

IT SOUNDED LIKE thunder.

His eyes shot open, and he looked down at Molly to see if it had wakened her. Her breathing hadn’t changed, and her eyes were shut. Something rumbled downstairs like an approaching stampede. “Molly,” he whispered.

Then came the yelling. It was faint at first, but the voices came closer along with the thunder. “Molly,” he said, shaking her.

She roused and grunted. “What?”

The second her eyes opened, she knew what was happening, and panic spread onto her face.

“You have no right to tell me how I need to be in my own home,” Sean yelled from down the hallway.

“Shit, shit,” she said and jumped up from the bed.

The footsteps thumped closer to the room. “Please, calm down, babe,” Elise said. “Please. Stop.”

“Hide, hide!” Molly hissed.

Andrew sat immobile, his muscles not reacting. He looked at the door with its lock popped out—unlocked. One doorknob turn away from being exposed. He snapped into survival mode and darted for the closet, diving inside, crashing his shoulder against the wall as he went in. The bedroom door shook with one booming crack.

Molly looked at Andrew with a fear he had never seen.

“Open the door,” Sean yelled. “You have one second or I open it for you.”

She motioned for Andrew to shut the closet door, almost pleading with her eyes, so he closed it. The bedroom door clicked open a second later. Andrew froze. His feet tottered on a pile of shoes. Don’t move, don’t move. Don’t make a noise.

There was silence outside the closet. A shoe shifted under his foot, and he leaned back to offset his balance.

“I think you know why we’re here,” Sean said.

Footsteps. Someone walking further into the room. “Daddy, I don’t know—”

“Molls, don’t ‘daddy’ me right now.”

“Molly, please,” Elise said. “Please don’t fight us here.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Molly said.

They know. Andrew didn’t know how, but they had figured it out. He closed his eyes.

“Where is it?” Sean said.

It?

“I don’t know what—” Molly said.

“Cut the crap,” Sean said. “I’m already pissed off you would betray my trust like this. But you lying to me will only make it worse. Now tell me where all of it is.”

Where it is.

“Dad, I don’t know,” Molly said, blubbering.

There was a long pause; an intense silence like every molecule in the air was electrified. Andrew drew a breath as quietly as he could.

“Fine,” Sean said. “You want to play it like that, we’ll play it like that. I have a video camera in the basement.” Sean’s voice growing louder. “I just watched you take food off the shelves this morning. Stealing food.”

Molly sniffled, her breath stuttered.

Sean yelled, “You spend all day up here. You come out only to have meals with us. You don’t want to talk. You don’t want to listen. And now I watch my daughter—my own daughter—taking food from my reserves. You have betrayed all of our trust, you know that?”

“Daddy, I’m so sorry,” Molly sobbed.

“Then where’s the food? How much did you take?”

“Only a little.”

“How much did you take, Molly?”

“I didn’t think it would be that big a deal.”

“Not that big a deal? That is all we have to live on. It’s everything. When it’s gone, we have nothing. No more. You understand that?”

“Sean, I think she gets it,” Elise said.

“Apparently not, because if she did she wouldn’t have stolen from the only source of life we have in this house.”

“Please. Let’s talk about this when we all have cooler heads.”

“Elise,” he said and then paused. Andrew heard him growl over Molly’s sobbing, imagining his eyes piercing, his shoulders rising. God. “She is going to tell me where all the food is. All of it.”

“I didn’t mean it—” Molly cried.

“Where is it?” Sean said. A scrambling. Someone moving things around. “Where’re the cans, huh? Where are they? They in your drawers? Where are they?”

“You’re acting like a crazy person,” Elise shouted.

He heard a piece of furniture tip and then the distinct scraping of the wooden dresser drawers opening. Elise yelled something else and another male voice—Andrew thought it was Michael—tried to chime in, but the ruckus persisted. It sounded like he was removing the drawers one by one and dumping the contents on the floor. Molly only whimpered a few nonsensical words as he did it.

“Where’s the food?”

“I don’t know,” she screamed.

“Is it under the bed?” A thud reverberated through the floorboards. “There’s some.”

The room filled with the sound of cans rolling along the floor. He had discovered the stash under the bed. “This is unbelievable,” Sean said. “Unbelievable. Why’d you do this? What’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t know,” Molly said.

“You don’t know? How could you not know? You barely eat anything downstairs and then you steal more food from the reserves. Why didn’t you ask me? You think I would be mad if you asked for a little more every day?”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it? The hell are you doing taking food behind my back?”

“I didn’t want to make you mad.”

“You didn’t want to make me mad?” Sean said, his voice reaching a terrifying crescendo. “What do I look like now, Molly? Did you not think this would make me a little mad? What were you thinking? Putting everyone else at risk.”

“Stop it,” Elise yelled. “Sean, stop it. Please. Take the cans and we can talk about this later.”

“Will everyone stop telling me what I can do in my own house?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Molly said. “I’m sorry.”

“Is there more?”

She took too long to respond, because within another second the floorboards resounded, and he said, “Where’s the rest of it?”

“There isn’t any more. I swear.”

“Molly, I’ll only ask this once: do you have more?”

“No!”

“I don’t believe you. I’m sorry, I can’t believe you.”

“Daddy, please.”

“Why are you hiding this? What good is this doing right now?”

“I don’t have any more.”

“Is it in the closet?”

The air ruptured from Andrew’s lungs. His hands shook, then his legs, his feet shifting on the uneven surface. If Sean discovered Andrew, the way he was right now—game over. Andrew imagined Sean’s big hands wrapped around his throat, collapsing his windpipe, Andrew floundering, slamming his arms against the walls and floors and Sean’s forearms, struggling for air.

Only one choice: get to the other end of the closet and sneak into the crawlspace leading to the other room. But that required him to move the clothes and brush up against the metal closet doors. To make noise.

“Get out of the way,” Sean said.

“I gave you all the food, I swear,” Molly said.

“I won’t ask you again.”

“Daddy, please. There’s no more.”

He had to try to get out, so he shuffled further down the closet.

“If you have nothing to hide, then let me look.”

“There’s no more food, I swear. I swear.”

He took another few micro-steps across the closet, feeling his back scrape against the metal door.

“Get out of the way.”

Someone tugged hard on the closet door. The one side, jammed, lifted in the track and slammed back down. It sounded like someone had bashed sheet metal with a hammer, and Andrew felt his heart skip.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Sean said and then tried to open the door again.

Andrew hurried as fast as he could, tripping over a pair of shoes. His first instinct was to reach out and balance himself on the door, but that would cause a huge noise. Instead, he gripped the dowel rod holding the hanging clothes and hoped it would support his weight. It did. He finally reached his small cubby space and lowered himself to his knees. The doorway to Aidan’s closet was already open. So close. Just a few seconds and he was safe. He pulled himself forward into the crawlspace and popped his head into the other closet.

“I said get out of the way,” Sean said.

“Please don’t hurt him,” Molly yelled.

Andrew stopped. Touched his head to the floor.

“Don’t hurt who?” Sean said.

Seconds passed. Andrew sat upright and pressed his shoulders against the wall, his heart drumming so hard he could feel it in his throat. Then Sean hurled the closet door open.

Chapter 12

MICHAEL

MICHAEL WASN’T ABOUT to be the one to tell Sean he was acting like an asshole. He had already tried. Sean would probably only tell him it was his house and that he had no right to talk.

Sean lambasted Molly with valid questions, sure, but they ripped into her harder than he seemed to understand. Michael could see the breakdown happening in her face, the tears flowing down her reddened cheeks. Each word Sean yelled seemed to reach into her soul, exposing something that was once protected and safe but now was left raw and vulnerable. He couldn’t watch. She had made a mistake, for whatever reason, but she didn’t deserve to have her father tear her to pieces.

“Where’s the food?”

“I don’t know,” she screamed.

“Is it under the bed?”

Sean dropped to his knees and lifted the bed skirt. He paused for a second, Michael watching, his view blocked but knowing Sean had found the stash. Sean tossed a can of beans backward followed by another.

Molly laced her fingers behind her head. There was something missing from the equation. She was a smart girl, and everyone understood her father’s propensity to treat the food like a sacred cow. She was skin and bones, not any bigger than Kelly, so she had no reason to steal food.

Her denial only made Sean angrier. The veins in his temples popped. His face, already a fierce red, grew stormier. Michael was sure that if this line of questioning persisted, his head might explode like a ripe watermelon stuffed with dynamite.

Elise wasn’t handling it any better. Michael put his hand on her shoulder, and she looked back at him with a helpless expression. She turned to Sean and yelled, “Stop it. Sean, stop it. Please. Take the cans and we can talk about this later.”

“Will everyone stop telling me what I can do in my own house?” Sean yelled back.

There it was again.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry,” Molly said.

“Do you have more?”

More? Michael had watched the same video Sean did. She didn’t take more than a few cans and jars. But Sean moved toward the closet, and Molly stepped in the way. Michael half-expected Sean to backhand her, his temper flaring so hot. Instead, he stared her down and pointed a finger in her face.

“Get out of the way,” Sean said.

“I gave you all the food, I swear,” Molly said.

“I won’t ask you again.”

“Daddy, please. There’s no more.”

Sean grabbed her shoulders and moved her like it was nothing. Her feet skipped as she tried to hold her ground, but she couldn’t stop him. He grabbed the closet door and yanked at it, but it just popped up in its track and crashed back down.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Sean asked.

He tried again. Another crash. Sean turned to the other door, but Molly stood in the way, practically falling in front of him, her hands clasped together, shaking. He threatened her one more time, pressed his forearm against her chest, and nudged her aside.

“Please don’t hurt him,” Molly yelled.

The words felt like that dynamite going off, so loud Michael swore he had a ringing in his ears from the blast. Sean stood with his shoulders heaving up and down, an almost primal stance. Elise looked back at her brother. Her eyes asked him a question he didn’t know the answer to.

“Don’t hurt who?” Sean asked.

The puzzle piece clicked into place, though not for Sean. It made little sense for Molly to take food from her dad and to always take her food back to her room after meals—unless there was someone else. Someone she was hiding.

Shit. Sean wasn’t going to be happy about it.

Sean threw the closet door open and popped his head inside. Michael primed himself to wrestle him off the poor boy. A man could not shack up with Sean’s perfect, pure daughter without consequence. If a little food got him this wound up, discovering his little girl was a woman would send him off the rails.

Sean paused, pulled his head back, and looked at his daughter. From his angle, Michael couldn’t see Sean’s face, but he saw the shame in Molly’s. Sean said nothing for a few seconds. Tears dripped from Molly’s eyes with each blink, her face wincing every second like she was being stabbed. She grabbed onto his arms. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, trying to pull herself toward him.

But Sean pushed her touch away.

It was painful to watch. Michael understood how easy it was to wound someone you loved. When someone shared their deepest secrets and insecurities—when they were close, it was a small thing to use that to stomp their heart into pieces. In only a few words he had the ability to make Kelly feel like utter shit when she had done something wrong. And now he watched Sean dismantle his daughter right there, without words.

Molly bowed her head toward the ground, shaking. Elise said, “What’s happening?”

Andrew stepped out from behind the closet door, his arms pressed against his sides, eyes trained on the ground. Elise covered her mouth.

Sean whipped his head back toward Andrew, and the room became still. Michael readied himself. Andrew met the man’s eyes, his jaw chattering and whole body shaking, but holding his gaze. Sean looked back at Molly, her eyes a deep red and cheeks so inflamed it was as if she was having an allergic reaction, and then he turned toward the door.

The color had faded from his face, leaving a kind of shell-shocked stare. Elise tried to reach out to him, but he just brushed by her as he left the room.

Elise stared down the hallway for a long while before she approached Molly and pulled her close, allowing her to weep into her shoulder. Andrew bent down and lowered himself. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said.

Elise, with tears resting at the edges of her eyes, looked up at Andrew and then pressed her cheek against Molly’s. Michael leaned against the doorframe and wished he wasn’t stuck in this damn house.

Chapter 13

SEAN

SEAN SET THE clipboard down and rubbed his eyes. Math was a bitter, merciless thing. It didn’t care about his feelings. It didn’t care about the diminishing supply that would mean the death of everyone in his home.

He sat against the side of the concrete steps with his LED flashlight shining toward the ceiling, thinking about the food. About Molly and back to the food. About his reaction. Still angry but now ashamed. God, so ashamed.

But then there were thoughts of Andrew—that son of a bitch. He always knew what that boy was after. He liked to put on that respectable facade, but he was a boy nonetheless. Not a man. A boy. And boys were always after the same thing. Sean clenched his jaw.

The door to the reserves squeaked, someone starting down the stairs. Didn’t have to look to see who it was. Nobody but his wife would want to speak to him after what had happened upstairs. He bowed his head.

“Hey,” Elise said, standing over him.

He said nothing for a long while. “I’m sorry, Elise.”

She brushed off a spot on the floor and plopped down next to him. She reached around his back and rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that angry.”

“I’m so sorry.”

She pulled him closer, said, “It’s okay,” in such a way that he knew she didn’t mean it.

He smiled, but it drained from his face immediately. “When I saw that food gone, it was like I—”

“You want to provide for us. I get that,” she said. “But Molly—our family—is not a threat. Even if she was stealing half the food, she’s your daughter.”

“I know.” She joined him looking at the food, breathing a sigh. Maybe she had expected a fight from him, and now wasn’t getting one. So, they sat quietly for a moment before Sean said, “A month ago we had enough food for you, me, Molly, and Aidan to last for two-and-a-half years. We’re now down to one year and one month with Andrew around.”

She rubbed his back, the tension releasing from his muscles but returning almost instantaneously. No way out. No relief coming. The temperature continued to drop. They could plant crops again with the organic seeds they had in the reserves—he even had a technique that might work in the winter—but the sun never broke through the oppressive cloud cover outside.

“We’ll be fine,” Elise said.

“If it were just us, we would be.”

“But it’s not just us.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure that’s what it works out to? What if we cut back on our rations?”

“We might have to.”

He didn’t want to ask his next question, but it nagged at him, his mind already running through the worst case scenarios. His imagination couldn’t be any worse than the truth. “How long has he been here?”

“You want to know?”

He paused, then nodded.

“Apparently, the night all this started.”

“Climbed up the ladder to the roof outside Molly’s window?”

Elise nodded. “He and Molly had been—” She stopped.

“Just say it.”

“They’ve been intimate for a while. The night before the eruption, they had a sleepover.”

The words sunk into him like daggers.

“When they woke up that morning,” she said, “the ash was already here and then you locked down the house. His family had abandoned him, so he stayed.”

“How could she do this?”

“Do what?”

“All of this. Why not just tell us?”

She looked at him as if to ask whether he really didn’t know. He covered his face.

“She’s really broken up about it.”

“Maybe she should be.”

Elise pulled away. “She should be what?”

“Broken up about it. She’s sixteen years old. She shouldn’t have been having sleepovers. Period.”

“Maybe, but she needs to know her father is going to love her regardless.”

Tears lined his eyes. “How am I supposed to even start that conversation?”

“You can start by hugging her and telling her you love her.”

He nodded and sniffled. Elise pulled him into her chest and it was as if a dam had burst. He wept. Wept like a man who had lost control of everything.

SEAN TAPPED ON Molly’s door and waited. No response at first. His guts turned. If he found Andrew in there with his daughter, he might just kill him.

He frowned. He wasn’t there to instigate. The doorknob clicked and Molly opened the door wide, her eyes red, hair tossed around at all angles. “Were you sleeping?” Sean said. “I can come back.”

She kept one arm crossed over her midsection, her eyes glued to the floor, and extended her arm outward as if to invite him in. Sean took a couple steps forward and shut the door behind him, watching her sit on the bed. He looked at the walls, trying to choose something eloquent to say. Nothing came to mind, so he just said, “I’m sorry.”

She stayed quiet for a while, hugging a pillow. “You must hate me.”

“No, no, no,” Sean said and kneeled in front of her. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me hate you. Ever.”

Tears fell onto her cheeks, and his heart shattered. He sat on the bed next to her, and she cried into his shoulder. Sean cupped the back of her head and kissed the top of it. He said, “There was no excuse for how I acted, Molls. No excuse.”

He felt her tears soak into his sleeve, and he rested his head on top of hers. Her body shook, and he closed his eyes.

But when they opened a moment later, he was still very aware that Andrew was in his home. That little worm. Andrew wouldn’t get any of his love. None of this would have ever happened without that pissant coming into his home, eating his food, playing house with his daughter. Even thinking about him touching Molly made his skin crawl.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Molly whispered.

He closed his eyes again. “I love you,” he said. All would be forgiven for Molly.

But only her.

Chapter 14

ANDREW

IT HAD BEEN three weeks since Andrew had slept in Molly’s bed—and two months since the ash started. He tossed and turned on the fold-out couch, often reaching across the cushion half-asleep only to find no one. After weeks of snuggling every night, he had gotten used to her warmth. Every night was cold in comparison, even with the living room fireplace only a few feet away.

They had found opportunities to be together, though not frequently. When Molly’s dad was around, they had to act asexual. One time, he was rubbing Molly’s back, touching her without thinking while they did a puzzle in the living room. The look Sean gave him when he had walked in—hell, Andrew pulled his hand back like he’d been caught with his hand down her pants. Andrew fantasized about pulling Sean aside and telling him how it was—he loved Molly and he would not act like nothing had happened. But that would only make matters worse. With tensions in the house already high, creating more conflict was a terrible idea.

Elise had done her best to welcome him into the home. They had talked shortly after he was discovered. He was leaning against a kitchen counter when she came in to start dinner. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You all right?”

He shrugged and said, “Sure.” Truth was, Molly wouldn’t look at him in the days after the blow up. He wasn’t fine, not that he wanted to make waves by saying so.

She stood in front of him, leaned closer, and said, “He’ll come around.”

“I’m not sure.”

“I’ve been married to him for a long time. I know. When he gets to know you, it’ll be all right.”

“Doesn’t feel that way.”

She swatted the idea away with her hand. “You know, he and Michael have been going at it for years.”

“They still don’t get along.”

“But they’re both stubborn. Won’t admit they’re wrong. Almost ever. If one of them did, though, it would go a long way. I’m just saying, if you pull your weight, help out around here, he’ll warm to you. Not overnight. Not saying that. But give it time.”

He doubted that time would help.

He rolled over on his back and sighed. Across the room Michael was snoring. People had started sleeping in the living room when the ancillary rooms grew frigid. Some days, Sean conserved energy and didn’t run the furnace, so everyone would roll up in sleeping bags near the fire. It was communal but claustrophobic, everyone so close together. Sean always slept between him and Molly—with a loaded shotgun next to him. That night it was just Michael, Kelly, and Aidan. Aidan slept in his aunt’s sleeping bag, the little player.

Michael snored again. Andrew put his hands on his throbbing temples. The pain became worse when he looked at the fire. His throat was parched, and his bottom lip had split from the dryness. He threw the blankets off, the cold invading the warm pocket under his covers. He shivered and eased himself off the couch, tiptoeing toward the kitchen. It seemed like every third floorboard made a noise with even the slightest pressure.

He opened one cupboard, grabbed a glass, and sank it into a large cast iron pot filled with tasteless boiled water. After taking a towel and drying off the sides, he went for the medicine cabinet in the bathroom upstairs. There were over-the-counter painkillers up there, and if he wanted any sleep, he needed them.

He slinked back and started up the stairs, each step emitting a low grumble. He whispered curses. Sneaking upstairs would appear like only one thing to Sean. If he and Molly had alone time, it was when Sean was chopping wood or counting the reserves. Nighttime was never a good idea. Sean patrolled the house then, almost as if he never slept. Last thing Andrew wanted was to get shot over an aspirin. Not that he thought Sean would really do that.

He hoped.

Panic churned in his gut. He inched forward into the bathroom, settled his breathing, set his water by the side of the sink, and opened the wooden cabinet. There was barely any light at night, and all he could see were shapes, the fine print obscured by the deep dark.

He snatched a bottle off the shelf and brought it close to his face, the words a blur. He traced his hand around the plastic—a prescription bottle with a big cap on top. Over-the-counter painkillers were large-bodied with small caps. He rattled the pills inside and decided it was not the one he needed.

A bright light lit up everything around him, blinding him. He dropped the bottle into the sink, yelping, “Holy shit,” and closing the cabinet door.

The light, like a spotlight on him, shone from the doorway about five feet off the ground, suspended in the air as if held by a ghost. He shielded his eyes, but the light penetrated his aching skull like a spike being driven into his eye sockets. He stepped back.

“You want to die?” the deep voice behind the light said.

“What?”

No response for a few seconds, and then the light tipped toward the ground. The white rays reflected off the linoleum, creating a glow around the bathroom. His eyes adjusted to the decreased luminosity, and the person with the flashlight came into focus.

Andrew could feel his heart in his temples. “Mr. Cain.”

Sean approached him without saying a word, his eyes like dark reflective beads. He picked up the pill bottle. “I asked you if you wanted to die.”

“No, sir.”

Sean had said nothing to him for weeks. Andrew caught his lingering glances, though, penetrating and uneasy. Nothing could stop Sean from raising the huge metal flashlight and bringing it down on his head.

Sean held up the bottle, and Andrew flinched. “Then don’t take these.” He shook the pills inside. “These are Aidan’s meds. You take these things, and you’ll be getting some nasty side effects that’ll put you in the ground.” He put the bottle back. “At least that’s what the doctor told me.”

“I wasn’t going to take them.”

Sean said nothing.

He looked toward the door and then back to Sean, whose gaze was fixed on him. The light from below reflected around and concealed his features so that his eye sockets and wrinkles were black splotches. Andrew diverted his eyes.

“You’re not looking for sleeping pills, are you?”

“No.”

“Good. You get dependent, there’s no more after my supply’s gone.”

“I just have a bad headache.”

“Can’t sleep it off?”

He didn’t know how to answer the question.

“We have a limited supply,” Sean said.

“I just figured—”

“You would use it for your headache.”

Andrew’s mouth formed an ‘O,’ but he said nothing for what seemed like forever. “I don’t know.”

The shadows playing on his face made him look deranged. “I guess that’s what they’re used for, huh?”

He wanted to laugh to break the tension, but he held it in his throat. “Is it okay?”

Sean opened the cabinet and selected a small white bottle with red trim. He extended it. “This’s the one you want. For future reference.”

Andrew took the bottle, his hands trembling and the pills clanking around inside. He held it against his chest to steady it. “Thanks.”

“Don’t touch anything else,” Sean said, staring at him.

The glare insinuated that Sean was talking about more than pill bottles.

Sean turned and walked toward the hallway. It would have been best to end the encounter then, but he spoke before his brain could tell him to stop. “Mr. Cain,” he said. Sean pivoted back toward him. “I know we haven’t had a chance to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

He could think of a million things. “About everything.”

“Everything’s an awful lot to discuss at three in the morning.”

“I was just thinking, maybe I could—”

“Don’t.”

“I just—”

“You even try to justify yourself to me, kid, I will whip you across the face with this flashlight right where you stand. You understand me?”

Andrew nodded.

“I don’t give a damn what you think you know or what you want to discuss with me. I have to tolerate you because my daughter has this misplaced attachment to you, so you count your lucky stars that she’s around. If she wasn’t—” He stopped. “Whatever you think you have to say to me—don’t. I see through you. I see through everything. And let me tell you something, boy, it’s a miracle you’re not already out in those woods dead. You better believe it.”

Andrew stood motionless in the cold bathroom, as if moving one muscle fiber would be the end of his life. He watched Sean turn back toward the hallway and walk out of sight, his shadow stretching across the wall like an ominous specter before disappearing.

He popped the cap off the pill bottle and poured two into his hand. Looked down at them as the last ray of the flashlight disappeared and then he tossed in a few more. He didn’t want to come back for more if he needed them.

Not that night. Not ever again.

Chapter 15

MICHAEL

“OKAY, I’M GOING for it,” Kelly said, shaking her hips and shoulders as if she were scratching her back on the mattress.

Michael chuckled and nudged her toward the end of the bed.

“Hey, stop it,” she said, resisting him. “I need to do it myself.”

“You do it yourself, you’ll never leave.”

The air in the bedroom was chilly, since no heat was being pumped into it anymore. They were safe from the cold for now, laying under three comforters with a heat rock wrapped in a towel at their feet. But the house grew colder every day, as if each sunset pulled a little more warmth from the air, never to return.

Two candles burned on each nightstand, emitting a soft glow that made the terrible situation almost romantic. Michael kissed her bare shoulder, Kelly looking back at him. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you.” Michael curled a strand of hair around her ear. It would be dinnertime soon. He put his face into the covers above him, blowing into the fabric, warmth spreading across his face. Getting out of bed to grab clothes was brutal. The draft against his bare skin was like a harsh blast of winter.

Kelly cuddled up next to him and looked him in the eyes. “How has helping around the house been?”

“Elise taught me to chop wood. She’s a damn pro.” He chuckled. “My little sister showed me how to chop wood, of all people.”

“I know you have to swallow your pride, taking orders from them. From Sean.”

“I’m not taking orders. I’m just trying to help.”

“And I appreciate you doing it.”

Michael kissed her forehead and lowered his voice. “Does he seem a little more on edge than usual?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Of course she didn’t. Kelly wasn’t the most perceptive person in the world, so sometimes he had to lay things on thick. “I mean, he seems jittery? He counts the food every day now. It’s like his time is split between counting food and chopping wood.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“I have.”

She sighed. “Why does every conversation come back to this? You’re about as obsessed with him as he is with chopping wood and counting food.”

He shut up, but his thoughts lingered. He stretched his arms and scooted to his side of the bed. “We need to get up eventually.”

Kelly sighed. “I know. Maybe we can have them deliver us food in bed.”

“Canned meat and veggie stew in bed. Awesome.”

“It’s better than nothing.”

Elise tried her hardest, but it was a losing battle. She made lots of soups and hearty dishes—things that filled them up. But the taste wasn’t great. Neither Kelly nor Michael could complain. They both understood the debt they owed Sean and Elise for keeping them alive, and Sean knew it too because he often stared at them as they ate. That awful, piercing stare…

“All right. I’m going for it. Get ready,” Kelly said.

She propped her arms and legs up under the covers, creating a tent with her appendages as supports. She bit down on her tongue, closed her eyes, but brought the covers back down and sighed.

“All right, this is ridiculous,” Michael said and tossed all the covers from the bed.

The cold air swooped in to fill the warm void. Kelly’s eyes expanded, and she bolted out of bed and stamped her feet. “Are you crazy?” she yelled, scurrying around naked, trying to grab her clothing.

Michael chuckled, pulled his neat pile of clothes next to the bed toward himself, and threw on his layers. Before Kelly even had pants on, he was almost fully dressed. “You’re unbelievable sometimes,” she said, trying not to smile.

“Plan ahead,” he said, slipping a sweatshirt on.

“Don’t be an ass and I wouldn’t have to.”

He cracked the door just enough to slip through and block the view inside. “Well that’ll never happen, so you should probably plan ahead.”

She scrunched her face and threw her balled-up shirt at him. He ducked out before it hit. “That’ll only make getting dressed take longer,” he told her, shutting the door.

He smiled but stopped the moment he turned away from the door. Sean stood next to the fireplace staring at Michael, a few split logs under his arm. The flames raged behind him. His eyes had dark circles under them, his skin washed out, almost gray. They had a hundred razors in the reserves, but his face was shadowed with long and dark stubble. His cheek bones were more defined and the skin on his neck gripped tight against his muscles.

“Sorry if I interrupted,” Michael said.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” Sean said and threw a log onto the fire.

A cloud of burning ash ascended the chimney. Sean seemed more hunched each day, his shoulders always forward and never tall, as if something were pressing him closer to the ground. Michael almost felt bad for the guy. Almost.

“You need any help?” Michael said.

“I’m good.”

Michael put his hands in his pockets and walked closer. With each step closer to the fireplace, the temperature seemed five degrees warmer. Sean sighed and tried to lift a larger log but dropped it. It crashed against the hearth and rolled onto the carpet. “Damn it,” he hissed.

“You sure you don’t need help?”

“I just got a splinter.”

“You need some antibacterial cream? I can grab some from the reserves—”

“No,” Sean yelled. He looked at the ground and splayed his fingers as if to stop himself. “It’s fine. It’s no problem.”

Michael tilted his head to see, but Sean hid his hand behind his back. “You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sean said.

“Getting sleep?”

“Why do you suddenly care?”

“I remember you were having issues a few years back. Do you have any sleeping pills? Maybe so you can get a good night’s rest?”

“I’m fine, Michael. Thanks.”

Michael and Sean had an unspoken agreement to avoid one another. But Sean was becoming more difficult to ignore. Elise had told him Sean wasn’t sleeping, or at least he was never in bed when she woke up. It worried him, not because he cared about Sean—he didn’t—but because his behavior was growing stranger. He muttered to himself nonstop, snapped at his kids. Snapped at everyone.

“Listen,” Michael said, “I don’t want to be intrusive.”

“You don’t? Because that’s what you’re doing.”

Michael raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes. Kelly walked out of the guest bedroom rubbing her arms and making a funny noise with her lips. Sean looked up. “You both are being safe about your alone time, right?”

Both Michael and Kelly stared back at him, a little taken aback by the question. “Excuse me?” Kelly asked.

“Did you not hear me?”

“We heard you fine,” Michael said, “but that’s none of your business.”

“Not to be intrusive, but it is. If there’s another mouth to feed, we’ll be hurting.”

“You’re being inappropriate.”

“No, I’m not.”

An uncomfortable chuckle rose from his chest. “Sean, just because we’re here doesn’t mean you have any right to know how my wife and I—”

“It does. Just don’t let her get preg—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Michael noticed Andrew, Molly, and Aidan standing at the base of the stairs.

“You guys ready for dinner?” Sean said with an unexpected cheerfulness.

“Did Mom say it was ready?” Molly said.

“She said ten minutes, and that was ten minutes ago, I think.”

Molly nodded and headed toward the kitchen with Andrew and Aidan. Sean’s head followed the kids as if his eyes were glued to them. When they passed out of sight, Sean turned back to the fireplace and grabbed the log he had tried to throw in earlier. “Just don’t screw up.”

Michael licked the inside of his cheek and glanced back at Kelly, who was shaking her head and had already started out of the room. She didn’t want to pursue it any further, so he gave up too.

Some battles weren’t worth fighting.

THEY ATE AROUND the fireplace like most nights. The fire smothered them in heat and cast a yellow glow into the room. Some nights it even felt cozy.

Elise placed a large cast-iron pot filled with vegetable and meat slop on the coffee table and sat down herself. “All right, we need to say grace,” she said before anyone took a bite.

Sean grimaced. A common reaction when Elise asked to pray, but this time he was snarling and rocking back and forth.

Elise didn’t seem to notice. “We always want to be thankful for what we have.”

The group joined hands and bowed their heads. Sean made no move to join them.

“Father,” Elise said, “we want to thank you for your provision to us this evening. We know that you’re in control and looking out for us, and we pray that we would glorify you this evening in our eating—and in all that we do. We pray in the name of Jesus. Amen.”

Everyone except Sean uttered an ‘Amen’ and started devouring the chunky stew. It tasted a bit like pizza sauce mixed with something vaguely like beef, but sustenance was sustenance. “What have you guys been up to today?” Elise asked Molly.

“We’re almost done with a jigsaw puzzle upstairs,” she said, slurping.

“Oh, I didn’t know you guys were working on that,” Kelly said. “I would’ve liked to help.”

“We’ll probably do it over again. There’s only, like, five puzzles in the house.”

Everyone chuckled but Sean. He carried a scowl on his face while shoveling spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. The conversation continued, but Sean sat on the stone hearth, disconnected from everything. Each passing moment seemed to fuel an anger deep inside, each bite he took more forceful than the last, his teeth gnashing together and gritting. His cheek muscles pulsed under his skin and he exhaled strained, quick breaths from his nose.

Michael stopped and set his bowl down. Kelly glanced up at him as if to ask what he was doing. He said nothing. Soon she caught on and turned her head. She stopped eating too.

Sean was like a volcano before an eruption—the crust was cracking, and steam was hissing from beneath the rock. At any moment it would reach maximum pressure, and the fireworks would start. Michael always knew someone would snap eventually—it had almost been him a few times. The nonstop cold, being isolated in one spot, seeing the same people day in and day out, eating crappy food—all of it attacked his sanity. Everyone felt it. Sean just seemed to have reached the precipice first.

“Hey, Sean,” Michael said in a calm tone.

It seemed to pull him out of himself. Molly stopped talking, and everyone’s attention shifted to Sean.

“What?”

“You okay? You don’t look too good.”

Sean stared down at his bowl. The hair on Michael’s arms stood up. “I’m tired of you asking me that,” Sean said.

“I’m just concerned.”

“Cut the bullshit.”

Elise perked up.

“Sean,” Michael said.

“I’m tired of no one being straight with me,” Sean said. “I’m tired of people looking me in the eye and telling me lies.”

Elise said, “Okay, this stops right now.”

“No,” Sean said, “I want Mike to tell me why he suddenly cares so much about my wellbeing.”

Michael said, “Because you look like you’re about to snap.”

“Snap from what?”

“Come on.”

“No, tell me.”

Elise stood up in front of Sean. “All right, this stops right now,” she said.

For a moment he looked like he would jump forward and slug her, his face a storm of fury, but that anger fell away and he bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

The room held quiet. “Let’s get you a sleeping pill and go to bed,” Elise said, putting one arm around him as if she would carry him.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Sean said. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

“Let’s just get some sleep, okay?” she whispered to him.

Michael watched the scene, and his heart dropped in his chest. He held Kelly closer to himself.

“I’m sorry,” Sean said as he and his wife turned toward the stairs.

A booming knock resounded from the front door, like something had smacked into it from the outside. But that was crazy. Nobody was outside. Nobody.

Everyone froze.

The wind hissed across the outside walls. The wood in the fireplace crackled. Michael’s first instinct was something had fallen over and hit the house, but it sounded too light and too specific of a noise.

Sean stepped away from Elise, reaching around the back of his belt. Michael held his breath. There was nothing out there. There couldn’t be. It was a wasteland outside. And they were in the middle of Appalachia. Boarding up the windows had been a silly precaution. Nothing was outside.

A loud knock echoed three more times, and the vibrations carried into his chest.

Chapter 16

SEAN

THE KNOCK SNAPPED him back into reality. He had been lingering in a hallucinatory dream. But it was gone the moment the knock resounded through the door. The world fell into sharp focus.

Every cell of his body tensed. His eyes fixed onto the door with the five wooden boards nailed into the frame. It wouldn’t open if someone tried to force themselves inside. This was why he had taken precautions. Why he had prepared.

He reached around his belt and felt the steel and polymer handle of his gun. Rubbed his thumb along the strike-pin indicator on the back—ready to go with one in the pipe.

Elise squeezed his arm so hard it almost constricted his blood flow. Her sharp nails dug into his skin. Sean barely felt it.

Three more knocks resonated from the door.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Each a second or two after the other, laborious, strained. He blinked each time. A neighbor would tap with their knuckles in quick succession. This was a pounding from the side of someone’s fist, the walls vibrating with the blows.

Everyone remained silent. He listened for a crackling of snow outside—but all he could hear was his obtuse breathing.

“Daddy, what’s happening?” Aidan’s small voice said.

Sean whipped around and pressed his index finger to his lips, bringing his hand down after a moment, making eye contact with each person, telling them to keep their mouths shut.

It was just an animal, he thought. A bear or something. He punched holes in his wishful thinking. How was any animal surviving in the conditions outside, with nothing to eat or drink but tainted snow? The only thing that could survive was a person—a person with enough tenacity to live in that desolate land.

He signaled for them to lower themselves. The drapes were enough to hide them if the person tried to look inside, but this person might start shooting the walls. Disasters made people desperate, and desperate people showed their true nature when pressed.

The group, in little increments, sank to the floor. Elise stood with him, and Michael got on one knee as if he was readying himself to spring into action. Sean made eye contact with him and pointed to the shotgun leaning against the wall, motioning for him to take his time. As Michael moved, Sean turned his gaze to Kelly and pointed at his axe gleaming in the fire’s light.

She looked confused. He extended his hand out and motioned it toward himself as if to say, Bring it to me. The door reverberated again with a thunderous boom. Kelly, moving toward the axe, stopped and looked back at Sean. He encouraged her without a word to keep going.

“Please, help me,” someone’s muted voice cried outside.

A man. He had a deep and gnarled voice that cracked midsentence. It didn’t sound like one of his neighbors—not that it mattered. Even the people living down the road would get nothing from him. Kelly grabbed the axe and crept back. She passed it along until Sean had it. He handed it to Elise.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she whispered so softly the sound almost didn’t exist.

He made a cutting motion across his throat, almost growling at her to stop. The stranger might not know they were there. They had to stay quiet, and then he would go away.

But reality hit him, hard and cold. He put himself in the man’s shoes, saw his logic. The man was desperate, so he would try to find water first. If he came across a home, he would assume the house was empty. He wouldn’t try to knock. He would break in and try to take what he needed.

The man outside knew they were there.

Sean gripped the handle of the pistol and unsheathed it. He brought it in front of himself and pointed it toward the ground, his finger straight across the slide of the gun.

“Please,” the stranger outside howled, “I’m so hungry.”

“Sean,” Michael whispered. “Sean.”

Sean pressed his hand toward the floor to tell him to shut up. It was Sean’s fault they didn’t know what to do. He had never walked them through the scenario of a stranger showing up. A terrible mistake.

He put his hand on Elise’s sternum, to tell her to stay put, and took one step toward the door. A baseboard under his foot creaked so loud it sounded like a gunshot. He winced and took the next step, raising his weapon toward the door and tripping the laser dot sight under the barrel. A tiny red dot shone on the middle of the door, shaking a few inches to the left or right as his hand quivered. His blood coursed with adrenaline and his tremor grew steadier. He had long told himself that he would be ready to kill someone who threatened his family, but he thought, statistically speaking, it would never happen. Now that the situation had come, he was trying to fight every instinct he had to run instead of fight.

Another floorboard creaked. He edged closer to the door, standing off to the side at a forty-five-degree angle in case the man started shooting through the door.

“I know that someone’s in there. There’s smoke—” the man outside yelled.

Shit.

“There’s smoke in your chimney. Please.”

The fireplace, its crackling red flames pouring smoke up the flue. He snarled. People could smell smoke from miles away, follow it right to them. Elise waved in his peripheral, trying to get his attention. She was silent, but her eyes explained everything.

“No,” Sean mouthed to her.

He wouldn’t do it. That kind of risk could not stand. There was no way he would open his doors to some starving person they didn’t know. No way. He shook his head.

His gun remained trained on the door. “Get off my property,” Sean yelled. “There’s nothing for you here.”

Seconds dragged on with no reply. The wind gusted. “Come on, man. You’re gonna kill me.”

That was a lie. Sean had no obligation to help this man, and he wouldn’t listen to some half-baked rationale that tried to paint him as the bad guy.

“Please. I haven’t eaten in days.”

“I said, Get lost. Leave.”

A hand grabbed his shoulder, startling him, Sean wrenching his body free. Elise. He looked back at the laser dot. “What’re you doing?”

“We can’t leave that man outside,” she whispered.

“We can, and we will.”

“He’s going to die out there if we don’t do something.”

Michael piped in with hushed words, “Sean, she’s right.”

No, she wasn’t. If this man came into the house, they were accepting a completely preventable risk. He could be anyone, a child molester or a rapist. Maybe he murdered the last family he encountered. He shuddered. “We are not discussing this,” he said.

“We have to discuss this,” Michael said. “There’s a man outside and we can help him.”

“We don’t know anything about him.”

“We know he’ll die without us,” Elise said. “Please, we can just feed him a meal and give him a warm place to sleep for the night.”

“What about after that? We can’t just let him stay here.”

“We’ll send him on his way.”

“You can’t ask me to do this, Elise. No.”

She leaned the axe against the couch and cupped his face with her hands and pulled his gaze onto her. “We can’t turn this man away. He’s just one person and we can help him. If we don’t—we can’t let a man die.”

“This is dangerous.”

“You’ll protect us, babe. You always have.” She leaned in and kissed his stubbled cheek. “We can’t judge whether a man lives or dies.”

They could. They did it every day when they hunkered down instead of opening their home to everyone else. They didn’t see it like that. It was barbaric to think that way, but someone had to do it. “We can’t take the risk.”

“We have to.”

“We don’t have to do anything.”

“Sean, please. Just one meal.”

He zeroed in on the red laser dot, his stomach churning with a sick heaviness. It would have been easy to just squeeze off a few shots into the door. The man outside would run. No more problem. But he’d be the bad guy. His wife—she might never forgive him. So easy to shoot off a few rounds…

He lowered his weapon. Shit, he thought, what am I doing? “I’ll bring him in through the garage. Nobody else move, okay?”

Silence. He approached the door, still just off to the side, rapped his knuckles on it, and waited. The man outside smacked the door. “Hello?”

He tried to speak but couldn’t get his vocal chords to work. All his thoughts told him to stop, except one—the one that sounded like Elise. He cleared his throat. “Hey,” he yelled.

“Yes, yes. Please. Is someone in there?”

Goddamn it. “There is a doorway in the back of the garage. Go there.”

The words echoed in his head.

“Oh, thank you,” the man yelled.

His footsteps padded down the deck, and Sean turned back to Elise. “We did the right thing,” she said.

He said nothing.

“We couldn’t just leave him out there to die,” Michael said.

“Worse things could happen,” Sean said.

“Worse things could—? We’re helping him.”

“You don’t see how stupid this is.”

“We’re saving his life.”

“We’re delaying his death a few days. Hardly qualifies as saving.”

He motioned for everyone to make room, and they cleared his path. Throwing on his thick wool coat and fingerless gloves, he grabbed a small LED flashlight and his gun and went into the garage.

The air was stagnant and well below freezing there. He trained his gun and flashlight upward in front of himself. His heart beat so hard the pulse shook his eyeballs. The mixture of adrenaline and cold sent opposite signals in his body so his skin simultaneously crawled with chill and flushed with heat.

He rounded the corner, and the backdoor came into view. He nudged closer. His impulses called for him to turn around, to back away and leave the man to die. Yet, he inched forward. A new contradictory thought arose every few seconds. Keep going. What are you doing? Listen to your wife. Listen to reason. Stop. Keep going.

The door grew closer and closer until he found himself just a foot away, almost like it had snuck up on him. He curled his finger onto the trigger. He withdrew a foggy breath into the light, half-expecting to get shot the moment he opened the door. Desperate men did desperate things.

He reached out and grabbed the bolt lock, ensuring he made no sound. The wind hissed outside and then he heard a crunch of snow. His chest thumped. Don’t do it. Do it. Are you crazy? Have some decency, man. This is suicide.

He wrenched the lock, the sound echoing around the garage, and pulled the door open. The man stood in the doorway, not five feet from him. Sean flashed the bright light in his face, and the man held up his hands to block the light. No way would someone get the drop on him if he could help it.

Layers of ratty cloth covered all but a small slit for the man’s eyes. The color of the fabric, unwashed for months, was only a mixture of gray and black shades from the ash. His body, probably skinnier than he appeared, was padded with layers of mismatched garments filled with holes and unwound thread.

“Hey, I don’t know what the deal is, man,” he said.

“You shut the hell up right now, you hear?” Sean said.

“I don’t know what I did, man.”

“You showed up at my house, that’s what you did.”

The light snow and ash fall blew around the man. “I don’t know where else to go.”

“And you picked my house?”

The man looked down at his chest and noticed the red dot dancing in the center. His hands drifted a little further into the air. “Hey man, let’s just hold on a minute.”

“I’m not going to wait for anything, you hear me?”

“I don’t want no trouble. Please, I haven’t eaten in days.”

“I just want to be clear about one thing: you aren’t coming inside because of me. If I had my way, you wouldn’t even be standing where you are. You’d be lying dead in that snow. Don’t even doubt me for one second.”

“I don’t, man. I don’t.”

“You get one meal and one night then you go, understand? I see you even do one thing I don’t like, you look at my family the wrong way or try to go anywhere I didn’t say you could go, you take advantage of my generosity in any way, I will march you out here and put a bullet between your eyes. You understand me?”

The man nodded but kept his head low.

“You have anything on you?” Sean asked.

“On me?”

“A weapon? A knife? A gun?”

“I ain’t got nothing on me.”

“Get inside and shut the door behind you.”

Sean backed away and watched him trudge out of the snow and into the doorway. For a few tense seconds, they stared at one another. “I said, Close the door.”

The man turned and pushed the heavy door shut.

“Bolt lock.”

The man cranked it until it latched. As he started to turn back around, Sean yelled, “Stop.”

The man did.

“Interlock your fingers together behind your head.”

“I told you I ain’t got nothing.”

“And I told you to do as I say. Now do it or you’re not coming in.”

The man raised his gloved hands to the back of his head and laced his fingers together, trembling. “Please don’t kill me, man.”

“I’m not going to kill you. Now shut it.”

With the laser dot never leaving him, Sean sidestepped and set the flashlight on a work shelf so that the beam spotlighted him. He approached slowly. “Keep still.”

The man did. Sean pressed the barrel of the gun between the man’s shoulder blades and patted him down, the ash on the man’s clothes smearing across Sean’s hands. He checked his belt line, thighs, ankles, chest and shoulders. When he felt confident the man had nothing more, he stepped back, the laser still dead set on his back. “Turn around.”

The stranger, hands still locked behind his head, rotated and stared at Sean for the first time. His eyes shifted back and forth between the gun and Sean’s face, the cloth in front of his mouth expanding and contracting.

“Look me in the eyes,” Sean said.

He did.

“You try anything, and I swear I’ll kill you.”

“We’re all living in such times,” he said. “I understand.”

Sean lowered his gun. “Let’s go.”

The man hesitated, but pulled his hands down and walked past Sean, cowering like he was expecting Sean to hit him as he passed. Sean watched him turn the doorknob and crack the door open.

His family just on the other side.

The man opening the door.

Stop this.

Listen to your wife.

Stop this.

Stop this.

His heart rose in his throat and dropped to the bottom of his guts.

Chapter 17

ELISE

THE INSTANT SEAN stepped out of the house, Michael’s mouth opened. Elise had to stop herself from punching him. She understood that her husband was acting erratic. She saw him babbling to himself, saw his fuse was so short that even a tiny bit of conflict sent him into a rage. He needed sleep. Yet, Michael piled all of his concerns about Sean into her ear. He had always done this, even when they were kids, explaining things she already knew. It wasn’t enough that she had to be the keeper of morale in the house, making sure everyone had hot meals and a stoked fire, but she had to keep track of her husband and brother too. Make sure they were behaving. Sometimes she wanted to pull her hair out.

She told Michael to stop, but he kept hammering away. Even while she sent the others to grab items for their guest and drape towels on the floor near the fireplace, he wouldn’t stop. Elise moved near the garage door and waited. He said, “What happens when he snaps, Elise? He could hurt someone. If we don’t—”

She waved her hand in his face. “I’ll do something about it,” she said through her teeth. “I will. I’ll handle it. Lay off.”

The handle turned, and the heavy door sprung out an inch from the frame. Elise’s stomach leapt into her ribs. The door opened. A ragged man, caked with gray soot woven deep into his clothing, poked his head through the crack of the door and opened it further. His head was wrapped in the hood of his coat and his scarf was coiled around the bottom half of his face. Ice had penetrated every fiber of his clothing. The man’s eyes darted between Elise and Michael. He took a step forward then back.

Elise didn’t move. It wasn’t fear of him—he was a pathetic-looking figure and presented no danger—but he took her aback. With eyebrows crusted with ice and skin red from the unforgiving wind, it was as if he had walked out of a post-apocalyptic movie.

“Evening, ma’am,” the man said.

“Go on inside,” Sean said behind him.

Sean pushed the man’s back and forced him three steps forward. The man looked around at the books on the shelf and the clean carpet and the soft red glow from the fire in the other room. His eyes widened. “It’s so warm in here.”

The creases around his eyes changed, the man smiling behind the scarf. Her heart warmed. She said, “Warmer than outside.”

“Yes, ma’am. Much better than out there.”

“What’s your name?”

“Travers. My name’s Travers.”

Sean shut the door, his lips pursed. He nodded, and Elise got the message. “I’m sure you would like to warm up, Mr. Travers.”

“Just Travers, ma’am.” He looked at the carpet and then down at his clothes. “I don’t want to soil your rug.”

“There’s a towel down by the fire.”

“Once the dirt gets inside, it won’t come out.”

“It’s okay. The others’ll be down in a bit with some new clothes. You can warm yourself by the fire.”

“That would be good—”

“Elise.”

He extended his filthy mitten to her, and she took it. Felt like holding a block of ice. Michael shook it too and introduced himself.

Elise said, “And you met my husband, Sean.”

He looked back, said, “I did,” and nodded. “Thank you for taking me in for the night. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s the right thing to do.”

The smile wrinkles vanished from around his eyes. “Yes. It is.”

She motioned for him to go into the living room. He passed, Elise watching him take careful, measured steps, looking around at everything without settling on anything in particular. He got on his knees in front of the fire and extended his hands. She turned back to find her husband glaring at her. “What?” she asked.

“Where are the others?” he said in a low voice.

“The others?” she said, hushing to his level.

“The kids? Kelly?”

“Around.”

“They’re not to be alone with him.”

“They’re fine.”

Sean’s eyes shifted past her to Michael standing over her shoulder. “Where’s the shotgun?”

“Why?” Michael asked.

“You just left the shotgun sitting around?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Is that a problem? Do either of you understand the risk we’re taking here?”

“Risk?” Elise said. “The guy could barely lift his arm to shake my hand.”

“I’m pretty sure Aidan could take him,” Michael said.

She closed her eyes. If only Michael could keep his trap shut.

“You don’t get it,” Sean said.

“Sean, please,” Elise said, “it’s just one night. To help the man along.”

“It’d be more merciful to just kill him now.”

“Wow, Sean,” Michael said. “Even for you that’s low.”

His jaw muscles pulsed and protruded in his cheeks, telling them, “You don’t get it,” before throwing his coat off and walking into the living room.

Michael started to speak, but she put a hand up and silenced him. “I’ll deal with it.”

They joined Sean and Travers. Sean hung out near the back wall, the shotgun next to him, while Travers leaned over the fireplace. The fire roared around the outline of his silhouetted body and cast a dark shadow along the floor and walls. The moisture from his clothes began dripping in murky, watery droplets. She watched a bead sink into the towel on the floor. Travers was right: she would never get all that gray out.

Andrew and Aidan emerged from the kitchen, the younger one clasping a bowl of hot soup. He walked with a cautious gait, trying not to spill a drop. Travers turned his head. Aidan—the sweet little boy, kindhearted and gentle—extended the bowl with a smile. “And food too,” the man said. “I feel like I’ve hit the jackpot here.”

Travers cradled the bowl and set it down on the stone. He pulled his scarf down from his face and started devouring the soup. The expression on Aidan’s face changed from goodhearted to horror. He stepped back into Andrew’s legs, Andrew’s eyes lifting up toward Elise, his chest rising. Sean perked up. She stepped towards Aidan, her eyes locked onto Travers as the fire crackled in front of him. She walked through his shadow and then back into the light.

Travers hunched over his bowl, slurping down soup by the spoonful. “Travers,” she said. He turned his head up toward her. “Oh my goodness,” Elise said, putting a hand on her chest.

His nose and lips were blackened with frost bite and his right nostril was missing. His cheeks were chaffed so badly they appeared raw and bleeding. He shied his face away from her. “I’m sorry,” he said.

She forced her hand back to her side even though it felt much more comfortable on her chest. “It’s okay,” Elise said. “It’s okay. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“I didn’t warn you.”

“What happened to you?” Aidan said.

She blushed. “You shouldn’t have to,” she said and turned to Andrew. “Maybe we should take Aidan upstairs. Let our guest settle in. It’s time for bed anyway.”

“What happened to your face?” Aidan said.

“Aidan,” Elise said, “go upstairs. Come on, now.”

“But, Mom—”

“But, nothing. Go.”

Andrew grabbed Aidan’s shoulders and led the reluctant boy toward the stairs. As they made their way up, Kelly came down hugging a stack of clothes. Despite his deformity, she smiled at him and placed the items on the stone hearth. “I’m Kelly,” she said.

“Travers,” he said with a gleam in his eyes. “Pleased to meet you.”

Kelly pulled back toward Michael, and Molly appeared. “The generator is going, but it’ll take a little—oh.” She stopped.

“This is Travers, Molly,” Elise said and looked down at him. “My daughter.” She said to Molly, “Would you mind going upstairs and helping Andrew put Aidan to bed?” Sean straightened his back. “Just for a little while,” she said, watching him in her peripheral.

Molly nodded and shot up the stairs, but not before glancing a few more times at their guest. When she disappeared, Travers hung his head low. “I don’t mean to scare nobody.”

“You’re fine. Do you want to get changed? We have a mudroom behind the kitchen.”

“Changing might be a hassle.”

He gripped the edges of his gloves and pulled them off, slowly, his face contorted. He gasped when they came off. Elise covered her mouth. His hands were blue and speckled with wounds where frozen patches of skin had torn away from removing his gloves. They were spotted with a dead blackness from the tips of his fingers to his palm. Half his fingers were missing.

She swallowed. “Kelly, can you please go down into the reserves and get one of the first aid kits?”

“The reserves?” Travers said.

“None of your business,” Sean said.

Kelly went to the basement. Travers removed his other glove like the first and then extended both mangled hands toward the burning fire. “This is real nice of you folks,” he said. “Real nice.”

BY MIDNIGHT, TRAVERS was dressed, showered, and covered in a thick blanket. He didn’t stray from the fire for long, as if walking away would extinguish it, and the chill would come after him again. His appearance had transformed. No longer concealed under layers, they could see the disaster had not been good to him. His skin stretched taut against his emaciated bones—his body skinnier than anyone she had ever seen before. His face had creases reserved for people a decade older. The cartilage at the top of his ears was gone, having been victim to the cold, and spots of skin on his face were permanently blackened.

Elise sat down near him. “Are you sure we can’t do anything about your hands?”

“I lost my fingers a long while ago, ma’am. You can’t bring ‘em back.”

Michael tossed another log onto the fire. Within a few minutes it was roaring. Sean sat in a chair at the back of the room, silent. His eyes showed all the signs of exhaustion, but there was an awareness there too, a penetrating stare that made her uneasy. The firelight reflected in everyone’s eyes, but the same glow made her husband look menacing. Like he was a tight, fraying cable on a bridge, moments away from snapping.

With the kids upstairs and Andrew in the spare bedroom, the adults hung around the fire, watching Travers suck down another bowl of soup and stare at the flames. Kelly rested her head on Michael’s shoulder.

Travers set the soup down and faced everyone. “This is the most unexpected welcome,” he said. “Warms my heart. Really does. I haven’t been in front of a fire for weeks.”

Sean shifted. Elise said, “You don’t have to thank us.”

“I will anyway. I don’t expect this kind of hospitality anymore.”

“Why do you say that?” Michael asked.

“Because it don’t exist, that’s why. You’re the first real person I’ve seen in probably two months. And the last person I seen wasn’t so friendly.”

“What happened?”

“Almost got shot. Man just up and fired at me for no damn reason.”

Elise asked, “Where?”

“It’s everywhere, ma’am. Nobody’s taking care of one another no more. Have y’all been here since the eruption?” Everyone nodded except for Sean, who stared Travers down, his brow furrowed and his chin lowered. “It’s something out there now. Something you don’t want to know.”

“What is?” Elise whispered.

“It’s a funny thing. People. They all wanna act like they’re all in it together—like they care. Until the storms hit and topple the—what’s the word—facade.” He smiled. “That’s how it started at first: people helping out, trying to help. Coming together. A few bad eggs tried to loot stores and things like that, but it was mostly people trying to take care of one another. But people got limits, I found. People wanted to help at first, but then the ash didn’t stop. Everyone thought it would stop after a while.”

Something creaked in the attic.

“Then the news stopped coming from out west, closer to the eruption zone. Didn’t hear a thing. Everything’s covered in ash. Didn’t stop. I think people got wise after that. Started realizing they depend on food that keeps shipping to the grocery stores, you know? But the thing is, no trucks were shipping nothing no more. Everyone rushed to the stores the day of the eruption and picked it all clean. It filled up again maybe two or three times, but then the deliveries stopped. Ain’t nobody was gonna risk it. What I heard, people took to hijacking grocery store trucks and killing the drivers and taking all the food. You believe that?

“So once there was no more food, people started getting crazy. You ever seen those videos of countries undergoing a coup, something like that? Was like that ‘cept worse. People killing each other over a can of beans. A can of beans. No police. No army. After a few weeks, there was no TV broadcast except on the emergency lines—they kept telling people to stay in their homes.”

Travers put a hand on his forehead. “After a while it wasn’t even about the food no more. I seen with my own eyes these guys pin this one girl down—she was probably twelve or thirteen, I don’t know—taking turns raping her. What’s that tell you, huh? That ain’t about food or water or surviving. It was like the chains came off, you know? As soon as there was nobody to stop them, people started doing whatever they wanted.” He dragged his hand over his mouth and rubbed his lips. “First thing you had to do was get out of the cities. That was for damn sure. That’s what I did.”

“Why?” Elise asked.

“Wasn’t safe. A lot of people started to panic, and when a lot of people start to panic, no good thing comes from it.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Up north. Albany.”

“You have any family?”

“Had a wife. She died a few years ago—cancer—we never had kids.”

“Then how’d you end up here?” Sean asked, his voice coming out of nowhere like a sudden burst of thunder when she hadn’t expected a storm.

“I walked,” Travers said.

“You walked all the way here? From Albany?”

“I mean, it took a while. I started with a car, but it ran out of gas. Everybody wants to go south, you know? Where it might be warm.”

“Then how’d you come across us?”

“I don’t understand,” he said and looked at the others. “I just came across you.”

“You’re right,” Sean said. “You don’t understand.”

Elise tensed.

“I want to know how you’re not dead.”

Travers leveled his eyes on Sean. “Managed it.”

“You said earlier that you haven’t been in front of a fire for weeks. The mercury outside says that it’s almost fifteen below. So how’ve you survived without fire for so long?”

“A little skill, a little luck, I guess.”

“What kind of skill?”

“Sean, please,” Elise said.

He ignored her. “What kind of skills allowed you to survive?”

“Scavenging, mainly. I’ve been in a bunch of people’s houses. All abandoned.”

“They would be just as cold as the outside. You’d freeze to death.”

Travers’s leg shook up and down, though he kept his voice steady. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did, man.”

Elise wasn’t sure what he had done either. Michael said, “Sorry, just ignore him.”

Kelly smacked his chest. Elise wished she could do the same.

“Excuse me?” Sean said.

Michael looked at his wife and bit his tongue. “Nothing.”

“No, he’s right,” Travers said. Everyone looked at him. “Not him,” he said pointing to Michael, “that one. Sean, is it? He’s right. You shouldn’t trust people so easily.”

Something popped in the fireplace followed by a chorus of crackles and hisses. “Every one of you doesn’t get it, because this thing hasn’t hit you. Not really. You sit here in this cozy little home. Barely any ash in here. It’s neat. Sanitized. Cut off from everything that’s going on out there. From the dark and the cold and the pain and the hurt. You haven’t seen it yet, and you don’t get it because of it.”

Michael shook his head.

“You still live in the world like it was a few months back—where there are boundaries and limits stopping what’s really in your heart from being unleashed. You haven’t seen the cold cutting down the people you care about. And if the cold don’t get you, it’s the predators who want to keep living more than anything. More than sparing your sorry asses.”

Sean leaned forward in his seat.

“You haven’t seen someone carrying food when you got a deep ache in your belly so strong you don’t know what you’d do to relieve it. You haven’t looked a man in his eyes and seen he’s got no soul no more. No humanity. Or too much humanity. That ash and snow sucked everything good from the world and left a dirty gray and that’s all there is. The white snow ain’t coming back and no matter how much you want that clean again, it ain’t coming.”

Elise watched Sean’s face grow stormier, more fearful. More determined. God help her, more determined. Like a man being nudged closer to a precipice.

Travers said, “You know I always remember hearing, We live in an important time. This is the most important election or era or whatever. We might be the first people in a while to be witness to something that’s truly changing everything. So, enjoy all this while you can. Enjoy your hot showers and your warm fires and your hot stews. They’re a thing of the past. You just don’t know it yet.”

“Travers,” Elise said, her voice shaking.

He shook his head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare y’all. It’s just surprising, coming here. Getting a warm welcome. There ain’t no place I seen like this no more. With kind folks willing to share. I just want you to be aware. Not everyone’s as kind as me. Or y’all. Not even a little bit. Not by a long shot.”

Chapter 18

MICHAEL

MICHAEL LAY AWAKE next to Kelly listening to Travers’s snoring as the fire dwindled down to coals. Travers was full of shit. Not entirely, of course. Michael had listened to enough half-truth telling clients to know when he was sniffing bullshit, and right now the scent was strong.

The world he knew was the one where good people helped each other get back on their feet. He had seen it time after time. Some disaster would strike, an earthquake in Haiti or a powerful hurricane that ravaged the Philippines. The aftermath always played out the same: good people reached out and donated time and money to help with the relief. People took care of one another. It’s always the way it happened.

And the same would happen again.

There was no savage land out there like Travers had talked about. Just because he had seen terrible things—if it was even true—didn’t mean that all of humanity was suddenly rotten. Anecdotal evidence was all it was. People were complex. Some good, some bad. If Michael had to pinpoint it, he’d say Travers’s story was a ploy; he was letting them think the outside was the worst hell imaginable so he could stay with them. He would say, You wouldn’t release me back into hell, right? He was playing them. And doing it well.

Because Kelly believed him. Long after everyone was asleep, he had to listen to her insist that there was a real danger outside and they needed to be prepared. He tried to argue with her, but she was inconsolable. “What if someone tries to come in and kill us?” she whispered to him. “What if it happens?”

“Nobody’s coming to kill us,” he said.

“And what if he’s right about all that’s going on?”

“He’s not.”

“Says who? You? You haven’t seen it. You haven’t seen the people eating each other out there.”

“He never said they were eating each other.”

“But you don’t know that.”

“You’re being ridiculous. Do you think there’s some biker gang who’s just going to stroll across the hills of Nowhereland, Pennsylvania and attack us? Come on. We have greater concerns inside our own house than outside.”

She wouldn’t hear it though. She took an hour to fall asleep and even then, she wouldn’t stop clinging to him. When her grip finally loosened, he scuttled out of his sleeping bag. He tiptoed toward the fireplace, grabbed a log from the woodpile, and placed it on top of the coals. The strands of bark and wood fibers burned like fine hairs. The log caught fire, and he sat mesmerized as the flames licked it over and consumed it.

“Thanks for feeding the fire,” a voice came from behind him, hushed but strong.

Michael jumped and twisted around. Travers snored from deep in his throat, and Kelly rolled to the side to get more comfortable on her pillow. Michael’s vision, with a deep purple spot in the middle from looking at the fire, swept over the darkness behind him but saw nothing.

“Relax,” the voice said.

He recognized it that time. “Where are you?”

Sean hushed him. The faint outline of his body, back-lit by a candle in the kitchen, came into focus. The details of the room eventually cleared, allowing Michael to walk without stepping on someone. He tiptoed around the couch, through the kitchen door, and into the orange dim glow of a candle atop the kitchen counter. Sean, his head turned toward Travers sleeping on the couch, looked at Michael.

“Jesus, Sean,” he whispered, “you scared the shit out of me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Shit?”

“No, saying that name like that.”

“Why do you care? You don’t believe anymore.”

“Just don’t say it.”

“Fine.”

The candle flickered, the shadows dancing on the kitchen walls. “What’re you doing up?” Michael said.

“I could ask the same question.”

“Don’t be difficult.”

“Can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

The door to the reserves was cracked open. Sean always made sure it was closed, which meant he had gone down into it. He refocused on Sean. Although the shadows concealed many of his features, the light caught the wrinkles and dark color under his eyes. Lack of sleep can do awful things to a man’s mind. “When’s the last time you had a good night’s rest?”

Sean stared at him. “I thought I told you to stop asking me that.”

“Listen, I know you don’t give a rat’s ass what I think. Or about me for that matter. But I care, all right? I don’t like you, but I care.”

He chuckled low. “Well, I don’t like you either.”

“Fair enough. My wife doesn’t like me too sometimes.”

They both smiled. Sean said, “I don’t remember the last time I slept for more than an hour.”

“You could take a sleeping pill.”

“Can’t do that now.”

“Why not?”

The distinctive sound of someone shifting their weight carried into the room. Sean jerked his head around to watch the couch. “Doesn’t matter.” He turned. “Listen, I really am sorry for earlier at dinner.”

“Just get some sleep, Sean.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“You’ll be dead if you don’t sleep.”

“Just the opposite, Mike,” he said and sat in an old wooden chair near them.

Michael had nothing more to say. He walked back to his wife and slithered into his sleeping bag. As he was about to close his eyes, he looked across the room. For a moment, the fire reflected in the stranger’s eyes, beady and distant, before he shut them. A dreamy fog was filling Michael’s mind, and he thought nothing of it.

Nothing of the fact that Travers had been snoring only a moment earlier.

MICHAEL CRUISED INTO the kitchen, checking over his shoulder, and leaned against the kitchen island. Elise, mashing the last of the potatoes, watched him. “We need to talk,” he said.

“I’m a little busy making dinner right now.”

“Have you seen him the last hour?”

Elise stuck her finger in the potatoes, pulled up a whipped dollop, and stuck it in her mouth. “Perfect.”

“Elise, you seen Sean?”

“Why?”

She had arranged a set of eight plates and filled them with canned chicken and green beans. One already sat piled high with lumpier mashed potatoes.

“I just saw him a few minutes ago muttering to himself. Nobody else around.”

“Let me handle it.”

“What is it with you and Sean telling me to butt out?”

“Because you do more harm than good.”

She plopped a spoonful of potatoes onto each plate in a clockwise pattern.

Michael sighed and raised his hands in surrender. “Fine.” He stuck his finger into the potatoes on one plate and scooped up a bit. Elise, setting a dish back on the stove, turned as he brought the food toward his mouth. “Stop,” she yelled.

His jaw drew slack, frozen midmotion. “What?”

“Which plate did you take that from?”

“Who cares? That one’ll be mine.”

“Which one?”

“Why’re you being weird about this?”

She ripped a towel hanging over the handle of the oven, reached over the counter, and grabbed his wrist. He tried pulling back, but she held it harder and pulled it toward herself. She wiped the potatoes off and tossed the towel on the counter behind her. She then leaned in toward her brother and whispered, “I spiked Sean’s potatoes.”

“You what?”

“He won’t take the sleeping pills even with Travers leaving tonight—says he needs one more night to make sure he doesn’t come back—and it’s the only thing that will make him sleep, so I crushed it up and whipped them in.”

A smile. That was the devilish little sister he hadn’t seen in a while. “You sneaky little shit.”

“It’s the only way.”

“Pills in the food,” Michael said. “That. Is. Genius.”

Someone flashed in his peripheral, almost as if he or she had materialized. He could tell it was a man from the height and shape of his blurry outline, but he didn’t want to turn, imagining Sean there listening to them. He winced and turned his head.

Travers stood in the doorframe. “I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said.

Michael had no idea how long he had been standing there. They stared at one another, Michael examining Travers’s eyes, searching for any hint of what he might have heard. Nothing.

Travers glanced at the two of them. “I heard someone yell, is all.”

Elise put on the best fake smile he had ever seen. “Michael was trying to steal food before dinner,” she said, chuckling a little. A good touch.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I thought you may have burned yourself. My mistake.”

Michael wanted to ask what he had heard, but he couldn’t back up from the line of questioning if he were to start.

“Do y’all need help with bringing dinner out to everyone?” he asked.

“I think we have it. You can just relax by the fire,” Elise said.

“Well, everyone’s gathered ‘round, ‘cept Sean, ma’am. I heard him upstairs though.”

“I’ll call for him.”

Travers nodded and left. As soon as he went out of sight, Michael looked back at his sister.

“He knows,” she said.

“He doesn’t know shit. Just keep your mouth shut. Which one’s Sean’s?”

Elise pointed to a plate, and Michael grabbed different ones. “Just keep quiet,” he said and walked toward the living room.

The kids had all gathered around the fire and Travers was showing them a card trick. Aidan smiled and looked shocked as the trick came to its climax.

“Is that your card?” Travers said.

“How did you do that?” Aidan said.

“I got many mysteries, my good boy. Many mysteries.”

Molly looked up as Michael extended a plate to her. “Chicken and potatoes tonight?” she asked.

“Yep.”

Travers leaned over and eyed the plate. “How’d you make them potatoes?”

Michael played it cool. He knows nothing. “With potatoes.”

Travers smiled. “They instant? Can’t still have fresh ones?”

“You’ll have to ask the cook.”

“’Course. She would know best what’s in ’em.”

The stranger looked up at him with the most genuine smile, so expressive even his eyes showed warmth. That was how to tell the fake ones—fake smiles don’t show in the eyes.

He rushed back into the kitchen. She balanced two dishes in her hands and looked as though she were about to head out. “Is he out there?” she asked.

“Sean?”

Elise nodded.

“No.” He picked up two more plates. “Which one is Sean’s?”

“I have it.”

He led. Sean, charging down the stairs, didn’t see him. Michael pulled back at the last second before plowing into him, now sandwiched between Sean, Elise, the couch, and the wall with no escape route. “Dinner time?” Sean said and reached out for a plate in Michael’s hand.

He pulled back just in time before Sean’s fingers got on it. “These ones are for the kids,” he said.

Sean smirked. “They look the same to me.”

“I think Elise portioned them differently.”

“I can just grab more.”

He ran out of plausible arguments as quickly as they came, every reply sounding forced and strange in his head. His mouth turned to cotton, and his tongue stuck to his teeth. He had nothing to say, Sean’s hand encroaching on the wrong plate.

“I have yours, babe,” Elise said. “I made your potatoes a little lumpier—the way you like them.”

Michael’s deep breath seeped out through his teeth. Sean let him pass. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Elise handed Sean the plate and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

He offloaded his plates and then grabbed the last two from the kitchen. When he came back, they prayed and ate. Michael kept watching his brother-in-law play around with his food, salting it first as usual, eating the veggies and the chicken piece by piece, ignoring the potatoes.

A lifetime passed. Sean finally brought up a clump of the potatoes with his fork. He gazed at them for what seemed like an eternity and then sniffed them. “You put butter in these?” Sean asked Elise.

She smiled. “I pulled some from the cold box an hour ago. I thought we could live a little.”

He inched the fork into his mouth, Michael sitting on edge as Sean’s lips sealed around it, the fork coming out clean. “So good, babe,” Sean said, chewing.

Michael’s eyes met Elise’s, and they shared a collective sigh. He suppressed a smile and put a chunk of food into his mouth. When his gaze finally rested, it fell on Travers, who stared back at him with a toothless grin.

“These potatoes are good,” he said, his eyes never leaving Michael’s. “The butter must be the secret ingredient, I think.”

Michael’s pulse quickened.

He doesn’t know.

It didn’t matter. Travers was leaving in an hour, heading out to go south. And that was fine by Michael. He couldn’t leave soon enough.

Chapter 19

SEAN

SEAN FELT LIKE he didn’t exist. He was being tossed around the sea of his own mind, images flashing and surreal landscapes emerging and disappearing, not realizing he was asleep, but not remembering going to bed.

So when he woke up with a pressure on his lips and cold metal pressed to his neck, it came out of nowhere.

A pale light shone in the dark room. A man’s head floated above his face. The images his brain fed him seemed warped, the man a shadow, featureless, haunting. The shadow’s hand was closed tightly over his lips. “Don’t make a noise,” it whispered.

As Sean’s eyes adjusted, it became less like a nightmarish fantasy and morphed into something more terrifying. It was a stranger’s voice, calm and low. Sean gasped and shook. “Calm down,” the man said, “calm down.”

Next to them, Elise shifted, and the man froze in place. Sean forced his eyes to the side. She slept on her stomach, relaxed. Just beyond her body, at the other side of the bed, he saw movement in the darkness. The dull reflection of a rifle popped out from the shadows.

Someone had gotten in. A lot of people had gotten in. They were armed, and he was not. The house was cold and quiet, but his skin was hot, and his heart was thumping, and it was all he could hear.

The smooth barrel of a pistol moved from his neck and touched his face. It brushed across his cheek and rested near his eye socket. “I’m going to take my hand off your mouth,” the man whispered. “You make a noise, my friend will blow your wife to kingdom come, you hear?”

He focused on the rifle floating over his wife’s head. He looked back up at the man and nodded.

The man’s fingers released one at a time until his palm lifted from his lips. Sean’s hands trembled. The bed creaked as the man shifted his weight off the mattress. “Get up. Now.”

Sean obeyed. He had always prepared for something like this, but never considered someone getting the jump on him. All his training, his planning, seemed to fly out of his mind and disappear into the darkness.

“Let’s go,” the man said, waving his pistol toward the door.

He walked like a man headed for the electric chair, his feet shuffling, never leaving the ground. He extended his arms out to show he didn’t have a weapon. His wife kept sleeping in blissful ignorance.

They walked out of the room, and the man shut the door with a soft click. His partner didn’t follow. They walked a few more paces and rounded the corner. Another man stood at the end of the hallway like an ethereal presence, concealed in darkness. They reached the bathroom and his hostage taker shoved him inside, Sean stumbling forward against the toilet. The man shut the door behind him.

“Please, I don’t know what you’re doing.”

The man kept his voice low. “Yeah, you do.”

“You’re here to kill us.”

“I’m here to get what I need. I know you understand that.”

Sean’s limbs shook, unable to control it, his stomach pulling and shifting, sending waves of panic through his system.

The man said, “We know two things: We know you have food and we know that you, specifically, are a real son of a bitch.”

“We don’t have food.”

“But the son of a bitch part is true?”

“We don’t have much food.”

“That’s a load of bullshit, Sean, and you know it.”

His lungs wouldn’t take in air. “How do you know my—”

Something clicked, and a long, florescent bulb overhead flashed a few times before emanating a bright luminosity. Sean’s eyes took time to adjust. The man was gangly thin, but his clothes were layered thick, bulking him to double his size. His pale, yellow face was the only part of him exposed. His cheek bones were frostbitten, and his nose was large and crooked. He didn’t have to wear a mask. There were no police anymore, no police lineups—no one to save them.

The man looked up at the light. “Electricity. Unbelievable. Didn’t think I’d ever see it again. The stories I’ve heard are true.”

“Stories?”

“Sadly for you, your buddy Travers is my buddy Travers.”

Sean bowed his head and resisted the urge to scream.

“He’s been telling us some fantastical tales. Tells us he’s eaten like a king. That there’s no one in this house with want.”

Sean put on his bravest face. “Travers is lying. We only wanted to be welcoming. We don’t have much of anything.”

“You wouldn’t have taken him in if you were low. Desperate people don’t suddenly get charitable.”

Sean said nothing.

“So, there is food here?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Cut the horse shit. I want a few things from you—and I will get them. I have someone near every member of your family right now, you understand? You want me to bring your pretty daughter in here and make her beg you for what I want?”

His reply caught in his throat.

“Good, then. First thing I want is the keys to your gun safe and I want all the weapons in them.”

“Please.”

“Second, I want your supplies. Tell me where the gas and the heaters are. The generator.”

“Please, just stop.”

“You will give me the key to unlock your garage door so I can open it up. And I want your food. Everything you own now belongs to me, understand?”

His pulse was out of control.

“In fact, you’re wearing my shirt. Give it to me.”

“What?”

“Your shirt. It’s mine. Cough it up.”

“Why do you want my shirt?”

“Did you not listen? I just said everything you own now belongs to me.”

“My shirt?”

“Do I need to bring your daughter in here?”

“No, no. Don’t.” Sean had to control his shaking long enough to get a grip on the collar of his long sleeve shirt. The air was chilly, but his skin was flushed and hot. He slid it off his back and tossed it over.

“You’re wearing my pants too.”

“The hell is this?”

“I told you. All you own belongs to me.”

“Why’re you doing this?”

“I’m going to have to get your daughter, aren’t I? Imagine what she’s going to think having to watch you strip naked.”

Sean put his hand out, fingers splayed. “Goddamn it, just please. Stop this.”

The man sighed, cracking the door open. “Hey, Jack,” he said, “the girl.”

“Wait,” Sean said, now raising both hands, “take it. Take it.” He rubbed his hands on the edge of his pants and for the first time became cognizant that he was wearing jeans. He never went to sleep in jeans. Ever. He undid the belt and dropped his pants, kicking them across the floor. The man smiled. Sean stood in a pair of long socks and underwear, shivering.

The man picked up the shirt from the floor and took a sniff of it. “My God, this is actually clean. Clean clothes. Amazing.” He chuckled. “We’ll be taking more of those. I’ll let you keep your underwear for now. Because you were so hospitable to my man earlier.”

Sean said nothing.

“Answer me this, and I want you to be very, very clear about this or I’ll have to start killing people—and I don’t want to kill nobody: who else is packing heat in this house other than you?”

“Nobody.”

“What about the shotgun downstairs?”

He resisted the instinct to swallow his spit down. “Nobody’s going to use it.”

The man nodded. “Most people’re chicken shit. Look at you, stripping in front of me instead of trying to fight. You probably would have gotten butt naked if I had asked. Probably would have sucked my cock if I asked you.”

The words hurt like a blade through his ribs. But he gritted his teeth and took it.

“Just so we’re clear, you don’t have no guns just lying around that someone’s gonna shoot me with?”

“No.”

“Good, then. Let’s go see the crew.”

THE FIREPLACE ROARED with deep red flames. The man pushed Sean to his knees, raised the gun into the air, and fired one shot. The crash rang hollow through the living room. Sean flinched, and everyone jolted awake. “The hell was that?” Michael shouted, pulling his head out from inside the sleeping bag.

A man racked a shotgun, Michael flinching at the sound and turning. Travers aimed the gun at his face as the fire lit him from the side. “Wake up,” he said.

He froze, and Kelly stirred from inside the sleeping bag. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Michael looked back and forth between Travers’s face and the barrel of the gun. The same shotgun Sean had insisted Michael keep near himself. The same one Michael never carried, never used, never practiced with—mocking the very idea that he might have to defend himself. Sean felt a rage build up that mixed with his panic and made him sick.

The leader of the pack kicked Sean in the back, and he toppled to his stomach. The floor was colder than he expected, making his skin crawl. The leader pulled on Sean’s shoulder until he was resting on his knees again.

Andrew slowly raised his hands. Someone stomped toward him and slammed the butt of a rifle into his gut. Andrew groaned and curled into a ball while the man pulled him out of his sleeping bag.

Sean counted three men. Just three. If he acted now he might be able to attack. But the shotgun was pointed at Kelly’s face, and he couldn’t do it without people dying. Though they might all die anyway.

Someone shrieked upstairs. A minute passed. Soon Molly and Aidan, holding each other’s hands, walked down the stairs at gunpoint followed by another man leading Elise by her shoulder. Molls was wide-eyed, clutching her brother, both of their eyes tearing up. A fire burned deep in Sean’s chest.

The tall man shoved them into the center of the room with everyone else. Molly tripped over Michael’s legs, but Andrew caught her before she fell. Kelly sniffled but everyone was quiet. It felt a little like a funeral. Probably was.

The four intruders surrounded them, caked with ash and dripping wet, some tall and some short, but each armed. The tallest of the bunch—the one who had pointed the gun at his wife’s head earlier—smiled and flashed his ugly teeth.

“We want to thank you all for your hospitality,” the leader said. “This generous welcome has been much appreciated. It’s rare to feel so welcomed.” He turned his attention to Sean. “You have a very nice home.”

Acid bubbled in his stomach.

“I really do appreciate your hospitality,” Travers said.

He couldn’t contain it. “You son of a bitch. After we took you in and fed you and—”

The leader hit the back of Sean’s head with the butt of his pistol. It wasn’t a hard smack, but it filled his head with fog and his eyes flashed with lightning. Kelly yelped, and someone shouted for her to shut up.

The leader said, “Let’s all try to keep calm here. We all want you to know that we don’t intend to kill any of you. We don’t want to dirty your nice little home. As I was explaining to Sean here, we only want a few things. And they should be simple enough to get if you all cooperate.”

Sean met his wife’s eyes and saw the terror—more than that, something else sprinkled into it. It wasn’t just fear—fear was a reaction. A surface emotion. This was something deeper.

“You might be asking why Sean is in his underwear—and that’s because what you all own, we now own. So I took his clothes. They’re mine now. Same applies to all of you. You have nothing. The sooner you all realize that, the easier this’ll be.”

“I think I want to take that shirt,” the tallest one said, pointing at Kelly.

She gripped the front of it near her collar bone as the others cackled. “Yeah,” another said, “it belongs to us now. Cough it up.”

“Your pants too.”

“And your panties.”

“Shut up,” the leader yelled. “All of you shut the hell up.”

They sank into silence. The fire crackled. The leader said, “We’ll just get what we want and then we’ll be on our way. We’re headed south to warmer pastures. But just know that it’s nothing personal. You all have kept yourselves sealed up here while the rest of the world rotted. It’s fine, but now I’m going to help y’all do the charitable thing and share.”

The men chuckled. Sean said, “We can work out a deal.”

“Sean,” Elise hissed.

The leader extended his hand to silence Elise. “You’re not in a position to be making a bargain,” he said to Sean.

“There has to be something,” Sean said.

“There is: all your food and supplies.”

“You can’t take everything. That’s all we have.”

“That’s the way things go now.”

“You’ll kill us.”

“I said we’re not killing anyone.”

“You’re going to.”

The leader walked around Sean and licked his lips. “You still don’t get it, do you? You don’t get how this goes.” He turned toward the group. “Bring the girl over here,” he said, pointing to Molly.

Molly rolled back with wide eyes. A man stomped over to her from behind and lifted her by her armpits. She screamed. Andrew, next to her, socked the man across the face, the man reeling to the side and falling over. The room stirred. Kelly held Aidan tightly. Another man grabbed a fist full of Andrew’s hair and slammed him to the floor. Sean jumped forward, but someone kicked him in the stomach and he went down hard. One of the guys led Molly toward him while Travers aimed the shotgun at Sean.

The leader yelled over them. “You’ll understand how things are soon enough.”

Elise yelled for them to stop, and Michael sat with his fists balled. “Stretch out her hand,” the leader said.

The other man tossed her in front of the coffee table and gripped her by the wrist, slamming her hand against the wood and pinning it down. She screamed as the leader unsheathed a large hunting knife from his belt.

“No,” Sean yelled out and tried to rush toward them, but Travers stepped forward and put the shotgun barrel in his face. The leader looked back to him. “Stay still or your kids have to watch you die.”

The leader grabbed Molly’s hand, but she fisted it. He pried her pinky out, and she cried for him to stop. “Please, please. Don’t.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Sean yelled.

The leader pressed the blade against her middle knuckle. “How many fingers do you think it’ll take until you get it? How many fingers?”

A thin film of blood emerged under the blade. Molly howled. “None,” Sean said.

“I think at least one.”

“None, please. I swear. I understand. I get it.”

The leader paused and pressed the blade a little harder, Molly crying. The leader said, “You sure?”

Someone behind them gasped, and hard, so loudly even the leader turned. Their eyes settled on Aidan. His chest was rising and falling, but it was as if he was eating the air instead of breathing it. His face grew red, and the veins in his forehead bulged. “He’s having an asthma attack,” Sean said and tried to move toward him.

Travers kicked him down, and he stumbled. The leader looked from Aidan to Sean and licked his lips. Of all the things he could have done, he licked his damn lips.

“He needs his inhaler,” Sean yelled.

Aidan grabbed at his chest and smacked it, the look in his eyes emitting terror. His little ribs expanded and contrasted, strained and difficult. Kelly held onto him. “Please, he needs his inhaler,” Elise cried.

The leader straightened himself and pushed his foot against Molly’s side. The man holding her hand released her, and Molly toppled to the floor. She reached out to her little brother and grabbed his hand. The leader said, “You think you know. You sit in this comfortable little house while the world goes to shit. You think you know.” He kneeled next to Sean, both of them watching the boy struggle. “Look at him. Look at him good. I could let him die right now. And there’s nothing you could do.”

Aidan grew paler. “We’ll give you everything,” Sean said. “Please, just let me help my son.”

“I had a son once. A man shot him for trying to take food so he wouldn’t starve.”

Aidan jerked and released a wheezing breath, his eyes dripping tears.

“I could’ve killed Travers, but I didn’t,” Sean said, looking between Aidan and the leader.

“Because you don’t understand the way of things,” the leader said.

“Oh, God. Aidan. Calm your breathing. Calm it down,” Elise said.

Sean rushed toward his son, but Travers put a boot into his back and he was stopped short. Sean wanted to scream at Travers, about how he was a son of a bitch, a bastard, or that he should rot in hell, but his throat was dry and he couldn’t produce sound, so all he did was cough.

“Everything, even your life, even your family’s life, belongs to me,” the leader said. “Do we understand one another now?”

Sean understood. He did. God, he did.

Chapter 20

ELISE

AIDAN TOOK A couple puffs from his inhaler, Elise watching his chest ease. It didn’t do much to calm her own breathing though. The leader ordered Michael, Aidan, and Andrew to move food from the reserves to the garage. Then he and the tall man dragged Sean and the women up to the bedroom.

With every step she felt as if she were disembodied. Her brain was clouded, reality not concrete. The tall man pushed her further up the stairs. She watched over the railing as one intruder carried a box of food from the basement to the garage, his footprints smearing ash into the carpet. They were taking everything. Their whole lives.

Molly had ceased crying after a few minutes. Her finger hadn’t stopped bleeding, so Elise held her hand and pressed against the wound. Wouldn’t let go no matter what. The leader kicked open the door to the master bedroom, waved his gun, and said, “Ladies, find a seat. Anywhere will do. Just keep your hands where I can see them.”

The tall man shoved the three women toward the wall. They sank right to the floor, Kelly watching the men, grasping for a hand to hold without looking. Molly grabbed onto it, her other hand clasping Elise’s. Elise pulled her daughter’s head into her shoulder.

The leader turned on an LED lantern and the room filled with light. He then led Sean to the safes. “What do you have in them?” he asked.

“Guns. Ammo. Papers. Cash.”

“Supplies?”

“If you count guns and ammo as supplies.”

“I do,” he said with a smile. “The best kind of supplies.”

Her husband looked back at her, and her heart dropped. The defeat in his eyes. The wounds laid bare there. The life had been sucked from his body until he was a shell. Nothing left. His eyes shifted to Molly and back to Elise. She wanted him to know she still loved him, but he turned away.

“Open them up.” The leader motioned with his gun, and Sean stepped forward. Sean pressed his finger against the pad on the safe, the light turning green, and typed a few digits into the pad. The safe clicked, and he stepped out of the way. The leader grinned. “It’s open?”

“It’s open.”

The tall man watched the women, his eyes drilling into Kelly who was trying her best not to make eye contact. He bit his lip with his ghastly teeth and then looked back to Elise. She stared him down but shifted her eyes away after a few seconds. He pursed his lips and kissed in her direction.

The leader turned the safe’s hand, and the sound of the gear cranking emitted a loud crack. Sean jumped. Sean’s guns and ammo lay before them: rifles, pistols, and shotguns. Loads of ammo. “Would you look at this.” The leader picked up one of the scope-mounted rifles, pulled the bolt back and forth, and pressed the stock against his shoulder. He aimed it toward the corner of the room and looked down the scope. “This is beautiful,” he said. “Come look at all this.”

The tall man tore his gaze from the women and looked in the safe. “That’ll even the odds.”

“That’ll even the odds for a long time.” He turned toward Sean. “All right, give me your hand.”

Sean looked incredulous. “I gave you what you wanted.”

Elise held Molly tighter. The leader’s face showed nothing but calm. “I won’t ask again.”

Sean put out his left hand, his non-dominant one, and the leader grabbed it. “You got the handcuffs?” he asked the tall man.

The tall man pulled them from his back pocket, the metal speckled with rust, as dirty as the snow outside. The leader grabbed Sean’s hand, smashing his fingers together, and clasped the metal around his wrist. He then pointed to the white radiator on the wall next to Sean’s side of the bed. “Cuff the other end to it.”

He let him go. Elise saw how tightly the cuff had been cranked, how Sean seethed when the leader put it on. The radiator was only a few feet away, but Elise could barely watch as her proud husband, like a shamed dog, approached it, sat, and cuffed himself to it.

“Show me it’s tight.”

Sean sighed and pulled on the cuffs. It held. The leader returned to the safe. Elise tried to catch her husband’s sight, but he stared off in front of himself. She stroked her daughter’s hair and kissed her forehead.

The minutes dragged on. The leader pulled the weapons out one by one, examining them, pulling back the slides on the pistols, sometimes disassembling, and looking down the barrels through the open ejection ports. “All very clean,” he said. “You took good care of these.”

Sean didn’t reply. Then the leader started on the ammo, removing them cumbersome box by cumbersome box until everything was fanned out across the floor, sorted by caliber. The leader rested on his knees at the center of it. “Were you expecting the apocalypse?” he asked, laughing.

Elise looked at Sean, but he wasn’t staring off any longer. His head was turned toward the nightstand—toward the gun safe that looked like an alarm clock. Sean had conked out in the living room after dinner. Andrew and Michael had helped carry him up to the bedroom, but before they laid him in the bed, she took his pistol and stuck it back in the alarm clock safe. She kept the urgency of that knowledge bottled inside.

She watched Sean shift his weight toward her. He nodded to her, and she returned it, the gesture unmistakable. “It’s there,” she told him without words, “it’s there.”

A spark flashed in the wet of his eyes. He scuttled his butt to the far end of the radiator.

“What’re you doing?” the leader asked, poking his head up. Sean relaxed his limbs as the leader walked around the bed, scanning the area around his captive. “I asked you a question.”

“Trying to get comfortable.”

“You’re handcuffed to a radiator. It’s not meant to be comfortable.”

“These things are digging into my skin. I’m trying to—”

The leader kneeled next to Sean and jammed a pistol into the soft tissue under his chin. With his other hand, he clasped the handcuffs and tightened them even further. Sean’s mouth opened wide as if he wanted to scream. “Do you think I won’t kill you right here?” Sean’s throat rose. “You think I care even one bit whether you die in front of your wife and kids?”

“Boss,” someone called over to him.

Elise hadn’t seen the other man come in through the door. The leader sighed, keeping the pistol jammed into place. “What could you possibly want right now?”

“We’re having an issue downstairs.”

“Then take care of it.”

“We tried. We think your engineering background might—”

The leader waved his hand, and the man stopped. He looked back at Sean and retracted the gun, resting it on his knee. “Mechanical engineering. In a past life. Still a valuable skill.” He leaned in toward Sean. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He sprang up and left, whispering something in the tall man’s ear before leaving with the other man. Elise listened to them sink into the distance, each step rumbling through the floorboards until the sound diminished to nothing.

Silence. Her eyes moved from the door to the tall man standing over the three women. His breathing broke through the quiet. Mouth breathing. Almost panting. She tried not to draw attention to herself, but knew he was staring at them.

As she ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair, he approached the open door and tilted his head to look down the hallway. Her heart raced. If the tall man was stupid enough to leave them alone, there were dozens of guns on the floor. More ammo than they could use. They could fight back. They could—

The tall man didn’t leave.

He eased the door closed with his index finger until it latched. Pressed his thumb against the lock. “Looks like we all have a little more privacy.”

She swallowed hard. The man pivoted on his boot and reached around his back and brandished a pistol, smiling. “The boss don’t want to say what we’re going to do with y’all, but I don’t care.”

Elise pulled Molly to her chest.

“I wish we could stay here with you girls. Pretty things. All that ash out there’s just gonna make y’all dirty. Y’all so clean here.” He squatted down so his butt rested against his haunches, sniffing the air. “Y’all smell so good. The house is nice. But we’re going down south where it ain’t cold as hell, you know? Y’all’ll like that when we get there.”

She darted a glance over to her husband who was scooting inch by inch closer to the gun safe. When she turned back, she caught the glance of the tall man. “Good thing we didn’t take your daughter’s finger. Shame to maim a female for no good reason. Especially one as pretty as your girl here.”

Elise pressed her teeth together and resisted any sound from coming out. He continued, “Just so you know, we’re all really sorry.” He reached out and grabbed a strand of Kelly’s hair and she flinched back, the man smiling. “So when we kill the boys, just know that we’re not trying to hurt y’all. Y’all’re beautiful—females alone are a rare commodity these days. Good looking females though—that’s priceless.”

Her stomach lurched. Thoughts of the horrors awaiting them flooded into her mind. She asked herself how these men could be so cruel, how they could justify themselves. Asked what happened in the cold outside.

He tapped his lips with the top of his gun and looked at each of them, a grin on his face. Those teeth. Those awful teeth. He jolted up and reached around into his back pocket and pulled out another set of handcuffs, hanging one loop on his index finger, rattling it. “I took care of a few cops,” he said. “These’ve been plenty valuable.”

Dinner from a few hours before bubbled in her gut. She tried to control her shaking, but her hand wouldn’t stop.

He knelt in front of them and bit his lip. “So many options, so little time.” His eyes grazed over Molly. Elise felt a lump swell in her throat. She couldn’t pull her any tighter than she already was.

The tall man then turned his attention to Kelly. He leaned in closer to her and sniffed the air, his nose almost touching her skin, Kelly turning her head away. He inched closer, and she kept moving away until her head was against the wall and couldn’t go any further. He laid a kiss against her cheek, and she shoved him on the shoulders, the man stumbling back, smiling. He pushed himself up with his gun planted on the floor. “We have a winner,” he said.

He grabbed a fist full of her hair and yanked. Her mouth opened in pain, though no cries emerged, and he forced her to her knees. Elise reached out, her hand wrapping around Kelly’s forearm but quickly slipping away. It seemed like she needed to do something. Anything. But she found herself looking down the barrel of the tall man’s gun. “No, no,” he said, “you stay where you’re at.”

He yanked Kelly upward by her hair toward the middle of the room, Kelly crying now. He trained the gun toward her and looked over at Elise and Molly. “Go and join your husband,” he told Elise.

As she rose, he clicked his tongue and then tossed the cuffs over to her. “With these,” he said.

She slid her hand along the floor in jittery motions and picked them up. He followed her with his eyes while they crawled to the radiator. “Your hand goes in one and your daughter’s in another. Loop the middle to the radiator.”

She complied and strapped herself first, fed the cuff around one of the thick poles of the radiator, and clasped the cuff around her daughter’s wrist. The tall man smiled, his gun never leaving Kelly, walked over to the two women, and pressed the cuffs down against their wrists so tightly that it dug into their skin. Elise gasped. “That’s better,” the man said. “I had a captive slip the cuffs on too loose one time. Won’t be happening again.”

The man rotated his head toward Kelly, and Elise’s insides scrambled. They couldn’t reach any of the guns on the floor. She grabbed Sean’s arm, pleading—demanding that he do something. From the way he looked at her, she knew he was trying.

“What am I to do with you?” the man asked Kelly.

She stood with her hands locked next to her sides, her hair covering part of her face. With each step the man took toward her, she took one back, the tall man seeming to relish the chase. He rotated his gun in a circle. “Spin around for me.”

She didn’t move.

“You deaf?”

Her lips parted, but she said nothing.

“Spin for me.”

He stuck his pistol out toward the others. “How about I blow one of their kneecaps out right now? We’ll start with the little one. Sound good to you?”

“Don’t. Please,” Kelly said.

“Spin.”

Elise’s skin crawled. Kelly spun, but he demanded it slower. So, she closed her eyes and did as he asked. “You remember what the boss said earlier. Your shirt belongs to me.”

Kelly froze. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Give me your shirt.”

The garage door downstairs screeched in its tracks. A tear rolled down Kelly’s cheek. She gripped the edges of her shirt and paused. Looked over at her niece.

“Stop looking at them.”

She pulled her sweatshirt off and tossed it to the ground, now standing in a tank top, covering herself with both arms.

“Your other shirt.”

She sighed and grabbed the straps on her shoulders. She yanked it up when the tall man shouted, “Slow it down.”

She obeyed, now standing topless before him. “Well, look at those,” the man said.

Elise pulled Molly into her chest, shielding her eyes. Kelly reached to cover herself, but the man shouted for her to stop. He commanded her to drop her pants.

Elise looked at Sean. He was trying in the subtlest way, dipped below the edge of the bed, to reach out further. But his hand was a foot short of the table, let alone the contents on top. She racked her mind for a solution that would extend his reach.

The tall man was no longer paying attention to him. Kelly stood naked before him, and his focus was on her. Tears coursed down her cheeks. Elise turned away, knowing this would be the first time but not the last—imagining what these people had in store for later. Again and again. And again. For all of them.

“Lay on the bed. On your stomach.”

She crawled on top of the mattress.

“Make it sexier.”

Kelly choked up. Sean strained, blood dripping from the cuffs tearing into his skin, but could only get another few inches and nothing more.

As Kelly lay atop the bed, shaking, the man said, “Ass up.”

She raised her hips a little and turned her head toward the others, her eyes red. The man wrestled with the front of his pants. Elise mouthed to her that she was sorry—God, this was her fault—holding her daughter, but knowing there was no consolation. Forgive me, she thought, please, I didn’t know. But there was nothing she could say to a person about to have the deepest parts of her soul violated. A part of her that should be kept safe but was now raw and exposed.

A place where goodness lived but would soon die.

Chapter 21

SEAN

HIS STRAINING WAS getting him nowhere. Each attempt to reach the gun sank the handcuff deeper into his skin. But he tried again.

Kelly gasped, and Sean turned his head. He didn’t want to see, but he turned anyway. Frustration was brewing on the tall man’s face, the man looking down at Kelly, his scowl growing angrier. Sean made another try at the nightstand but collapsed in defeat.

The tall man said something, staring right at Sean.

He froze like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Where’s the lube?” he said again. Sean hadn’t heard him the first time.

Sean’s hand shook as he pointed to the nightstand. The same nightstand with the gun. The tall man tumbled over the bed, his pants at his ankles, and reached out for it. Grabbed at the top drawer and jerked it toward himself. The nightstand tipped forward—Sean had always meant to fix that poor center of gravity—and the contents on top spilled onto the floor before it rocked back into place. Elise gripped his arm. The tall man waddled back and flipped the cap off the lubrication.

With the tall man’s attention back on Kelly, Sean stretched his arm out toward the gun safe that was now on the ground. He gritted his teeth and reached as far as he could.

Still short.

His flashlight lay just out of reach of his fingertips. He jerked his hand forward but couldn’t get it. Couldn’t give up. With his teeth clenched, suppressing a scream, blood trickling down his wrists, he jerked forward one more time and his fingertips stuck to the flashlight. He flexed and pulled his fingers, inching it closer millimeter by millimeter.

His heart’s thumping drowned out almost all the noise around him. He finally took the flashlight in his hand. With his extended reach, he got the edge of the flashlight around the side of the clock and slid it a hair toward himself. He looked back at the tall man—wishing he hadn’t—and saw that the man, mouth hanging open, was not paying attention to him. Sean’s wrist was flashing white hot, screaming for him to stop the abuse. He extended the flashlight again and nicked the corner of the safe. Did it again. Each motion moving it a little closer.

The tall man jumped backward and looked between Sean and Elise. “What’re you doing?” he said.

A light beeping sounded through the room, and Sean raised his pistol up over the mattress. The tall man screamed, but it was cut short by the gun popping and a hollow-pointed bullet drilling into his chest. He whirled back. Sean fired three more times after that to make sure he wouldn’t get up, the last bullet catching the tall man just below his larynx. He wasn’t aiming for it, but he’d take it.

The sound of the gunshots had reverberated off the walls, crushingly loud, so now an intense ringing sustained in his ears. A thin, acrid smoke dissipated into the air. His hand didn’t shake. After the second shot, he didn’t even think about squeezing the trigger, as if something had clicked into place, and clicked perfectly. He lowered his weapon, and the realization rushed over him.

He had killed a man.

And he would do it again if he had to.

The world seemed distant and hollow like he was watching a slow-motion version of his life. Soon the voices came back. His wife, as if miles away, was calling to him. He looked at her but couldn’t hear her words. Kelly’s sobs entered the foreground as if appearing out of nowhere. A Doppler Effect in progress, gaining momentum until he was thrust back into the world in terrifying crescendo.

“Sean,” Elise yelled out.

He looked at the door. Someone had to have heard the gunshots. They might come back to see what was happening—they might just leave, and they were taking everything. Everything. If they got away—

Kelly, now on the other side of the bed to cover herself, was sobbing. “Kelly, Kelly,” Sean called after her.

Her eyes rose over the bed.

“Kelly, you have to listen to me,” he said, his neck cranking every few seconds to look at the door. “You need to be brave. You need to check the man for keys to get me out of these cuffs.”

The rapist lay at the foot of the bed, his leg twitching every few seconds. She wouldn’t look at him. “Kelly. Please. They are taking every ounce of food from us right now. If they leave, we’ll have nothing. We’ll all starve.”

“I can’t do it.”

“I know you can. Please, Kelly, they’re going to get away with this. They can’t get away with this.”

She shook her head and crinkled her face. Her hand clenched the comforter, and she writhed as if making the decision was agony.

“Please, Kelly.”

She nodded over and over as if to convince herself, and her eyes met his. “Okay.”

He could hear a commotion downstairs, the sound of baseboards taking weight and releasing pressure. “All right. Search his pockets.”

She crept toward the man on her hands and knees, out in the open now. Her pale skin was spotted with drying blood. Sean looked away. It felt wrong, seeing something he shouldn’t be. She knelt in front of the man, trembling.

“You’re doing great. Check his pants pocket first.”

Something creaked on the steps. Sean’s eyes shot to the door. Kelly padded the man down and stuffed her hands in his pockets. “I can’t find it.”

“Check the back pockets.”

She reached back but came up empty. Another groan at the staircase. His blood ran cold through his veins. “His coat pockets.”

“There’s blood all over it,” she said.

“You can do this.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.” He looked her right in the eyes. Only the eyes. “You can do it, Kelly. I believe in you.”

Cringing, she pulled down the zipper of the tall man’s coat and plunged her hands into the wet fabric. She explored inside until she stopped, looked up, and pulled out a set of sticky keys. “Toss them over,” Sean said, motioning.

She did. He caught them in the air and turned his attention to the cuffs. Only two keys on the loop, and he got lucky on the first try. The key clicked, and the cuff’s tension released with a pop. He grunted. The cuff had left a deep indentation in his wrist, ribboned with dripping blood. He stumbled forward, dropping the keys to the floor. He tossed the rapist’s gun onto the bed and looked to Elise. “Shoot anyone who comes through this door. And if this piece of shit isn’t dead,” he said, “shoot him again.”

Sean rushed to the door. He looped his finger into the trigger guard and delicately pressed the door lock until it disengaged. He rotated the handle and edged the door open, not seeing anyone in the hall, creeping forward with his gun extended, his nerves skyrocketing, pressing his back against the wall, calming himself before spinning around the corner.

The leader was there.

He lunged for Sean’s gun, catching Sean’s wrist and jerking the weapon upward. It went off into the ceiling. Sean lowered his shoulder into the man, pushing him back, and plowed him into the wall. The leader slipped on impact, losing his own gun, and ended up on his back. Sean positioned himself on top. The leader scratched at Sean’s face, but Sean leaned more weight into his opponent and swatted his limbs away.

The two wrestled, Sean trying to aim the pistol at the leader’s chest, but the leader reaching up with both hands and securing his wrist, pushing the barrel of the gun away from his body. Grunting. Fighting.

But Sean was bigger. Stronger. The disaster hadn’t emaciated him. He moved the gun closer to the leader, just an inch. “No,” the leader said. Another inch, Sean forcing it downward, overpowering the leader, the barrel pressed into his shoulder now. The man shouted, “No,” and Sean fired. The man yelped, flopping backward, and Sean stuck the gun at the base of his throat and fired again.

Blood squirted out like a torrent, splattering Sean’s arms and chest. Sean fell back on his rear, watching the leader’s mouth flapping like he wanted to scream but couldn’t. The man’s heart eked out its last few pumps until the torrent turned to a trickle and then stopped altogether. Sean blinked—stunned, but not upset. He did what he had to do.

The son of a bitch deserved it.

Sean snatched the man’s gun and held it in his other hand. He rushed down the stairs, flying two steps at a time. When he was six steps from the landing, the drywall in front of him exploded. He fell back and caught himself on the railing. He rolled down the rest of the stairs and another shot penetrated the drywall around him. He dropped as low as he could and scrambled on his hands and knees until he was behind the couch.

A moment of calm. Then the cushion above him burst into a cloud of white stuffing. Another shot. “Don’t waste it,” someone yelled from the other room.

They were shooting from the den next to the garage. He crawled into the kitchen, leaned against the counter, and raised his gun. He found the door to the reserves locked. Nobody was getting out from there. He watched the back of the kitchen near the mudroom.

Aidan stuck his head out. Sean gasped and then pressed his finger to his lips. He motioned for the boy to get out of sight, mouthing the word hide to him. The boy nodded and disappeared behind the corner.

Sean entered the dining room but found no one. The living room was empty too. The pistol-gripped shotgun lay abandoned in the middle of the room. His vision tunneled so his peripherals disappeared. He came into the den. Checked the corners. Not a soul.

He was sure the gunshots had come from that room. It clicked. The garage. They probably had taken food into the garage. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed to keep it down.

His breath grew heavier. He twisted the doorknob on the heavy door leading to the garage. Flung it open and heard the motor running and smelled the distinct burn of diesel fuel.

He didn’t own a car with a diesel engine.

They were planning to take the food away in a vehicle.

His food.

He rushed forward through the breezeway. Heard someone shouting, “Go, go, go.”

They were leaving. With all the food. Leaving them to starve. Their tires released a demonic, high-pitched screech and the smoke from burnt rubber swirled into the air. The engine noise grew more distant. Sean ran into the garage. Cans and jars were scattered around the floor. He saw the pickup truck barreling away from the house into the dirty snow.

He raised his pistol and emptied the magazine but didn’t hit enough to stop it. The truck, its chassis raised by a lift kit and its massive tires treading through the snow, swerved into the road, tossing a wave of ash and snow into the air. It jammed into gear coming out of the turn. Sean dropped his own gun and transferred the leader’s pistol into his right hand. Raised it up. Led the truck. He only had one opportunity. He steadied his hand until the shot was in place—a good fifty feet away, but he could hit it—knew he could. His finger squeezed the trigger, the firing pin struck forward, but the gun didn’t fire.

“No,” Sean yelled.

He pulled back the slide, hoping to eject the faulty round but nothing came out. “No.”

He looked through the ejection port. Not a single bullet in the gun. Nothing. Empty.

Sean looked over at his own truck. One tire removed. The others slashed. The same with Michael’s car in the driveway. They didn’t want him to follow, and now he couldn’t.

He lifted his head toward the ceiling, screamed with all the breath in his lungs, and tossed the weapon against the concrete. He collapsed to his knees while the truck rumbled away, the light snow concealing their escape as they disappeared into the gray beyond.

He watched the powdery gray snow drifting downward. The damn ash. Soon it would bring starvation, as he had to watch his family thin until they were nothing but bones.

Though the cold burned his bare skin, he leaned down, pressed his forehead to the concrete, and wept.

Chapter 22

ANDREW

TRAVERS HAD LOCKED Andrew and Michael in the basement, leaving them in darkness after they had disconnected the generator. With nothing to distract him, Andrew couldn’t escape the image of the man holding the knife to Molly’s finger, of the blood welling up under it. Then he saw Aidan’s panicked face as he tried to breathe. Andrew closed his eyes, but it was if the scene was projected on his eyelids on perpetual replay.

When the gunshots started, they both had ducked low, Michael telling him to just calm down, Andrew thinking those words were more for Michael himself than for him. Afterward, Andrew had tried to open the door—locked—so instead he paced, asking Michael who he thought had been shooting, Michael telling him to calm down. This time the words were for Andrew.

Nothing happened for a few minutes. His whole body shivered. In the quiet, he kept seeing the guns in the intruders’ hands while he loaded the truck with Michael and Aiden. He remembered the shotgun barrel pressed against his spine when he dropped a jar, Travers telling him that he’d blow his head apart if he broke another, laughing after he pulled the gun away. He imagined them shooting Molly upstairs but shook the thought from his mind.

Someone unlocked the reserves. They perked up, and the light from upstairs lit up the wall in a triangle shape. Someone thudded down the stairs. Andrew grabbed Michael’s arm. He wanted to be brave, to face whatever was coming like a man. The figure sunk below the plane of the ceiling. Sean. Clothed again. He stood at the bottom of the steps, the glare off his flashlight obscuring his face.

“They’re gone,” he said.

Michael stepped forward. “Who is?”

Sean didn’t answer. He raised the beam of the flashlight to the shelves that once stood bursting with food, now like roadkill picked apart by vultures. Jars and cans lay on their sides, a few shattered across the concrete ground. He shined the flashlight back and forth. Not even half remained.

Sean covered his mouth and walked toward the shelving. Placed a jar back on its base. “Go to your wife,” he said, tilting his head toward Michael but not looking at him. “She needs you.”

“What happened?”

“Just go. She’s upstairs. Grab Aidan from the mudroom before you go. Cover his eyes the whole way up.”

Michael spoke, but could only say, “Sean—”

“Take him to his mom or sister. They’re with Kelly. Just cover his eyes. Please. Don’t ask questions.”

Michael looked at Andrew and started toward the stairs before Sean grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Cover his eyes, Michael. Cover them the whole way up.”

Andrew watched the exchange without breathing. Michael nodded and left. Andrew hung back, unsure if he should go too.

“They made you load the food into their truck?” Sean said.

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s like asking a man to dig his own grave.”

“Will they come back?”

“They don’t have enough to attack us. Even if they wanted to.”

“They had guns.”

Sean reached around his back and pulled out a pistol. Without hesitation, he pointed the gun at Andrew’s face, and Andrew recoiled, putting his hands out as if it were enough to stop a bullet. The gun clicked. Andrew winced. Stood still. Not dead. He lowered his shaking hands.

Sean didn’t have a sadistic look on his face, wasn’t playing a mean joke. His eyes looked drained of his soul, like Sean was no longer there. “This is what they had in their guns.” He held it upward. “Didn’t even have bullets.” A tear dripped from his eyes. “They’re not coming back.”

Andrew’s heart drummed in his throat. “Never again?”

“Don’t know. I’m not sure we have enough left to justify the risk.” He looked around. “I don’t know how this happened. How could I have let this happen?”

“I don’t—”

“We should have never let that man in here. He brought death with him. Into this home.”

“We’re all still—”

“It doesn’t make any sense. How can people do this? Why did they do this? The man was an engineer. A few months ago, he was an engineer.”

Sean kept rambling. Incoherent.

Andrew shuffled closer to the stairs while Sean continued staring at the stripped shelves. As he reached the base of the stairs, someone rushed down them. Elise. She slowed. The flashlight lit the outline of Sean’s body, the fringes of his clothing glowing, his core dark. She held her gaze on him for a moment and then turned to Andrew, hugged him, and said, “You okay? Did they hurt you too?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“I’ll live.”

She nodded and cupped his face with her hands. She swallowed hard and exhaled. Without saying any more, she approached her husband.

“Babe,” she whispered.

Andrew inched closer to the steps.

“Babe, talk to me,” she said, standing next to Sean and turning his face toward her.

“Where’s Aidan?” Sean asked.

“Michael took him upstairs.”

He paused. “You let that man in,” Sean said in a low voice.

She pulled back. “How can you say that?”

“We should have left him outside. You and your brother—you let him into our home.”

Andrew moved up a step.

“I was trying to help. I was trying to—”

“Help? This was helping?”

“This is not the time to be having this discussion.”

“Because you know it’s true?”

“Because what difference does it make now?”

The air hung with cold silence. Andrew went up another few steps.

“I’m sorry,” Sean said. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine.”

Elise sighed and hugged him.

He pulled away after a moment. “I fell asleep on the job. He wasn’t even gone yet, and I was sleeping.” Andrew could see Elise’s throat rise and fall, Sean saying, “I just don’t understand. I hadn’t slept like that for so long.”

“The body eventually just shuts down,” she said.

“No. This wasn’t like that. When they woke me up, it was like I was in a haze. Like I had taken one of my—” He stopped, and his jaw grew stiff, and Andrew could see his muscles throbbing under his cheeks. “You didn’t.”

“Sean, I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t know what? That people were going to attack us?”

“I didn’t think—”

“You never think. I saw you and your brother talking. Oh, Sean’s so paranoid. Sean needs to sleep. I didn’t need to sleep.”

“Sean.”

“Did you give me a sleeping pill?”

“I didn’t know—”

“Did you slip me a pill or not?”

“I crushed it up and put it in your potatoes. I thought you needed sleep. I thought you would—”

She saw it too late, Sean raising his hand, winding his arm back to deliver a blow, his eyes boiling with a fury Andrew had seen before—in his own father’s eyes. Sean pulled his hand back at the last moment, Elise flinching though, mouth open and hand pressed against her cheek as if Sean had gone through with it. He held his open hand up, primed his fingers into a fist, and let it drop to his side. “You killed us,” he said, his voice cracking. “You killed us.”

Andrew slipped the rest of the way up the stairs and came into the kitchen, his lungs constricted, scarcely able to take in air. He put his hands on his knees, taking in deep breaths before moving to the base of the steep stairway.

He climbed upward, noticing the first trace of a bloody footprint three fourths of the way up, the prints growing darker and clearer with each rising step. The stairs were dusted with drywall fragments, pellet holes along the wall. His eyes crested over the last step, and he jolted back and stumbled down two steps before grabbing the railing and steadying himself.

This was all wrong. All of it. He didn’t want to live in a world where Sean, who cared so much for his family—he saw the concern and love in the man’s eyes every day—almost hit his own wife. That was what Andrew’s dad had done. Not Molly’s. Not the man he knew. He didn’t want to live in a world where a man might chop off someone’s finger for no reason. Or a world where a dead body was at the top of the stairs, half his neck blasted away so that his head craned over at a ninety-degree angle, dark blood fanning out from under his neck like a bib tucked into his collar. This wasn’t the world he wanted. For himself.

For anyone else.

He held onto the rail. Acid rose up his throat, and he heaved. Nothing came out. After coughing for a minute, he stepped up to the top, cupping his hand around his eyes, diverting them away from the dead body. But the image had already seared into his memory. He squeezed around the banister toward the master bedroom.

Molly was exiting as he came into the hallway. They rushed toward one another, embracing, kissing, both of them crying, Andrew stroking her hair, pulling her closer. He pressed the tips of his fingers along her spine, massaging her tense muscles.

“God, I didn’t know what was going to happen to you,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you okay? Do you feel all right? How’s the—”

“I’m okay.

“What about your finger?”

“It’s fine, Andrew. It was just a cut.”

“He was going to chop your finger off.”

“It’s not the worst thing that happened today.”

He stared at the closed door to the master bedroom, a muffled sobbing coming from behind it. He held Molly tighter. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

The air felt heavier, colder. Molly sucked in her bottom lip and kept a strong face for him. “What happened downstairs?”

“They made us load up their truck.”

“And they got away?”

He nodded.

“How much did they get?”

Andrew sighed. “The generator. A lot of food.”

Molly covered her mouth. “How much?”

Andrew said nothing.

A tear formed on the edges of her eyes. “We need to tell him,” she whispered.

“Not right now.”

“He needs to know. Everyone does.”

“This isn’t the right time.”

“We can’t hide it for much longer.”

“You don’t understand—you, you just don’t understand.”

“I can’t keep pretending it’s not happening.”

“What’s not happening?” a voice said from down the hall.

Molly looked past her boyfriend, and tears rushed out of her eyes. “Daddy,” she said and bolted to him.

Sean lifted his daughter up in his arms and held her close. She cried awful, terrible sobs. Sean shut his eyes briefly and then centered them on Andrew, those eyes burning like a fire stoked, hot and ready to burn down everything in their path. And Andrew couldn’t stand the heat.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” Sean told her, turning his attention back to her.

But Andrew knew that wasn’t true. It wasn’t going to be okay. Nothing could ever be okay again.

Chapter 23

MICHAEL

MICHAEL WATCHED KELLY spend her days in silence. She didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, recoiled when he tried to comfort her. He encouraged her—pleaded for her—to eat more, offered her food from his plate every night, but she told him she wasn’t hungry. But she was hungry. He could see the bones in her jaw growing more defined, her cheekbones popping out a little more each day. He almost asked her once whether she didn’t eat because she wanted to die but stopped himself. There were questions he didn’t want answers to.

He had heard what happened to Kelly from Elise, but Kelly never spoke of it. And after a while nobody wanted to talk about it. Sometimes, if he was honest, that was okay with him. Because talking about it meant speaking of why those men had come in the first place, how they had gotten into the house with no one knowing, why he had never slept with the damn shotgun next to him like Sean had asked, why he had let his sister drug Sean. Even though nobody discussed it out loud, his inner voice wouldn’t stop repeating: They raped your wife, and it’s your fault.

He didn’t sleep much anymore. Most of them didn’t. Two weeks after the invasion and four or so months after it all started—Michael wasn’t sure exactly, time blurring together—each person had little dark circles under their eyes that hadn’t been there before. The corridors of the home reverberated distant and indistinct sobbing. Much to Michael’s surprise, Aidan seemed the least affected, maybe because he was brave, maybe because he didn’t fully understand the situation. Kelly’s withdrawal hit him hard though. He loved his aunt and just wanted to make her feel better. When he asked why she was feeling so sad, Michael told him that she was sick and left it at that.

Elise and Sean barely talked. The dynamic added unneeded tension in the home. Meals, now cooked over the fireplace, were torturous. Where there used to be conversation, now there was just the crackle of fire, teeth chewing and gnawing, and silverware clanking on dishes.

With the entire house now being pummeled with cold and only the living room fireplace to repel its assault, everyone spent most of their time there. Not that anyone could go anywhere else for long. The upstairs still had graphic splatters of dried blood they couldn’t expunge. Nobody wanted to see it. Or remember what happened along with it. And the other rooms were freezing cold. Michael spent his time pacing around, walking through the kitchen and then back to the living room, pulling at his beard, trying to kill time any way he could. And there was a lot of time to kill.

He walked back into the living room after taking a brief walk to find the kids playing a speed card game. Molly was dominating. Her hands flew across the coffee table and thumped a card down into a pile while Aidan and Andrew scrambled to keep up. He smiled, just a little, but it faded when he saw his wife curled under a blanket across the room, staring into the fire.

He looked away, sat on the floor, and watched the kids rapidly discard and pull cards from different decks. The back and forth, the laughter. Rare sounds. Molly slammed a card down and threw her hands into the air. “That’s game,” she said.

“You cheated,” Aidan said, though not the least bit upset.

“Losers weepers,” she said with a laugh.

Michael smiled at her. She had always been a pretty girl, but for some reason she had an aura about her, a glow to her skin, a composure, some secret well of courage the invaders hadn’t stolen from her like they had from everyone else. A confidence that an end would come to this disaster and that their last, dreary scraps of life would not be lived inside the surrounding walls.

“Okay, deal again,” Aidan said, slapping his knees.

“You want to lose again?” Molly said.

“Just do it.”

Everyone smiled, and Molly shuffled the cards. Michael put a hand on her shoulder. “How’ve you been holding up?”

She shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” She paused and whispered. “I haven’t gotten Kelly to talk yet.”

Michael forced a smile. “She’ll get there.”

She nodded, and for a moment—just for a moment—he saw that confidence disappear. She shuffled the cards in a smooth motion. “Hey, Uncle Mike, I have something I want your advice on,” she said, lowering her voice even more and not meeting his eye.

“Sure.”

“About my dad.”

Andrew grew rigid. He reached under the table and grabbed her leg. She shot a glance over to him, and they shared a silent conversation. She looked back toward her uncle and smiled. “We can talk about it later, if that’s okay.”

“Sure,” he said, looking between the two, “later.”

“Deal it up,” Aidan said.

Molly was dealing the cards when the door to the garage opened and Sean stepped through. Nobody spoke. He shed his coat, walked into the living room, and said a few words to Kelly before heading to the fire and extending his hands toward the heat. Michael followed with his eyes and then motioned to the kids. “Go on. Play.” As the kids started their game, Michael pushed himself off the ground and came over to the fireplace. Warmed his hands and said, “What’s the temperature like?”

“Cold,” Sean said.

That would be the answer Sean gave. Even when Michael was trying to be friendly, his brother-in-law was still an asshole. “Colder?”

“It actually went up a few degrees, but it’s not noticeable.”

He nodded. “Listen, is there anything I can help you with? I can chop wood, you know? I can—”

“I have something.”

He almost laughed it was so unexpected. “Yeah?”

Sean rubbed his hands together and motioned with his head. “Follow me.”

They marched up the stairs and around the banister, Michael keeping his eyes away from the blood. Sean led him upstairs to a wall at the front of the house and stopped. A hunting rifle was mounted between the partially open window and frame, its barrel craned upward outside and its stock resting downward inside like opposite ends of a seesaw. Michael pulled the stock upward and allowed gravity to settle it back down. On the sides of the gun, the window frame was stuffed with wood and cloth to block the cold.

Sean whipped a phone from his pocket and swiped his finger across it. “Our new security system,” he said. “Or one of them. Look at this.”

He held out the phone, and Michael took it into his hand. It looked like the image of the backyard, static and serene. “How do you still have a phone?”

“Battery-powered chargers. The solar panels still produce a little electricity.”

“And it works?”

“There’s no cell service, but I can still run things on batteries. Bluetooth and whatnot.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I took the camera from the reserves and pointed it toward the backyard. That way I can keep an eye on it. The motion sensor buzzes in my pocket—gives me alerts if something’s moving on the camera. Has night vision too. I hooked it up to the bluetooth of the phone and there you have it.” He pointed to the rifle. “Aidan’s room faces the backyard, so I have a gun mounted there just like this.”

“This is for defense?”

Sean nodded.

“I thought you said they weren’t coming back.”

“They probably won’t. That doesn’t rule out someone else.”

“Who else’s going to wander into our place?”

“It wouldn’t be that difficult. The fireplace puts off smoke. And if there’s smoke, there’s fire. And that means anyone traveling can smell it and find us if they’re looking.”

“But who would be traveling through?”

“Don’t know. If anyone’s survived this long, it’s because they either planned ahead or they’re bandits. So, we can’t take any more chances.”

“Is that really going to be a problem?”

Sean paused. “Just like before. Because who would come to take our food, right? That’s what you said.”

He didn’t reply.

“We’re going to man the watch in shifts. Everyone will. We need to be vigilant. There are dangers out there we can’t allow back into our home.”

“Do you really think this’s necessary?”

“I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t think it was.”

He had to be the bigger man. Because as much as he hated to admit it, Sean had been right. Damn it, he had been right. He almost admitted it out loud a few times too. He said, “How can I help?”

“Take the first shift. There’s a button on the side of the scope that turns on the night vision.” He pointed to a box of ammunition. “I stapled some targets to the trees out there. We’ll do some practice later.” He turned to leave but stopped. “You see someone walking toward our house, don’t hesitate. Not for a moment. You shoot.”

Michael didn’t know what to say.

“You understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Sean said, pulled up a chair, tossed him a heavy coat and a few blankets from nearby, and left.

He sank down into his seat and looked out the window into the field of ashen snow across the street, at the pine trees caked with muck. Even though there had been little accumulation, it all looked like a giant mud pile from his view. He imagined someone walking over that hill, a stranger in thick clothing, laboring through the deep snow. Saw himself raising the bead of the scope onto him. He shook his head, shuddering. God forbid it ever came to that. But then again, God didn’t seem to forbid much of anything anymore.

Chapter 24

ELISE

SHE FORGAVE SEAN. She really did. Or at least that was what she told herself.

She had always said she would be the kind of wife that would stick with her husband through anything. When she spoke her wedding vows, they weren’t a trivial string of words. She had dedicated herself to him, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health.

But when she closed her eyes, she saw his hand swinging toward her, stopping short, the fury in his eyes, the spittle flying from his lips. In that moment, he had transfigured into something she had never seen before. It was as if a beast had emerged within him, possessing him, taking control.

And his words. They sunk deep into her like a serrated knife between her ribs. You killed us. Maybe she had. She had tried to do what she thought was best. Sean had scared her in the days beforehand with his muttering to himself, with the way he looked at his axe and his guns. She didn’t think he would hurt anyone—just himself. But it was she who ended up hurting everyone instead. In a way she wished he had gone through with the slap. Maybe she deserved punishment. Many days she felt like it would have been right.

Then again, that was what all battered women said. That they deserved it. Not that she was a battered woman. He hadn’t even hit her. He had asked for forgiveness hours later, and she gave it to him. But the look in his eyes kept coming back into her mind. Those eyes.

She was always surrounded by the people she was ashamed to look at. Her children—the prospect of them starving because of her. When she hugged Aidan particularly, feeling his ribs under her arms, guilt simmered deep inside her gut. It would be her fault. All her fault.

She ended up spending the most time with Kelly, maybe because Elise’s guilt about what happened to her was strongest, the replay always at the front of her mind. For the first few days, sitting there with her, a hand resting on her knee, Elise couldn’t find the words to say anything other than how sorry she was. What else was there to say, that she thought inviting Travers in was compassionate? That she didn’t know he would bring his friends or what they would do to her? And if Sean hadn’t done something, there would have been much more of that. Poor consolation.

Then one day Kelly spoke. “I’ve been thinking.”

Elise, her hand over Kelly’s, turned from the fire toward her.

“I’m glad it wasn’t Molly, you know?”

Elise gripped her hand tighter.

“Because if it was anyone,” Kelly whispered, tears lining her eyes, “I’m just glad it wasn’t her. She wouldn’t have deserved it.”

“You didn’t deserve it either.”

Kelly gripped her hand. “You’ve raised such great kids.”

“Kelly—”

“They’re so strong,” she said, eyes dripping. “So much stronger than—” She paused. “You’re so strong too.”

But Elise didn’t think so. Most of the time, all she could see was weakness.

She spent days sitting with Kelly, silently moving through the darkness with her, speaking little but feeling connected to her sister-in-law for the first time. When she wasn’t with Kelly or making food, she busied herself around the house even though the cold made her toes and fingers numb. The walls pressed in closer to her. She cleaned. She tried to insulate the home, sealing everything with caulking, but it felt like a losing battle.

With a caulking gun in her hand, she filled one corner of the mudroom and then covered it with duct tape when it dried.

She didn’t hear the footsteps behind her. Startled, she leapt to her feet and twisted around. Sean.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispered.

She held her hand to her chest. “It’s okay.”

He looked toward the kitchen and then back to her. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on, but this doesn’t feel like us.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re avoiding me, is what I mean.”

She set the caulking gun down on top of the washer. “I don’t really know what to say.”

“I don’t know either. But we need to say something.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. We both—” He looked down the hall. “We both did things we’re not proud of. I get it. But we need to move past it.”

“I agree,” she said in an annoyed tone.

“What’s that about?”

“I’m sorry about my—”

“You know, I have always felt like you had my back.”

“I do.”

“But you don’t. I don’t know how many times I can say I’m sorry before you’ll drop the ice queen act.”

Elise frowned. “I’m sorry.” She took a step forward toward him and paused, closing her eyes, almost a wince, and moved closer until her head touched his chest. Her arms shook, so she put her hands on his shoulders to steady the tremor. Even with the layers of clothing, he was so thin, thinner than in their early twenties when he had been a rail. He released a deep moan and squeezed her in his arms, resting his chin against the top of her head. She took in shallow breaths.

“I was thinking,” he said, looking back down the hall, “remember before all this started, when we would fight, and we would say, We just need to have sex?”

She stepped back. “I don’t know, Sean. I’m not sure about that right now.”

He refilled the space between them. “I feel distant from you.”

She put a hand on his chest, but it didn’t stop his advance. “Not right now.” His body forcing itself closer.

He stopped. “Really? Still?”

Elise looked away.

“I thought we moved on—God, Elise, do you even love me anymore?”

The question hit her hard. She hadn’t had sex with him in a while, long before the house was invaded. She looked in his eyes and loved him. It was love. She wanted to make him happy and support him. But that hand primed to deliver the slap… “Later,” she said.

“You always say that.”

“I just need time.”

“And I don’t?”

A deep voice came from the kitchen. “Hey Sean, you back there?”

Michael. Sean stepped backward as her brother came around the corner. Michael pointed away. “I can come back.”

Elise shook her head. “You’re fine. What’s up?”

“I need Sean to explain how to sharpen the axe again. I keep trying to work it, but the stone keeps slipping.”

Sean motioned for Michael to lead the way, not looking back to her again, leaving a chill crawling over her skin.

ELISE WOKE IN the night and her husband wasn’t next to her. She turned over, the firelight dim. All the kids were there. Kelly and Michael too. Andrew on the couch. No Sean. He was upstairs at the rifle again. Had to be.

She listened to the wood crackle in the fireplace and pulled a few more blankets on top of her sleeping bag. She looked up at the ceiling. A creak in the wood upstairs. As if hallucinating, the ceiling pulsated in waves, creeping toward her. She blinked, and it stopped. There wasn’t enough room to stretch her legs, confined to her sleeping bag, so she wiggled around, turned to the side.

Her daughter and son slept next to her. She wondered if they were warm enough. They seemed peaceful, but she read somewhere that freezing to death was a peaceful way to die. It was like falling asleep. The ceiling creaked again. Always expanding and contracting.

A loud pop rang out upstairs. Elise jerked up. Another loud pop. A gunshot. Aidan screamed, sitting up. Molly leaped over to him and covered his mouth. Another shot echoed from upstairs.

Michael jumped out of his sleeping bag toward the shotgun. “Was that a gunshot?”

“It sounded like it,” Elise said, throwing off the covers, the cold flooding into her cocoon of warmth. She crawled out of her sleeping bag. Stood up.

“Get down,” Michael hissed. “It might be the guys coming back.”

Kelly clasped a hand around her mouth. “Sean said they weren’t coming back.”

“Sean might have been wrong,” Michael said. He looked around the room. “Is he upstairs?”

Outside, a voice started in a low groan and rose to a blood curdling screech. A woman’s voice. From the sound of it, it came from the front yard. Elise grabbed Michael’s arm, and the moan rose into a guttural cry for mercy. The woman cried out to God and whoever else listening. Finally, she shouted, “You killed him,” and screamed it repeatedly.

Michael looked at Elise. “The hell’s going on?”

Footsteps thundered down the stairs. Elise held onto her chest. Sean came to the base with a shotgun in one hand, a pistol in the other, and one of his hunting rifles slung around his shoulder. He ran up to them and extended the weapons, the shotgun to Elise and the pistol to Michael. When Michael showed him the shotgun he already had, Sean nodded and offered the pistol to Molly. She looked down at the weapon but didn’t move.

“Sean, what’s happening?” Michael said.

“I don’t know yet,” he said, shaking the guns. “Come on. Take them.”

Elise and Molly looked at one another and took the weapons from him. He slung his rifle around his chest and put the stock to his shoulder, the barrel pointing at the floor. The woman’s cries of pain seemed to pierce into Elise’s ears. “Did you shoot someone?” Elise said.

“I shot two people.”

“You—” Michael started.

“They were approaching the house. I think one’s dead.”

Elise shook, but she sensed nothing of the same in Sean. He was matter-of-fact, calm. “You killed someone?”

Andrew said, “Are those men coming back?”

Sean extended his hand to silence everyone. “I think I killed one of them. Got him with one shot. The other scrambled. I think I hit her too, but I don’t know.” The woman wailed from outside. “Pretty sure I did.”

“Who were they?” Michael asked.

“Don’t know. She fell behind a snowbank. I can’t get another shot on her.”

“You don’t know?”

Sean stared him down. “We’re really going to have this discussion right now?”

“Listen, I’m just—”

“No, you listen. This isn’t the world we had before.” He shook his head. “They raped your wife, and you still don’t get it.”

“Fuck you, Sean.”

“What’s rape?” Aidan asked.

Elise shut her eyes.

“Great, just great,” Sean said.

“I’m just trying to wrap my head around this,” Michael said.

“Wrap your head around this: there might be more coming. They sent reconnaissance before, there might be more to come. Elise, go cover the garage door. If anyone tries to get in, you shoot. Michael, cover the back. They might try to get in through there. I’ll be scanning the front and back. Molly, take everyone downstairs. Grab the blankets and heat packs.”

Everyone scrambled. Elise stumbled toward the den. Her vision blurred as if she was drunk. All the blood seemed to drain from her head. She kneeled behind a chair that faced the garage door and readied the shotgun in that direction. The woman screamed and moaned into the cold, dead air, the sound muffled by the walls. Elise’s sight narrowed over the weapon. She wondered how someone with evil intentions could scream like that woman. Maybe, she considered, most people would scream like that as their life approached such a dramatic end. Both good and evil people, if there was any distinction.

Chapter 25

SEAN

NO ONE TRIED to invade the house, but that didn’t mean the woman outside died peacefully.

When the sun rose, she started wailing and moaning again. Sean couldn’t escape the sound no matter where he went in the house. It was like a sharp pick slicing through his ear canal and scratching against his skull. She wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t die.

He suspected people may be watching the house, waiting for an opportunity to ambush. It was Elise’s turn to cut wood, but he wouldn’t let her. For an hour midmorning, the woman made no noise and he let his hopes rise, but she returned with an even more bitter scream. She cried for the man lying dead next to her. She cried out to God to end her life. Sean wanted the same thing. He guessed she would freeze to death sooner rather than later, but she wouldn’t give up her life.

He tried to put on the best face he could, act like he was in control of his emotions, but inside he was breaking down. By noon he was at his scoped rifle in the upstairs window, hoping she would pop her head up so he could finish it. She wouldn’t feel any more pain. But she stayed hidden and wailed on.

It wore on everyone else too. Sean caught Molly in a secret meeting with Michael, Sean coming around the corner, Molly shooting a glance back at him and then turning away. Michael tried to act like they were just chatting, but Sean saw. Yes, he saw. Molly never had a problem looking her father in the eye before—he knew his daughter. And he knew Michael. Could imagine Michael turning her against him, whispering deception into her ear. Telling Molly how brutal and unnecessary his actions were—like he wasn’t making the hard choices to defend his family. Michael had never understood the situation they were in and still didn’t.

They parted, and Sean followed his daughter into the kitchen. She tried to rush out toward the living room. “Molly,” he called out.

She stopped and turned, her face splotchy, cheeks a hint of red. “Yeah?”

“Is everything okay?”

She forced an unnatural smile. “I’m fine, Dad.”

“You sure?”

She put her hands into the pocket of her oversized hoodie. “It’s okay.”

The woman outside wailed, and Sean cleared his throat as if it could cover the noise. “You know why I did it, right?”

“Did what?”

“Shot the woman. Listen, I wish it hadn’t happened this way. I just don’t know—”

“That’s not it, Dad.”

He didn’t believe her. If she was telling the truth, she would look him in the eyes instead of tilting her face toward the ground. “I know some people think I didn’t need to shoot anyone. But you have to understand, I did what I thought was right. Everything I do, I do because I’m looking out for you guys. I know the woman is in agony, and I’m not happy about it. I wish I could stop her pain. It’s awful—”

A tear dropped from one of her eyes. “Dad—”

The woman outside screamed again, and for the first time yelled a name:

“Sean!”

He froze. Then she said it again. Molly covered her mouth. He stared past her toward the door. The woman called again, asking if Sean was there. He saw beyond the wall to her, taking a step forward. Molly’s voice became muffled and distant as he moved closer to the front door. He came into the living room, and Elise emerged from somewhere, shock etched into her face, shock that he could have hurt someone that knew his name. Her lips moved, but he heard nothing. Just kept looking toward the front yard. The woman outside would turn everyone against him.

She needed to go.

His intestines twisted like he was digesting razor blades. He had killed someone before. He had shot the woman’s companion just last night. He could do it again.

His thoughts bounced to the opposite conclusions—ones that told him it was murder and he should bring her inside. She knew Sean. That had to count for something. The woman screaming outside wasn’t trying to invade their home. She didn’t have evil intentions. He shook his head. She needed to go. They had nothing to give her. She was a goner. And his family was beginning to hate him over it.

She knew him, yes.

But she had to go.

He turned to leave, Elise calling out for him, her words drowned out by a loud ringing in his ears. The ringing beckoned him toward what he needed to do and killed any dissenting thoughts. “Travers was right,” he said, interrupting whatever Elise was saying. She stopped. He said, “We’re still living in our sanitized little world like we can still live by the same rules.”

“Sean—”

“Sometimes we need to make the hard decisions. Do hard things.”

He marched toward the garage where he dressed in his outdoor gear until his body was covered except a small slit for his eyes. He grabbed his rifle from just inside the door. Elise stood nearby with her sweater pulled tightly over herself. “Sean, you don’t have to do this.”

Her expression told him otherwise. He said, “I did it. And I’ll finish it.”

He exited and sealed the door behind him. He pressed the stock of his gun into his shoulder and wrapped his finger into the trigger guard. Used his other hand to unlock the latch for the huge garage door and pull it upward, the sound of the wheels scraping the track like a cry from hell until the door came to rest in its upward position.

The cry was replaced by a rush of wind blowing against his clothing. Not a fast wind, but every gust seemed to bring the temperature down twenty degrees. He breathed into the cloth covering his mouth to warm his lips and took the first few steps out into the snow and ash. The vast land surrounding him looked like the remnants from a snowplow pushing slush to the side of the road. Grimy, ugly, black. The air smelled charred and sulfuric. The snow was up to his knees. He wobbled in the muck, his eyes set on the place where he knew the woman lay.

The breeze kicked up ash and snow across his field of vision, sometimes blinding him for a second or two. He watched for any movement in the distance and step by laboring step approached the snowbank.

The snow crunched under his feet like stepping on dried leaves. He pointed his rifle forward at the snowbank. When he was five feet from the edge, he heard the woman shift around and moan. He stopped, aimed his weapon up toward the sound. “Why don’t you come over here?” the woman called out. He didn’t move. Calmed his breathing. She called out again, “I could hear you coming. Come on over here.”

His mind was telling him to walk away, but his gut told him otherwise. And his gut hadn’t been wrong yet. He sidestepped, aiming down the sights of his rifle, and the woman came into view. First, he saw her feet buried in the snow. Then, her legs. A chunk of flesh was missing from her thigh. The snow around it was partially melted and stained a deep red that mixed with the soot.

She didn’t move a twitch when he came full into view and aimed his rifle at her chest. The dead man lay next to her, a splatter of blood curled around him where he had twisted and fallen after being shot. The woman was dressed in a thick jacket and her face was exposed, showing her blackened, frost-bitten skin. Her nose was the color of coal and her forehead was peeling. And Sean knew her.

“That you, Sean? It is, isn’t it?” she said, wincing. “You shot me.”

“Lilly,” he said. His neighbor from down the road. Sean and Elise had never gotten to know the older couple. He wasn’t sure why. They seemed friendly, but life always got in the way.

“You’re still alive,” she said.

He swiped his hand against his lips.

“Was it you who shot me?”

“I thought you were trying to get into my house.”

“Well, we were. Me and Tom,” she said, motioning to the dead body.

His throat filled with phlegm. He killed Tom. Old Man Tom. “The hell were you doing out here?”

“What everyone’s trying to do,” she said as if it were a dumb question. “We ran out of food two weeks ago. We thought we would forage around.”

“You ran out of food?”

“It runs out, eventually. Tom didn’t have much longer. His lungs—” Her voice grew tight. A tear froze on the corner of her eyes. “I’m actually glad he’s not suffering anymore.” She coughed. “We had two options: stay and die or try to find some food people may have left behind. Didn’t think we’d see the chimney smoking at your house.”

“We prepared well.”

“So did we,” she said with a weak smile, “but it’s almost April, Sean. April. This winter isn’t going to stop any time soon, and we’ll still need food.” She chuckled, but it sank into a round of awful, painful-sounding coughs. He looked away. She said, “Nothing’s right anymore. I never thought anyone’d shoot Tom. How’d we get to that?”

He opened his mouth and closed it.

Pointing at his weapon, she said, “Can you point that away from me?”

“When did you know you wouldn’t be able to make it anymore? In your home?”

She looked down the barrel then back to him. “It’s simple math. We rationed first, eating less than we needed, but enough to keep us alive. But it caught up to us.” She winced and reached out her hand. “I’m tired, Sean. Help me up.”

He kept the barrel trained on her. She exerted herself to extend her hand an extra inch. “Sean, come on. I can’t move on my own.” He stepped back. She rested her shoulders back against the snowbank. “Sean.”

“I’m sorry, Lilly.”

She put her hands up, fingers splayed. “No. Please. Come on. I know you have food in there. Just one meal.”

He took another step back. She yelled, “Please, don’t. Please. Just let me warm up in front of your fire. Just for a few minutes.”

“Look at your leg.”

“We can patch it up.”

“Look at it, Lilly.”

“Sean, I just want to get warm. One more time, okay?”

He raised his rifle. “We can’t help you.”

“Sean, stop.”

He hesitated.

“You killed my husband, all right? You owe me. You owe me.”

“I’m sorry, Lilly.”

“Sean, no. Please. Sean, for the love of God just stop—”

He squeezed the trigger and shot her in the chest. Her life was over just like that. He stared for a minute at the dead woman before him, her mouth twisted, eyes rolled back into her head, eyelids frozen in a wide expression of terror, her chest wound oozing out the last warmth from her body. He moved his finger off the trigger guard. When he thought about it, it almost seemed easy; he relieved her suffering. Most people had to keep going, without hope of anything better. With no relief.

Chapter 26

MICHAEL

HE JUMPED WHEN he heard the shot. The scene in his imagination played out: the woman shouting at Sean, scared, her contorted face begging before being blown to hell.

Sean shouldn’t have shot the woman in the first place. Bad people had invaded their home. It didn’t mean everyone else would try the same thing. Just because one group of men had reverted to the blackest depths of human nature, it didn’t mean everyone would be the same way. He had to believe that.

He wished he believed that.

The door to the garage creaked, and Sean walked in. He set his rifle down. Elise, who had been biting her nails since Sean had gone outside, stood up from her chair in front of him. She was about to say something when Sean pulled down his mask below his chin. “Let’s not talk about it.”

“She shouted your name.”

“She’s dead.”

“Who was it, Sean?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Her face scrunched. “Was it someone we knew?”

“What difference does it make now?” He sighed. “I’m going to chop wood,” he said and turned back toward the garage door, slamming it behind him.

Elise turned around, staring past Michael. She shook her head and passed him without saying a word. “Elise,” he said to stop her, but she didn’t listen.

She disappeared into the living room. He put his hands on his hips. Michael just wanted to hear Sean’s thoughts, to be assured that he wasn’t sharing the home with a budding psychopath who would snap one day. That assurance shouldn’t have to be bargained for. It shouldn’t have to be discussed.

He sat down in the dining room, put his head into his hands, and pressed his thumbs against his eyes until his eyelids splashed with color. The image he had concocted of the woman dying outside popped into his mind. He opened his eyes. He watched Elise rub Aidan’s back as he threw seasonings into the cast iron pot over the fire. Aidan smiled at her, and she smiled back. It even looked genuine.

He lowered his head and didn’t raise it until someone sat next to him. Molly adjusted herself. “Uncle Mike.”

He bowed his head, whispered, “I overheard you with your dad.”

“Uncle Mike—”

“What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe he would be okay with it.”

He said, “Now can’t be the time. With everything happening.”

“Andrew said the same thing.”

“Because he’s not going to be okay with this. He just won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Trust me. I don’t have any doubt he loves you. That isn’t what we’re talking about here. We’re not talking about whether he’ll love you no matter what. But we’re talking about a man who’s not in a stable place right now.”

“I know.”

Michael waved his hand and nudged his chair closer to her. “You don’t. Molly, it’s easy to see the people we love as better than they are. Do you know how many people I saw in my work—parents who could not conceive that their children could do wrong? I had one mom sit and listen to the details of how her son had driven drunk and plowed into a church van filled with kids—killed all of them—and still refused to acknowledge that it was her son that did it. That he was a little shit.”

“I know my dad’s not perfect.”

“Maybe. But you aren’t seeing the whole picture. You don’t see what’s behind his actions. Trust me. Your dad needs to be let down easily or he will go off.”

The sound of the garage door latching. Sean coming back inside. Michael took his niece’s hands. “One day, your father will be so happy to hear he’s going to be a grandfather.”

She smiled, and a tear sank down her cheek.

“You just need to wait for the right moment,” he said.

A loud voice shouted from behind them, “You’re pregnant?”

Kelly. His gut lurched. Elise froze. Her eyes widened and rose to meet Michael’s. He hadn’t seen Kelly behind them. He hadn’t known she would hear.

Oh, shit.

Molly looked up at her aunt like a deer about to be smacked by a Mac truck. Kelly, even more excited, squealed so loud that it hurt Michael’s ears. After Kelly’s prolonged sulking, he thought any happiness would be welcome. Now he just wanted her to stop.

“You’re pregnant!” she shouted.

She burst ahead and threw her arms around the terrified teenage girl who stared back at him over her aunt’s shoulder, asking him with her eyes to do something. Anything. Michael grabbed his wife by the shoulders and tried to pull her off as gently as possible. “Please, Kelly, stop,” he whispered.

She didn’t respond. “This is such great news. Oh my God,” Kelly said, holding Molly tighter and beaming.

Elise was already on her feet, one hand gripping at her chest and the other holding onto Aidan’s shoulder. “Kelly, please stop,” Michael said.

She seemed to be in a different world, touching Molly’s stomach. “Oh, Molly. I thought you were just being comfy putting on extra layers. You must be five months along by now,” she said, caressing the curve of her baby bump.

Michael yanked at Kelly’s shoulder. She rolled to avoid the pull, turning around, fuming with anger, her palms raised upward. “What?”

“Please, stop,” he said.

“Or what?” a deep voice said from the living room.

Michael tilted his head to see Sean standing there, his brow damp with sweat and his dirty axe resting on the ground. He gripped the handle in his left hand as if choking it, his other hand resting near the pistol holstered on his hip.

The entire room froze. Molly rose from the chair and faced her dad.

“Sean, please just listen for a moment,” Elise said behind him.

“How long’ve you known?” he asked, not looking back at her.

The question seemed to hit her like a punch across the jaw. “Sean, just please listen—”

“I asked, How long’ve you known?”

Her voice trembled, and she stammered, looking back to Michael as if he could give her something to say.

“Dad, I—” Molly began.

He extended his hand out to her. “Molls, don’t. I asked your mother a question.”

Elise said, “About a month.”

The expression on Sean’s face didn’t change, but his eyebrow flinched. A rage boiled deep inside him behind the stoic expression on his face. Even his eyes were cool puddles, reflecting nothing. He laid the axe against the coffee table and put his hands on his hips. Hands near that pistol.

He turned to his daughter. “How far along are you?” Molly looked back at her uncle, but Sean said, “I didn’t ask your Uncle Mike.”

She looked down at the floor. “We think about twenty weeks.”

Sean allowed the first expression of his emotions when he wiped his face from his forehead down to his mouth. “You said you wouldn’t do this.”

“I don’t know—”

“What don’t you know?” he said. “That I specifically told you this would happen? That I told you not to trust that little son of a bitch?”

Michael said, “Andrew’s a good kid.”

“A good kid who I let stay here—to live here because of my good graces—and has been sneaking around with my daughter behind my back. In my home.”

A chill vibrated up Michael’s spine. “They’re teenagers, man. Hormones.”

Sean’s neck tightened, and his face flushed red like a flash fire tearing through dry woods. “In my home,” he screamed, and a wad of spit flung off his lips.

The cold room heated, no one knowing what to say and too afraid to move. Sean was the first to budge. He angled his head toward the ground and shook it over and over. Michael watched like he was witnessing two chemicals reacting with each other violently, waiting for an explosion. And, finally, it happened.

Sean’s fingers searched for his gun. He squeezed the handle, not removing it, and then wiped his face with the same hand. “He’s a dead man,” he said and turned to the stairs.

The room erupted into yelling. Molly rushed forward, but Michael grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back, Molly stumbling into her chair, Michael rushing ahead of her. He sprinted toward Sean, who was stomping toward the first stair step. Sean realized it too late. Michael drove his shoulder into Sean’s side and peddled, drilling him into the wall.

Elise screamed. Michael didn’t know what to do once he had Sean pinned against the wall. With his head just below Sean’s armpit, Sean pounded his elbows into Michael’s back, and Michael’s guts rattled around his ribcage with each blow. Sean shifted his foot and tripped Michael, shoving him down. Before Michael could react, Sean was over top of him, raising his foot, bringing it down like a hammer onto his temple. Then again.

Michael’s head filled with a hazy fire, and his vision burst with flashes of light. He rested his ear against the step and viewed everything as if in slow motion, hearing Elise’s shouting and Molly’s crying and the ground rumbling like extended bouts of thunder, elongated and terrifying, as Sean stepped past him and marched up the stairs.

He looked up. The world had only a vague sense of reality. The sound from Sean’s steps seemed on delay, like it was reaching Michael’s ears a second too late. His vision blurred a few times. He saw Molly step over him and run up the stairs, tripping and scrambling on all fours. His hearing was a speck of its full potential, but he heard Molly. Heard her cries. And then he saw Andrew step into view at the top of the stairs. Oh, God. Run, kid.

Sean was going to kill Andrew.

He was going to kill Andrew.

“Stop!” he remembered yelling, though he couldn’t be sure if he had made any sound.

Despite feeling like he was enclosed in a shrinking cocoon, he willed himself to move. His sister screamed something indecipherable behind him. Sean was at the top of the stairs yelling something.

Michael got himself upright, wobbling like he was drunk. His limbs felt encumbered, and he kept seeing blazes of fire in the corners of his vision. Andrew raised his hands. Molly ran up to her father and grabbed onto his shoulder. He shrugged her off, and she slipped a step backward, balancing herself on the railing. His hand was now on his weapon. Still in the holster, but there.

Molly rushed to her dad again, crying out something at him. Michael saw it before it even happened, and the heightened slow motion made it more agonizing. Molly lunged behind Sean to grab onto his arms, and he threw his shoulder back harder this time.

And Molly tumbled.

Her hand reached out for the railing again but couldn’t get a grip. Her feet lost traction, and she rolled. Michael watched her head slam against the wall with a hard whack, and her body topple end over end. Near the midway point, her head landed against one step and her neck snapped to the side—way too far to the side—and that was when her voice cut out, like a needle being lifted off a vinyl record, and her limbs flopped around loosely the rest of the way. She came to a stop soon after that.

Michael raised his hands to his head, unable to move. Andrew’s face wrenched in pain. He screamed and ran around Sean, throwing himself down the stairs toward Molly, pressing his face to her chest, pulling her into a lifeless hug as her arms hung limply against the ground. He languished, petting her hair, calling out that he loved her. Sean had turned on the top step, looking down at his palms, his mouth hanging open. He reached out as if to brace himself against something, anything, but couldn’t find rest.

Eventually, Michael’s hearing nearly phased out. He collapsed backward, everything a blur, reality now just a distant concept. Elise passed him and ran toward Molly. Andrew pounded his fist against one step as he looked up at Elise, tears in his eyes, horror and shock and grief on his face. Michael leaned his head against the wall and heard the pounding noise continue like a heartbeat until it gradually ceased.

Chapter 27

ANDREW

THEY BURIED MOLLY in the woods behind the backyard in a cleared space where the sun’s rays used to break through the trees and the dust danced in them like a fireworks display. There was no sunshine that day, nor would there be for the rest of days—just low hanging clouds that pressed the warmth out of their bodies.

Everyone was bundled up so most of their skin was covered. The shades of color in their coats and pants were muted by the surroundings. Sean insisted on doing the digging. The cold sank into Andrew’s clothes, Andrew watching the others shaking, their tears freezing into the cloth around their faces. He winced each time Sean brought the shovel into the hard ground.

Molly’s body lay next to the forming hole, half submerged in the ashen snow. Her skin was a pale white and blue, drained of her vibrancy. She wore a printed floral dress and long-brimmed hat—the same dress she had on when he first saw her, Molly walking into his trigonometry class, clutching her bag in front of herself, not raising her eyes to anyone as she searched for a seat, Andrew thinking then, This is the girl I want to spend the rest of my life with. Just like that. A girl so delicate and shy and beautiful couldn’t be wrong. So he motioned to her that there was a free seat next to him and introduced himself. When he heard her voice for the first time, his heart melted to a puddle. And continued melting as the days passed. He never knew such a thoughtful and caring and smart person in his entire life. And he resolved, right there, that he would do everything he could to not screw it up with her.

Now, in the same dress, she looked out of place. Like she shouldn’t be there, because she shouldn’t. She should be alive. Here with him.

The hole Sean dug steamed like an ethereal presence was emerging. When it was ready, Sean slammed the shovel into the loosened pile. His eyes appeared distant and deep, like tears were swimming across the surface. He walked over to Molly and knelt at her head and put his arms under her shoulders and legs. He lifted her from the ground and placed her into the hole. When her body came to rest, Sean laced her fingers over her chest. She almost looked at peace.

There were no flowers to toss into her grave, nothing green and alive and lovely to bring out her beauty. There was no holy water to bless her with, and no prayer Andrew could say that would mean anything. The sniffles and mourning sounded into the trees and disappeared into the wind. Sean knelt for a long time next to the grave. It was cruel for a man to need to bury any of his children, let alone two. It was cruel too for another man to put the love of his life to rest at a mere sixteen years of age on the same day as his child in her womb.

He winced again thinking about it. He had spent the last two days in a perpetual haze, walking around in shock, remembering when Molly told him the news. She was snuggling with him on the bed, then sitting up and looking down at him. “I’m pregnant.” She was so scared, Andrew seeing the terror in her eyes, the fear of the unknown. But Andrew smiled and hugged her and told her he was happy. Because despite all the trouble with this news, the thought of this child in this cold world, Molly giving birth with no doctor—despite all of it—Andrew looked into Molly’s eyes and knew it would be all right. So, he kissed her stomach and listened for any signs of life in there, Molly smiling down at him while he did it, Andrew thinking, Wow, my child’s growing inside there right now. His child! The excitement it brought him, the anticipation, the desire to do better than his parents, to do better with this amazing woman he loved so much. All the best things of life he had held right there in his chest—the feelings of excitement and joy and expectation. To have them ripped out in so cruel a manner. Gone. Like it had never happened.

There was nowhere to take that pain. It just existed, with nothing that could ease it. Immeasurable loss. Everything taken from him in a matter of seconds. Life wasn’t supposed to end like this, so suddenly and so rashly. For no reason.

Sean pulled his scarf down and planted a kiss on Molly’s forehead before rising. The group stared into the grave. Elise pulled her son closer. Sean said, “I think this would be the time to say any last words.”

Nothing for a minute, everyone’s heads hanging low. Elise sobbed uncontrollably.

“Molly’s the lucky one here,” Kelly said. “I sometimes think about the end. How it must feel like being at peace. Finally at peace. With no more death and no more hurt. Where whatever anyone has done to you or what you’ve done is nothing more than some awful, distant memory.” She smiled under the scarf wrapped around her face. “I think wherever Molly is right now, she’s happy.”

Nobody said anything for a while.

Andrew cleared his throat. “Molly was the best thing that ever happened to me. She was like sunshine. She was—I just wish I could have a little more time with her. Just a little. I mean—I wish I could have a lifetime with her. I wish I could have seen my son,” he said, losing his composure. “We always imagined it was a boy. I don’t know why. Just did. We were going to name him Lincoln. Lincoln Sean.”

Sean tilted his head upward, then went back to looking at the grave. The wind blew through the trees and ash rained down from the branches.

Silence. “Why did God take her?” Aidan asked.

“Because He wanted her with Him,” Elise said, pulling in a sobbing breath. Andrew wished he could be half as strong.

“Wanted her with Him,” Sean said looking up at everyone. “Because He’s not here now, right? There’s no more sunshine. No more green. No life anymore. He’s left us to ourselves. God’s not in this place anymore.”

Elise held Aidan closer to herself, shaking her head at Sean. After a few more seconds, a hard wind blew in and rushed over them like a wave. Everyone clammed up, and Michael said, “We still got a little hot chocolate in the reserves, right? We can boil some. Warm up.”

Everyone took a last moment to look at Molly before turning one at a time toward the house. Andrew walked halfway back before he noticed Sean hadn’t moved. He stood over her grave, his shoulders shaking with his sobs. With each rickety thrust, he put dirt onto the shovel and placed it in the grave. Andrew stood and watched the man shovel in heap after heap as his cries were carried away by the wind.

Sean looked like a man under a weight he couldn’t bear any longer, and it was crushing him bit by bit. Andrew could sympathize. Every passing minute a little piece of Andrew’s soul seemed to drift away like snow sifting out from the clouds. He didn’t know where it was going, but he knew he would never get it back.

THEY DIDN’T HAVE hot chocolate together. Almost as soon as they came inside, Michael and Elise disappeared upstairs, and Sean went God-knew-where, leaving Andrew with a cooling drink he didn’t want, sitting in almost total silence with Kelly and Aidan. The little boy spoke. “Why did dad say God isn’t here anymore?”

Andrew and Kelly exchanged a glance. She said, “Because people say things when they’re hurting.”

“Is it true?”

She pulled Aidan closer. “I don’t think so, little man.” Andrew watched. She was justified to be angry at God. She did nothing to deserve what happened to her—to have that filthy animal violate her. He never heard her complain. Not once. He wondered how she had the strength when all he wanted to do was scream and cry and curse.

The cup in Andrew’s hands seemed so heavy he couldn’t hold onto it anymore. He set it down harder than he intended, the cup clanking against the coffee table. Both stared at him. He didn’t make eye contact. “I just need to go,” he murmured and left.

He first walked into the kitchen. The sound of sobs rose from the floor, soft and distant. He thought it might have been coming from a vent, but realized it was Sean in the reserves. He almost reached out and opened the door, went down there to talk to him. Maybe they could just mourn together. He pulled his hand back and stuffed it in his pocket. Sean didn’t want to see anyone. His guilt and grief wouldn’t let him see comfort anywhere. Andrew knew that well.

He left the kitchen and climbed the stairs, but each step was excruciating. His feet felt loaded with cement. His tears were building up faster than he could dam them. He wanted to go to Molly’s room and smell her faint scent on her clothes and act like she was still alive.

He dragged his feet to her door and opened it. Elise and Michael were standing next to the dresser. They froze and looked back at him, and he darted his eyes away even though he wasn’t sure why. “I’m sorry. I can go somewhere else,” he said.

“No, come on in,” Elise said.

Michael shot a look to her, but she shook her head and invited Andrew into her arms. The dam broke. Elise was the only mom he had anymore. Her chest heaved too, and he felt her tears grace the side of his neck. Michael stood coolly behind, his hand over his eyes, rubbing his temples.

After a minute, she pulled back. He said, wiping his eyes, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re all right,” Elise said, smiling though tears fell onto her cheeks. “So, you were going to name him Lincoln?”

“We thought it was a good name.”

“It is. What if the baby was a girl?”

“Genevieve.”

Elise smiled. “That’s a pretty name.”

“We thought so.”

Michael said to Elise, “We need to talk.”

She turned to him. “You can’t even wait until Molly’s buried before you start talking about—”

“Come on, Elise. That’s not fair,” he said.

An uncomfortable sinking feeling came upon Andrew, an instinctual tingle that comes from being in the wrong place at the wrong time right before something happened. Elise may have said she was fine with him being there, but it didn’t feel like it.

Elise said, “He can hear what you have to say. He just lost the mother of his child and he lives in this home too. It affects him.”

Michael bit his bottom lip and grunted. “This concerns you a bit more.”

Elise looked back at Andrew. “Michael thinks we should—what was it you said? Take care of my husband?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what does, We need to take care of your husband, mean?”

Andrew took a step back. “Maybe I shouldn’t—”

“Don’t make me the bad guy here,” Michael said. “I’m trying to be reasonable about this and you’re making it seem like I’m the one with the problem.”

“What problem?”

“Christ, Elise. Really?”

“It was an accident.”

“An accident that happened because he was trying to kill someone else in this house.”

“He wasn’t going to kill anyone.”

“He said Andrew was a dead man. He was going for his gun—I was watching him.” He turned to Andrew. “Did you think he was going to do it?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew stammered. He had spent a lot of time thinking about it—about the look in Sean’s eyes. That terrible look.

“He was going to kill him, Elise. His hand was on the gun. If he thinks he can just kill Andrew, what’s to stop him from offing anyone else he doesn’t agree with or he thinks needs to go?”

“Why would he do that?” Elise said.

“Because he’s done it before. What about the people out front?”

“He was protecting the house.”

“Did he need to outright kill them?”

“Men broke into our home and stole our food. They let my son suffocate to make a point. And you have the nerve to ask whether what Sean has done is excessive?”

“Elise, this is different. Please, you’ve got to hear me. This is different. This is—”

“No, listen to me, Michael. You have doubted my husband for almost two decades now. You have planted seeds of discord all across our relationship. And what have you been right about?”

Michael rubbed circles on his temples with his fingers.

Elise continued, “Can you even name one thing? When he wanted to move us out here, you said he was crazy and delusional and that he was trying to separate me from my family. When we built the reserves, you said he was paranoid. Then what happened?”

Michael started to talk, and Elise waved her hand and shut him up. “And then you said he was being paranoid about boarding up the house and rationing the food. You said he was going crazy. Seeds. Of. Discord. You said he shouldn’t be trusted with a gun. You kept telling me something had to be done about him not sleeping. And what happened?”

“Elise—”

“No. Stop. I think it’s about time we stopped doubting my husband. He’s been right every step of the way and you’ve been wrong. You’re just too arrogant to admit it.”

“Molly is laying in a grave right now because of him.”

She slapped him so hard even Andrew winced. “How dare you?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“How dare you?”

“Elise, please.”

“How dare you?”

“I was wrong, okay? I was wrong. About everything. Is that what you want to hear?”

“I don’t want to hear anything out of you. It’s like you think every thought, every idea you have is gold. Listen here,” she said, pointing in his face, “this is not your home. You are here—fed, alive—because Sean has allowed it.”

“God, Elise. Don’t you see what’s happening?”

“You’re alive because he’s allowed it.”

“Elise,” Michael said, “he’s a time bomb.”

Andrew snuck back toward the door and slid out of the bedroom, Elise calling out for him to stop but Andrew ignoring it. He leaned against the door after he shut it. Closed his eyes.

A thought tickled at the back of his mind, a memory, and he almost turned around to express it out loud. About the look Sean had right before Molly died, his eyes bloodshot like a charging bull, seeing him touching the holstered pistol on his hip, thinking in that moment that Sean was going to kill him, that this man had snapped. Part of him thought Michael was right—that Sean was a danger to everyone. Molly was in the ground because of his behavior. But it was an accident. He didn’t really know what Sean had been planning to do.

He opened his eyes. Sean was at the end of the hall, his face veiled in shadow. Not a single muscle in Andrew’s body moved. He didn’t know how long Sean had been standing there, or what he had heard. Finally, Sean turned and walked down the stairs.

Andrew exhaled, reached out to steady himself against the wall, and broke down. Molly deserved better than to have her death used to drive a wedge among her family. Her memory, her legacy—the legacy of their unborn child—deserved more than that.

Chapter 28

SEAN

WITH THE BACK of his head against the wall of the reserves, sitting on the cold, dusty concrete floor, Sean rubbed his eyes to drive the headache away. He watched his breath rise in a gray fog and then refocused on the dwindling supplies before him. The cans and jars, once packed tightly, now covered just a few shelves. He picked up the paper and pen and ran the math again.

A week ago, there was a supply of food that would have lasted five months. Today, there was six. Six whole months. When he accounted for Kelly only eating half her day’s ration, the number increased two weeks. Molly’s death had bought them another month. He hung his head and slammed the pen down. It should have been obvious. One less mouth to feed meant that there was more food to spread around.

He dry-heaved. Even calculating the food was sparking memories of her. Everything did. He would walk up the stairs and see her door and his mind would wander to the times he spent talking with her there. When he stared at the kitchen table, he remembered her doing her homework; the pencil tapping against the wood surface as she thought through a problem. Even eating meals sent him back to a time when she was a little girl and they would go out to eat—just the two of them. Now nobody would go out to eat anymore. And he would never hear his daughter tapping on the table upstairs again. Never hear her voice—that sweet, soft voice. Never see her smile, except in fading pictures. Never know if he would have been a good grandfather.

He would gladly give a month of food for her life. He would give all his rations to have her back.

His stomach turned sour, and he set the pad of paper down. Walking up the concrete stairs, he held his stomach, closed his eyes, and gripped the railing. When he swung the door open, Andrew leapt out of the way to avoid it. There was always someone in the way. Never any privacy. Always seeing the same faces of the same people.

The boy backed up toward the kitchen island and grabbed the stack of bowls from the counter, remaining at an angle that allowed him to keep Sean in view. He was scared, and Sean kind of liked that. He should fear Sean. The little bastard had thought he could act like a big man and enjoy all the benefits of marriage without all the hard work. Without the commitment. Tried to steal his daughter. He always knew the ‘respectful kid’ thing was a routine, just a guise to seduce his daughter. He wondered how she could have fallen for it. How she didn’t see how slimy the boy really was.

The boy. Sean wanted to believe he had just been trying to scare him the day Molly died, but he couldn’t be sure. The memory was distant and disconnected somehow, like a thick fog hung over it and he couldn’t penetrate deep enough to see what his true feelings were in those moments. He had wanted to kill the kid—his anger was so hot and heavy and consuming. But he wasn’t sure whether he would have followed through.

The boy took the dishes through the dining room instead of passing Sean. Sean scooped up the remaining silverware and followed. He came around the corner and saw Elise over the fire, stirring a soup with a large spoon, steam exploding out of the pot. All the food came from cold jars and yet his wife made it viable for consumption. Such a funny thing: all this trouble for something that seems so insignificant.

There it was. Just like that.

A thought. An idea.

One he knew he couldn’t ignore.

It rushed to the front of his mind and clouded almost everything else. Elise looked at him, saying something, but he didn’t hear her. He heard nothing. She might as well have been a mile away. He nodded and said, Yes, but even his own words seemed detached from reality, like he wasn’t actually speaking. The thought pulsated in his skull like a siren.

She looked concerned, and he read her lips when she asked him if he was all right. He smiled a little and said he was fine, but she didn’t seem convinced. She motioned to the spoons in his hand. He moved closer to the living room and handed her the utensils, but he felt as if nothing had left his hands or had even been there to begin with. His heart thudded, and he worried everyone else was hearing that singular thought. With how loud it drummed in his ears, they must have.

But nobody seemed to notice, or at least they didn’t let on that they did. Everyone took a seat around the fire, but Sean remained standing. Aidan came up to him and smiled. He grabbed his hand and plopped down in a nearby seat, encouraging Sean to sit too. All the faces looked back at him. Michael shot a glance to Elise, and she stepped into Sean’s line of sight.

Shocked as if she’d snuck up on him, he stepped back and watched her lips move, but his hearing was nothing but a loud ringing. The idea cemented harder with each second. She was probably asking him if he was okay, and he said he was fine. He didn’t know how loud he had said it, but it seemed to satisfy her. He rested into the seat. The fire crackled.

Soon he realized that Elise was praying and everyone else had their heads bowed. He looked at them, his eyes resting on the boy, Michael, and Kelly. He watched as they each raised their heads and started eating the soup.

At first, he tried to block it, but soon the noise started to break through. Michael brought a spoonful of soup to his lips, and the slurping sounded as loud as a firecracker. Sean saw the boy hold the bowl to his lips. As the boy’s teeth ground out the chunks, Sean could have sworn that the noise grew louder and louder until it was all he could hear. Teeth gnashing against one another. Soon, he heard everyone slurping and chewing and swallowing.

Relentless. Every few seconds someone was sucking in the soup like a shop-vac. They didn’t understand how much work Sean had put into collecting all those ingredients or the money he had sacrificed to get it. They just consumed, like it was their right to eat his food without a thought or care or thanks. With each bite, he imagined the jars and cans downstairs and the supplies shrinking in size and the shelf space laying empty. Cobwebs forming in the corners of the shelves until they were all that remained.

His wife’s voice came out of nowhere. “Sean, you okay?” she asked.

Everyone stared at him, though Aidan kept eating. He said, “I’m not feeling too good.”

She nodded, and he got up and walked toward the stairs. They gawked at him—he knew it. The ringing in his ears arose again with even more intensity. His head felt like it was baking in an oven. His intestines were stabbed with barbs. He sprinted up the stairs and shoved the bathroom door open. Grabbed the toilet bowl and dropped to his knees in front of it just in time for the fiery vomit to erupt from his mouth. He heaved and gagged and more spewed forth. After what felt like an eternity, he finally fell back and wiped his lips with his shirt, the acidic taste still spread across his tongue.

He rested his head against the tub. Although the ringing subsided, his mind didn’t shut off. Sean could no longer ignore the situation. There was only six months of food left.

Six months.

He thought of his neighbor Lilly, gaunt and freezing to death with a gunshot wound in her leg. He vowed that he wouldn’t let those he loved end up like that.

And he intended to keep that vow.

Chapter 29

ELISE

ELISE TWISTED THE last bit of water out of the shirt. She sniffed it and stuck out her bottom lip. It didn’t stink, but it didn’t smell great either. It was the nature of her homemade soap. It never smelled like normal.

The water grew unbearably cold, so she grabbed a dry towel and hung the last shirt on the drying rack in the back mudroom. She sighed and wished she could run the dryer. Oh, the sensation of warm clothes fresh out of the dryer, the softness of the fabric. She longed for that warmth and comfort again. But the sun never shone so the solar panels couldn’t create the power needed to run it. For a moment she let herself imagine the sun shining, standing outside and basking in its heat, closing her eyes against its intense light and letting it soak into her skin like a hot bath. Feeling like everything would be okay.

She grabbed the basket and turned around to find her husband standing in the doorway. She yelped and dropped it. “Oh, Lord. You scared me,” she said. She watched him for a second. His eyes focused across the room at something. She turned to see what, but he was just looking at the wall. He had been acting strange—stranger than usual—since dinner the two weeks before. Since Molly passed.

“Something on your mind?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you don’t want to share?”

“I’ve done things, Elise. Things I’m not proud of.”

Her mind flashed to the woman on the front lawn. She never saw the body, now covered in a layer of snow, but it always looked grotesque in her imagination. The woman’s guts were spilled out, her blood dotted around the dirty snow. And then her mind took her to the man at the top of the stairs, his head cocked to the side, half his neck missing. She shook her head.

He said, “I think about the hard things I’ve had to do, but I always thought—in the end—there was a reason for it. Even though it was terrible, I understand why I did it.”

“I know.”

“But they can still be wrong, even if I did it for the right reasons.”

“I don’t know.”

“Elise,” he said and paused.

She met his eyes, and he looked away, shaking his head. As she waited for his next words, her stomach flooded with nausea.

“Do you think I’m a monster?”

She frowned. “No,” she said in a whisper, “No, no.”

Elise took a step forward and then hesitated. It had been a while since she had been intimate with her husband, but she pushed through the awkwardness. Snuggled her face into his chest and wrapped her arms around him. A welcome, long-forgotten warmth filled her chest.

Sean said, “You always told me you would love me no matter what. Do you still mean that?”

She waited a second to answer. “Of course.”

And she meant it, but there was a thought she didn’t want to acknowledge, one she pushed back against. Kept it at bay. No use engaging it. It was all a bunch of lies from Michael’s mouth anyway. No use in drudging it up.

But it was there.

It was there.

Chapter 30

ANDREW

ANDREW MADE HIMSELF useful and helped prepare a meal.

Elise seemed more detached than normal, not saying much to him other than a few terse commands to grab an ingredient and bring it to her. Molly would have been the one helping her with the meal instead of him, so he thought that might be it. They were all enduring her absence.

Elise’s mood could have stemmed from their discussion about Sean the day of Molly’s burial. She hadn’t been willing to talk about it after, and Andrew didn’t want to bring it up again. The whole idea made him shudder. This wasn’t a game, and the people in the house weren’t pawns. But that’s what the conversation had made it seem like.

“Andrew,” she said, snapping her fingers.

He shot his gaze over to her. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The dried basil,” she said, motioning with her fingers to bring it.

He grabbed it from the coffee table next to him and handed it to her. “You all right?” she asked, taking a pinch from the jar and sprinkling it into the soup above the fire.

“Today’s been a rough day.”

“We’ve all had some rough days lately.”

He looked to his side and watched Michael reading a book on the couch in the adjacent room while Kelly and Aidan played a speed card game. A speed card game that Aidan and Molly used to play. A speed game Andrew’s child would have played with his mother…

Elise’s voice came out of nowhere. “Thinking about her?”

He brought himself back to the present and nodded, though he shrugged while doing it.

“Or not?”

He pointed to his head. “There’s a lot rolling around in here.”

She sprinkled more basil into the pot and said, “You know, this isn’t my first time losing a child.”

He leaned closer to her. Andrew knew the story, but Molly had always told him Gracie was a topic the family didn’t talk about. For Elise to share was almost like he was being accepted into the family.

“I remember the day it happened. I was at work, and Sean was working from home. When I got the call, I remember wanting to throw up right before I picked up the phone. I knew something was wrong.”

Andrew nodded.

“I still, to this day, can’t get Sean to talk about exactly what he saw.”

“I don’t blame him. When I saw the—” He stopped.

“It’s okay,” she said.

“When I saw what happened to Molly—” He sighed. “I would do anything to get that image out of my mind.”

“Not seeing it happen wouldn’t make it any easier.”

“I think it would.”

She nodded. “Maybe.”

Andrew considered his words like he was on hallowed ground. “Why does Michael blame Sean for Gracie?”

She paused. “I forgot you overheard that.”

“Remember the dinner when they first arrived?”

“That was a fun night.”

“If by fun you mean terribly uncomfortable.”

She lowered her voice. “Truth be told, Michael never liked Sean. He’s thought nothing but bad about him. But he never liked any of the boys I brought home. My dad passed away when we were young, so he always filled that kind of role for me. Protective. He’s kind of like Sean in that sense. There was no hope for you because unless Sean had hand-selected you for Molly, there was nobody who was ever going to be good enough. Initially, Michael didn’t blame Sean for what happened to Gracie, I don’t think. Nobody did. Everyone was just in shock. Sean had been watching her that day—went upstairs for just a minute and when he came downstairs the door was open and—” She wiped a tear away. “It was an accident. Not his fault. But it happened on Sean’s watch, so Michael never forgot that. When he moved the family away—my whole family was in New York, mind you—I think Michael thought Sean was running away from the problem.”

“What problem?”

“Having to look my family in the eye. Then when we moved here it was all, Sean’s paranoid and Sean’s reckless.” She blew a blast of air from her barely parted lips. “Gracie was the cutest thing: blonde hair—curly, unbelievably curly—had big brown eyes. Could make your heart melt just by looking at you. And Michael thought Sean wouldn’t take responsibility for her death.”

“But he did, didn’t he?”

“More than he should. Always has. But that was between Sean and me. And himself. He didn’t feel like he had to answer to anyone else.”

“And he never talks about her?”

She shook her head.

“Do you think he’ll do that with Molly?”

“I hope not,” she said and kept stirring the soup.

“I feel like every time I think about her, I end up with this bitter feeling. Like there’s this residue in my gut, just lingering there. But I don’t want to forget her. I don’t want to act like she never existed.”

“Then keep her alive. Think about her. Speak her name.”

“I think you can make him do it—to make him talk about her.”

She stopped and looked back at him. “I don’t know.”

“I know.” He looked at the ceiling and then back to Elise. “My mom was—she was a doormat. My dad walked all over her. He controlled every part of her life. She had to ask for everything—can I go to the grocery store, can I go visit my friend, can I go to bed now. She—she had to ask if it was okay to use the bathroom. And sometimes he would make her wait. Make her wait until she pissed herself and then he would scold her for being filthy.”

“I’m so sorry you had to experience that.”

“I’m not saying it to get sympathy. What I’m trying to say is, that’s not what’s going on here. I’ve watched it. Both Sean and Michael listen to you—they both care about what you think—because you’re what’s keeping this place together. Making the meals, keeping the peace. There’s enough wood cut outside to keep this room warm for years. The pile is overflowing under the tarps. Nobody else is really doing anything to keep us alive but you. So Sean and Michael—they both listen to you.”

“Not very well.”

“But they do.”

She rubbed her lips, and her face grew dark. “I want you to tell the truth. No filter,” she said, hushing her voice even more.

He opened his mouth to speak but resealed his lips instead.

“Do you think he was going to kill you?”

Andrew rubbed his mouth. “Why?”

“I want to know.”

A stark seriousness in her tone that suddenly made him uneasy. “Mrs. Cain, I’m not really comfortable—”

“I want to know what you really think was going to happen.”

He puckered his lips inward and stood up. “I don’t want to get involved.”

“You are involved. I just want to know—”

“I don’t know.”

“—what you saw. What was going through your mind.”

“I was scared. I remember I was just frozen.”

“Did you think he was going to kill you?”

“I don’t know. I replay it over and over every single time I close my eyes and I just—I don’t know.” A clarity rose to the surface, like he had an answer. But he ignored it. “I don’t know.”

She stared into the soup.

Andrew said, “Did you think he—did you think he was going to kill me?”

She looked up at him, but her eyes darted away and her posture became rigid. She grabbed the ladle and stirred the soup. Andrew could hear him walking in from the kitchen. Sean approached with a tray stacked with ceramic bowls that clattered when he set them on the fireplace hearth. He put his hands on his hips. “Almost done?”

Andrew waited for Elise, who hadn’t so much as turned a degree toward her husband. Andrew said, “We’re almost done, I think.”

Sean didn’t look at him. “That’s good to hear.” He planted a kiss on Elise’s head. “How about I serve it up tonight?”

She had the most genuine smile, one that showed none of the concern she had a moment before. Sean turned his head toward the other room and shouted that it was dinner time. There was a rousing there, and Aidan zipped into the living room. Sat next to his dad. Sean kissed his forehead.

For a moment, Sean’s tenderness toward his son made Andrew doubt all the awful things Michael had said before. About how Sean was a heartless, cruel man one act away from being a sociopath. The moment reminded him that people were not defined by one thing. Even flawed men could have some good in them.

As everyone took a seat, Sean filled the bowls with the hot soup, handing one first to his son and then to Elise. Andrew stepped away from the group, outside the circle of chairs, and watched. Kelly asked for an extra scoop, and Sean obliged. She had put on some weight recently—enough to fill the hollows of her face. Michael squeezed her knee, and she smiled at him. For a while he had thought she was a goner, wasting away. Now she looked to be in an upswing.

Pleases and thank yous were exchanged and, for a brief second, Andrew felt normal. Supplies may have been running low, and the most horrible experiences life could serve had been thrust upon them, but he felt at home, like there might be hope for them after all.

Sean filled up a bowl, stirred the broth around with a spoon, and handed it to Michael. Michael’s eyes rested on Andrew. “What’re you doing back there?” he said. “Grab a seat.”

Andrew did, and Michael handed him the steaming bowl.

“Thanks,” Andrew said.

Sean was busy filling the last bowl when he looked back at Andrew, confused. “Did I give you a bowl?” he asked.

“I gave him mine,” Michael said.

“That one was yours.”

“He eats about as much as me.” He waved toward himself. “I’ll just take his. It isn’t a big deal.”

Sean said nothing for a while. “Yeah, sure,” he said, handing over the bowl.

When everyone had their meal, Elise said a prayer as she always did. Then they ate.

Andrew took a spoonful into his mouth, and the warmth coursed down his throat. It almost warmed his soul. He watched the others eat as well and felt a kinship—a bond with these hardened and weary people who got to eat a nice meal in peace. He thought about Molly, and the memory was pleasant instead of painful. Slurping noises filled the air. After a few minutes of not touching his food, Sean set his bowl down and rubbed his son’s back.

“Is it not good?” Elise asked.

“No, I’m just not feeling great,” Sean said.

Andrew chewed on the meat and softened carrots. The flavor wasn’t the best, but it was better than some other recent soups. It seemed to warm his whole body and tingle in his throat and chest. He cleared his throat and took another bite, but the tingle returned. He cleared it again.

“Something wrong, buddy?” Michael asked with a smile. “It’s kind of insulting to groan about the food, especially when you’re the one who made it.”

Andrew smiled and swallowed. The tingle intensified. A knot of phlegm filled his throat, and he forced it down. A dizziness rose to the top of his head and settled into his body in waves. He coughed up a gob of snot into his sleeve and set the bowl down on the coffee table. He ripped another forceful cough, but when he tried to recover, the action felt strange, like he was trying to breathe through a straw.

He swallowed again just in time for his windpipe to seal shut.

Chapter 31

MICHAEL

ANDREW TIPPED FORWARD, planting one hand on the coffee table before his body collapsed onto it. The spoons and bowls rattled. Hot broth shot over the edges of the bowls. Everyone jumped, startled. It took a few seconds for the stimuli to register. Andrew dropped to the ground, grasping at his throat and rubbing it. He rolled onto his stomach, his legs bending and straightening in a struggle.

“What’s going on?” Kelly shouted.

Michael shot out of his seat and tossed his bowl onto the coffee table, the bowl sliding across the wood and wobbling to a stop. He dropped to his knees and turned Andrew around, holding him. Andrew’s eyes expanded wide, never blinking. His mouth opened and closed like a fish pulled out of water, and he held his hand over his Adam’s Apple.

“He’s choking,” Michael said.

The room watched in shocked silence. Gurgling sounds rumbled in his throat and spit dripped from his lips. Elise uncovered her mouth and yelled, “Do the Heimlich Maneuver.”

Michael grunted and pulled the boy against himself, oriented a fist onto his diaphragm, and thrust it into his abdomen. The boy groaned and waved for Michael to stop. Michael thrust again.

Sean stood rigid and pulled his son’s face into his chest so he wouldn’t see what was happening. “Take him,” he yelled, pointing to Kelly. She stared at him, her mouth open. “Take him out of here!”

She rushed over to Aidan, picked him up, and shielded his eyes with her hand. They disappeared into the kitchen.

Andrew grabbed at his throat and sank his nails into his skin, clawing into it as if he could make a hole to breathe. Blood trickled at first and then poured. Michael kept doing the maneuver, but Andrew thrashed, and Michael let go to avoid being head-butted in the face.

“Do something,” Elise shouted at her husband.

Sean seemed stiff, paralyzed. His jaw was locked, and the muscles in his cheeks pulsed. He never stopped looking at Andrew. His chest scarcely rose or fell. “I don’t know—”

“Help him,” she yelled.

“What am I going to do?”

“A knife.” Elise sprinted toward the kitchen.

Michael tried to pick up Andrew again, to keep the maneuver going, but Andrew rolled to the side and slipped his grasp. Andrew’s thrashing slowed. His fingers were wet with blood and his neck was scratched in bloody strips like he had been whipped. His chest jumped, and his body convulsed, his eyes never closing—just staring, staring up at him for relief that would not come. After a few more jerking motions, the boy grunted, grasping for nothing in particular. His head dropped back against the floor and his body became still.

Elise came into the room, a knife in hand, and stopped midway. The room hung with silence as the shock sunk in. The boy stared at the ceiling, one eye wide open and the other half-closed. His limbs were loose and unmoving. “Holy shit,” Michael said, standing and lacing his fingers around the back of his head.

Elise took in a rapid succession of breaths while covering her mouth. Tears ran down her cheeks and between her fingers. She set the knife, shaking in her hand, on the coffee table. She reached her other arm behind herself without looking, searching for a place to sit. When her hand met a cushion, she lowered herself onto it. “Is he dead?”

Michael reached out and pressed his fingers onto Andrew’s bloody neck and felt for a pulse. Nothing. He nodded and sat on the backs of his legs. “There wasn’t anything in there big enough to choke on,” he said.

“It could have been a big chunk of meat,” Sean said.

Elise said, “The Heimlich should have worked.”

“Holy shit,” Michael said, wiping his bloodied fingers on a nearby napkin. “He’s really dead.” The kid wasn’t even eighteen, and he was laying on the floor in front of him. No more life. No more dreams. There was nothing in his eyes but a cold, distant stare. He closed the kid’s eyelids and bowed his head. “What just happened?”

Sean hadn’t moved a muscle. “Maybe he was allergic to something.”

Elise looked beside herself. “I didn’t put anything new in the soup.”

“At all?” Michael said.

“I’ve made the same soup half a dozen times by now.”

Michael caught Sean’s eyes, but Sean looked away. The sudden shock gave way to an emerging boiling in Michael’s chest. He had no evidence, and he couldn’t prove it, but a feeling so powerful he couldn’t deny struck him in the gut. “Sean.” Sean looked back at him and blinked a couple times. Then he knew. Shit. The kid was dead, and it was all his doing. “Did you—?” Michael said.

Sean looked confused.

But Michael knew better. “Sean,” he said.

“What?”

“Don’t try to back out of this.”

“Back out of what?”

“How did you—? Why?”

Sean shook his head. “Will you calm down for a second?”

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“It was. Holy shit. It was you.”

“What was me?” he yelled.

Elise jumped up from the couch and put her hands out toward Michael. “Stop it.”

Michael shot a look over to his sister. “Stop it? What do you think just happened here?”

She waved both of her hands. “Whoa, let’s back up.”

“Think about it. He’s always hated the kid.”

“Are we really having this discussion right now?” Sean said.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Stop, Mike,” Elise said.

“Couldn’t stand that Molly actually loved him? And that he got to stay in your house?”

“Come on.”

“You thought you’d make things even.”

Elise shouted, “Michael, stop it!”

Michael turned and paced, rubbing his scalp with his palm. He pointed at the body. “Elise, for God’s sake, the kid’s dead.”

“We don’t know what happened,” she said, crying.

“Yes, we do. The one day that Sean serves the food, someone eats it and dies. How does that not register with you?” His hands returned to his head. “Ah, shit,” he said. “No, no. Shit.”

“I didn’t cook the soup, Michael,” Sean said.

“Just because I can’t explain it, doesn’t mean you didn’t do it.”

“Listen to yourself.”

“You must have,” he pointed at the bowls, “you must have put it in the bowls or something. You must have—” Michael froze, his finger pointing at Andrew’s bowl, his thoughts lingering there. Like the teeth of a gear catching into place, the thought clicked in his brain. He covered his mouth and rubbed his lips. “You put it in the bowl.”

Sean forced air out of his nostrils. “Will you stop this? For God’s sake, I don’t—”

“It was meant for me.”

Nobody spoke for a moment. Elise said, “What do you mean?”

“The bowl. The one he gave to me. I gave it to Andrew.”

Sean said, “This is crazy.”

“Then eat his soup.”

“What?”

Michael grabbed Andrew’s bowl from the coffee table and thrust it toward Sean. “Then eat the soup.”

“I have no idea what happened here. I’m not going to put myself at risk just to satisfy your delusions.”

“Did you poison him?”

“What are you talking about?” Sean yelled. “Dear God, Michael, I don’t want to die too if something was in his soup.”

Michael stared the man down, the bowl shaking in his hand. After a few seconds that seemed to last minutes, he tossed it aside. “You son of a bitch,” he said.

“You need to calm down. I didn’t do anything.”

“You want me dead?” he said. “Pull out that gun you keep on your belt. Come on. I know it’s under your clothes. Pull it out. Be a man about it.”

Elise cried, “Stop this. Both of you.”

Michael rubbed the back of his neck. He could not understand how she didn’t see it. It was plain. Sean would never allow Andrew to keep eating his food while his daughter lay under a pile of frozen dirt in the backyard. No way.

He looked at her. “He’s not going to stop, Elise. He’s not going to stop.”

Elise, tears in her eyes, said nothing.

Sean had no devilish smirk or admission of guilt on his face. But Michael knew. He could see it. Something was happening, something intangible, something behind Sean’s eyes he couldn’t quite place, as if he were declaring a victory over his enemy.

Michael then understood fully what he didn’t want to accept before: that he would have to do something about it. He would have to do something about Sean.

Chapter 32

ELISE

THE DOOR SHUT, and the image of Andrew’s body, wrapped in a tarp, being dragged outside, went with it. When she heard the lock click, she turned to look at the blood streaks smeared into her carpet. Nothing would get the stain out. The carpet was now infested with ash and blood intermingled.

Her gaze rose. Michael stood there with his arms crossed. The seeds Michael had planted came back with a frightening pungency, filling her head like poison, making every move that Sean made and every word he spoke seem suspicious. She knew it wasn’t true. Sean may have done questionable things in the past few months—he was a flawed man—but he wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer. Every life he took was out of a sense to protect his family. That was his primary goal. There was no need to think he was acting otherwise.

“Elise.”

“Unless you’re going to apologize, save it.”

He sighed. “Elise, there has to be some small part of you that knows I’m right.”

She approached him. “There’s a big part of me that wants you to shut up.”

“Elise—”

“You have zero proof, Michael. Zero. What do you want to do? Do you want to get rid of him? Huh?”

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t kill Andrew.”

“He’s done this before.”

“He was defending our home then.”

“He still thinks he is.”

She waved her hand, shook her head, and stormed past him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Haven’t from the beginning.”

“He’s not the same man you married.”

“He’s exactly the same man I married,” she said, turning back to him.

“He’s not.”

“What would you do with him?” she whispered, eyes narrowed. “Huh? What would you do?”

“Come on, Elise.”

“What would you do?”

“Stop asking me that.”

“Be a man. Say it.”

“Elise, will you quit asking—”

“Say it!”

It looked like the words sat at the precipice of his tongue, just behind his lips, ready to explode out of his mouth. But he said nothing. She pressed her teeth together and said, “You need to get out of my sight.”

Michael rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger and said, “Elise, I was wrong. About a lot of things. I was wrong.” His shoulders slumped. “I’m not now. Believe me, I’m not now.”

“He has done nothing but be generous with you. Did you know that we had a plan if a disaster like this were to happen? We had a plan. If anyone came to our door—anyone—we would turn them away. But we didn’t. All that food you’ve been eating your fill of, all the warm showers you’ve had. Warm fires, blankets, sleeping bags—they were ours to use. Do you get that? That was for my kids and me and Sean. Not you. Not Kelly. Not Andrew. And we were prepared to turn away anyone who was going to come by our home because we needed to survive.

“And then you and Kelly got mixed up in all this. Andrew too. And we changed our plans. For you. We risked everything so you could live too. Sean allowed the thing he valued most—the survival of his family—to be put on the line so your ungrateful ass could live too. How have you repaid him? By questioning everything he does. By accusing him of murder.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“Come on.”

“He’s just preserving what is most valuable to him, right? You said it yourself.”

“Michael, just stop.”

“Think about it. With Andrew gone, there’s so much more food. One less mouth to feed. What happens when I die next? Or what about Kelly?”

“That isn’t what’s happening.”

“What happens if you’re in the way of his survival?”

“Michael,” she said, more agitated.

“What happens to Aidan?”

A knot moved from her gut into her throat and it burned like acid. Sean’s a good man, she told herself, he would never hurt Aidan. He would never hurt Elise like that. Yet, she thought for a moment maybe he was right. Maybe there was something…

She jolted her head to the side as if to expel the thought. “You’re wrong.”

He threw his hands out in desperation. “You have to see what’s going on here.”

“I see exactly what’s going on here. You’re trying to turn me against my husband.”

“Elise, please, I’m—”

“Enough,” she yelled. Her limbs burned, the anger sinking into her muscles. Her entire body filled with pressure, and she exhaled to keep from exploding. “Go find my son and then do me a favor and stay out of sight for a while.”

“He’ll never let us live—”

“Get out of my sight,” she said, not able to look at him any longer.

She listened to his footsteps fade away from her. The sound of small feet emerged from the same direction a moment later. Aidan. She got down on her knees and pulled him into a tight hug. She rubbed the back of his head and settled herself so she wouldn’t cry.

“Did Andrew die like Molly?” he asked.

At least she tried. The watershed of tears broke. “Yeah.”

“He was my best friend.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“Are you and daddy going to die too?”

The question pulverized her heart. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about, let alone speak. She had never considered what might happen if both of them died. She had always considered that Aidan’s conditions would take him first, but she never considered the possibility they might die before him, leaving him alone.

She pulled her son back into an embrace and closed her eyes. “Not for a very long time,” she whispered.

DAYS HAD PASSED since Andrew’s death and the uneasiness in the house hadn’t subsided. Many times, dinners were eaten in almost complete silence. Michael refused to eat anything he didn’t watch being prepared. He washed his own dish before serving any food. His behavior reminded her of Sean’s. She wondered if maybe the reason they had never gotten along was that they were so much alike.

She sometimes found herself looking out between the boards on the windows at the dead landscape, dreaming of green trees and the fresh scent of cut grass. The smell of burnt wood was continuous. The air tasted like used charcoal. Each glance outside reminded her of the new normal that had come upon them, without any option for escape. As far as she could see, the snow that was supposed to be white and pure was grimy, and the sun never shone. Nothing could change it.

And there were terrible dreams, always involving Sean, or at least some form of him. There was something different about him, in those dreams. It was as if she could see inside of him, saw his heart beating, but it was shriveled and the blood coursing through his veins was filled with a sickly, dark gray plaque. His eyes were black. Everyone was circled around the fireplace. Sean would brandish his pistol and aim down the sights. It was always Michael first. Right in the chest. Then he would shoot Kelly. Elise would rush toward Aidan as Sean aimed the gun at him, but she was always too late. She watched her son exhale his last before looking up to see Sean pointing the gun at her. She winced, shutting her eyes, and the light from the muzzle flash would pour over her closed eyelids, and she would wake up. She knew it was just a dream, but the emotion lingered into her waking hours.

Her stomach leaped when she saw Sean enter a room or if she spotted him with his axe coming in from chopping wood. They would lay next to one another at bedtime, and he would reach out and rub her back and neck. While her body enjoyed the sensation, her mind kept imagining him reaching up around her throat, taking it in his hand, compressing it. She tried to ignore the thoughts, but the harder she tried the more intense they became.

One morning, she watched Sean get up before dawn and dress himself to get the wood for the day. As soon as he was out the door, she rose, bundled up, and snuck out the garage door.

The garage was quiet except for the wind brushing against the siding outside. Her fogged breath swirled around in the still air. She considered turning back, talking to him at another time, like when he didn’t have a sharp weapon in his hand. She pressed on.

Each step signaled to her brain to turn around. She pulled the door open. The icy wind blasted against her face but died down. She took a few steps into the path Sean had shoveled out and patted down with his boots. It hadn’t snowed in a week, but it was perpetually cold and dreary. The sun hid behind low clouds.

A grunt rose in the distance followed by a dull, smashing thud. Her husband brought the axe down onto a log, and the two split pieces cracked open and flew in different directions. He lined another chunk of wood onto the block and slammed the blade through it.

All the moisture in her mouth had dried up. She inched closer to him, trying to make noise by kicking and crunching the snow. He was unpredictable when startled, and she didn’t want to get shot accidentally.

He split another log, grunting as he did it, and then rested his tool on the ground next to his body. He pulled his scarf down under his chin and blew a voluminous puff of vapor into the air. She edged closer, almost stomping, about fifteen feet from him. Finally, he turned toward her.

His eyebrows rose, and he looked around as if his mind switched into a different gear. “Babe, it isn’t your day to cut wood.”

She smiled under her bundled up scarf and came closer to him. “I wanted to see what you were doing,” she replied.

He planted the axe into the snow. “Chopping wood. Like always.”

He wasn’t buying the excuse. She looked around at the cords of wood stacked in rows and then to a tarp bursting with wood under it. Further beyond was a path into the forest where Sean had felled multiple trees with the electric chainsaw before the generator was taken. “I’m not sure we need to keep chopping more wood.”

“We always could use more,” he said, tilting his head. “You came out here to talk about chopping wood?”

She said nothing for a minute. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Well, I could have guessed that,” he said, picking up a few pieces of split wood and tossing them toward the tarp. “You could talk to me inside, you know?”

“I wanted some privacy.”

He froze for a second and then tossed another log. “Privacy.”

“I don’t know how to have this conversation, Sean, so please don’t make it harder than it has to.”

He straightened his upper body and put his hands on his hips. For a few moments, he looked toward the house, biting on his lip, and then looked to her. “You want to know if I did it.”

She tried to say something to balm the harshness of the question, but all that came out was, “Sean, I don’t—”

His nostrils emitted vapor as dark as smoke. “You think I did it?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“But you think I did it.”

“I’m not playing games with you, Sean. I don’t know.”

“Would you still love me if I said I did?”

Her tongue searched for moisture to soothe her parched throat but found none. “Did you?” she got out.

She looked into those dark eyes she had stared into so often and loved so deeply. Each second that passed was torture. She just wanted him to exclaim that he wasn’t capable of it, that her brother’s claims were all wrong. His eyes fixed on hers, like they were piercing through her.

“Did you do it?” she asked with more force.

“No.”

She examined his eyes for a few more seconds and then felt the weight from her shoulders lift, allowing them to relax. Her head dropped, her chin touching her chest. He wasn’t lying. She could always sense it, like his eyes were giving her a peek into his soul. He didn’t have his look—the one he had when he was lying.

She didn’t realize he had closed the gap between them, but soon he had his arms around her. She returned the hug, shedding tears while he stroked her back with his gloves, the swishing sound of synthetic fibers rubbing against one another filling her ears. Her body felt lighter than it had since the start of the disaster, like a storm had come and terrorized her, but had passed. Relief spread through her bones in the arms of her husband.

And that lasted a short while before the uneasiness returned. She pushed it down. Pushed it down and down and down.

Chapter 33

MICHAEL

MICHAEL LAY AWAKE staring at the ceiling as shadows from the fire danced around it. He hadn’t slept that night. In fact, he hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time for two straight weeks. Every time he grew relaxed, his body felt like it was falling, and he would jolt awake with terror pulsating through him. His first thought was always about Sean.

He imagined opening his eyes and looking down the barrel of Sean’s gun or Sean standing over him with an axe in hand. Every night, though, he would wake to find Sean in his sleeping bag or gone somewhere.

Sean had the upper hand. Elise refused to speak to Michael about it anymore, saying they couldn’t know what had caused Andrew’s death. Michael knew—teenagers don’t just die. Their throats don’t seal up for the hell of it. He was murdered, but until Elise saw the situation for what it was, Sean had control.

At least he thought he did.

Michael listened to the soft breathing and occasional snores of his family around him. He turned to look at his wife, resting under multiple layers of blankets. She had been through so much—more than he could imagine. She had been healing. Until Andrew died. Now she was back to not eating. If Sean had his way, she wouldn’t have a chance at recovery. At survival. No doubt in Michael’s mind. Sean would try something against him soon. And if he died, Kelly would no doubt follow. She didn’t deserve it, not after all she had been through. Not after being violated and then losing Molly.

He wouldn’t allow it.

Michael bided his time, the clock ticking away, using the quiet moments to build his courage. Elise wouldn’t understand why Sean had to die, but it didn’t matter. Kelly and his lives were more important. Elise and Aidan’s lives were more important. Sean had gotten a taste of blood, and now he wasn’t satisfied to let it end with just the attackers. Or the people lying in the snow pile out front. Or Andrew.

He could sense the sun rising in the thick clouds from the windows to the east. No direct sunshine, just a glow that let him know dawn had arrived. He had observed Sean’s routine for a week. Daylight would come, and Sean would rise. On the days nobody else was supposed to cut wood, he got up slowly and girded himself to endure the cold outside. It would be no different today.

Sean bent at the waist and stretched his arms. Michael kept his breath smooth and soft, flashing his eyelids open and closed to get a read on the situation. He did this every minute. Like a lagging video, he watched Sean tiptoe over Michael and Kelly toward the garage. Sean threw on a few of his underlayers before grabbing the soot-covered coat and pants just outside the door. He then shut it behind him.

Michael waited on the off-chance Sean came back. A minute passed. Two. Sean was usually out there for at least thirty minutes, so time was pressing. But patience was key. If Sean became suspicious, Michael would never get another opportunity.

He listened to his heart accelerating, trying to calm his fragile nerves by counting the seconds. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand. Each second bringing him closer to what he was going to do. When two minutes passed, he looked at the garage door. Shut.

Sean wasn’t coming back.

He pushed himself upwards and slipped out of his sleeping bag, noting if anyone else stirred. He kept his eye on Elise and Aidan mostly. They were closest to the stairs, and he would have to get over them without anyone waking. He could circle around the dining room and go through the kitchen, but the prevalence of creaking floorboards would guarantee someone would hear him if he went that way.

Nevertheless, each step caused a faint creak, Michael wincing at the noises. He powered through the discomfort. When he reached Elise, he looked down at her, her mouth open and wafting toxic morning breath into the air. He placed his right foot over her sleeping bag and shifted his weight onto it. No reaction. He brought his feet together. Nothing happened.

Emboldened, he crept toward the staircase and started up. The stairs were the creakiest of all. So, he kept his feet on the very edges, his left next to the wall and his right near the railing. Each step emitted a muffled noise, but it was deep in the wood, and he was convinced he was the only person hearing it. After a minute, he was at the top.

He slid into Aidan’s bedroom and froze. The rifle Sean had set up, jammed into the homemade wooden vice, hung on the window. The stock, heavier than the barrel, tipped down toward the floor and the barrel pointed outside at the sky. A bar stool sat just in front, beckoning him to sit. To do the deed. Suddenly, everything felt very real, and his gut twisted. He stared at the weapon, trying to convince himself not to do it. He dismissed the thoughts and approached it without breathing.

The window allowed him to see most of the backyard, minus a small thatch of roof covering the garage entry and part of the yard. The view allowed him to see Sean’s chopping block, but the tarp where he stored the wood was behind the roof. The block was less than a fifty-yard shot. Easy enough—he had been practicing like Sean had asked. Easy if he didn’t think too hard about what he was doing.

He settled onto the seat and took a few deep breaths, pulling the rifle up and pressing the stock against his shoulder. Rogue thoughts told him to stop what he was doing—that it was wrong. It was a sin to kill. They continued to pester him, but he ignored them. He blinked and thought about his family downstairs—not just his wife, but Elise and Aidan. They wouldn’t last against Sean without Michael doing something. He had to take care of the problem even if it made him unpopular. Even if it was hard. He could answer for his actions later. But not if Sean killed him first.

He tipped the rifle downward and angled it toward the chopping block. He leaned his dominant eye in front of the scope and paused. Nothing. No Sean. Panic seized him. For another minute, he looked around but saw nothing except the soot covered landscape and bare trees swaying in the icy wind. He shot up from his chair, his hand gripping the butt of the rifle to keep it level, and looked out the window over the vice. Nothing.

A noise caused him to twist around. He imagined Sean marching up to him, pistol in hand, blowing his head off right there in Aidan’s room. He tugged on the gun, but it was clamped in the mount, unmovable. He had nothing to defend himself with, except for the shotgun downstairs that he hadn’t brought, if it was even still loaded. Not that there was time to get it if Sean was already aware of his plan.

He looked back toward the yard, hoping Sean was only adjusting the woodpile under the tarp. The minutes dragged on. No sound from the stairs or the first floor. “Come on,” he whispered.

He looked over his shoulder again. Nothing. When he brought the gun’s sight back over the yard, a dark figure stepped into view. Sean walking toward the chopping block.

Adrenaline surged. He put his eye behind the scope and tracked the man. Pulled back on the rifle’s bolt action and leaned his head over to watch a brass round feed into the chamber. Looked down the scope. As he steadied the crosshairs over Sean’s body, Sean grabbed a chunk of wood and placed it on the trunk. He wiggled the axe free and let it rest on the ground.

Michael only had one opportunity. One shot. If he missed, Sean would be back in the garage within seconds—and probably coming to kill him after that. Michael paused, the bead holding steady between Sean’s shoulder blades, his finger wrapping against the trigger, trying to hold it still despite his trembling, pressing his palm against the side of the gun to steady it. He was about to take a man’s life, and once he pulled the trigger there was no going back. Either Sean died, or Michael did. No other way.

He lifted his head. Taking in one more deep breath and holding it, he kept the crosshairs on Sean. He felt a resistance at the trigger like a wedge had been shoved behind it. Do it, he told himself. Do it. Do it. Do—

The gun popped and kicked against his shoulder. Smoke rose from the barrel and was stolen by the wind outside. Everything blurred. He pulled his head back from the gun and took his hands off it, the weapon thudding to its resting position. His body shuddered. He laced his fingers behind his neck and sucked in air as if he couldn’t get a breath.

A thought. A realization. He didn’t know if he had hit him. Didn’t know if Sean was dead.

He jumped back into the seat and hoped his stupidity hadn’t cost him another shot. He leaned the rifle back. Sean’s body lay face down next to the stump, a spring of blood erupting from the center of his jacket. Michael pulled his head back and shook it. He returned his eye to the scope and saw Sean’s arm move. Watched him reach up toward the stump and pull himself closer to it.

The thought never crossed his mind that the first bullet might not kill him. Bullets kill. One should have been enough. More shots were required, but he hadn’t prepared himself to take them.

He steadied his hand and pulled the bolt back, and a hot shell ejected from the side of the rifle. He pushed the next round into the chamber, locked the bolt forward, and aimed down the scope again. He looped his finger against the trigger. Aimed for Sean’s head this time. Sean scarcely moved below, only making an inch of progress toward the stump before stopping and resting. Michael squeezed the trigger.

The gun popped and the wood above Sean’s head exploded into a puff of splinters. Sean flinched and looked as though he was trying to turn around. Michael discarded the shell and put another round into the chamber. He didn’t even think the third time. Just acted. He fired again, and the bullet hit Sean in the back. His limbs went limp and sank into the snow. Michael waited. Sean’s head had collapsed onto the base of the tree trunk, unmoving. He had done it. Sean was dead. Kelly was safe. Elise and Aidan were safe.

He was safe.

And he had just killed someone.

The sounds erupted from downstairs as if the whole time he had been in a bubble that just burst. He heard a woman’s voice.

Elise.

“What’s going on?” she yelled from downstairs.

He staggered off the stool and into the hallway. He threw up. Gagged once more and threw up again. His ears were still ringing with the sound of gunshots. He felt like the room was tilting, as if the world were inverting. He reminded himself that he had needed to do it. Needed to.

No choice.

With his hand running across the wall to keep his balance, he made it to the stairs. They expanded and contracted in his vision. He shook his head, gripped the railing, and descended one long step at a time, unsure if his knees would buckle and he would tumble down. He kept himself steady.

When he got to the bottom, Elise was already there. His vision had stabilized, but he struggled to keep the scant contents in his stomach from rising up his throat again. Aidan was in her arms, his fingers shoved in his ears. He didn’t blame the kid for being scared. Every gunshot since this thing started brought new terrors, new pains. This one would be the worst of them. He remembered losing his own dad, how it hollowed out a piece of him he could never quite replace. He promised himself that he would be there just like a father for the kid. He owed him that much.

“Was that you shooting?” Elise asked, frantic.

Michael walked around her, moving her to the side with his forearm.

“Michael, is Sean upstairs? Did he shoot someone else?”

He went to the shotgun, lifted it from the ground, turned it to the side, and pulled the action back. The sound cut through the room, and he looked back at his panicked sister. He turned and walked toward the garage.

“Michael,” she shouted. “Michael, what’s going on? That was gunshots. Did Sean shoot someone else?”

Sean would shoot no one again.

He stomped toward the garage and slipped his boots on, not stopping to tie them. He leaned the gun on the wall and put his coat on. Picking his weapon back up, he turned toward Elise, feeling sorry for her, thinking about how this would crush her. He couldn’t imagine losing Kelly. But some things had to be done.

He flung the door open and rushed into the chilly garage amidst the screams from Elise for him to talk to her, to say something. He ignored her. He approached the closed backdoor to the garage. The doorknob was freezing cold. He pulled it toward himself, opening the view of the backyard. Including Sean’s unmoving body.

He took one cautious step forward, raised the shotgun toward it, and then took another. Sean lay just twenty feet ahead of him. He inched across the snow that Sean had packed down and cleared. The air pricked at his face and ears. Mild gusts of wind. Everything seemed calm except the rush of blood to his head and a chill running through his body, knowing he was about to face the man he had killed.

Snow and ice crackled under his boots, one agonizing step after the next. The area around the body was speckled with blood, and the base of the trunk was stained red. The holes in Sean’s back steamed. Michael adjusted his grip on the shotgun. He needed to see. Needed to face what he did.

“Michael,” he heard Elise scream behind him, “what are you doing?”

He came upon the body and paused. The man’s limbs rested against the wood in the most unnatural of positions, one arm below his body and the other reaching out for something. Michael lowered his weapon.

“Michael,” Elise yelled from the garage.

He bent at his waist and put his hand on Sean’s shoulder, ready to turn him over.

Elise called out, “Michael, where’s Kelly?”

He froze, his hand gripped around a shoulder that should have been broader, sturdier. His eyes shifted and for the first time he noticed the blonde strands of hair rising out of the hood of the coat, tossed up and blown about in the wind.

Chapter 34

SEAN

A MIND THAT fails to plan, plans to fail, so the adage goes. Michael was never much of a planner. If he hadn’t been at Sean’s house the moment of the disaster, he would have been dead long ago. But luck was good to him, and so he survived the last six months because of a man who did plan. Sean always anticipated—never reacted. Men lose their cool when they’re reacting, so he decided early to be proactive.

Michael had never understood that. He was always reactive. It didn’t matter that Michael was trying to turn Elise against him, because by the time Michael realized the threat, Sean was already way ahead. She was always the glue of the family, the bridge between everyone. Whoever won the heart of Elise, won it all. Always the way it was. So Sean just needed to convince her to look past his transgressions. Until she understood.

But Michael was too busy reacting. So his plans failed.

Sean stuck the axe into the stump when he felt his phone vibrate. The attackers had taken the generator, but the solar panels and batteries kept him with just enough juice to keep his essential devices going strong. He knew why it had vibrated before he looked at the screen. He darted into the garage, set his rifle against the wall, bit his glove at the fingers, pulled it off, and then swiped at the phone. The bluetooth video feed he had set up in Aidan’s room played back to him with a new image every five seconds. He watched Michael take a seat behind the gun. The sneaky bastard. He expected less subtlety from Michael—like using the shotgun in the living room. That was Michael’s style. The rifle in Aidan’s bedroom was the method he was sure Michael wouldn’t go for. But, Sean planned. And so he didn’t fail.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket. Michael would hear him coming up the stairs, and if he could get the gun free from the mount on the window, then Sean would walk into danger. It was a slim chance, but he didn’t want to take the risk. Ideas jetted back and forth in his brain before it settled on one.

It wasn’t the way he wanted things to happen—the very idea made him sick to his stomach. But things needed to be done sometimes. Things he wasn’t necessarily comfortable with. He thought through the plan. It could work, but it was risky. Though not riskier than facing Michael head-on. That might get them both killed. The entire thing knotted up his stomach.

But Michael had forced his hand.

He hurried into the house without making a sound, sneaking in on his toes. His garb would make an astute mind question what was happening, but his target wasn’t all that astute. He felt bad for Kelly. She had experienced the worst of everything this whole ordeal offered and was still alive. Her life, though, would be over soon. Even if she held on a little while longer, once the food situation got truly dire, she would be the first to go. She barely weighed over ninety pounds and was deteriorating more each day. Starvation was a terrible way to die, and he was sparing her from it.

That’s what he told himself. That it was merciful.

He crept up next to her and shook her shoulder. She resisted waking at first but looked up at him after a few seconds. He pulled his scarf down and smiled at her. Pressed his finger against his lips. Motioned with his head for her to follow. She clearly didn’t understand, and so he motioned again. Kelly always expected the best in everyone. She was a sweet woman. But she was still living as if the ash hadn’t fallen—under the old code of things. She was trusting. So trusting.

She got out of her sleeping bag and followed his lead by sneaking around toward the garage door. She grabbed her coat and hat and gloves and cracked the door open. With a confused look, she went out into the cold air before him. Sean grabbed another coat from the couch before slipping through the door and shutting it behind him.

Kelly was sliding into her jacket and gloves. “Put my coat over yours. It’s freezing this morning,” he whispered. She paused, Sean removing his jacket and handing it to her. “You ready to learn?” he said, flashing a smile.

She slid his coat overtop her other one. “Learn what?”

He looked at her, dumfounded. “Michael didn’t tell you?”

She shook her head.

He sighed. “I’ve been thinking, I might not be around forever. Things happen. I think it’d be good if everyone knew how to chop wood, not just me and Elise and Michael.”

Sean pulled the other coat onto his shoulders. It was a lot thinner than his other one, but it didn’t matter. It only had to shield him from the elements long enough. Just long enough. “I should have told you myself. I thought he—I thought he told you.”

“He never told me anything.” She paused. “What’s going on, Sean?”

He blinked. They stared at one another for a few seconds, listening to the wind outside. “You need to know how to chop wood. It’s a very important—”

“I don’t want to die.” She looked down at the ground and then up to him. “I don’t.”

He smiled. Thought he was selling it. “What are you talking about?”

She looked to the side and back to him. “I’ll scream.”

He held his gaze on her and pounced. She didn’t see it coming, so by the time she could start yelling, it was too late. He sealed his hand around her mouth and peddled her back against the work bench. She screamed into his palm and coated it in warmth, the muffled sound eclipsed by the wind. She slapped his arms, but it was like taking blows from a child. With one hand, he grabbed a roll of duct tape, bit down on a corner, ripped a length, and tore it off. He stuck it to the end of the bench and looked Kelly in the eyes. Tears streamed down her face into his fingers. He said, “Please, Kelly. Stop. Kelly.”

She stopped screaming into his hand, but her body shook.

“I’m going to take my hand off.”

She nodded.

“Please don’t scream, okay? Please.”

She nodded, and he released his hand.

“Why?” she asked.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” she said, a tear dropping from her eye. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m doing nothing. I just need you to walk outside. That’s it.”

She swallowed. “Who gave you the right to do this?”

“Do what?”

“Decide if I should live or die.”

He stopped and bowed his head before raising it. “I wish it was some other way. But it’s what seems best to me.”

“What seems best to you? That’s it? Just because you feel it doesn’t mean it’s right.”

He said nothing.

“What you feel is wrong.”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

She blinked. More tears. “Oh, God. I’m not ready, I’m not—”

He snapped the tape from the workbench and pressed it onto her mouth. She started to scream just before he got it on, but the sound didn’t last long. She slapped at his arms, and he grabbed her wrists. “Stop. If you just do what I ask, it’ll be over quickly. Put your hood up.”

She sniffled and pulled the hood of his jacket over her head and looked back at him, her eyes red and puffed.

“I’m sorry, Kelly. You’ve been—you’ve been great to Aidan. And to Molly. I’m sorry. But everyone dies one day. Just know you’re helping Aidan—right now—listen, right now you’re helping him live as long as possible. If you just do like I ask, I promise you won’t suffer. I promise.”

Though he couldn’t keep that promise. It all depended on Michael’s aim. He puffed up the jacket on her shoulders and said, “You’re going to walk out to the stump. Put a chunk of wood on it, but don’t try to cut it. Just take the axe in your hand. Be very still and face away from the house, okay? If you don’t, I can’t guarantee the first shot will end it.”

She pleaded with her eyes.

“I’m sorry, okay? Don’t be scared. It’ll be like going to sleep.”

He picked up the rifle he had set on the wall earlier. He pulled the garage door open and tilted his head out the door, not meeting her eye. “Come on. Go.”

She listened. As she made the slow walk across the icy, dark snow, Sean lagged behind, stepping out only far enough so that his back was to the side of the garage. He slid along it away from the door, his rifle close to his chest and his knees bent. Kelly kept going. If she turned around, he would have to shoot her himself.

The thoughts came then. For a second Sean couldn’t breathe, watching her walk to her death, his own justifications growing weaker in his mind. Don’t do this. It must be done. You can still pull her back. He’ll see you. No, he won’t. Michael might kill you first. Not like this. Not like this.

Don’t think.

Sean grunted, slipped around the corner of the garage, and backtracked a few feet toward a fallen tree. Only some of it was left; he had hacked most of it for firewood, but it was a good vantage point of the backyard. And a good spot to hide behind. He planted his knees into the snow and brought his rifle over the top. Lowered his body, flipping up the two covers on both ends of his scope and positioning his phone on the log in front of him.

Kelly had the axe now. She placed a block of wood onto the cutting stump. Something was wrong. She was staying still, but every passing second made Sean wonder what Michael was thinking. He watched on the screen while Michael sat at the gun, looking down the mounted rifle scope. The shot had been in Michael’s crosshairs for a while now. Perhaps, he had overestimated Michael’s resolve. Sean kept his eyes darting between the screen and Kelly when—

A rifle popped.

Surprised, Sean ducked down below the plane of the fallen log. He knew Michael couldn’t see him, but the sudden rush blurred his reality. Slowly, he raised his head back up over the log, almost expecting to be shot. His shock waned, and he brought his eye back to the scope.

Kelly was squirming on the ground. Sean grunted. The least Michael could do was finish it. It was the merciful thing to do. He was tempted to do it himself, but the illusion had to be sustained. Michael needed to think he had won.

The wood exploded over Kelly’s head, but this time Sean was ready for it. He winced but kept his scope steady on her. She squirmed, almost as if she were trying to turn around. Sean whispered for Michael to just end it already. She had suffered enough. When her back popped and blood shot into the air, he knew Michael had done it. Her limbs flopped and sank to the ground, lifeless.

Sean waited, releasing a sigh. He scarcely had the will to look at Kelly’s body, but he forced himself to. Told himself that it was for the best. That she would not have made it anyway.

The most dangerous part of his plan was now in play. There was no guessing what Michael would do. He might stick around inside, or he might venture out to check the body. There was no way of knowing. If Sean barged inside, Michael might be waiting with an ambush. If he stayed outside too long, he could freeze.

He stayed put. It seemed like the best idea. He waited, listening for the garage door to open and Michael to walk out onto the charcoal snow. He wouldn’t even know what hit him. Before he even made it to the body, he would be dead.

Minutes passed. It became increasingly likely in Sean’s mind that he would have to kill Michael inside. He weighed the options. Sure, it meant another bloodstain on his carpet, but he could live with that. His family would finally be safe. Their future would be secure.

His joints cracked as he rose from his position. He got up but heard something. He paused, listening, sinking back behind the fallen log, Michael’s shape creeping closer toward Kelly’s body in the corner of his eye. Sean set his rifle back into position.

Michael’s pace was glacial. Sean would have it done before he ever reached his wife’s body. He looked down the scope and put the crosshair onto Michael’s side. Michael just needed to angle a bit more toward the chopping block and Sean would have a clean shot. Michael did as Sean had expected. He turned toward Kelly’s body and picked up his pace, holding the shotgun from the living room. Almost to the body.

Sean held his breath to steady his shot. None of his nerves fired. His mind was relaxed.

“Michael!”

Elise. Somewhere inside.

He lifted his eyes and brought them back to the scope, grunting soft and low. Michael reached down toward the body. Sean gritted his teeth and lined up the shot.

“Michael, where’s Kelly?”

Michael pulled his wife’s shoulder, her body rolling to the side. He screamed and dropped to his knees. Sean lost the shot. The shotgun tumbled to the side, and Michael wrapped his hands around the back of his head and then grabbed at his wife’s body, shaking it and crying out her name. Sean tried to keep his bead steady, but Michael picked her up into his arms and rocked her back and forth, his movement erratic. When Michael finally paused, Sean squeezed the trigger.

Michael fell like he had been hit with a wrecking ball. Sean jumped over the log, keeping his rifle level with the ground, crunching the deep snow around him. There were only thirty yards between them. His steps were large. He came upon Michael, wiggling around on his back, blood pumping out of his upper abdomen, gasping.

Michael reached out for the shotgun next to him.

Sean said, “I took the powder out of the shells weeks ago. Save your energy.”

Michael’s hand gripped at the snow, and he yelled, either in pain or frustration. Sean didn’t know. “You son of a bitch,” Michael said in between gasping breaths. “You killed her.”

“I killed her?” Sean said, standing over him.

“You motherfucker,” he cried.

Sean said nothing.

“You, you motherf—” he said and coughed up blood.

“What did you think would happen? Did you honestly think I wouldn’t know what you were planning?”

“You killed her.”

“I wish it hadn’t gone down this way.”

“How could—? Oh, God.”

Sean looked out into the woods and then back to Michael. “You never understood how this was all going to play out. You thought you could make a clever little plan and that it’d be enough.”

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“With me?” Sean said, leaning down and putting the strap of his rifle around his shoulder. He reached around his belt and slid his pistol out, setting his other hand on Michael’s heaving chest. “I just figured it out before you did, Michael. Before anyone did. When God has abandoned everything—there’s just survival. The only thing that matters is keeping what I care about alive.” Sean stood up and aimed the pistol at Michael’s chest, right above his heart. “And today, I’m making sure that happens.”

He squeezed the trigger, and it was done. Finally done. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat, looking between the two bodies. Thought of the months of food he had bought his family. It wasn’t for nothing.

He turned toward the garage to see his wife on her knees in the doorway, hand clasped over her mouth. He had thought she was still inside.

She would understand one day, he thought. Not right then, but one day. She would see he wasn’t a monster. In time, she would see. And even if she didn’t, she would come to understand. The human heart was like that.

So easily convinced.

Chapter 35

ELISE

ELISE STUMBLED BACK into the living room, collapsing to her knees, reaching out for anything to stabilize herself. Her vision blurred as if her eyes were going cross.

He killed them. Both of them. She grabbed her chest. The image replayed: her brother flipping over his dead wife.

He killed them both.

He murdered them.

At any moment, he would bust through the door with his rifle, take aim at her, and cover the carpet with her brains. Now hyperventilating, she crawled forward on her hands and knees.

Her son stood in the center of the room, still in his pajamas. He was such a small kid—tiny for his age, really. He didn’t deserve to die. Not without the opportunity to grow up. Not at the hands of his own father.

Not like Molly.

She scurried to him, taking his small hands into hers, whispering, “Sweetie, I need you to listen to me.”

“What’s going on?”

“There’s just some issues we need to work out. Grown-up things.”

“What happened with Uncle Mike?”

“Sweetheart, you need to listen to me very carefully, okay?”

He nodded.

She thrust a thick blanket into his arms. “We’re going to play a game. You go upstairs and hide anywhere you want. And hide really good. Do your best, okay? And don’t come out unless I come get you.”

“You’re scaring me.”

She cupped his face and kissed his forehead. “Don’t be scared. Just go. Go right now.”

Aidan nodded and went. He looked back at his mother, and she motioned for him to get going.

Her thoughts flashed back to what Michael had said—his warnings. The warnings she didn’t heed. She tried to control her breathing. Aidan’s feet disappeared above the plane of the ceiling when she heard the garage door, loud and clunky, shift open. She yelped, twisting around, sitting on the floor, resting her back against the broadside of the couch.

“Calm down,” her husband’s stern voice said.

Her hands shot into the air. Sean came out into the living room. He had shed his coat and most of his ashen clothes, but a few specks of blood dotted his face. “Put your hands down. I don’t have a gun,” he said.

She hadn’t even noticed. Her arms settled downward. “You killed them.”

“Michael was trying to kill me.”

She lowered her voice, thinking Aidan might hear. “You’re a liar. Kelly’s out there too.”

He took a step closer to her. She got up and stepped back in equal measure. He licked the inside of his cheek and put his hands up as if in surrender. “Elise, you need to listen to me.”

“Listen to you how? So you can tell me you didn’t mean it? That you were just defending your home?”

“I was defending my home. Your brother wanted me dead.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

“Did you kill Andrew?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Did you?”

“No,” Sean yelled, rubbing his face from brow to chin, calming himself. “I don’t know what happened to him, okay? I swear to you. I swear.”

His expression almost made her believe it. She wanted to believe him. They had so much history. Three wonderful kids, two taken way too soon. Almost twenty years of love and intimacy she couldn’t just disregard. And yet… “I saw what happened.”

“Come on, Elise.”

“No,” she said, taking another step back and pointing a finger at him. “My brother’s blood is all over your face and both of them are dead. My brother—” She stopped and blinked. Her brother. He was really gone. “Why’d you do it?”

“He was going to shoot me.”

She didn’t believe him. Michael talked a big game, but she had never believed for a moment that he would do it. He wasn’t the type. Yet, he had come downstairs after the gunshot, not saying anything to her. She asked herself why he had been silent. Michael had shot at someone—the noise had come from upstairs. But he didn’t shoot Sean. Her jaw dropped slack. “You dressed Kelly up like you.”

“Wait, now. Stop. That’s not what happened.”

“You made Michael kill her.”

“That’s not what happened,” he said, angrier.

“She was wearing your coat, Sean.”

“I know what it looks like.”

“What is it then? What is it?”

“I got up this morning,” he said, “and I was suiting up in the garage when she came out. I asked what was going on, and she said she wanted to talk privately. I needed to gather wood, so I said we could talk while I worked.”

“She was wearing your coat, Sean.”

“I’m getting to that. She was cold—shaking. So I gave her mine. I went inside to get my other one. I said I would be right back, and she put it on.”

“You’re a liar.”

“Elise, I grabbed my other coat and was about to walk outside from the garage not a minute later and I heard a gunshot. I looked outside. I still had the coat in my hand and then Michael shot her again. There was nothing I could do. I swear.”

A tear rolled down her cheek.

“Michael thought it was me. He thought he was taking care of me.”

She clenched her fists and then slowly released the tension. The pieces seemed to come together, but she didn’t want to believe it. It was too neat. Too reasonable. Yet, she looked into the eyes of the man she loved, saw the sincerity there, saw how he wasn’t deflecting. He could be—

He said, “So I grabbed my rifle and I hid in the woods. I thought he might come out to finish me off, so I hid.”

“Finish you off with the shotgun.”

He nodded. “Elise, I did what I thought I needed to do. He was going to kill me.”

“He’s my brother, Sean.”

Sean said nothing for a while. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Her cheeks were streaked with cold tears. As he placed his hands on her face, she stopped resisting and put her hands over his fingers. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“He was my brother,” she said, spittle flying from her mouth as she cried. “He’s gone.”

He pulled her close. Her body collapsed into his, but he held her up and allowed her to wail. She wondered how she could live with so much death, when safety was just an illusion and there was no hope for anything better. No hope of sunshine or green grass. No hope for spring to remove all that black, blood-stained snow outside. No hope for a life where betrayal and lies didn’t put people into the ground.

She dreamed of a better world and prayed for God to end the one she was in now.

ELISE WOKE IN a cold sweat. Under an array of sleeping bags and thick blankets, she should have been roasting, but her skin was cold and clammy. The walls and the ceiling seemed to move in toward her. She took in a stuttering breath.

She rarely left the living room or the kitchen. The air never changed, always smoky and hazy. When she opened her eyes, she swore she could feel every millimeter of her eyeball pulsating. She rolled over.

Her head throbbed so badly that even the dim light made it feel like lit gasoline was being poured into the curves and valleys of her brain. She closed her eyelids and tried to ignore the pain, but it didn’t yield even for a moment. She couldn’t get her brother and sister-in-law off her mind. She missed the conversations she and Kelly had been having. Some days, she would hear a man’s voice and her heart would leap, thinking it was Michael. But it wasn’t. She’d never hear that voice again.

Sometimes, she would follow the voice and find Sean playing with their son. He would look up at her and smile, but something in his eyes didn’t fit into place. Every day she watched him. He had great sincerity in those eyes, but there were moments, fleeting moments, where there was something else—a flash of calculation like a mathematical formula was running through his head. It was the worst when they ate dinner. For the first minute, he would watch her and Aidan eat. No words. Just watching. As if they were chewing what little he had left.

The headache persisted, so she got up and went toward the stairs. There were a lot of medicines closer in the reserves, but that was off-limits. God forbid Sean catch her there.

She snatched a flashlight off the coffee table and tiptoed toward the stairs when something behind her hissed. Her chest tightened, Elise spinning around and pointing the flashlight at Sean, sitting with his upper body sticking out of the sleeping bag. He put his hand up to block the light, and she diverted it away. Sean never left her alone for more than a few minutes. He was always asking where she was going, what she was doing, and why. Always hovering.

“Where’re you going?” he whispered.

“I have a headache.”

“There are pills downstairs.”

“I don’t want to search for them.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, I don’t want Aidan to wake up and find nobody here.”

“I can get them.”

That was it. He was trying to be nice, to help. “I’ll be back in less than five minutes. Don’t worry.”

He nodded and slipped back into his sleeping bag. Though the conversation was over, she felt his eyes on her back.

Always watching.

With her hand against the wall and the flashlight like a spotlight in the dark hallway, she rounded the top of the stairs and entered the bathroom. She planted her hands on the sink. Every few seconds the pain flooded into her temples and receded. She shifted over to the wooden cabinet and opened its small doors. When she brought the light up into it, she had to recoil at the sudden brightness.

She set the flashlight on the sink pointed toward the wall, grabbed at the bottle of extra strength pain killers, popped off the top, and put a few into her hand. She looked down at them and poured out a few more. One by one, she popped them into her mouth and swallowed them with her spit. Then she put the bottle back.

Movement. She sensed the flashlight tipping off the side of the sink. The light flashed across the wall as it started to fall. She took in a sharp breath, reaching out and bumping the cabinet, and grabbed the handle with her fingertips just as it was about to crack against the ground. She exhaled and heard the rattling of a pill bottle falling onto the floor. “Crap,” she said, expecting there to be pills everywhere.

Instead, just one bottle lay on the floor, unopened. She sighed with relief and bent down to pick it up. A prescription bottle. She had expected it to be Sean’s sleeping pills, which they kept in the cabinet, but it wasn’t.

She flashed the light on it, peering into the clear bottle from the back. Aidan’s seizure medication. She said a silent prayer that he would not need to use them again and paused. Her heart leaped, and her stomach dropped. Six pills. There couldn’t be just six left. She opened the cap as quietly as she could and looked into it.

Six.

She thought hard to Aidan’s last seizure. She was sure there were seven left. Seven. She was misremembering. Had to be. She forgot numbers sometimes. But she remembered talking with Sean in the basement afterwards. He said there were seven.

Seven.

Her head pounded even harder. Her legs wobbled like she was standing during an earthquake. Wincing, she turned the label over. Read it. She sealed her inner elbow against her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. Her eyes widened, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

The label explained what the doctor had told them: Don’t take a pill unless Aidan’s had a seizure. Side effects if taken at any time other than during a seizure: major organ failure and swelling of the throat.

Suffocation.

Chapter 36

SEAN

ELISE WAS BUYING it. It was important that she did. Life would be a lot harder if she didn’t. They needed stability, firm ground on which they could navigate into the future.

Sean wanted her to see his dedication—his willingness to do what was necessary to keep his family alive, his love for her and Aidan. He took great pains to spend more time with them, which he enjoyed, but kept him from doing other vital tasks. She needed to see that they were his priorities. Sure, he needed to quantify the food supply and chop more wood and do repairs around the home and sort seeds and start projects, but she needed to know he was focused on them. Focused on keeping his wife on his side.

Not that he fully trusted her. The key to the gun safe always stayed in his pocket and the shells for the shotgun were all empty. He was no fool. The security camera for the rifle in Aidan’s room still ran every moment he was outside. She was on his side, believing his dedication to her. But there was no point in taking careless risks.

He spent the afternoon shoveling away snow from his raised garden beds and planting mason jars filled with water into the soil—a technique that might allow them to grow food even with winter weather. If the sun ever came out to warm the ground. He came inside to a quiet home. Eerily quiet. Reached around his waistband for his gun. Edged closer to the living room. The fire crackled and the smell of steak, a familiar but almost forgotten scent, grew stronger.

He leaned his head into the living room to find his wife bent over the fire with a cast iron skillet set atop the smoldering coals. The rich scent of butter and pepper wafted toward him and filled his nostrils. It was steak.

“What is this?” he asked, his jaw dropped.

“What does it look like?” she said, straightening up.

Her clothes were nicer than usual. While she had matching under-layers and no exposed skin except her hands and head, she wore a red cotton dress that cut off just above her knees. She had on two sparkling earrings, and a gold necklace hung from her neck. With the fire backlighting her hair, she looked dazzling. “Wow,” he said.

She smiled. “Thanks.”

He looked back and forth from the food to his wife. The feeling was foreign. While the air was cold and a little smoky, it was as if he had stepped back in time, before the chaos happened. To a time of luxurious smells, of calm assurance. She dipped back toward the fire, slipping a mitt on her hand before pulling the skillet away. She removed the steaks, butter bubbling across their surfaces, and put them on plates.

“Where did you get steak?” he asked.

“I’ve been keeping a frozen packet under the deck since we lost power,” she said.

“You’ve been hiding food?”

“Just this. I thought I would save it for a special day.”

“A special day?”

She smiled. “Sean, it’s our anniversary.”

He rubbed his bearded cheek and chuckled.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to know what day it is.”

He had looked at the farmer’s almanac every day to reference the temperature. He knew what the day was—God, early May. His anniversary hadn’t even registered.

“Stop frowning,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to remember.”

“Where’s Aidan?”

“I sent him upstairs to play. I set up the last propane heater to keep him warm and told him not to come down unless he was bleeding or the house was burning down.”

He smiled, though his mind was so busy analyzing his next move it was shutting down from the traffic. So when she spoke, her voice seemed to emerge out of nowhere. “You all right?”

He didn’t plan for this. “I just feel like an idiot.”

“I just cooked us steak in butter. We should enjoy it.”

“Babe, this is too extravagant.”

“We need to feel normal for once,” she said, her voice catching. She wiped her eyes. Genuine emotion there. Genuine love.

All he ever wanted from her.

He thought of what he might get out of the evening, looking down at the steak, pulling Elise into his arms. A good meal. Maybe a little action. His loins stiffened at the thought. That would be better. The best was that she trusted him. He needed that more than anything.

She motioned for him to take a seat at the coffee table. He pulled a pillow from the couch, set it on the ground, and planted his knees on it. He watched as she went back and forth from the kitchen. First, she set out a few napkins. On the next trip out, she carried two clear water glasses.

His stomach sank, but he didn’t show it. She placed one in front of him and another next to her own plate, and he smiled back at her. “This smells amazing.”

“Thanks,” she said and disappeared around the corner.

His smile faded as soon as she was out of sight. If this was a game, it wouldn’t work. He swapped the drinks. That would not happen. Not now. Never again.

A second later, she rounded the end of the couch, setting salt and pepper shakers on the table, grabbed her own pillow, and got on her knees in front of the food. He downed half the glass from his new water and smiled at her, just to let her know he trusted her.

Always multiple steps ahead.

She extended her hand out to him, and he took it. Another prayer. He didn’t understand how she couldn’t see that there was no God anymore. He was gone. Only a sadistic being would leave His creation without sunshine so that everything would eventually die and everyone would starve.

But he took her hand anyway. Appearances. She bowed her head and thanked her God for the steak. He bowed along just so she wouldn’t say anything about it. When she finished her prayer, she clapped her hands together and said, “Let’s eat.”

He took his fork and knife and separated the first piece from the rest of the slab. It was a deep red and steamed as he cut it. A good medium-rare. Perfect. He skewered the meat with his fork and placed the morsel into his mouth.

His face twisted. He knew the meat had been frozen, but it was bland, all pepper but not savory. “Did you salt this?” he asked.

She looked at him as if he had interrupted her greatest moment of ecstasy. “Yeah. Does it not taste good?”

He told her it was fine, even though it tasted like dog food. “Just needs a little more salt.”

He grabbed the salt shaker and covered his steak. Popped another chunk into his mouth. The luscious, salty flavor washed over his tongue. Now he was in ecstasy.

“Better?” she asked, looking hopeful.

“Much better.”

“I hoped so,” she said and took another bite.

Chapter 37

ELISE

ELISE STUCK THE disgusting slice of meat into her mouth and faked as if it were the best thing she had ever tasted. She chewed, even moaned, but she was just trying to get it down.

She had to act like she wasn’t doing the hardest thing she had ever done in her life, but it needed to be done. Michael had been right. Sean wasn’t the same man she had married. He wasn’t even the same man who had protected them from the intruders. What he was now was a shell with everything inside rotting. That didn’t give her a right to kill him, but she saw no other choice.

Sean told her with confidence that the three of them had a food supply that would last them at least a year. He made it that way. He murdered Andrew, poisoning him and allowing his windpipe to collapse. Used the medicine designed to stabilize a seizure and relax his son’s body so it didn’t become so stressed that his brain had an aneurism. But when someone wasn’t having a seizure attack, it could stop the major organs from functioning. Sean knew this, and he used that knowledge to murder the boy.

One day, the food would get really low. He wasn’t the kind of man anymore to sacrifice his wellbeing for anything. He would kill them, she was sure. First, he would start with her and then he would kill his son. She knew it wouldn’t be cruel in how he did it, not like making Michael kill his wife, but death was death. As much as she looked forward to Heaven, she couldn’t imagine leaving her son back on Earth, alone, among all the destruction and death. In danger from his own father.

She still loved the man in front of her, or maybe the man he used to be, but she knew he didn’t love her the same way anymore. He loved the idea of her, and when that idea became irreconcilable in his plan for survival, she would be disposable. She knew that. She knew.

She knew.

She ate another chunk of steak and watched her husband chew. Sean always liked his meat salty. He sprinkled a little more onto his steak and took another bite, savoring it. Most men don’t get to die eating steak. It was a better death than her brother got.

He had switched the waters earlier. She planned for that. There was a small hairline crack near the top of the spiked glass, so she knew which was which. He took a sip from it. It was good that he was drinking it, but she had alternatives if he didn’t. It was a shell game. Put the water out first, and he would be so occupied with it, he wouldn’t consider the other options she might use.

Like putting crushed pills into the salt shaker.

Sean had thought of himself as steps ahead. She had to be better. As hard as that was.

Her husband pulled up his napkin and wiped the meat juice off the corners of his lips. “This might be the best thing I have ever tasted,” he said.

“I’m glad,” she said, taking another bite.

It would take a while for the sleeping pills to work. Longer than the duration of this meal. She would have to occupy him, make him think the symptoms were natural. If he got even the least bit suspicious, he would resist the sleep and his paranoid mind would jump to the right conclusions: that Elise had done it.

He slowed. “Is there something interesting about your plate?” Sean asked, swallowing a bite.

She looked up at him, but couldn’t keep the tear from forming along the edge of her eye. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

About you dying. About the grand sin I’m committing. “About things.”

He nodded. “About things.”

“I don’t want to ruin the moment.”

He took her hand and came around the coffee table. This was it. What had to be done. Her heart hastened, and she sensed her calm exterior withering. It wasn’t just about what she would do, but what came after. How this was the last time. She had thought it would be easier. He was murderous. He was a monster.

And she loved him.

So she relaxed into his arms and kissed his mouth. A few minutes later they were naked, bodies pressing against one another under the thick blankets. When he entered her, she couldn’t stop the tears. He paused, said: “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

She nodded a bunch, and they kept going. She rocked on top of him, Sean asking a few times if she was okay because the tears wouldn’t stop. He had no idea what was happening, what she was doing. That feeling, of betraying him in the most intimate of ways, stuck in her gut like a barb, clinging to her intestines, pulling, digging. When he climaxed, the look in his eyes. She would never forget the love there, the lust, the pleasure. No fear of death. No sickness. She lay still on him, wanting to keep him inside for as long as possible, kissing his cheeks while tears coursed down her own.

He whispered, “I love you,” and she told him the same. And she meant it. She meant it so much.

They lay afterward together under the blankets, Sean putting on a pair of long pajamas and socks beforehand. When he returned to her and yawned, she knew the pills were taking hold. She swallowed and nuzzled up against him, absorbing his heat, the tingle inside herself still lingering, remembering what he felt like inside her, cherishing it and storing it for the long, lonely nights to come.

Fifteen minutes later he was asleep. She rose and put a hand on his chest. Said his name, but he didn’t reply.

She waited, watching him breathe in and out slowly. Stayed that way forever. Then she dressed herself, listening for Aidan upstairs, for Sean waking up. Nothing happened. She would go through with it. She had to. She had to.

The shotgun was filled with duds, knowing Sean, so she grabbed the gun, still holstered on his jeans. She attached it to her own hip, feeling the weight of it there, its bulk. Removed it from its holster and held onto it, now feeling its power. She had shot this very weapon countless times, knew the damage it could do. A sickening sensation bubbled up from her legs through her whole body. She re-holstered it.

Sean didn’t wake. So she looped her arms under his armpits and dragged him backward. He was heavy. Heavier than she was expecting. She moved him in slow, deliberate sprints followed by a few seconds of rest. He kept sleeping.

When she unlatched the door to the garage, he groaned. She stopped. He muttered to himself and then a stream of drool ran down his cheek, but his stirring went no further. She blew a rogue hair away from her eyes and bowed her head. This was wrong. This was all wrong. Dragging her husband outside to freeze to death. She looked over to the staircase and imagined herself going up those steps to Aidan. To deliver the news. Aidan’s face when she said it. How this would crush his soul.

She shook her head. Just get it done, she thought to herself. It’s the only way. It’s the only—

Her hand was already turning the doorknob, cracking it. She threw on a heavy coat, hat and gloves, and opened the door. The chilled air from the garage rushed over them. Sean didn’t move. “Please don’t wake up,” she whispered to him, a little because she feared what he might do, more because she didn’t want to have to explain herself.

She dragged him into the garage, waddling back and forth with his weight in her arms, his feet dragging against the frozen concrete, his head bowed downward, body like a dead fish. She reached the door leading to the backyard before she had to take a break. Her lungs felt constricted, like there was scarcely any oxygen in the air. She laid his head against her feet, put her hands on her knees like she had been punched in the stomach, gnashed her teeth together, and allowed a painful, subdued moan to escape from behind her teeth. She wanted to scream. Wanted to cry out and curse and stamp her feet. None of this was right. Leaving her child without a father. Leaving her hopes and dreams of dying at a ripe old age with her husband out in the freezing cold. Life was never meant to be like it was, so painful and filled with tears. Life was never supposed to be where survival meant killing the person she held most dear. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Not like this.

She knelt and held his head in her hands and kissed his forehead and stroked his hair, her wet hot tears dripping onto his neck. Her husband of almost twenty years, the love of her life, the only man she had ever really wanted to be with. She whispered over and over that she was sorry, asking for forgiveness she would never get, then she took him back into her arms and dragged him toward the backyard.

There was no holding it in anymore, her groans now became full-blown sobs. She got the backdoor open and started out into the backyard as the light receded from the clouds. Her arms grew weaker as she pulled on his body. She prayed. Prayed hard for forgiveness, not sure if she would ever get it. Not sure if God was even listening anymore but praying regardless. Halfway through the backyard now.

When Sean opened his eyes.

She hopped backward and dropped him, the back of Sean’s head smacking against the hardened frozen soil, Sean screaming out in pain. Elise backtracked into the snow, her hands slapping around her hip for the gun but not finding it.

He rubbed his head and looked around at the dark snow piles, at his scarcely-dressed body, at his wife, and then back at himself, his face flashing confusion. “Elise?”

She had the gun out now, standing between Sean and the home.

He blinked, and it was as if he knew what was happening. “Elise.”

“Please, Sean, don’t.”

“Elise,” he said, still on the ground, his hand over his forehead, sounding confused. Acting confused. It had to be an act. Playing her. “What’s going on?”

She settled the pistol’s bead onto his chest. Everything inside her screamed for her to stop. This was rule number one: don’t point weapons at people, particularly those you love. And never point a weapon unless you’re ready to use it. But she wasn’t ready. “You weren’t supposed to wake up.”

He had one hand raised toward her. “Just calm down, okay?” Consternation spread across his face. All his planning—all his violence and the death he had caused—meant nothing facing down the barrel of his own gun. “Let’s just calm down, okay?”

“You weren’t supposed to wake up.”

“I don’t know what you think you’re—”

“You killed him. You killed Andrew.”

He said nothing for a while. “Elise—”

“I found the pill bottle.”

“You’re not thinking straight.”

“Stop it,” she yelled. “Stop it. Don’t try. You killed him. And you sent Kelly out to get shot. And then you killed Michael.”

Sean said nothing.

“Try to deny it. Go ahead.”

“You’re right.”

Elise lowered the weapon an inch. The bitter cold wind kicked up against them and settled. For the first time Elise noticed the snow falling around them—bright white, fluffy snow. She raised the gun again and took two steps back.

“I did it. All of it, okay? All of it.”

“He was just a kid.”

“He was eating our food every day. Consuming our resources—”

“Is that all we are to you? Just people consuming your resources?”

“You aren’t. Aidan isn’t.”

“God, Sean. How can you say that?”

“I know what it sounds like, okay? I know.” His teeth were chattering now, nothing to keep his heat in, and losing it fast.

“So we’re all just in your way.”

“You’re not thinking clearly.”

“I’m thinking just fine.”

“Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for us. For our survival. Us. Do you think if Michael killed me—and he was trying to kill me—he would’ve been able to fix anything around here if it broke? Or been able to plant crops if the winter ends? Or have even the slightest idea how to keep this family alive?”

Elise swallowed.

“What happens when the supplies get low?”

She said nothing.

“What happens? How’re you going to do everything? Chop wood? Maintain the house? Clean the furnace? Cook meals? Because Aidan won’t be able to help.” He was standing up now, his arms outstretched. “I did what I had to do, Elise. I did what I had to do for us.”

“You did it for yourself.”

He took a step forward.

“Stop,” she yelled. “Stop, Sean. Stop. I’ll do it.”

He took another step forward, and she shifted a little and fired the weapon to his right. He stopped moving.

“Elise. I’m sorry. Please. Please listen to me. What are you going to tell Aidan? That now his dad is dead too?”

“Stop.”

“We need each other. We need each other more than anything.”

The tears froze to her cheeks before they could drip any further. The look on his face. This was a man unprepared to die. She wanted to believe he was being honest and that he was seeking forgiveness. After everything he had done. But she couldn’t know. Couldn’t see whether his heart was truly black or whether he was just all gray, a tangle of virtue and sin inseparable within.

Another harsh breeze blew over them, and Sean winced. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

He walked closer. She fired again, over his head this time, so close that he ducked. He approached her with another step. “Damn it, Sean. Stop it.”

“I love you, Elise.”

“Stop it. Stay where you are.”

He didn’t. He got closer and closer, his teeth chattering, his body shaking now, the wind sucking the heat from him each passing second. She kept the weapon trained on him even as he approached, now just a few steps from her. Her finger held taut against the trigger, looking into his eyes, those eyes she loved so dearly, those eyes that had told her so many lies she could no longer distinguish what was true and what was false.

He pulled the gun from her hand. She let her arm drop and bowed her head, expecting to look back up and see him aiming the weapon at her now.

The end.

Sean was staring down at the weapon. He exhaled a long, slow, vaporous breath through his teeth. His hand carrying the weapon raised upward, and Elise flinched, closing her eyes. But the sound wasn’t a gunshot—it was the pistol’s slide racking backward. She opened one eye, then the other. Sean dropped the magazine from the pistol and ejected the round in the chamber. He exhaled and said, “Let’s not do this again,” pressing the empty pistol onto her chest as he passed her.

She turned to watch him disappear into the garage. She clasped her hand over her mouth and cried. Her chance was gone. Any justice for Michael and Kelly ended there. If Sean was right, and God was gone, no justice would ever come. There was no blueprint moving forward, to guide her past the truth of everything Sean had done. To show her how life was supposed to somehow go on, with everything so stained and dark and wrong.

Maybe Kelly was right: maybe the lucky ones got to die. The rest had to live on.

AIDAN CLUNG TO her leg like a barnacle on a ship’s hull. She didn’t know what to say to a young boy who had already experienced so much death. She didn’t know how to reassure him she would not be next, or that his father wasn’t next, and that he didn’t have to worry. She wasn’t sure if it was true.

Sean split a log in the distance, grunting as the blade came down. He removed his hat for a moment and looked at her. She met his gaze, and he nodded. No telling what he was thinking since the incident two weeks earlier. His words told her he forgave her. His eyes said the same. But he had lied before about graver things.

There was no assurance of anything anymore. The world had become cold and hostile, with no mercy. She looked at the clouds, the rolling gray, and wondered if life would ever be forgiving again. Whether God might have any mercy left for them.

They both stood for a minute, and Sean went inside. The wind whipped over top of her. She didn’t even feel it after a while. A numbness clung to her bones. Finally, her son tugged on her coat.

She looked down at him. His big eyes—his father’s eyes—looked back at her. Her heart melted, and she bent and kissed the top of his head. “I love you, Mom,” he whispered.

A tear fell from her eyelashes. “I love you too, Aidan.” She patted him on his head. “Go on inside to your dad, okay? We can check on the garden again tomorrow.”

He nodded and trudged through the snow. Elise stood still for another minute, closing her eyes.

“Mom, look,” Aidan shouted up ahead.

The light beyond her closed eyelids suddenly brightened. Her eyes shot opened, and she turned to see her son halfway toward the house. Above him to the west, the clouds rolled and stirred. In one strip of gray, the darkness split to unveil a bright light. Visible rays cut through the slit and cast their radiance over the yard and forest.

She stumbled forward, stripping off her hat, and falling on her knees at the glory before her. The sunshine washed over her like long-delayed rain on parched land. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, and the warmth sank into her skin.

She smiled and laughter escaped from her lips. She never thought she would feel the sunshine ever again, and yet there it was:

Bright and present. Unceasing.

Thank You

THANK YOU FOR READING GRAY SNOW.

If you would, please take a moment to return to where you purchased the book and leave a review. It would be much appreciated. Reviews help new readers find my work and decide if the book is for them.

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Acknowledgements

Thank you to everyone who helped develop this novel, including Jacob and Elizabeth Wershing, and all the members of the Columbus Creative Cooperative (now Ohio Writers’ Association), who workshopped an early manuscript and helped me clean it up.

Thank you to everyone who provided encouragement to me as I struggled to get this one out.

Biggest thank you, as always, to my wife, Kaiti. Your input was worth the wait.

About Paul Curtin

Paul Curtin enjoys reading, backpacking, and camping, but only when the mosquitoes can’t get him.

He lives in Columbus, OH with his wife and family.

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Copyright

Gray Snow

© Paul Curtin 2019

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Content

Paul Curtin
GRAY SNOW

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Thank You

Acknowledgements

About Paul Curtin

Copyright