Snow by Ronald Malfi Page A

through his musculature. When he took a single step forward, he winced as a jagged pain raced up his right shin and seemed to explode in the socket of his right hip.
    Kate looked down. “You’re bleeding.”
    “I don’t want to see.” But he’d already caught a glimpse of the blackened snow beneath him.
    “We’re here,” Fred said. “Look.”
    They all looked up. There were no lights anywhere—no lights in windows, no traffic lights or lampposts—and it took them all a second or two to realize what they were seeing: little houses dotting the far end of the field, masked by the darkness.
    “Thank God,” Nan said into the bear’s furry face.
    “Why are they all dark?” said Kate. “There aren’t any lights anywhere.”
    Fred rolled his shoulders. “Storm must have knocked the power out,” he suggested.
    “Come on,” Todd said, hefting the duffel bag back over his shoulder. “Let’s see if anyone’s home.”
    Kate looked concerned. “Can you walk?”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Let me take a look at it,” Fred offered.
    Todd shook his head. “No. We need to keep moving. We’ve been freezing our asses off out here long enough.”
    “Then at least let me take that bag from you.”
    Todd relented, letting Fred slide the duffel bag off Todd’s shoulder and onto his own.
    “Come on,” Kate said, bringing an arm around Todd’s back. She hugged him tightly against her hip as they both took a step together. “Use me as a crutch.”
    “Did you see the little girl?” he said. His breath tasted sour and his throat burned.
    “Let’s not talk about them,” Kate said.
    “Her face,” he went on anyway. “Did you see her face?”
    “What was wrong with her face?”
    It was just an empty socket, he wanted to say. It was just a fleshy concavity where a face should be.
    “Never mind,” he said eventually.
    The snow had let up by the time they crossed the field and emptied out into a deserted street. Before them, the desolate houses along the avenue rose up like sentries. Something about them made Todd think of medieval knights, long dead and their bodies turned to powder, with their hollowed armor like conch shells propped up against dungeon walls.
    “Look,” Fred said, pointing down the street. “Fire.”
    They all looked. Indeed, where the street opened up into a quaint little town square, random fires burned. Still, there were no electric lights on; even the stars were blotted out by the heavy cloud cover.
    “We should try one of these houses for help,” Kate suggested. She was gazing up at the closest one, a rambling Aframe with windows like black pools of ice.
    “I say we check out what started those fires,” Todd said.
    “I agree,” seconded Fred. He, too, was looking at the houses, and there was a look of distrust evident in his eyes. “I’m getting the vibe that no one’s home around here, anyway.”
    “That’s impossible.” Kate’s arm fell away from Todd’s back as she crossed the street and stood on the snowy sidewalk, looking up at one of the houses.
    “Kate,” Todd called. “Come back, Kate.”
    “Are you saying an entire block is away on vacation?” She sounded adamant. “You said it yourself, Fred—the power’s probably gone out in the storm. We should knock on some doors.”
    “That’s probably true,” Fred responded, “but I don’t see any candles flickering in those windows, do you?”
    A terrible image surfaced in Todd’s mind at that moment: all the residents of this quiet little hamlet watching them from the darkness of their homes, cloaked in black, their eyes like silver dollars. Or maybe they have no eyes at all. Maybe they have no faces.
    “Maybe the place has been evacuated,” Fred added.
    “For what reason?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Get away from there, Kate,” Todd called to her again, unnerved.
    It was his voice that seemed to reach her. She turned around and tromped back through the snow toward them. Her eyes hung longest on Todd. They