Which way? He turned a wild circle, but the fog gobbled up his light. The air was getting worse, too. He tried pulling in thin sips, but the tickle at the back of his throat became an itch, then a scratch, and then he was coughing and couldn’t stop. He felt his throat closing even as his mouth filled with spit. Something squirmed in his throat, like maybe there was an animal with furry legs and sharp claws crawling around in there.

Crazy, that’s cra—

Something ripped behind his ribs, as if the blade of a hot knife had suddenly sliced through muscle and bone. Grunting, he clutched at his chest, felt the boil of something clenching, bunching. God, there was something inside him! This was like his mother, the way she clawed at her chest.

Can’t … can’t breathe. His fingers raked his throat, scored his flesh. No air … can’t … got to get out, get out, get—

A hand slid onto his shoulder.

CASEY

This

Is

Creepy

“CASEY, IT WAS fifteen minutes a half hour ago,” Rima said.

“Tell you what,” Casey said. “You’re so worried, you go.”

“We should both go.”

“Why? So we can all get lost and freeze to death? Tony might have gone around to the other side of the van. That would block the flashlight. He could be turned around, facing the other way. We wouldn’t see the flashlight then either.”

“But he signaled us every couple of minutes before you lost him.”

“I didn’t lose him.”

“God, would you stop? I’m not blaming you. All I’m saying is there’s been nothing for a long time. We should see him coming back at least.”

This was probably true. Maybe too much glare? Casey thumbed off his flashlight, then pressed his face against the icy slab of window glass. Nothing to see. He chewed on his lower lip. Maybe they should go. “Do you remember if Tony had a rope or extension cord or, I don’t know, something we can tie off to the car?”

“He wouldn’t have anything long enough to reach the van.”

“I know that,” Casey said, impatiently. “But if we can extend our reach, get away from the car a good fifty feet or so, then one of us can keep going with the flashlight, right? The other one hangs back and yells.”

“Oh, right,” she said. “Sorry. That’s a good idea, Casey.”

He knew that. “So was there anything?”

“I don’t remember. Maybe we should check your sled?”

He should’ve thought of that. He was pretty sure he had chains and a couple bungee cords. Popping his door, he flicked on his flashlight, almost climbed out, but then remembered those stupid locks. Reaching over the front seat, he yanked the keys, pocketed them—and frowned. Ducking out of the car again, he sniffed. “You smell that?”

“Yeah.” She was looking at him across the Camry’s snow-silted roof. “That’s—”

“Gas.” He faced the direction where the van lay. “I didn’t smell it before.”

“Maybe the wind changed direction?”

“No, I—” And that’s when it hit him. “It’s stopped snowing. There’s no wind.”

Rima turned her face to the black, featureless bowl of night sky. “Can that happen? I mean, all of a sudden like that?”

How should he know? Did he look like he worked for The Weather Channel? But she’s right; this is creepy. No wind, no snow. Like someone hit a switch or turned off the spigot. If anything, the air was much colder now, and heavier somehow. “Come on,” he said, then stopped as his boot came down with a small splish. “Hey, what …”

Whatever else he would’ve said died right then and there.

Because from the darkness came a scream.

TONY

She Has to Be Here

TONY WHIRLED, THE flashlight tumbling from his hand to fly into the fog. The night came slamming down as he backpedaled, his feet slipping, his balance finally going. He went down like a rock. The impact was like wiping out on an ice rink: a solid, bone-rattling blow that drove the air from his lungs. Gasoline sheeted over his body; cold fuel slapped his face. His throat closed on a mouthful of gasoline, and then he was choking, his vision starting to speckle with black filaments. Ropy drool poured from his open mouth. His thoughts swirled in a swoon: Passing … out …

At the last possible second, the knotted muscles of his throat relaxed, and he pulled in a great, wrenching gasp. His chest throbbed; something inside there seemed to push. There was still gas in his mouth, too, and the fumes got him coughing again.

Someone out here. On the ice. With him. “Whooo?” The word rode on a breathy shriek. “Who’s … who’s th-there?”

No answer.

“C-C-Casey?”

No answer.