"Listen, we don't want any trouble," Will reasoned with the intruder. "But this is the boy's house. Those were his parents. We're not leaving until we decide to go."

  "Man, I told you-I don't want to be a killer. But I can't change that. Can't have you calling the cops on me," the figure said as he continued down the stairs. He held the baseball bat in his hand as he came around the railing, stepping toward Will and Troy.

  "You killed my parents!" Troy screamed, his voice breaking. Images danced through his mind, his mother's smile, his father's laugh, now forever silenced. Rage and grief battled within him as Will held his arm across his chest.

  Will glanced around the room — nothing to defend himself or Troy. His brain, frantic with adrenaline and sluggish with the cold, couldn't think straight.

  "We won't call the police," he promised, taking a couple of steps back into the house, pulling Troy with him. "Look, our phones don't even work. We couldn't call if we wanted to. Just leave us alone."

  An icy breeze swept through the house, carrying with it the tinkling sound of glass shards falling from the smashed front window. A faint rustling sound from somewhere in the house drifted to Will's ears. His hands, barely warmed from their car ride, were already painfully cold. He shivered uncontrollably as the man took another step forward, nearly in reach with the baseball bat.

  "You think I wanted it to go like this? Yesterday I was worried about my boy's grades. Now I'm worried if he's going to live! God knows where he went. Y'all scared him off. If anything... HNNGH!!!" the man gasped as his eyes went wide. The baseball bat fell to the floor as his hands clutched at his chest, trying to scrape off something invisible. His next breath caught in his chest as he tried to inhale. As he let his failed breath out, blood spurted out of his lips. In frigid slowness, he slumped to his knees, still clutching his chest, fingers spasming. Behind him, Will could make out the silhouette of Theresa in the darkness. The dying man fell face-first onto the carpet, the handle of a chef's knife protruding from the back of his winter coat.

  Theresa whimpered as her knees buckled and she slumped to the floor, nearly mirroring the intruder's last motions. She had never thought herself capable of such an act, but the primal need to protect her son and these strangers who had become her lifeline overwhelmed her. Will ran to her and wrapped his arms around her as she started sobbing.

  "I know. You had no choice. I know," Will said, comforting her. The cold pressed in around them, Troy sitting on the floor, staring blankly, while Will held Theresa. The gravity of what just happened was still settling in, none of them fully comprehending what they experienced. Will started shivering, without the need for immediate action to command his responses. His fingers were slow to respond as he moved back from Theresa.

  "We have to get back to the car," he said, grimly.

  The three of them rose to their feet and left through the front door. Will supported Theresa who couldn't put much weight on her leg under her blood-soaked dress. It was a wonder she had made it into the house and saved them on her own. The car, still running, was parked in the driveway, exhaust clouding the air behind it. Theresa climbed in the back seat again, still limping on her bandaged leg, while Will and Troy took the front seats. They immediately placed their hands on the air vents, trying to restore feeling to their fingers. Abigail put her arms around Theresa who was still sobbing while Troy stared blankly at the dark house in front of them. Brendan, fear taking control, started crying into his mother's lap.

  "Dad, what happened? What's going on? I saw someone run out and Theresa just got out and went in after you!" Abigail nearly shouted.

  "There were some men in there. Looters. They... killed Troy's parents. He... he was going to kill us, but Theresa... She must have found a knife in the kitchen. She... stopped him," Will stammered out.

  They sat quietly, save for the whimpering sobs of Theresa and her son, letting the mild warmth of the car take over them. The occasional sputter of the engine was enough to press Will into action.

  "Troy, I'm sorry for what happened. I understand if you can't go back in there, but we have to keep moving. I need to get home to my..." Will's voice cut off as he thought of a similar scene playing out in his own home overwhelmed him. "I need to get to my wife and son. You can come with us."

  "I don’t know what else to do! I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be alone," Troy trailed off, staring at the black opening of his front door. The thought of simply leaving his home, his parents, and his whole life seemed overwhelming. They deserved better than to lay frozen and unprotected. But he couldn't stay here alone...

  “Come with us. We’ll figure this out, all of this, together,” Abigail said softly, reaching forward and putting her hand on Troy’s shoulder.

  Troy stared at the open door. Leaving felt like betrayal, but the warmth of Abigail's hand on his shoulder anchored him to this new, terrifying reality. Tears fell down his cheek as he nodded, silently.

  The tires spun as Will backed out of the darkened driveway and whipped the car around. Troy sat slumped in the passenger seat, staring in silence at his home retreating in the passenger side mirror.

  The car's engine groaned as Will navigated the darkened highways, headlights cutting through the inky blackness. Cars littered the ditches, nearly bumper to bumper. Some had hazard lights flashing, but most were dark. Bodies were intermixed with the vehicles. It was obvious that some people tried to make it to safety after losing control of their vehicle. They underestimated the effects of the cold. Occasionally they saw an oncoming vehicle across the grassy median. At one point, several emergency vehicles flew past them, lights flashing, sirens blaring. The soft glow of distant fires dotted the horizon in several places.

  Will focused on the slick highway, not daring to go quickly. He glanced in the rearview mirror, making eye contact with his daughter. No matter what happened, he had to protect Abigail. He felt panicky when he thought about Sophia and Ben, back at home, not knowing if they were safe.. He had to focus on Abigail. The only thing within his control is her protection. She stared back at him, fear mixed with resilience in her eyes. She had her arm around Theresa while Brendan was curled up in his mother's lap. Will felt a strange rush of pride come over him as he saw his daughter's compassion expressed so visibly.

  After more than an hour, Will broke the silence. "We're going to need gas soon," he announced. "I'm going to find a gas station and we'll see what we can figure out."

  "Power's out everywhere. How do you expect to get the gas from the gas station?" Theresa asked Will.

  "I don't know yet. Maybe siphoning. We'll have to figure that out when we get there. I know we need gas, and there will be gas at a gas station," he replied.

  As the car exited the highway, the traffic which had been, up to this point, fairly limited to the ditches and shoulders of the road began encroaching onto the street. The silhouette of a darkened gas station was visible ahead, but abandoned cars clogged the street, making it impossible to navigate.

  The car rolled to a halt, headlights illuminating the traffic jam between them and the gas station. "We can't shut off the car. I don't know if it will start again, and I don't see anyone around who can give us another jump," Will stated flatly. He surveyed the cars blocking the road in a haphazard fashion and judged the distance to the gas station. "If we run, we can get to the gas station."

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  "Dad, wait," Abigail interjected. "Have you thought this through? Making it there is one thing, but getting back..." she left the grim possibility unspoken.

  "I'm not taking my son out there, hoping that we'll be able to warm up when we get to the station," Theresa stated, pulling Brendan closer to her. "Besides, I can't run anywhere," she gestured to her bandaged leg.

  "We need gas. This car will die soon, and if it dies, our heat dies with it. We can't spend time outside trying to siphon any from these cars. They're probably frozen shut anyway. I'm all for other options," Will said.

  They sat in silence, the car rumbling quietly as it slowly ate away at its dwindling fuel. Time was escaping them, and they needed action. Will couldn't bear the thought of leaving Abigail, but he was running out of options of keeping her safe. There must be some fuel at the gas station, but he didn't know how to get it. He'd have to figure that out when reached it. But he'd first have to figure out how to stay warm. Without power, it certainly had turned into an icebox, and wouldn't offer any shelter from the deadly cold.

  "I'm going to make a run for it," Will declared, jaw set. "I'll get gas if I have to break the damn pump, and I'll bring it back. We can't sit here and freeze to death."

  "Dad, no," Abigail voiced, fear making her voice shake.

  "Abby, there are no other options. You're safest here in the car, along with everyone else," Will glanced around at the passengers. "But that won't last if we can't get more gas. We don't stand a chance without gas. I'll be ok," Will reassured her.

  "It's a gas station. They have cigarettes, lighters, basic groceries. You can probably start a small fire with whatever they have in there," Theresa volunteered.

  "I'm coming too," Troy blurted. "I can't... I can't just sit here... Not after..." he trailed off as a lump in his throat grew.

  Will nearly protested, feeling a protective sense come over him for the newly orphaned teenager. In the end, he would be thankful for the help. The odds of survival increased with both of them working together. "Thanks, Troy." The two men bundled up with any clothing that the others could spare. They pulled the hoods of their sweatshirts tight around their heads, cinching them off so tight they could barely see. Pulling their hands inside their sleeves, they steeled themselves for the onslaught of cold that awaited them. Will took several deep breaths, nodded at Troy, and they yanked the door handles open and rushed out into the frigid night air.

  It was unlike anything they had experienced so far. Frost appeared on Will's eyelashes almost immediately. The air from his breath, forced out through the sweatshirt tied around his face steamed, and sat still in the air. It didn't drift away as he struggled to catch his next breath. His exposed nose felt like someone had punched him hard enough to break it. Each inhale felt like shards of glass making their way down his nasal passage, into his throat, and filling his lungs before he expelled them when he breathed out. He thought about changing his mind. Giving up. Get back in the car. We'll never make it. He glanced at Troy, but the boy had already taken off at a sprint toward the gas station. Reckless...

  Will's own feet slipped and slid on the frosted road as he chased after Troy. He struggled to remain upright, occasionally bouncing off the cars that littered the street. He glanced in one vehicle, his breath catching in his throat. Several people were huddled together, their limbs entwined in a final frozen embrace. Their skin had a bluish tinge in the dim light, and frost sparkled on their eyelashes. The car windows were translucent with ice, entombing the family in a glacial silence. The thought of his own car, idling behind him, propelled him on. What if he couldn't make it back? What if this desperate attempt cost him everything? As his breathing grew more rapid, the cold air pierced his lungs more quickly. Each breath was a knife into his chest. His head felt like it was expanding as the blood pumped through it. He was getting dizzy as he chased after the retreating figure of Troy. Will's hip slammed against a car, sending him to the ground. He didn't feel any pain from it, but he was sure it would ache when the adrenaline wore off. He got his hand under him, insulated by the sweatshirt, and pushed himself up off the ground, rising to his feet.

  Back at the car, Abigail saw her father collapse, then rise from the ground. Her chest pounded as her heart raced with adrenaline. Her dad and Troy were their only chance for survival. She both feared for them and felt ashamed at her own helplessness.

  "They'll make it, dear," Theresa said, patting her leg. The three, huddled in the back seat, stared across the graveyard of vehicles. Their own car sputtered, and the headlights dimmed briefly before coming back to life. Brendan whimpered as Abigail and Theresa held their collective breath. Again, the engine labored and the headlights dimmed, longer this time, before coming back to their brightness.

  "We can't be out of gas," Theresa reasoned. "We still had gas..."

  For a third time, the headlights dimmed, and the engine slowed. This time, they didn't spring back to life. Instead, the lights dimmed further, nearing complete darkness. The engine began sputtering, and the car shook.

  "The engine's going too slow," Abigail announced. "It's going to die!" She clambered into the driver's seat and jammed her foot on the gas pedal. The engine roared back to life, headlights blazing. She took a deep breath. If she let off the gas, the engine could die and they would freeze before her dad and Troy got back. If she kept the engine racing, they would waste precious fuel. "Please, Dad, get back here," she whispered to herself, feathering the engine.

  As Will approached the gas station, the roar of the car engine caught his attention and he wheeled around. With the headlights staring back at him, he couldn't make out any details. Why were they wasting gas revving the engine? He turned his attention back to the gas station as he neared the gas pumps. Troy had already jumped through the already-shattered front window. As Will approached the gas station, his footsteps echoed in the eerie silence. Bundles of firewood, surfaces glazed with ice, were stacked against the weathered brick exterior.

  "M-Matches! L-Lighter fluid!" Will called into the darkness, hoping Troy would hear him. With his sweatshirt-wrapped hands, he tried to grab a bundle of firewood, but they were all frozen together. He kicked at one, trying to break it free, but to no avail. "Hurry up, Troy!" Will yelled at the darkened storefront. It was getting harder to think straight. Did he need to break off a bundle? Could they just burn the whole stack?

  Troy jumped back through the window, his arms clutching supplies to his chest. He fell to his knees as he dumped a couple of boxes of matches and bottles of charcoal lighter fluid at Will's feet.

  "It's all frozen!" he said desperately, indicating the white bottles. Will painfully extended his arms away from his warm body to pick up one of the bottles, lifting it above his head and smashing it to the ground with all his might. The sudden motion caused his feet to slip out from under him and he crashed to the ground. Beside him, the plastic bottle came to rest against the pile of firewood. It was split open, revealing a crystalized mass inside. He grabbed a box of matches and ripped it open, spilling the wooden sticks across the ground. He snatched one up in fumbling fingers, placed the blue top against the striking pad, and flicked his wrist forward. The wooden match snapped in half.

  "Dammit!" he yelled. Again, with painful fingers, he grabbed a match, placed it against the pad, and more gently flicked it. Nothing. Again. Flick. Nothing. Again, flick... and sputter of flame. He held the match up, cupping his hand around it, begging the flame to creep up the wooden stick. He couldn't feel to move his fingers to grab another match. They couldn't make it back to the car. This one flame was their only chance to live. And it was slowly shrinking. The tiny flame wasn't growing, it was getting smaller. It was nearly out when Troy's face appeared next to Will's, and he jammed another match head against the dying flame. It burst into light as it ignited, both matches feeding off each other.

  Will's vision was starting to darken. He tried to tell Troy to move toward the frozen lighter fluid, but his lips only mumbled incoherently. Troy understood as they reached their hands out toward the block of ice. Slowly and gently, not wanting to lose the tiny flame they had fought so hard for, they held the match close to the side of the ice. Will's vision was narrowing, the tiny speck of light at the center of his attention. Slowly, a small spot of the iced lighter fluid began to melt, the ice crackling softly. With a soft whoosh, it came alight! The sudden warmth of Will's hands and face felt almost painful after the relentless cold, and the acrid smell of burning chemicals stung his nostrils. Suddenly, flame erupted into the air as the rest of the lighter fluid reached its flashpoint. Will and Troy fell back as they shielded their eyes from the heat.

  The heat. Crouching at the edge of the fire, the two men huddled, letting the warmth of the fire envelope them. The deadly dance of fire and ice contracted and expanded as the fluid burned off and more of the ice liquified. Will saw the burning fluid run under the stack of firewood, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the wood started to catch. Fortunately, the gas pumps were far enough away that the fire wouldn't threaten them. The wood was stacked against the brick building, and nothing seemed immediately dangerous. He breathed a sigh of relief as the light of the growing fire illuminated his face. He mentally chastised himself for letting his desperation to start the fire overtake his lack of awareness of his surroundings. He got lucky.

  Will stood, facing the fire, standing next to Troy. When he glanced over at the boy, he saw tears running down his face as Troy stared deadpan into the fire. Wet, unfrozen tears.