Winter Moon

didn't like it much himself. There was no alternative. "You'll stay

here with Toby and the dog while I--"

"No way."

"--while I try to get to the Youngbloods' ranch for help."

"No, we shouldn't split up."

"We don't have a choice, Heather."

"It'll take us easier if we split up."

"Probably won't make a difference."

"I think it will."

"This shotgun doesn't add much to that Uzi." He gestured at the

whiteout beyond the window. "Anyway, we can't all make it through that

weather." She stared morosely at the wall of blowing snow, unable to

argue the point.

"I could make it," Toby said, smart enough to know that he was the weak

link. "I really could." The dog sensed the boy's anxiety and padded

to his side, rubbed against him. "Dad, please, just give me a

chance."

Two miles wasn't a great distance on a warm spring day, an easy walk,

but they were faced with fierce cold against which even their ski suits

were not perfect protection.

Furthermore, the power of the wind would work against them in three

ways: reducing the subjective air temperature at least ten degrees

below what it was objectively, pounding them into exhaustion as they

tried to make progress against it, and obscuring their desired route

with whirling clouds of snow that reduced visibility to near zero.

Jack figured he and Heather might have the strength and stamina

required to walk two miles under those conditions, with snow up to

their knees, higher in places, but he was sure Toby wouldn't get a

quarter of the way, not even walking in the trail they broke for him.

Before they'd gone far, they would have to take turns carrying him.

Thereafter, they would quickly become debilitated and surely die in

that white desolation.

"I don't want to stay here," Toby said. "I don't want to do what I

might have to do if I stay here."

"And I don't want to leave you here." Jack squatted in front of him.

"I'm not abandoning you, Toby. You know I'd never do that, don't

you?"

Toby nodded somberly. "And you can depend on your mom. She's tough.

She won't let anything happen to you."

"I know," Toby said, being a brave soldier.

"Good. Okay. Now I've got a couple of things to do yet, and then I'll

go. I'll be back fast as I can--straight over to Ponderosa Pines,

round up help, get back here with the cavalry. You've seen those old

movies. The cavalry always gets there in the nick of time, doesn't

it?

You'll be okay. We'll all be okay." The boy searched his eyes. He

met his son's fear with a falsely reassuring smile and felt like the

most deceitful bastard ever born. He was not as confident as he

sounded. Not by half. And he did feel as if he was running out on

them. What if he got help-- but they were dead by the time he returned

to Quartermass Ranch?

He might as well kill himself then. Wouldn't be a point in going on.

Truth was, it probably wouldn't work out that them dead and him

alive.

At best he had a fifty-fifty chance of making it all the way to

Ponderosa Pines. If the storm didn't bring him down ... something else

might. He didn't know how closely they were being observed, whether

their adversary would be aware of his departure. If it did see him go,

it wouldn't let him get far. Then Heather and Toby would be on their

own. Nothing else he could do. No other plan made sense. Zero

options.

And time running out.

Hammer blows boomed through the house. Hard, hollow, fearful sounds.

Jack used three-inch steel nails because they were the largest he had

been able to find in the garage tool cabinet. Standing in the

vestibule at the bottom of the back stairs, he drove those spikes at a

severe angle through the outside door and into the jamb. Two above the

knob, two below. The door was solid oak, and the long nails bit

through it only with relentless hammering. The hinges were on the

inside. Nothing on the back porch could pry them loose. Nevertheless,

he decided to fix the door to the jamb on that flank as well, though

with only two nails instead of four. He drove another two through the

upper part of the door and into the header, just for good measure. Any

intruder that entered those back stairs could take two immediate routes

once it crossed the outer threshold, instead of just one as with the

other doors. It could enter the kitchen and confront Heathen-or turn

the other way and swiftly ascend to Toby's room. Jack wanted to

prevent anything from reaching the second floor because, from there, it

could slip into several rooms, avoiding a frontal assault, forcing

Heather to search for it until it had a chance to attack her from

behind. After he'd driven the final nail home, he disengaged the

dead-bolt lock and tried to open the door. He couldn't budge it, no

matter how hard he strained. No intruder could get through it quietly

anymore, it would have to be broken down, and Heather would hear it

regardless of where she was. He twisted the thumb-turn. The lock

clacked into the striker plate again. Secure.

While Jack nailed shut the other door at the back of the house, Toby

helped Heather pile pots, pans, dishes, flatware, and drinking glasses