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know where I was going until I rolled into the driveway
where I found you and the other guy.”
    “Mictlantecuhtli or Mictlan if you like,” she supplied.
“Don’t you think it strange that you were there just when I needed you?”
    He shrugged.
    “Do you know what your name means, Ian Scott?” she asked.
    “My name?”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s Scottish, I think,” he said.
    She used the sleeve of her coat to wipe the fog from her
side of the windshield. “Ian is Celtic for John. I It means ‘gracious God’ and
Scott signifies a ‘wanderer’.”
    “So?”
    “So isn’t it interesting that you should be named a wanderer
for the grace of God?” she said.
    “I think that’s a stretch, Aileen.”
    She chuckled. “I knew you would.”
    After a long pause he asked, “What does your name mean?”
    She was smiling again. “Ironically it is also Celtic. Aileen
means ‘light’ and Grant is the word for ‘great.’”
    “Great light,” he translated, trying to be cynical but even
he was a bit daunted by the coincidences.
    The snow was piling up on the roads. They had made it to
I-90 west. It was treacherous driving, especially since the roads were littered
with abandoned cars. Most of them had been pushed to the sides but some still
remained barriers to be driven around.
    “Should we stop?” she asked.
    “Where? The snow will be higher the longer we wait.”
    “I still think we should stop.”
    “It’s your party,” he said as if the consequences of
stopping were of little interest to him.

Chapter Four
     
    They turned off the highway somewhere in a small town in
western New York. The power plant had stopped running long ago leaving the town
completely dark. The truck made the only tire tracks in the foot of snow
collected on the roads. Ian drove slowly.
    “Look,” he said pointing.
    Nearly covered in a snowdrift was a small brown sign. “Lake
Cabin Lodge—½ mile” and an arrow directing them to the right.
    “Sounds good to me,” Aileen said.
    It took another ten minutes to plod their way out of town.
Some of the snow had drifted above the truck’s wheel well and getting through
had been difficult.
    The Lake Cabin Lodge was an enormous log cabin set in the
woods just outside town. Snow piled up around the foundation and drifted onto
the wraparound porch. The only light came from the Chevy’s headlights. Strands
of Christmas lights hung haphazardly from the roof left for nearly a year.
    Her stomach tensed at the sight. All those people, she thought for the ten thousandth time. They were all preparing for the
holiday. No one believed the predictions. No one made preparations. But what
could they have done?
    Nothing.
    She tore her gaze away from the ruined decorations.
    Ian turned and clutched his backpack. He reached inside and
handed Aileen some items. “Here, you may need these,” he said.
    Aileen took the flashlight and pistol he handed her. The gun
felt heavy in her hands.
    “Do you know how to use one of those?” he asked.
    “Point and shoot?”
    He chuckled. “Pretty much but make sure you’re not pointing
at me.”
    Hoisting a rifle from the back he opened the truck door and
stepped out. She followed his lead and jumped down from the passenger side. She
sank knee-deep in snow.
    Slogging through, she moved the flashlight in a wide arc.
    “Look at this,” Ian said shining his light to the right side
of the parking area.
    Covered in snow, a Ford pickup truck with a plow blade
attached stood in front of the Lodge.
    “If it runs we can swap trucks. If not, I’ll try to fit that
blade on the Chevy,” he said, sounding pleased.
     
    It was no warmer inside the lodge. The dried-out Christmas
tree still stood sentinel in the center of a reception area and a huge living
room complete with leather furniture and a stone fireplace.
    “We should search the house,” Ian said. “Make sure we’re
alone.”
    Ian headed to the left to search the ground floor.
    Aileen nodded. Behind the