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supplies in and Dave went looking for the generator, certain that the snow would take one of the lines down fairly soon. That left Henry to find the woodshed. He groaned when he saw it halfway up the sprawling backyard. The open back door made a gold path on the snow toward it, but the trees clustered close to its back and made deep shadows where anything might wait.
    Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself, there isn’t anything out here, that’s why you came.
    “Henry?” Elizabeth called, “Can you close the door, it’s getting cold in here.”
    Henry grimaced. “Sure thing,” he called and closed the back door behind him. Now it was really dark. The hiss of the falling snow and his own deep breaths were all Henry could hear. He decided that was a good thing. A safe thing. He started out toward the woodshed. His footsteps and his breath seemed thunderous. He tried to force himself to breathe evenly so that he could hear over the sounds in his own chest. The snow melting into his jeans wicked up to his thighs and his breath was a dark wet cloud around him. Miserable and tired and jumpy, the shed seemed miles away from Henry. But when he got there, the trees seemed to lean over it, to strangle the glowing light of the snow. The metal door was pitted with rust and almost a foot of snow had drifted against it. Henry pulled it slowly open. The aching screech it made as it slid over the top of the snow made Henry’s teeth hurt. The woodshed was blank, staring dark. Henry took a breath and then fumbled around the wall for a light switch. He began to sweat through the chill when he found nothing. He reached up and found a pull string. He smiled as he yanked it on. But the bulb had burned out a year before when someone had left it on to shine alone all spring. It’s just going to be one of those days I guess, he thought, you know, typical Monday. He stifled a laugh. Henry didn’t like to reach into the dark for the wood. He told himself that it was just that he didn’t want to be bitten by any rats that may have taken up residence or put his hand into a recluse nest. But he knew he was lying to himself. There was no help for it. Get the wood or freeze.
    Henry reached in and grabbed the first log. He almost yelped as he drew his hand back. It was smooth and cold and slid easily out of his grasp like a dead arm rolling into the snow at his feet. He looked down in the dim light. Just a birch log with loose bark. Henry caught his breath and told himself to stop being an idiot. He reached in and scooped up a few more logs. When he had what he could carry he plowed his way back to the porch and the bright house. He looked at the small armful as he placed the logs into the kindling bucket. He groaned and trudged back. The kindling bucket still wasn’t full after the second trip. Screw it, he thought, glancing back at the woodshed. It squatted and glowered like an evil crone against the dark trees. I’ll get more in the morning. When I can see, he thought and banged the snow off of his soaking shoes before he walked into the lodge.
     

Five
     
    The snow continued through the next day, but it was dry and slid off the power lines. Neither plow or car passed along the quiet dirt road and since the power stayed on for the next few weeks Henry assumed there were no vehicles to run into the power lines on the main road either. Henry tried to ignore the news reports that Dave was glued to, but it sank into their conversations, pervaded the air. Even Marnie, who spent most of the time sledding or dressing the lodge’s stuffed deer with costume jewelry, knew something was very wrong. Within a few days the experts had concluded that the violent attacks were the result of a bacterial infection that targeted the brain.
    Elizabeth and Dave pretended that they were only going to be at the lodge for a few days, a week at most. But even the little pieces Henry accidentally gathered from the news told him that things were quickly shutting