The Shuddering

they come back?”
    What if they had learned ? The idea of it made his mouth taste acrid, his fear breeding a sharp, metallic taste. But he refused to let those kinds of thoughts dictate his movements. They were out of options, and showing weakness now would send Jane over the edge.
    “I’ve fought them off before,” Ryan said, emptying most of their supplies onto the snow. He’d need room for firewood and Jane would need weapons in case she and Sawyer were the ones attacked. But Jane wasn’t satisfied with his answer. She shook her head, resolute.
    “Oona will warm the place up. I’m coming with you.”
    “No, you aren’t.”
    “Why not?” she demanded. “This is insane. It’s like splitting up in the movies. Nobody comes back alive after splitting up; you know that.”
    “Jane.” He gave her a steady look. “I’m just going to be over there.” He pointed to the trees in the distance. He knew they were farther away than they looked, but he didn’t mention it. “You can watch me if you want to, but I need you to stay with Sawyer, okay? We can’t leave him alone. Try to get him to eat some more crackers. He needs to keep his strength up.”
    Jane gave in, nodding with a frown. “Fine,” she told him. “Just be careful.”
    Ryan began to slog through the snow. The closer he got to the wall of pine, the more nervous he felt. The trees they had left in their wake were the closest to their camp, but those were the trees where Ryan had seen the shadows shift. There was another thicket to the north, close enough to walk to in five or ten minutes on a warm summer afternoon, but trying for them now would eat up the last dregs of daylight.
    With only a few yards left between him and the pines, he couldn’t help but think that maybe he was wrong. Maybe those things weren’t waiting for nightfall after all, but for this exact moment; for Jane and Ryan to split up, for one of them to come close enough to the forest to be pulled into the branches. He swallowed against the thudding in his throat, forcing himself to continue forward with a torch held over his head, the ax handle sticking out of his backpack, the wicker basket skidding across the top of the snow behind him. Finally reaching a tree on the outermost rim of the woods, he slid his backpack from his shoulders and grabbed the hatchet. But there was no way he could chop at the tree one-handed. Daylight was dwindling. He hadto be quick. Chewing on his bottom lip, he scanned the trunks and branches ahead of him, waiting for one of those creatures to launch itself at him before he could think to defend himself.
    It was deathly silent.
    He didn’t hear any throaty growls or mournful moans.
    Only the wail of the wind.
    Slowly leaning down, he stabbed his torch into the snow a few feet away from where he stood, hoping like hell that he’d have enough time to retrieve it if he needed to.
    The ax in both hands now, he took a swing at the low-hanging branch of a sickly looking tree. He didn’t know whether live wood would burn, so he went for the conifer that looked the least healthy, hoping that the inside of its branches would be dry enough to catch a spark. The tree shuddered beneath the hit, and snow fell to the ground not just from that limb, but from the branches overhead as well. He swung again. After two more attempts, the bough released its grip on the trunk and fell to the ground. As he pulled it to the basket, it left a delicate brushstroke across the snow.
    He went for a bigger branch next. There were smaller ones he could have worked on first, but he had to get back to Sawyer and Jane. Deep indigo was bleeding into the lavender sky. The shifting color of the clouds was making Ryan nervous. The sun was setting faster than he had anticipated. The second branch came down after five solid swings, then joined its brother on the board. Tackling the third branch—this one even larger than the second—he told himself this would be the last. As soon as he cut it down, he would turn tail and book it back to the shelter. The tree shuddered as he tried to lop the bough loose, shaking snow onto the ground from a good eight feet up. It began to sag beneath its own weight, the spot where the ax blade struck exposing virgin wood. His final swing brought a thud of snowfall onto his head. He stumbled backward as ice flakes bit intothe back of his neck, swiping at the collar of his jacket, trying to dust away as much of it as he could before it melted down