The Shuddering

the blanket of white as bright red bloomed behind him.
    The world went silent.
    The creature lunged forward, challenging Ryan to fight, but all fight and logic had left him. He could do nothing but stumble backward, inadvertently pulling Jane’s board along with him. Had it not been attached to his wrist, it would have been long gone, skittering down the slope of the hill, taking all hope of escape with it.
    Sawyer’s mouth opened and closed as he gasped for air. Other than the crimson stain behind his friend, Ryan couldn’t see an injury—but he could only imagine what was going on beneaththe padding of Jane’s jacket, beneath Sawyer’s Sisters of Mercy T. The color drained from Sawyer’s face as his blood spilled onto the frozen ground behind him.
    The creature continued to advance while Ryan tore the glove off his hand and pulled out his father’s gun—one hand holding the torch ahead of him, the other pointing the pistol at the monster that continued to approach. The creature hesitated, but the scent of warm blood was too much for it to resist.
    Ryan pulled the trigger, nearly dropping it when it snapped his wrist back on the recoil.
    The monster froze in place at the blast, startled by the noise. But Ryan had missed. His hand was shaking so badly he could hardly aim at all.
    The creature crouched down, its sinewy muscles coiling beneath a thin sheath of skin.
    Ryan shot again, grazing its shoulder.
    The thing screamed, enraged. It bounded forward, its jaws wide open.
    Ryan yelled into the cold and pulled the trigger for the third time.
    The creature’s midair leap was cut short. It fell to the ground like a stone, clawing at the side of its face, the hollow point having torn half of it away. The familiar stink of rotten eggs wafted up into the wind. It reeled away, wounded, trying to run across the road and into the trees. But it stumbled, sinking into the snow, and eventually stopped moving entirely.
    Ryan veered around to stare at his best friend. Sawyer’s face was ashen. He trembled in the cold. Ryan bolted for him, sinking to his knees in front of his friend.
    “Sawyer,” he said, breathless. “You’re going to be okay, man. Come on.” Sliding an arm beneath him, his now gloveless right hand felt the warmth of blood pouring from Sawyer’s back. Hetried to pull Sawyer to his feet without letting go of his torch, but Sawyer was resisting the help.
    “You’re a lousy shot,” Sawyer whispered, his face twisted in pain. “You used all the bullets.”
    Ryan dug through the snow, anger giving way to panic. He picked up Sawyer’s torch, relighting it with his own. “Here,” he said, grabbing Sawyer’s arm, forcing the torch into his hand.
    Ryan watched him close his eyes, his breaths shallow with anguish. His freshly lit torch fell to the ground for a second time, the faint scent of smoke and gasoline rising from its resting place. He snatched up the torch again, shoving it back into Sawyer’s hand.
    “Fucking hold that. We’re going to walk.”
    Trying to heft him up again, he nearly had Sawyer on his feet when his own foot slipped on the slick surface of the ground. Both of them sank back into the cold, Sawyer’s torch extinguishing yet again.
    There were eyes on them. Ryan could feel them watching. A sickening, communal purr resonated from the pines—a buzz that almost sounded like pleasure, like those goddamn things were getting a kick out of watching them struggle and panic.
    “Goddamnit, why are you doing this ?!” Ryan yelled, his right hand burning now, his fingertips numb, exposed to the air. “Get up!”
    Sawyer managed a ghost of a smile.
    “What are you smiling at?” Ryan demanded. “Get up! We have to get ready to go, okay? Sawyer? We have to get ready to go. We’re going to make it.” He swiped at his cheeks, wiping away the cold sting of tears. The arm looped across his shoulders went limp. Ryan’s eyes went wide as Sawyer slid away, and he was left to stare at his friend, the sleeve of his jacket coated in Sawyer’s blood, Ryan’s breath hitching in his throat. He wanted to blameit on his panic, wanted to not understand what he was seeing, wanted to pretend that the scene unfolding before him looked a lot worse than it was because he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t comprehend. But the look on Sawyer’s face confirmed what was occurring; Sawyer was dying, and he was doing it right in front of Ryan’s eyes.
    “Sawyer?” He watched his friend raise his