Free Chills by Mary Sangiovanni

fingertips trying to get in.
    It occurred to him then that if the power windows had worked—for Jess when she’d lowered the window, and again for him when he raised it back up again—then that had to mean the car had at least some power somewhere, maybe enough to get it going again. He tried the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. Dan swore softly. What was going on? Should he go back out there and try to find Jess? He glanced again at the puddle of blood on the passenger seat, and decided a search for her would be moot. She couldn’t leave that much blood behind and still be alive, could she?
    He heard the wail again, closer this time, although he couldn’t tell exactly which direction it was coming from. He whispered Jessica’s name and realized he hadn’t really made a sound. His heart pounded loudly in his ears.
    A thump on the hood rattled the car, and Dan fought the urge to cry out. Through the ice-crusted windshield, he could see a shape, or at least, the occasional outline of a shape, sometimes dark and sometimes almost nonexistent. It slapped an enormous . . . paw—or claw?—onto the windshield, and Dan flinched. He could make out what looked like three unusually long, multi-segmented fingers with curving black talons. Their points screeched against the glass as whatever those fingers belonged to moved around on the hood of the car.
    Think. Think. He had to think.
    He could run, but how far, and for how long? Even if he stayed on the road instead of saving time by cutting through the woods, it was a whiteout out there. It was dark now, and cold enough that if he lost his bearings in the snow storm, he could very well freeze to death even with a heavy coat.
    And those circumstances ignored the most glaring and immediate problem—the one which now scrabbled up the windshield. Dan had one brief, sickening glimpse of gangly, nearly translucent legs and animal feet, each with three long, taloned toes.
    A thump and steel groan from the roof of the car made him jump. Over the wind, Dan heard the thing wail in frustration as it clawed at the car.
    He dug his phone out of his pocket and then swore, fighting the urge to slam it against the dashboard. It had died an hour ago. He looked reluctantly at Jessica’s phone, sitting in the congealing puddle of her blood. He didn’t want to touch it or, by any extension, touch the horrible thing that had happened to her. Another thump from outside, however, decided for him. He took a deep breath, let it out in a cool white puff, and snatched the phone. The screen was cracked, and when he tried to turn it on, it stuck on the brand logo for a bit and then faded to black. He tried again, but couldn’t even access her password screen. Disgusted, he tossed it back onto the passenger seat. He plugged his own into the car charger, hoping there might be just enough juice somewhere in the car to power it back up. The thing on the roof wailed into the wind. Dan was going to die in that car, alone in the snowy dark....
    Think . His stomach lurched, and he fought the rising gorge of panic in his throat. He could stay in the car. Whatever that was out there, it didn’t seem to be able to get in, so maybe he could wait it out. Maybe it would get frustrated and go away.
    He glanced at Jessica’s seat again, at the blood, and felt his stomach twist in fresh knots. That thing had probably been going for him, until she’d opened the window. Why had she opened it? Why had she gotten in its way? He mashed away the beginning of tears with his fist. God only knew what that thing had done to Jessica—he didn’t really want to think about it. But if it had eaten her (his own stomach cramped at the thought), then maybe it would go away.
    And just what the fuck was that thing out there, anyway? His bet was on some military experiment gone wrong, some kind of biological or zoological warfare that had gotten too powerful and too