Free Chills by Mary Sangiovanni Page B

for the thing on the roof. It had been a while since he’d heard it wailing and thumping up there. Maybe it had left. He peered through the window into the swirling darkness. Everything was moving out there—it would be impossible to see where or if that thing was waiting out on the road.
    His chest hurt from pulling in cold, dry air, and his body was shaking uncontrollably.
    His phone! He scrambled to pick it up and turn it on. His fingers were numb and his first few attempts with the touch screen yielded nothing. Finally, though, his phone came on, and he laughed in relief. He was just about to call 911 when his phone went black. No amount of coaxing could make it come on again. The laughter died in his throat.
    Dan swore, tempted to throw the phone out the window. Instead, he tossed it on the dashboard, disgusted.
    His phone dinged, indicating a new text message. He frowned, confused, and picked it up to check the screen.
    The new message was from Jessica Florey.
    He looked at Jessica’s phone, in the puddle of blood where he’d left it on the passenger seat. It was dark and still.
    He tapped the text message to bring it on screen, and the rush of anxiety that filled his chest was the first bit of warmth he’d felt in what seemed like hours.
    Run Danny Ruuunnn
    The world dimmed in the corners a bit. Run? Run where? Cold and confused, he looked around the car helplessly. He had recently cleaned out his car, at the behest of Jessica. Anything he could have used to layer and keep warm was gone now—old scarves and wrinkled jackets, T-shirts balled up in the back seat . . . Hell, he thought he might have at one time even had a waterproof pair of work boots back there somewhere. Now there was nothing but an empty foam cup from Wendy’s, a quarter, and—
    And sweet, sweet Jesus, it was his pocket knife. He allowed a tiny smile, a slight loosening of the knot in his chest as he reached into the back seat for it. He had to force his stiff fingers to close around its handle, but he got it, and its little hard realness was something of a relief.
    Run Danny Ruuunnn, the text had said. And why not? There was a good chance he would freeze to death whether he went into the snow or stayed in his icebox on wheels. His skin was so cold and it was getting harder for him to focus. Why had he wanted to stay? Was the car keeping that thing from getting to him? How long would it matter, even if that were true?
    It had been a while since he’d heard the thing on the roof. A flash of panic drove him to peer out the various car windows—the thought of losing track of the thing now, just as he was contemplating escape, seemed unbearable to him.
    Nothing but darkness and snow enveloped him and his car. It had to be stacking up all around him, maybe muffling the movements of the monster outside as the thing looked for ways to peel open the car like a tuna can.
    Run Danny Ruuunnn
    Or maybe it had given up and gone away. He clutched the pocket knife more tightly. He’d have to take the chance. He was freezing to death in that car.
    His heart stuck in his chest as his hand hovered over the door handle. He counted his shallow breaths. At ten, he promised himself he’d bolt and make a run for town. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve . . . He promised he’d go at twenty. Twenty-five.
    On the twenty-sixth breath, his body made the decision for him, and before his brain could object, he was in the cold, the air stabbing his face, his eyes, his lungs, the point of the knife held out before him like a beacon. And he was mostly running and sliding, sliding and running, praying he wouldn’t fall, because if he fell and that thing moved swiftly and silently through the drifts and jumped him before he could get up again....
    He didn’t look behind him. He couldn’t bring himself to. He kept concentrating on running and not falling, sliding and gliding but not falling, until dual lights rounded the corner of the