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shuffling faster than normal were the ones trying to get out of his way.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!

Keeping his pace, he risked a glance behind him. There was no one chasing him that he could

see, but the instinctual threat permeated, his heart racing, stomach rising as if he were plummeting on a roller coaster. He ran faster, turning and colliding into a tall man so hard that the breath vacated his body. The man was a pilot, wearing a navy blue suit adorned with sparkling badges and a cowboy

hat.

Alec's eyes snapped open in the cabin bedroom.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!

He sat up, his head jerking fast at the unfamiliar environment. He was in a Queen-sized bed, in

the middle of a wood-paneled room. There was a small dresser to his left with a mirror above. To his right, a nightstand with an old digital clock radio, reading eight-sixteen a.m. Across from him, the sheers were drawn on the window, but still bright white light from the sun reflecting off of the snow infiltrated.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!

"What is that?" he said aloud to himself. He swung his legs around and stood, putting on his jeans from the day before and his sweatshirt. He slipped his feet into his shoes without socks and shuffled from the bedroom dazed.

When he came out the front door he tripped over something at his feet.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!

He stumbled forward, catching himself on the porch banister. The white was blinding, a

seemingly infinite blanket of irradiated snow before him, all the way to where the woods began and beyond.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!

He squinted scrutinizing the surroundings, detecting movement in a lone tree between the cabin

and the barn. High above the branches was a large, red-crested bird clinging to the bark.

"HEY!" Alec shouted at the bird.

It's head cocked toward the sound. And then, as if responding to Alec, it drummed at the tree

trunk again.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!

"SHUT UP!" Alec shouted again, drawing out the final syllable with impressive volume and angst, waving his hands like a madman.

The bird flew away.

Alec swayed—groggy and weak from his outburst. He turned to go back inside and saw what he

had tripped over. On the welcome mat in front of the door were a pair of boots—one now overturned

—and a large paper bag. To the left of the items, outside the door-frame was a small stack of

firewood and a five-gallon container of gas.

He looked at the porch steps and saw the fresh footprints.

What time do people get up around here?