Snow fills the fields we used to know
And the little park where we would go
Sleeps far below in the snow
- Harry Nilsson
Sleigh bells ring, are you listenin'
In the lane, snow is glistening
A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight
Walking in a winter wonderland
- Darlene Love
Clyde dressed in his parka, heavy pants, and snowshoes. He stood by the door listening for a long time, but didn't hear anything. When he suggested taking a nap after lunch, his fathers pleasantly surprised him by saying they, too, were tired.
Convinced that they were at least in their room and not up and about, Clyde tucked his phone into his jacket's inside pocket, crossed to the window, and lifted the sash: A blast of cold wind washed over him, and he shuddered. For a moment he considered getting undressed and forgetting the whole thing, but the pressing need in his stomach pushed him on. Swinging one leg out, he slipped through and dropped into a snowbank. He got up, brushed himself off, and closed the window.
The snow was up to his knees, and, looking around, it looked to deeper elsewhere, if anything. Blinding sheets fell from the sky, reducing visibility drastically. He could see only as far as the house after the next one over, and even that was hazy and indistinct.
He could feel his resolve starting to crumble, so he pushed himself toward the street. It was too much work lifting his feet, so he just barreled through. When he reached the sidewalk (at least he thought it was the sidewalk), he turned north and started toward Lincoln's house. Wind battered him, nearly knocking him over. The sound of it whipping and whistling up the street made him nervous. It sounded like the voice of a hungry phantom.
At the end of his street, he turned right and crossed to Park Place. Many of the houses he passed were buried in the snow, looking like they had been dropped haphazardly into the mess by an oversized child. He saw a few lighted windows, but many of them were dark and frosted: The radio said most of the town was without power, and that the rest would be without probably by dark. Overnight, everything was expected to ice over, which would be when things started coming down.
He turned left onto Royal Drive, and walked into a fence. He walked a little farther up then turned again. Was it just him, or was the storm getting worse? The snow seemed to be coming faster, the curtain around him growing thicker and whiter. He could barely see five feet in front of him. The wind cracked against his face like the kiss of whip. He ducked his head and pressed forward: His foot kicked something, and he went down, his body sinking into the snow. He tried to push himself up by his hands, but they kept sinking, sinking. How deep is it?
Finally, he reached solid ground, and pushed himself up just as, on the other side of the street, a power pole started to fall with a loud wooden groan. The line was ripped from its mooring, and an electric flash filled the day. Screaming, Clyde threw his arms up; the pole fell in the opposite direction, crashing into the center of a house. The line dangled over the street, sparks showering onto the ground. Panting, his heart racing, Clyde got back underway, moving faster than he had before, but, sadly, was not much faster at all. Every step took great effort, and every so often, his legs buckled and nearly gave out. He kept his head down but glanced up often, his eyes squinted. Before long, he could see nothing beyond the tip of his nose. The storm pressed against him on every side cocooning him.
His anxiety started to rise: Even though he knew it was irrational, he couldn't help but think that the entire world had ceased to exist, that there was nothing but a cold white void, and that he had somehow managed to survive and was damned to wander it for all eternity. His heart was crashing. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure up a sweet, saving vision of Lori Loud's face, but he walked into something, bounced off, and fell into the snow.
Not again!
Sighing, he fought his way back to his feet and tried to ascertain what he had walked into. It was a car buried up to its windows. It was white, like the snow around it. He couldn't tell if it was parked at the curb or abandoned in the middle of the street. Hell, he could have been in someone's backyard three blocks out of his way for all he knew: In the heart of the void, there is no direction.
He was beginning to regret coming out here. He should have stayed home and contented himself with looking at her picture instead of trying to reach her. What was he thinking?
Crazy. That's what he was thinking. He was thinking crazy and obsessively and now he was going to wander in circles until he laid down and froze to death because of it.
Though he had wished for the sweet, blissful release of death many times over the course of his life, Clyde suddenly realized that he didn't want to die.
Unbeknownst to him, Ronnie Ann Santiago was having a very similar thought just one street over. She was bent against the rushing wind, her gloved hands shoved deeply into the pockets of her dull pink parka. She was wearing improvised snowshoes, but they did little more than make her steps even clunkier than they would have been otherwise.
You're an idiot, she told herself as she pushed against the raging storm, a complete fucking moron and now you're going to die. Happy with yourself? You're going to die all because you had to come out here over some boy.
That thought made her angry. Her mother would go to pieces, and Bobby would probably never get over it...all because she couldn't handle Lincoln wanting someone else. She couldn't even blame him for his, it was her, all her. If she wasn't so bullheaded she'd be home and warm and safe right now, but instead was she shambling through the biggest blizzard in almost forty years and heading nowhere but into the arms of Death himself. Was Lincoln's house even this way?
You said you could make it. You said you knew the area.
Yeah, well, she did, but the area was gone. All of the familiar sights and landmarks and everything else had been wiped away, buried, or hidden behind a dense falling blanket of white death. She looked around, and saw nothing but the same unbroken shade of white. White, white, white, just like Lincoln's hair.
She shocked a laugh from herself. What a time to be thinking about Lincoln's hair! Why don't you take a load off, lay down, and think about his smile next? Hell, take a nap too. Wake when December ends.
She laughed again, and the scarf fell away from her face. She stopped, put in back in place, and trudged on. God, it was cold. Had she ever been this cold in her life? She didn't think so. It was a deep, marrow chilling freeze that she imagined only existed on some level of hell. The wind raked her like icy nails, and the pelting snow hit her face like shards of broken glass.
Damn you, Lincoln Loud, look what you've done to me!
She tripped and went down to her knees, the snow rising up around her; her breath left her in a rush. She got back to her feet.
No, damn you Roberta. You stupid bitch.
Stupid, desperate, needy, emotional bitch. She would have cried, but she was afraid the tears would freeze in her eyes and blind her. She brushed the snow off of her, but it was too late: Her socks were wet, her pants and underwear were wet, and her undershirt was wet. She trembled as she walked, her teeth chattering together. She unknowingly veered off the road and walked right into a metal street lamp: Stars burst across her vision, and she fell back, blood gushing down her nose.
"Son of a bitch!" she screamed, shaking with cold and rage. She jumped to her feet, stripped one of her gloves off, and pressed her hand against her nose. Her fingertips came away red.
Perfect. Just perfect.
She looked up the street. Nothing. Literally. She considered turning back, but she honestly didn't think she would make it home.
She had to get to Lincoln's. He broke her heart, the least he could do was save her life.
A little over a mile away, Lincoln Loud was sitting in the kitchen and watching the storm rage; the snowy wind roared with an apocalyptic din that scared him. He could barely see to the stockade fence between his backyard and the next; at some point during the night, a tree fell onto it, cleaving through it like a knife through hot butter. The barren top of the tree was fifteen maybe twenty feet from the back porch, but it was lost in the void.
He reached for the can of soda on the table before him just as the lights flickered, dimmed, came back bright, then went out with a whir. "There goes the power!" Lori called from the living room.
"I'm blind!" Leni chimed in.
"No you aren't," Luna said.
"Oh. Okay. Never mind!"
Lincoln stayed where he was for a moment, then got up. The night before, he and Lynn helped Lisa carry her homemade generator down into the basement and hook it to the grid. It was supposed to kick on automatically sixty seconds after the power cut out. It had been slightly more than sixty seconds.
Just as he reached the basement door, Lisa strode into the kitchen holding a flashlight. "Move," she said, irritation evident in her voice. He opened the door and stepped aside. Lori, Leni, Luna, and mom and dad appeared in the archway to the living room.
"It's not working?" Lori asked worriedly.
"I don't think so," Lincoln said.
From below, a metallic crash rang out and Lisa cursed. A split second later, the power came back on, much dimmer and murkier than before.
Lisa ascended the stairs and stopped in the doorway. "The good news is: We have power. The bad news: Only five of the seven micro-illuminous fiber optic cables are working at full capacity, which means we need to conserve as much energy as possible if we don't want it to blow. That means no charging laptops or phones, no DVDs...in fact, we should unplug all appliances not currently in use, and not turn on too many lights. The generator will have a hard enough time keeping the heat on."
Everyone spread out and began unplugging everything: The TV, the microwave, the coffee maker, radios, alarm clocks. Lincoln covered the kitchen, then went up the backstairs and made sure everything was unplugged in his room. Next, he poked his head into Luan's room. She was curled up under the covers and snoring. She hadn't been feeling well the entire day, and Lincoln was beginning to worry.
Instead of waking her, he swept her room, unplugging her clock, her phone (95 percent...sorry, sis), Luna's amps, and both girls' laptops.
"What are you doing?" she asked sleepily.
"The power went out and Lisa's generator isn't working right, so we have to unplug everything."
"Great," she said, and sat up. "What time is it?"
Lincoln checked his phone. "12:30. How are you feeling?"
"Better," she said. For a moment she sat there dazed, her eyes puffy, and Lincoln smiled at how cute she was.
"You should go back to sleep."
"No," she said, "I'm fine." She got up and stretched.
Lincoln opened his mouth to ask if she was really feeling better when dad called up the stairs: "Lincoln!"
Lincoln poked his head into the hall. "Yeah?"
"Has Clyde texted you today?"
"No. Why?"
"He dads say he's not home and they're worried sick."
Lincoln's heart dropped. He went to the top of the stairs. "He's not home?"
"Nope. And there were footprints leading away from his window. They think he's coming here because he's been wanting to see you."
Oh, no. Clyde wasn't stupid enough to try and walk here in a blizzard, though...was he?
Something touched his shoulder, and he jumped: It was just Luan, her eyes worried. "What's wrong?"
Lincoln's mind spun. "Clyde. He snuck out and his dads think he's coming here."
Because he's been wanting to see you.
A twinge of guilt clinched Lincoln's stomach. He hadn't been spending much time with Clyde lately. He knew that. And he knew, vaguely, that Clyde wasn't entirely happy about it, which kind of bothered him. Clyde was his best friend...the brother he never had. It's just that he had so much else going on.
Like Luan.
"Oh, no," Luan said. "There's no way he'd make it. Have you looked outside recently?"
Lincoln nodded numbly.
"I have to find him."
He pulled away from Luan and went into his room. For a moment his sister stood where she was, her sleep-addled brain not comprehending what he meant. Then it struck her.
"You can't go out there!"
She went to his room and stood in the doorway; he was hurriedly pulling on thick black snow pant.
"I don't have any choice," he said. "He's my best friend and he's out there. He may even be hurt."
The thought of his friend injured in the snow brought tears to his eyes. The realization that it was his fault made his stomach hurt.
Luan couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You won't be helping him if you get lost too. Please, Lincoln, no."
Lincoln pulled on his boots. "I have to."
He threw on a sweatshirt.
"Fine," Luan said, "but I'm coming with you."
"No."
"Yes," she said forcefully. "I'm not letting you go out there by yourself."
Before Lincoln could argue further, she disappeared.
He sighed and briefly considered calling off the search. He knew how dangerous it was in the storm; he could very well get lost and freeze to death. That thought didn't bother him when it came to his own life. His best friend was worth it. But the thought of Luan being hurt was unacceptable.
But Clyde was lost, and if the shoe was on the other foot, he would do the same for Lincoln in a heartbeat.
Luan returned wearing a purple wool coat with a white fringe that reached her knees, a knit cap, and high black boots. She was winding a bright red scarf around her neck. As he watched her, Lincoln's heart filled with love.
And terror.
"Please stay here," he said.
"No," she replied curtly.
Lincoln sighed. "Fine."
He looked out the window. The world was white and cold.
Clyde, you dumbass...I'm sorry.
Clyde stumbled, tried to save himself from another fall, and failed, pitching forward face first into the snow. It enveloped him, getting into his boots, his jacket, and even his pants. For a moment he thought he didn't have the energy to stand; he would just lay here and die. The cold wasn't that bad, really; by this point, he was largely numb to it.
Something, however, pushed him to get back to his feet.
In the past fifteen minutes, the storm had intensified exponentially: The world was a swarming tempest of white, the wind lashing him harder, nonstop. The lenses of his glasses had iced over, and he removed them and stuck them into his jacket.
He had to get to Lincoln's, and fast. He stared forward, but must have veered off of the street, because he ran into something, and realized that it was the side of a house. Damn it. Where was the sidewalk? He thought it was right, but maybe it was left. He started right and passed a mailbox sticking out of the snow. It was crusted with ice and slanted.
The wind howled, and he shivered. He started right again, but realized his error. Before he could turn, however, he saw something coming out of the snow. He squinted against the battering flakes, and realized it was a person: Without his glasses, all he could see was a pale pink blur.
Reaching into his pocket, he put his glasses on and watched as the person, a girl by the looks of it, fell to their knees and sank into the snow. A moment later, an arm popped up and searched for purchase; it landed on the snow and sank again.
Clyde almost turned and left them, but at the last moment, he started toward them. "Are you okay?" he asked, the wind ripping the words from his mouth and blowing them into the ether. He reached the person and bent. They were facedown and not moving. He reached out and shook them.
Nothing.
His heart sputtered.
Again, he thought of leaving. They were a goner and he still had a fighting chance. The only thing that stopped him was the realization that he already had enough keeping him awake at night...he didn't need something else.
He stripped off his gloves, shoved them into his pockets, and grabbed the person by the back of their jacket. Grunting, straining, he brought them to their feet, his eyes wideneing when he saw a familiar face.
"Ronnie Anne?"
The girl's eyes were closed and her mouth was slighted parted. Her face was crusted with ice and snow; snot was frozen to the rim of her nostrils. He reached out and touched the side of her face: It was cold and hard, like marble. Her eyelids fluttered and her lips moved.
He hooked his arm under her shoulder. "Can you walk?" he asked.
She opened her eyes and looked at him; they were vacant and faraway.
"Walk."
He started forward, and she shuffled her feet. She was heavy. Clyde's knees gave out and he went partially down.
They had to get out of the snow fast. He looked around. There were houses out there, but he couldn't see them.
"Right," he said, and started in that direction. The snow got deeper. It was up to his hips now. Ronnie Anne was totally limp. He almost dropped her.
Ahead, something loomed out of the snow, and Clyde's heart jumped. As he got closer, he saw that it was only a toolshed, and his spirits sank. A gust of wind washed over him, and he nearly dropped Ronnie Anne again.
Beggers can't be choosers, they say.
He dragged her over to the shed and checked the door for a lock. There was none. Thank God.
He let Ronnie Anne drop into the snow (sorry) and, working quickly, cleared enough that he could slip the door open just wide enough to admit a small body. He helped Ronnie Anne up, shoved her through the crack (she fell to the floor and hit her head on a pink plastic riding toy – sorry), then scooched in behind her, closing the door against the snow. Within minutes, it was blocked again.
Less than a mile away, Luan Loud strapped tennis rackets to her brother's feet, and then he did the same for her. At his window, he lifted the sash, and cold wind rushed in.
"The drop isn't that far," he said, glancing back over his shoulder. "And there's a snowbank."
He considered slipping out the back, but the risk of being seen by one of his parents or his siblings was too high.
"Are you ready?"
Luan nodded uncertainly. No, she wasn't, but there was no way in hell she was going to let the man she loved go out into a blizzard alone.
"Good," he said. He hooked one leg over the sill and then the other. For a moment he was perched, then he jumped. Luan went to the window and looked down just as he stood. "Come on!" he called, his voice muffled by the wind.
Luan took a deep breath and wondered if the fall would hurt the baby. The snowbank was ten feet high at least, totally covering the dining room window. The drop into it could be more than five feet. Was that enough to do damage?
"Come on!"
She climbed out the way Lincoln had, and leapt, falling into the bank and sinking. Lincoln grabbed her under her arms and pulled her out. "Are you okay?" he asked, shouting to be heard over the wind.
"Yeah!" she replied.
He grabbed her by the hand and led her around the front of the house. The snow was so deep in places that it reached Luan's waist.
"Lincoln, this is crazy!"
"I told you to stay!"
She knew. And a part of her already wished she had.
