Hochstetter's hands were frozen. The wind roared through the broken windows and bit through his thick gloves and heavy overcoat. The cracks from the bullet hole in the windshield were alive, stretching and clawing their way across his vision. It wouldn't be long before the whole thing shattered. Driving was nearly impossible already.

Hochstetter cursed. He cursed the cold weather. He cursed Sergeant Carter's wife and her rifle. He cursed the back roads he had been forced to drive down to avoid the big cities. He cursed just how big America was. He had been driving for hours and he was still hours away from his final destination. Karl had warned him and insisted Hochstetter bring extra gasoline. He was glad he had listened.

But whether he had enough gasoline or not, he had to stop. It was just too cold.

Ahead, there was a small pull-out on the side of the road, leading to a lane that stopped at a gate. In the distance, Hochstetter could make out a speck of light, most likely from a lonely farmhouse. Hochstetter drove up to the gate and got out of the car. He paused for a moment and looked up.

Hochstetter nearly forgot how to breathe. He had seen stars before, but the vast expanse of the sky— a sky far bigger than any he had seen in Europe or South America— made the heavens look infinite. More stars than he had ever seen spilled out from a silvery river. Even the moon hid itself so as not to intrude upon their glory.

It took great effort to tear his eyes away from the sight but he managed to do so. He had to focus. Perhaps the cold was getting to him more than he thought.

Keeping his hands in his pockets and tucking his face into his upturned collar, Hochstetter trudged through snow that went past his ankles and up to the gate. Luck was with him. There didn't seem to be a lock. Hochstetter pushed against it. It squealed from use and the snow barred its movement. With a grunt, Hochstetter put his shoulder into it and forced it through the snow. When it was wide enough, he got back into his car and slowly drove down the lane. While it was covered in snow, there was still a marked difference between the lane and the fields surrounding it. Perhaps it had been cleared just before the last snowfall. Still, there were several times that Hochstetter feared he might get stuck. But the car had enough power to make it through. Its grip, however, left something to be desired, and Hochstetter's hands hurt from holding the steering wheel so tightly.

It was a gamble to ask a stranger for help. But if he didn't, he ran the risk of freezing to death and all this effort would have been for nothing.

Finally, he stopped in front of the house. He quickly checked his watch. The glowing hands told him it was well past two in the morning. He hoped someone would hear him. But even if they didn't, Hochstetter was determined to get inside.

Hochstetter turned off the car and got out. He was about to go up the steps when he paused. Then he turned back to the car, opened the door, and pushed his seat down. He reached into the back and grabbed the heavy wool blankets from the seat. Another suggestion from Karl—just in case.

Hochstetter slammed the door, hoping the noise would alert the people inside so that, hopefully, he would not have to wait outside too long. He went around the back of the car and unlocked the trunk.

The smell of blood and fear hit Hochstetter's nose instantly transporting him to better days. Days when he held people's lives in his hand and, at his command, could make them disappear. He remembered opening cell doors to find criminals cowering in the corner, reeking from the stench of their own waste, and begging him to let them go. 'Mercy' some would say, and they often found it at the end of a gun.

Though it was dark, there was enough light from the porch to allow Hochstetter to see Sergeant Carter shaking. He smirked. It hadn't taken so long to break him after all.

"W-w-w-what n-n-now, B-b-b-b-backpf-f-f-feif-f-f-f-fenges-s-s-sicht?" The venom in Carter's voice broke through his shivering and Hochstetter realized he hadn't broken Carter at all. Not yet, anyway.

Hochstetter looked at the blankets that were slung over his arm and then back at Carter. "Here," he said, throwing the blankets into the trunk. "It would be a shame if the cold killed you before I could."

"G-g-go to h-h-hell."

Hochstetter just slammed the trunk closed. Then he hurried up the steps to the farmhouse and knocked loudly on the door. "Hello. Hello in there," he hollered, adopting his best American accent. "Hello? Is anyone in there? Please, I need assistance!"

He kept banging until a light shone through the front window. The door didn't open. Instead, a voice said from behind it, "Hello? Who is it? I have a gun."

"Please, I've had an accident. I need a place to sleep for the night. Please. Can you help me?" He did his best to sound meek and mild. In fact, he tried to mimic Sergeant Carter— the most mild-mannered American he knew.

There was a long moment of silence, but then the door opened a crack. Hochstetter stepped back and hunched his shoulders, looking cold and pathetic. Finally, the door opened fully. A young man stood in the doorway, inspecting Hochstetter carefully.

"What in the name of Cracker Jacks are you doing out in the middle of nowhere so late?" the man asked.

Hochstetter looked sheepish. "Oh boy. I was in such a hurry that I didn't even think of the time. It's my daughter. I got a phone call from her—" he checked his watch— "gosh, three hours ago now. She's having her first baby. My wife and I were planning on heading out next week so we could help her get ready, but the baby decided to come early. Too early. I didn't even think about the time, I just knew I had to get there in case… Well, in case something happened to either of them.

"But some joker somewhere must have been shooting at something too close to the road because while I was driving my front and back window shattered. At first, I thought it was a rock, but then I thought that all the rocks are buried under the snow and even if they weren't, no rock could do that much damage!

"Anyway, I just need a place to sleep for the night. I think I can make it to my daughter's with the car in this condition, but not while it's so cold. I'm hoping it'll be warmer in the morning."

Hochstetter took a breath, having barely stopped for one during the whole sad tale. The man regarded him curiously and then looked over his shoulder at the car. "Someone might have been shooting a coyote," he reasoned. "Lost five chickens to one myself just last month. Well—" he looked Hochstetter up and down one more time— "come on in. I've got a couch you can sleep on. I'm sure the wife won't mind. I'll even send you off with some breakfast in the morning."

"Thank you," Hochstetter said. "Thank you very much."

Benjamin Miller studied the stranger sleeping on the couch. Middle-aged with greying hair, a receding hairline, and a neatly trimmed beard, he seemed harmless enough. A heavy blanket covered him as he slept peacefully. But something was nagging Benjamin that he couldn't quite identify. A feeling that danger, perhaps, lurked under the stranger's genteel exterior.

"Should we wake him?" Benjamin's wife, Frances, asked the kitchen.

Benjamin checked his watch. 5:30. "Not unless you expect him to help with chores," Benjamin replied.

"Oh, I don't think so. He looks like a city slicker. Did you see his suit? It must cost seventy-five dollars, at least! It's a shame he has to sleep in it, on the couch no less."

Benjamin just grunted. The man could be a king for all he cared— last night he was no more than a beggar. As far as he was concerned, when a man is freezing to death, a couch and a warm blanket were worth more than all the gold in Fort Knox.

"He's got such a fancy car, too," Frances said as she stood on her tiptoes to look out the window that hung over the sink. "What kind do you think it is?"

"I didn't get a good look," Benjamin replied. "But I ought to go see what sort of damage it has. Maybe I have something that can give it a temporary fix until he can get to a city." He quickly put on his outside clothes and went out the door.

In the dim morning light, Benjamin was able to get a better look at the car. Frances was right; it was fancy. Benjamin had never been a car enthusiast, but it was obvious that, despite the damage, this was a new car and top-of-the-line. It was far superior to his old Ford sedan and could probably make it all the way to New York before his farm truck even got down the lane to the main road.

It was too bad that the back window was completely shattered and the front window was severely damaged. As he got closer, he saw a pockmark on the back fender from what was obviously a bullet. Benjamin scratched his head as he inspected it. Though the explanation he had devised had been plausible enough last night, the damage now looked too well placed for it to be the result of irresponsible coyote hunters.

Benjamin was trying to figure out the logistics of it all when suddenly there was a loud thump from the trunk. Cautiously, he came closer. There was another thump and Benjamin swore he could hear a muffled voice from inside.

"H-hello?" Benjamin knelt down in front of the trunk and put his ear close to it. There was a response, but he couldn't quite make it out. Springing to his feet, Benjamin raced back into the house. Quickly, he grabbed the stranger's overcoat and dug through the pockets.

"Benjamin Miller what are you doing?!" Frances cried.

"There's something— no someone in that man's trunk!" he explained. He found the keys and didn't bother to say more as he rushed back out. There were several keys on the ring, but Benjamin picked the one that looked most like a car key and jammed it into the lock. His eyes grew wide when he lifted the trunk lid. "Oh my—"

The lid suddenly slammed shut. Benjamin whirled around to see the stranger beside him, his hand firmly on the trunk.

"I wish you had not done that," the stranger said, his voice now heavy with a German accent.

"Look, buddy," Benjamin said, feeling his heart race, "I don't know what's going on here, but I don't want any trouble."

The stranger sighed and shook his head. "I am afraid it's too late for that."

"No, no, come on," Benjamin said as he slowly backed away. The sense of danger he had felt early was undeniable as the man sneered at him. If he could make it into the barn, he could get his rifle and then this man would no longer be a threat. "Whatever is going on is your business, not mine. Let's just keep it that way."

"I wish I could trust you not to talk but—" The stranger pulled a gun from his pocket.

"Wait!"

BLAM

Carter's heart stopped.

"Hochstetter?! Hochstetter!" he cried at the sound of the gunshot. Another followed it. Carter pounded on the roof of the trunk. "Hochstetter! What did you do?!"

There were two more gunshots which sounded a little further away. Carter broke out in a sweat. For one brief moment, he had seen someone other than Hochstetter open the trunk. He had thought it might have been an accomplice. Now he feared it was just some innocent bystander. A loose end that Hochstetter didn't want to leave hanging.

Carter stopped knocking and strained to hear anything beyond his prison. The only thing he could hear was his heart pounding against his chest. The silence stretched for eternity and Carter wondered if Hochstetter and the other man might have just shot each other, leaving him stuck in this trunk to rot.

Finally, he heard the keys go in the lock and a moment later the trunk opened. Hochstetter appeared. "Out," he ordered.

Carter didn't move. "What did you do?"

Hochstetter growled, grabbed Carter's arm, and yanked on it. The movement sent a shockwave of pain through his body and he cried out. Hochstetter didn't care and pulled on him again, bringing him halfway out of the trunk. One last pull sent Carter to the ground where he curled up, trying to fight against the pain that exploded from his knee.

Hochstetter reached down and grabbed his foot. Carter wanted to kick him with his free foot, but as soon as Hochstetter pulled on his injured leg, stars filled his vision and something terrible possessed his voice, causing howls of pain to erupt.

When Hochstetter finally dropped his foot, Carter was shaking. He gulped in air and snorted it out, his eyes shut tightly as he tried to get ahold of himself. Despite laying in the snow without a shirt, he was sweating.

It took a few minutes to ride out the pain. When he had, he cracked open an eye. He saw a trail of blood in the snow and wondered if it was his. But it was going in the wrong direction, going from the car to the house whereas he was still outside. Carter wondered who the last two shots had been meant for.

Hochstetter came through the front door and headed towards him. It was strange, but Hochstetter looked upset. Maybe it had been an accomplice? Maybe Hochstetter hadn't wanted to kill him but for some reason had to? Carter furrowed his brow, confused by everything that was happening.

Instead of stopping when he reached him, Hochstetter kept going. Carter followed him with his eyes, watching until he disappeared into a nearby shed. A moment later, the shed door opened, and then a car backed out of it. It kept traveling backward. Panic set in as it came closer and Carter tried to gather enough strength to scramble out of the way, but the pain in his knee flared up and paralyzed him.

Thankfully, the car stopped a few feet away from him. Hochstetter hopped out and opened the back door.

"No trunk this time. Ah, but you will not cause trouble, will you, Sergeant Carter?"

Carter tried to spit at him, but his mouth was dry.

"I would hate to have to go back to Bismarck to murder your family if you did. So just to make sure—"

Carter should have known what Hochstetter was about to do and should have prepared. But even if he had known, there was no time. Again, Hochstetter stomped viciously on his knee. Once, twice, and by the third time Carter lost all his senses completely. He barely noticed when Hochstetter grabbed the handcuff that was still attached to his right hand and clamped the other end to his left ankle. As Hochstetter hauled him into the back of the car, Carter let the darkness take him.