As they trekked through countryside the snow was almost as high as their knees in places. A bitter wind blew wisps of white stuff in their faces, obscuring their vision. They heard the first of the bookers before they saw it. The thing screeched at the top of its festering lungs, hidden from them by the falling snow. Mickey shouldered the USAS-12 and sighted, looking for a target. “No,” Bear said, pressing a palm to the barrel of Mickey’s auto-shotgun, hefting his mace in his other hand. “Where is it?” Julie asked, anxious. “There!” Gwen pointed through the swirling snow. The snow slowed the thing. As they watched it came at them in giant strides, like it was moving through molasses. It wore a neon rain slicker and stood out in the white. Suddenly it roared and changed paths, loping away from them, back in the direction they had come. “Buddy!” Julie yelled. He stopped in the snow well behind them, stood there, saddle bags draped over his shoulders, hands at his sides. “Dammit.”
