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TONIGHT
HELEN MUNSON WAS ON EDGE AS SHE SAT AT HER DESK AT THE STATION. Despite the radio being down, she would continuously glance toward it, praying for it to crackle with life. Praying that her grandson's voice would come through with something other than worrying words. She could still hear the urgency, the panic, the fear, in his voice. Whatever Eben had seen out there was bad.
Stella was just as worried, having been near Helen's desk when Eben contacted them over the walkie-talkie. They were confused about why they needed to get the shotguns and ammo from the locker, but Stella did what Eben said and got them ready, knowing that the situation must be serious if they needed firearms on standby.
But, of course, the shotguns had frightened the boys.
Ben had become attached to his grandmother ever since his father contacted them. He was terrified, crying for his parents. All he wanted was to be in his mother's embrace, the one place he felt the most safe in the world. But his Grandma Helen held him close, and he settled against her lap, head on her shoulder once more. Eyes glued to the door as he waited for it to open up again.
Eventually, Stella suggested they play a game of Risk to keep themselves distracted as they waited for Eben and Freya to return. The shaken Ben reluctantly agreed and helped his Uncle Jake set the game up for the four of them to play. And while the ten-year-old eventually calmed down, now distracted by the game, Jake would occasionally glance toward the holding-cell to stare at the prisoner, fear evident in his gaze.
"No way out of town, not now," the Stranger taunted them. He was standing in his cell now, watching them as they played their board game. "Nobody can come help."
"Shut up," Jake said.
"Ignore him, Jake," Helen told him.
"You can feel it," the Stranger went on. "That cold ain't the weather. That's death approaching."
