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next.”
    “I wanted to get ahead of the weather,” Dregan said. He
stopped at the stairs and effortlessly lifted the propane tanks and displayed
them, arms outstretched like a T. “I brought Helen refills. Hope she has pie.
And a few boxes of five-five-six. We’ve been doing a lot of foraging east, and
strangely enough, the pickings in the ammo department are slim to none. And none seems to be taking over the neighborhood.”
    Ray trapped the shotgun in the crook of his arm. He held the
screen door open and stepped aside. “As they say ... timing is everything. Five
hundred rounds are yours if you keep the cylinders coming through winter. And
Helen just so happened to have baked a pie. Had me two slices last night.
Almost went in for a third—”
    “I had to slap Ray’s hand away,” said a voice from somewhere
inside the house.
    “Old Ray’s still getting frisky with you, eh Helen?” Dregan
said, craning his head in the door before crossing the threshold. “Where do you
want these?”
    Stepping from the gloom, stubby scoped carbine in hand,
Helen replied, “I’m the randy one.” Then, abruptly, her tone going all
business, she added, “You can put those out the kitchen door with the others.
And take the empties with you when you leave, won’t you please, Mister Dregan.”
    Ray followed the caller inside and, before closing the doors,
cast a furtive glance over his shoulder at the camouflaged SUV and the driveway
winding out behind it.
    The door lock snicked shut behind him and Dregan heard Ray
ask how the hunt for his daughter’s killer was going. To which Dregan grunted
and said, “Sore subject. My sons ... they want me to arm up and hunt them down.
Me, I am more inclined to wait until spring and let them come to me. That way
we’re not fighting the weather and vehicle breakdowns.”
    “Not to mention the deaders ,” added Helen, opening the
door leading out to the enclosed back porch for the hulking man.
    Again Dregan grunted, but more from the exertion of easing
the tanks down softly than a preamble to voicing a thought. He said nothing and
stepped back into the kitchen, rubbing his calloused hands together.
    Shutting the chill out, Helen closed the back door and
rearranged the thick sheet of plastic weatherproofing to keep out the drafts.
Then she shuffled over to the propane-fired heater and warmed her hands.
Finally, without making eye contact, she said, “Almanac is predicting a doozy
of a winter.”
    Nothing but small talk , thought Dregan. He said,
“Farmer’s Almanac didn’t predict the scourge of dead, did it?”
    “No … but it was kind of inevitable the way we were treating
our Mother Earth.”
    Dregan rolled his eyes. He said, “About Lena’s murderers.
Have you seen any sign of them or that big truck since I was here last?”
    “No, we haven’t,” answered Ray immediately. “Again, you’re
jumping to conclusions. Helen made it abundantly clear the last time you were
here … and every time prior … that we only offered them harbor from the
dead. Nothing more. Nothing less. For all we know … they had nothing to
do with the ambush and killings. Maybe it was coincidence.”
    “That’s alright, Ray. Believe what you will”—the big man
cracked his knuckles—“I’ve got the patience of Job. One way or another they’ll
show their faces around here again and you’ll call me and then we will find out
once and for all.”
    Helen wrapped the remains of the pumpkin pie in wax paper
and placed it on the counter near Dregan. She looked up at him and said in a
soft voice, “They didn’t seem like killers. Not by a long shot.”
     “We told you … most of them were kids,” said Ray. “You’re
educated, Alexander. You knew who Nietzsche was when I first met you. One of
the few who has. What would those folks with the nice vehicles and weapons have
to gain from killing a couple of teenagers driving that ?” And though he
couldn’t see it, he hooked a thumb over his