The family was on the slope which wandered down to the main road, Johnny holding hands with her and Ben while Margaret held tight to Ellen's other hand, when Johnny cried out. "Hey!" he shouted.
Ellen thought his father had caused him to cry out until she saw Ben's puzzled glance at him. Margaret was the first to realise that he was shouting at the stillness of the town. She gripped Ellen's hand as though she was securing herself, and launched her own cry. "Wake up!" she yelled.
Her shout seemed to disappear as swiftly as her white breath. There was no response, no sound or movement within the intricate icy shells which covered every window. "Don't," Ellen whispered, jerking the children's hands, feeling too much like a terrified child herself. The stillness appalled her, the sense that the four of them were alone in Stargrave, but even worse was the possibility that the shouts might awaken some other response. "Save your breath," she said, though the words made her inexplicably nervous. At least now they were at the main road – the route to the car.
It showed her more of the deadened landscape, the deserted square, the darkened shops sealed by ice, the tangles of footprints like a memorial to the townsfolk, preserving the pattern of a dance in which they had participated unaware. But it led to the bridge and out onto the moors, out to the world beyond. She mustn't let herself start wondering if there was life beyond the moors which were pale as the moon. Whatever had happened to Stargrave and its people, surely it couldn't have overtaken the world. There would be time for her to attempt to comprehend what had happened when she had taken the family somewhere safe.
She wouldn't leave Ben behind if she could persuade him into the car. Surely he wouldn't stay in the dead town, and surely even in his present mental state he wouldn't try to prevent her from taking the children away from Stargrave. Nothing could, she told herself – certainly not the stillness, even if it felt like an icy presence which seemed to lean closer as she and Ben led the children past the first of the outlying cottages. It felt as if the dead town was rising up and looming over her, waiting for her to look up and see its vast new face. There was nothing to see, and she wouldn't be forced to look, though not looking made her feel as though the enormous silent presence was herding her and the family towards the track to the forest. She needn't be afraid of the forest when they would reach the car first. She forced her numb indeterminate hands to grasp the children's hands more firmly as she came to the beginning of the track.
The car looked like a shell dwarfed by the forest – like a snow sculpture less convincing than the figures behind the house. It would take minutes to clear the windscreen and the windows. She would never be able to conceal her intentions from Ben, and she had to believe that there was no need, that however calm he was managing to seem, they were united in distress. "We've got to start the car," she said.
He was gazing up the track, and his face remained blank as he spoke. "Give it a try," he said in a tone which could mean anything.
"You and the children clear the glass while I start the engine." She relinquished Johnny's hand so as to grope in her pocket for her keys. Her finger and thumb felt impossibly distant from each other and from her as she used them to lift out the keys. She couldn't help remembering how Ben had taken the keys from her handbag, but that mustn't matter now; only driving mattered. She ran to the car and scraped the lock of the driver's door clear of snow, and succeeded in fumbling the key into the slot. Her gloved hand was so clumsy that she twisted the key too hard, then let go of it for fear it would snap. She could feel that the lock was frozen. "Come in the house while I fetch some hot water," she said, quickly enough to keep her shivering out of her voice.
She was talking to Ben as well as to the children, but he stayed by the car. She ran up the slippery path to the front door, where the key skittered over the lock until she managed to control her panic. She pinched the key between her finger and thumb, which felt like a rag doll's, and slid it shakily into the lock.
The dark hall met her with a feeble surge of heat which reminded her unpleasantly of a dying breath. She slapped the light-switch and sprinted along the hall, trying to ignore the dark which towered overhead. The faceless guardian appeared at the kitchen window as the fluorescent tube fluttered alight. There was a kettle of water waiting to be heated on the stove, and at least her gloved hand was capable of turning the control. "Don't take anything off," she told the children, "we'll be out again any minute." She couldn't tell if she was hot or cold or if the house was, she wasn't even sure if she was seeing her breath. "Didn't anyone close the door?" she cried, and ran back along the hall, trying to identify the soft flat thuds beyond the door. Ben was punching the windscreen to crack the snow. "Don't do it too hard," she called to him, and heard him say "Don't worry" as she closed the door. She raced to the kitchen again, but the kettle wasn't yet steaming. "Walk about to keep your circulation going," she said, and led the children round and round the kitchen until she felt trapped in a ritual dance. When the kettle began to spout mist, she seized the handle with her fattened hand and urged the children out of the house. Ben had almost cleared the windscreen and the other windows of the car, except for faint patterns which she preferred not to examine too closely but which she prayed wouldn't interfere with her vision while she was driving. She poured a little of the boiling water on the lock and around the edge of the door, and placed the kettle on the snow, which shrank back from it, cracking. She aimed the key at the lock and found the aperture at once, an achievement which seemed like a promise. She turned the key and pulled at the handle, and the door opened with a creaking of dislodged ice. Bending her legs in order to sit behind the wheel was agony, but she had to bear it, telling herself that it would lessen once she was driving, once the vehicle heated up. She poked the ignition key into its slot and turned it, turned it again, turned it while treading on the accelerator, turned it when she'd pulled out the choke. The engine remained silent as the snowscape.
She tugged at the bonnet release and climbed out of the car, biting her frozen lip. The bonnet hadn't lifted as it should, but that was because of the snow weighing it down. She swept the bulk of the snow off the bonnet and heaved it open, and stared into the exposed machinery. She felt her eyes prickling with tears which felt as if they were turning into shards of ice. Even if she succeeded in unfreezing the electrical components, the vehicle was useless. The radiator had burst, and icicles hung out of it like teeth in a spitefully grinning mouth.
Of course the town was full of cars, but there was no reason to suppose they weren't in at least as bad a state. She was standing helplessly, feeling as if she had somehow let the family down and wondering what she could possibly say, when she felt a cold arm hug her and turn her towards the house. "We're here to stay. There never was anywhere else for us," Ben said.
FORTY-FOUR
It was nearly time, Ben thought. The winter had finally emerged from the forest, and soon it would come for them. Everything around them was a sign of it. The world had been awaiting it without knowing, disguising it as myths to suppress the terror of it, but you had to give yourself up to the terror before you could experience the awesomeness. He'd done his best to guide the family through the process, but Johnny had made Ellen stop him. Now she and the children weren't ready, and it was nearly time.
He mustn't blame them. They hadn't had his upbringing. At least they had responded to his stories, which had been symptoms of the imminent awakening in the forest and of his buried awareness of it – responded so enthusiastically that he was sure their minds were capable of being opened further. He must be patient with them, as patient as he had time to be. Surely now, after seeing so much in the town, Ellen had to accept that he knew best. He moved closer to her and put his arm around her. "We're here to stay. There never was anywhere else for us."