Will they have weapons? The fat one, Jeremiah, he’d been asking about hunting knives and guns. I like guns. Danny doesn’t have a gun. There’s probably a tyre iron in the trunk, but as far as weapons go, that’s it. There’s nothing but maps in the glove box and an empty coffee container in the cup holder. In the grocery bags there are a few steaks, chicken breasts and some celery and soft drinks and a dozen other useless items. He could possibly throw the grocery bags at them when they run at him, but he doesn’t think it’ll do much good.

Then an idea occurs to him.

He drives on for another few minutes, slowing as he reaches a turn. He takes a smaller road left, trying to drive casual, the car jolting every time it hits a pothole. After a minute or two, he pulls up outside an old cabin, gets out and grabs the grocery bags from the passenger seat. He takes his time, waits until he sees, out of the corner of his eye, the black car crawling up through the swirling snow and patches of darkness. Once he feels sure they can see him, Danny walks up to the cabin door and knocks.

He knocks again.

Oh, God, please be home please be home please be—

The door opens. Eddie Sullivan peers up at him suspiciously. It takes a few moments for the old man to recognise Danny outside of the store.

“Hello, Mr Sullivan,” Danny says, smiling brightly. “I thought you might be having a little trouble getting into town with the snow and all, so I figured I’d come up here and deliver a few essentials.”

Eddie peers at the bags. “I didn’t order nothing.”

“I know,” says Danny. “Just being neighbourly.”

Eddie chews his lip. “I didn’t order it, so I ain’t paying for it.”

Danny nods. “Sounds reasonable. May I come in?”

Eddie grunts, but shuffles sideways and allows Danny to step in out of the snow. Danny puts the bags on the table and immediately goes to the window, makes sure not to disturb the curtains as he peers out. The black car crawls by, headlights still off. It’s an old model, a Cadillac by the look of it. He sees a flash of Jeremiah’s pale, fleshy face pressed up against the passenger window, staring at the cabin, before the Cadillac does a U-turn and goes back the way it came.

“This gonna be a regular thing, then?” Eddie asks. “You running a delivery service?”

Danny turns, watches him root through the bags. “I’m just trying it out, seeing how it works. Think of it as a one-off kind of thing, then—”

“I’ll take it,” says Eddie. “The delivery service. But next time don’t bring so much damn celery or feminine hygiene products.”

“Right. Yeah.”