Darker rectangles on the panelling not bleached by sunlight highlighted where picture frames and mounted animal heads had once hung. Next to the couch was a little side table stained with a series of circles where a mug had been repeatedly set down without a coaster. A table beside the front door had an island of glossy wood surrounded by dust where a lamp once stood. They were just empty spaces now, but they told a story. Memories of a household; a coffee break; a light to welcome you home. Fingerprints of a life once lived. Peter ran his fingertips along the top of the oven extractor fan, grinding a ridge of dusty grease into a ball with his thumb and forefinger, and wondered what happened to the people who used to live here. Maybe they made it to the refuge at Yellowstone. Maybe they wandered the Earth in a herd with the rest of the Dead. Maybe they didn’t even make it that far. He let the ball of dust topple from his fingers and stood in the middle of the room watching the snow tumble across the bay window. It was getting dark now. Flashes of neon coming up from the street below struck fronds of frost crawling across the glass, turning them red and then green.

“Whoever lived here before liked a lot of wood,” Peter offered. “So that’s a good start.”

Cooper tossed his Stetson across the table. “This wouldn’t look like wood if I straddled it in a plaid shirt with a pickaxe.”

Peter smiled. “But would you do that for me anyway?”

“It ain’t wood.”

“It is a bit orange.”

“And cold to the touch. How’d they even manage that?”

“Teak varnishing,” said Peter.

“Huh?”

“Teak varnishing. Enhancing the natural charm of your home with timeless beauty.”

“Jesus. Tell me you didn’t trade good meat for those darned magazines.”

Peter cleared his throat and proceeded to pick the welcome pack up off the dining table. Cooper made his way into the kitchen area, yanked a drawer open and quickly shut it again.

“What was in there?”

“Just a bunch of whosits,” said Cooper opening the refrigerator. “And this won’t fit a deer carcass in it.”

“We’re not storing a whole deer in the refrigerator.”

“We could if its head sat on the top shelf.”

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and go fill the bath tub? It’s the big empty white thing in the middle of the room, if you’re not sure.”

Cooper grumbled. “You int funny.”