From the Light
by Larry Ferrill 1 It’s already dark, not a good time to be looking for a new place to shelter; it’s time to be burrowing under and hoping to survive the night. But we have to find something soon. My clothes are drenched, the cold wind is turning them to ice as I run, and no matter how hard I pump my arms and legs, I’m still shivering. “Hurry,” Stacy says, under my arm. “I’m freezing.” We reach Shadow Town, but all the people are already inside their tents or whatever makeshift hovel passes for a house. No amount of pleading for help can persuade anyone to let us in. I try sneaking into a few that look deserted, only to be met by guns or knives or rocks. I immediately throw my hands up and back out. Finally, I squat behind a structure that looks like a concrete-and-cardboard igloo. I use it for a windbreak, shoving my hands into my tattered backpack to warm them, though I’m still shivering. You won’t survive the night. The thought hits me like a fist. I try chasing it...
