His heart hammered against his ribs. It wasn\u2019t a raccoon. It wasn\u2019t a dog.<\/p>\n
It was a bundle. A cheap, blue nylon parka, half-buried in a snowdrift on his welcome mat. And sticking out of the parka was a small hand, the skin turning a terrifying shade of marble-white.<\/p>\n
\u201cHoly mother of\u2026\u201d Arthur dropped the poker. He fell to his knees, ignoring the agony in his joints, and scooped the bundle up. It was light\u2014terrifyingly light.<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
It was a boy. No older than six.<\/p>\n
Arthur rushed him inside, kicking the door shut with his heel. The silence of the house returned, but the atmosphere had shattered. He laid the child on the rug in front of the roaring fire. The boy\u2019s lips were blue. His eyelashes were frozen together with ice. He was missing a shoe.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, hey, can you hear me?\u201d Arthur rubbed the boy\u2019s arms vigorously, panic rising in his throat like bile. \u201cWake up, son. Don\u2019t you do this on my watch.\u201d<\/p>\n
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<\/a><\/p>\n