Chapter 75: The Midnight Probes
The northern gale had dropped to a sullen, freezing draft that pushed low clouds of dry ice crystals across the buried pavement of Crestline Avenue. In the deep shadow cast by the ruined portico of the Palmer estate, five figures huddled against a snowbank, their bodies shivering with violent, irregular spasms. They had wrapped themselves in whatever fabrics remained inside the looted master bedrooms down the street, layering wool curtains over cashmere topcoats and binding strips of velvet upholstery around their boots with frayed electrical cord.
Every breath they drew came through cracked wool scarves, leaving crusts of white rime across their brows and eyelashes.
Between them, tucked beneath the bulky folds of a waterlogged sheepskin coat, Caldwell he
