Seven days into the cold apocalypse. The entire state had gone dark. Ice had crushed the communication cell towers, and snow had swallowed the highways whole.
The city had frozen into a graveyard of ice sculptures. The roll-up doors at the supermarket had been pried open, and nothing was left on the bare shelves but tattered scraps of plastic packaging.
At the gas station, windows had been bashed to shards. Pump nozzles hung limp in the snow, their tips crusted over with thick, jagged icicles. Abandoned cars were frozen solid at the side of the road, a fuzzy layer of frost coating the inside of every window.
Scott huddled in the corner of a warehouse.
All he had left to his name were the few original boxes of instant noodles and a couple barrels of watered-down diesel. He'd burned hal
