The door clicked and locked shut behind me, and I dropped into the chair in front of the bank of security monitors.
Scott stood rooted in the snow for what felt like forever, not moving a single muscle, just like a rotted old tree stump half-buried under a drift.
Slowly, he sank into a crouch, then bent to pick up the tattered old military coat, shook all the loose snow off it, and draped it over his shoulders. When he turned to walk away, he dragged his right foot through the snow, leaving a lopsided, jagged furrow in his wake.
I killed the feed and headed for a shower. As the hot water poured down from the shower head, my thoughts drifted back to my past life.
Back in that gas station basement, there was no hot water, no shower head—nothing but a plastic bucket full of packed snow se
