Grid of Ice
As the door shut automatically behind him, Randy Fong hesitated just inside the warmth of Kalt Hall, the athletic building.
“Made it,” he muttered, pulling off his padded black leather gloves. “Survived another trip through the northern air.”
Through the window in the door, across a short stretch of dead campus lawn, he could see the aged red brick of Burns Hall, the humanities building from which he had just hiked through bitter cold. Across the bleak afternoon landscape, the snow was a mere dusting of white powder over the huge shapes of jagged, dormant trees, bristles of brown grass, and sidewalks of gray concrete. On the campus of Wolverine State College, the land was level and frozen hard.
“What a climate.” He walked down the empty hallway looking for the office of Don
