Will and Troy stood in front of the gas station bonfire, feeling the heat thaw their clothing and slowly seep into their bones. Every few seconds they rotated which side of their body was facing the flames, as the side turning away immediately began to get cold.

  "How do you think we should get gas back to the car?" Troy asked Will, as he rubbed his hands together and extended them toward the heat.

  "Gas cans, I figure," said Will. "They have to have some in the station here. The tricky part is figuring out how to get the gas itself."

  "I've had to siphon gas from my buddy's car once, when I ran out one time," Troy offered. They discussed that method, took a couple of sprints into the gas station, and located some 5-gallon gas cans and a length of rubber hose from some RV supplies. Taking quick ventures away from the fire wasn't nearly as strenuous as the treacherous dash they made to get to the gas station. With the assembled supplies, Will and Troy made a quick dash to the nearest car, less than 20 feet away.

  With his hands pulled into his sleeves for protection, Will lifted the handle on the door. It didn't budge.

  "Frozen," Will called to Troy, who was positioning himself near the gas cap.

  Will took a step back and kicked at the door handle, trying to break the ice free. He couldn't get much momentum, thanks to the frost on the pavement, but after several kicks, he was confident the door handle was loose. Lifting again, it moved, but the door didn't open.

  "It's locked," he said, defeatedly. Staring in the window, he saw the lone figure of someone huddled sideways in the front seat, their back to him. "Back to the fire!"

  Regrouping in the warmth of the flames, they talked through their next steps. Through some exploratory ventures into the gas station, Will and Troy procured work gloves and a crowbar and were even lucky enough to find a manual siphon pump. Heading back to the car, now with gloves, Will positioned himself at the rear of the car. Wedging the crowbar into the crack of the fuel door, he pried against it. The cover popped off easily, the metal latch pieces falling to the ground. Will quickly unscrewed the gas cap and forced the siphon tube down into the fuel tank as far as it would go.

  Troy put the other end of the manual pump in the plastic gas can he had brought with them as Will started to pump. Again and again, Will worked the hand pump.

  "Nothing," Will stated flatly. "Of course. They must have sat here with the engine running, waiting for help. Eventually, it ran out of gas."

  "Oh, I'll bet all these cars are empty," Troy moaned, rubbing his hands against his arms.

  With the work gloves doing little against the cold, the two men went back to the fire. Will surveyed the haphazard parking lot stretching back to their car. He saw the headlights peering back at them. In that car, his daughter was waiting for him to figure this out. Every minute that passed brought them closer to the same fate as the person he just saw. She needed him to figure this out, along with Theresa and Brendan. If their car started to run out of gas, would they leave it and attempt to run to the fire? He couldn't risk that. If she was alone, he knew that she wouldn't wait for the car to go completely empty. She would leave before that, while she still had some options. But with her dad out here, looking for gas, she would sit tight, all the way until the engine ran out of gas. Then she'd be forced to run for it, through the ice, through the bitter, cutting air. With Theresa and Brendan. And she wouldn't leave them, either, even if they slowed her down too much. A chill ran through Will as he pushed the thought from his mind. She'll stay put. If she didn't know that Will was out here, she might venture out looking for safety on her own, before they ran out of gas.

  "Troy!" Will exclaimed. "They're not all empty. Look for cars that don't have passengers. I'm sure some people left their cars before they ran out of gas!"

  The two men jumped up, racing through the frozen graveyard, peering into the automotive tombs, looking for a vacant car. Finally, they found one, repeated the process of accessing the fuel tank, and this time were met with the smell of gasoline. Troy hooted with delight as Will started pumping and gas started filling the can beside them.

  Only filling about a quarter of the can, they ran back to the fire to warm themselves and repeated the process. Over and over. Every time, Will looked back at their car, headlights peering back at him, encouraging them to keep going.

  Back in the car, Abigail still sat in the front set, her foot slightly pressing the gas pedal. The low fuel light had been on for a while now, and the thought of the engine running out of gas was dismaying her. She knew that Troy and her Dad had made it to the gas station, as evidenced by the roaring fire.

  "We should think about running for that fire," she said to Theresa. "If this engine runs completely out of gas, we'll have to go. We should get ready and go now."

  "Let's get ready," Abigail agreed. "But we'll go when the engine quits. We don't need to risk it before that. My dad might still get the gas to us."

  Theresa looked around the small car interior and then locked eyes with Abigail. When their eyes locked, and Abigail saw her smirk, they both burst out laughing.

  "I guess there's not much to prepare!" Theresa said through her laughter. The desperateness of the situation and their own lack of ability to affect their outcome produced a humorous helplessness deep within her.

  "Mom, I don't want to go outside," Brendan whimpered, bringing them back to reality.

  "I know baby, I know. I don't want to go outside either. I hope we don't have to. We just need to be ready, in case we have to run to that fire," Theresa reasoned with her son. "And that won't be so bad. We'll be able to get really warm. And we're not out of gas yet, baby."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  As if on cue, the engine started sputtering. Abigail pressed the pedal a little harder, willing it to keep running. It raced, coughed, and died.

  As Will finished filling the third 5-gallon gas can and set it near enough to the fire to stay warm, but not so close to be a danger, he glanced back at their car. A knot in the pit of his stomach gripped him. The headlights were out, replaced with the steady rhythm of the emergency flashers.

  "Troy! We've gotta go! Something's wrong!" Will shouted at Troy.

  "B-but we only have three cans full! We can take another with us!" Troy argued.

  "Something's wrong. They probably ran out of gas in the car. We have to go now before the temperature drops inside and they freeze. Or the engine cools off and we can't get it started again. I'm going," Will decided as he jammed the small pry bar in his pocket, grabbed two gas cans, and immediately started running awkwardly back to the car.

  "I'll fill another can!" Troy called after the retreating figure of Will, fading into the darkness.

  As soon as Will left the relative comfort of the fire, the distance ahead of him became more clear in his mind. He barely made it from the car to the gas station with enough time to light a fire. Now he's lugging two 5-gallon gas back the same distance. He'd be slower, for sure.

  His fogging breath leaving a trail of cloud behind him, Will pressed on as fast as he dared on the frost-slick pavement. Weaving between the ice-encased cars, he focused his attention on the flashing lights of his destination. The immediacy of the situation propelled him onward, the gas bouncing against his legs as sounds of sloshing gas filled his ears. His arms felt like they were being stretched out with every step. Not an overly athletic person, Will wasn't used to pushing his body in such a way. With all the events of the past day pressing on him, he could feel the fatigue setting in, slowing his legs.

  The pain of the cold was seeping through his gloves as he approached the car. As he expected, the engine was off, the night silent, save for what sloshing of the gas and the heavy footsteps he put down. As he got close, Abigail jumped out of the driver's side door.

  "Dad! Dad! We're out of gas!" she yelled.

  "Help me open the gas cover!" Will called back. They met at the side of the car, Will starting to shiver uncontrollably. He dropped the gas cans on the ground and retrieved the prybar from his pocket. Jamming it under the frozen fuel cover, he slammed his gloved hand against the opposite end, and the cover shot off like a pancake flipping through the air. With Abigail's help, he slid the nozzle of the gas into the fuel filler. He fumbled uncontrollably, trying to get his fingers to obey and manipulate the safety valve on the gas can.

  "I c-can't get it," Will mumbled through lips felt unresponsive.

  "Let me," Abigail said. "Get in the car. It's not warm, but it's better than out here," she said.

  Will shuffled over to the driver's door, opened it, and got in. He hunched over, trying to make himself as small as possible, begging the little warmth he retained to not leave his body. He felt impossibly cold. He glanced at the mirror and saw his daughter tipping the gas can into the car. The sound of the fuel filling the tank came to his ears as he realized that Abigail was doing more than filling a gas tank. She was saving their lives.

  If the battery had cooled off enough, they were done for. With a silent prayer, Will turned the key in the ignition. Without hesitation, the engine roared to life.

  "Yeah!" Theresa shouted from the backseat, and even Brendan cracked a smile. Outside, Abigail finished emptying the first gas can into the tank and started filling the second. As Will began to thaw, he glanced back toward the fire. To his surprise, he could make out the silhouette of Troy sprinting toward them, backlit by the dancing flames. He still didn't really know who this kid was but was thankful for his help in saving his daughter. It dawned on him that he didn't really know Theresa or Brendan either. They haven't had a moment of downtime since being on the plane, save for the silent car ride that led them here. Everyone had been processing on their own, afraid to break the somber silence. Now, they had a car that would keep them warm. Just barely. They had a way to get fuel, so they weren't in danger of running out of heat. Survival felt not only attainable, but likely. Will started to feel warm, not just from the weak heat of the car, but from the seed of hope growing inside him.

  Troy arrived at the car just as Abigail was finishing up the second one.

  "I can't stay out here anymore," she said.

  Will pulled the trunk release and with surprisingly little effort, Troy managed to lift the trunk open. Abigail tossed the two empty cans into the trunk as Troy loaded the two full containers in. He slammed the trunk down and hurried into the back seat. Abigail jumped in the passenger seat next to her dad. They locked eyes and she smiled, still shivering from her exposure to the cold, and Will put it in reverse.

  As he turned his head over his shoulder to see behind him, the entire cabin of the car was illuminated in light. Peering in the rear window, two headlights beamed into their vehicle. There wasn't a way to back out, with the owner of those headlights blocking their exit. Will glanced to his left and right. Maybe there was enough space to turn around if he could manage a multiple-point turn. But something told him that the vehicle behind them wouldn't allow that.

  "Dad, what's going on," Abigail asked. Will couldn't tell if the trembling in her voice was a residual effect from her time outside or simple fear.

  "I don't know, Abby. Let's sit tight," Will intoned. He heard a door slam from the vehicle behind him and saw a figure walking up to his window, clad in crisp, but torn business suit, high heels apparently traded for winter boots. Will operated the hand crank and cracked the window slightly.

  "Excuse me," the woman spoke, with a certain professionalism about her. "It seems you've managed to acquire some fuel. We'd appreciate if you wouldn't mind sharing with us. We're pretty low ourselves," she spoke, kindly.

  "We just filled our tank. We were just about to head out," Will responded.

  "Well, I saw your boy loading up two more cans that still looked full," the lady said, questioningly. "With your full tank, I'm sure you could spare those extras."

  "Look, there are more gas cans in the station, and we lit a fire you can warm up at. We ended up siphoning this gas from cars, so you can try that too. I don't want any trouble," Will said as he, as nonchalantly as possible, pressed down the lock on his door.

  The woman's eyes flicked to the lock that Will operated, then met his gaze again. "Yes. Well, whether or not there is trouble depends entirely on you," she said, leaning down toward the cracked window. Her hair was pulled back, and there were some dirt stains on her white blouse. She smiled, but not in a kind way. "All you need to do is to reach down and pop that trunk again. I'll take the full cans and you can be on your way. It appears that you're somewhat... parked in."

  "Dad, who cares? Let her take the gas. It's not worth the danger. We don't know what she'll do or who she's with," Abigail pleaded.

  Will sat, engine idling, hands on the steering wheel. He felt violated, unable to be in charge of himself or anyone in the car. His heart pounded as he contemplated his options. There were none. Not really. None that didn't significantly jeopardize the lives of everyone in the car, including his daughter. With a slow exhale, Will reached down and released the trunk. It popped open behind them.

  "Thank you, kindly," the woman said, straightening. "Now, I also couldn't help but notice that you all have some warm-looking sweatshirts and clothing. My passengers and I could use some warmer attire. I'd like you to exit your vehicle and hand over your clothing," she said as she slowly drew a handgun from a holster tucked into the waistband of her skirt behind her.