The Mist

with shock, then stiffened with terror. She couldn’t see who it was standing out there, looking in at her, but knew she couldn’t escape; the jeep wasn’t locked and she was as good as trapped in the driver’s seat.
In a panic, she dropped her gaze to the door handle, avoiding those horrible eyes, scrabbling frantically to lock the door from inside.
Of course, it would give her just a few seconds’ respite, as she could only reach the driver’s door from where she sat. She couldn’t get to the other lock without crawling across the wide seat to the passenger side.
A tapping on the glass made her jump and she realized that it must have been this noise that had woken her.
Fighting back her dread, Erla raised her eyes to the window again, her heart pounding, determined this time to get a good look at whoever it was outside. It could only be one of two people: Einar or the visitor. She couldn’t let herself start believing in anything supernatural at this stage.
Oh God, she hoped it was Einar.
She strained to see his face through the narrow gap.
It wasn’t Einar.
She sat paralysed with fear.
The man tapped on the window again.
‘Erla?’ she heard him calling, his voice muffled by the glass. He rattled the door handle. ‘Erla? Can you open the door? I need to talk to you.’
She tried to answer but her mouth was dry.
‘Erla? Please will you come back to the house with me?’ This time, she caught the note of fear in his voice. That, in itself, was odd, because if anyone ought to be scared to death, it was her, not him.
Where’s Einar? she thought. Why hadn’t he come to look for her too? She tried not to let her imagination run away with her. Of course he was all right. Of course. They must have split up and come to search for her separately. Perhaps he had gone to look for her in the barn.
Goodness knows how long she had been gone. Letting herself fall asleep out here in the car had been a very bad idea indeed. It was still snowing and the rusty old jeep provided little shelter, with the cold air sneaking in through all the gaps in the bodywork.
‘Erla, please get out of the car. I need to talk to you!’ The man tore at the handle again, and she feared for a moment that the whole door would come off. But however old and rusty it was, it seemed the jeep wasn’t about to fall apart.
She looked helplessly around the gloomy interior, then plucked up the courage to meet Leó’s eye again. What do you want from me? She tried to convey the message wordlessly. Didn’t trust herself to speak.
He seemed frightened. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Yet at the same time he terrified her. Both of them scared out of their wits – that was a recipe for disaster. He scraped the window clear so he could see her better and now she took in the fact that he wasn’t wearing a coat; like her, he must have charged out into the blizzard without pausing to pull on his outdoor clothes, and his hair and jumper were now plastered with white. He must be freezing too, yet a desperate energy seemed to be driving him on. Erla needed to know what lay behind this, but at the same time she dreaded the truth.
Next minute, he had let go of the handle and was wading as fast as he could round the car. She tried to reach across to the lock on the passenger side but was hampered by being so weak and stiff from the cold.
He got there first and wrenched the door open.

XXI
Never in her life had Erla been so petrified.
She stared at the man, at the intruder who had spoilt their quiet Christmas … who had turned up armed with a knife, who had lied to them. No one should have been able to get here at this time of year; they should have been safe, cut off, miles from the nearest settlement.
There was a wild intensity in his eyes, yet for a moment neither he nor Erla moved. Having got the car door open, he didn’t seem to know what to do next. Erla shifted almost imperceptibly away from him. He remained quite still, showing no sign of being about to lunge into the car. She began to inch her hand towards the lock on the driver’s side, keeping her gaze riveted on Leó all the while.
Then he spoke, his voice hoarse: ‘I need to talk to you, Erla. It’s urgent.’ She didn’t say a word, just stared back at him, and after a pause he added something, his words barely audible over the fury of the storm, but she thought it was: ‘I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.’
Erla’s blood ran cold at the words. Reacting instinctively, she flung open the driver’s door and clambered out of the jeep.
Without so much as a backward glance, she set off at a stumbling run, keeping her gaze trained on where the house ought to be. But again, she found herself moving with a dreamlike slowness; the snow was even deeper than it had been earlier and she was almost blinded by the flakes.
At least she intuitively knew where she was going, though, and headed up the familiar slope, as she had countless times before, though never before in such desperate haste, her life depending on it. She was seized by a premonition that something terrible had happened and that she was in real danger, despite the man’s assurances to the contrary.
I’m not going to hurt you. She didn’t dare look round, didn’t want to know how close he was behind her. Didn’t dare slow her frantic pace.
As she waded through the drifts, she shrieked into the void as loudly as she could, calling her husband’s name, though she knew the sound waves would quickly dissipate