Dill’s Chalet — Bad Things, Good Dog, Book One

Sample Chapter

Sharon makes her coffee and leans back against the counter, staring at the door as if she can see right through it to the wall of ice on the other side. “The power is on,” she says softly, “but it feels cold—which means the heating isn’t working. All that ice on top of us, we should be toasty in here. That’s how an igloo works, Dill. The air pockets trap heat, like ours should.”

She sips her coffee, hands wrapped around the cup for warmth. “Imagine the air pockets caused by an avalanche.” She smiles faintly. “Even without the heating, we should generate some heat inside the igloo. Blankets, Dill.” Her mouth twists into a lopsided grin. “You and me. Together. We’ll keep each other warm until Britton digs us out.”

Later, Sharon removes the cushions from the end of the couch and piles them up beside my bed. She wraps herself in the thermal blankets like a tent, her head and shoulders exposed to the chill. She’s frightened to smoke because there’s nowhere for the smoke to go. Instead, she rations her cigarettes, finishing only half each time she makes coffee.

She hasn’t said the words out loud, but I know she’s sad about losing her books. The Prince of Tides got wet in the avalanche. It’s still lying open on the coffee table, edges curling and stained with melted snow. She keeps glancing at it, as though willing it to dry enough to save it. Her other books are buried under the snow, trapped with the bedrooms she can’t reach.

“If only Robert were here, he’d know what to do,” she murmurs, voice trembling. I rest my head on her lap to keep her warm. She strokes my fur absently, staring at the flickering fire. Outside, the wind howls and rattles the windowpanes. Inside, our breaths are the only proof that life remains.

“He’d know,” she whispers again. “But it’s just us now, Dill.”

The wind shifts. The fire sputters. And somewhere deep in the mountain, something cracks.