Static

The gas station was sterile, bright, and silent. The hum of the refrigeration units was the most beautiful sound Elias had ever heard.

"We made it," Elias wheezed. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the fluorescent lights. "Julian, we made it."

Julian lay near the door, his face turned away, his chest rising and falling in shallow, jerky rhythms. He didn't answer.

Elias forced himself to stand. His legs felt like jelly. "I’m calling 911. Stay awake, buddy."

He limped to the counter. There was an old landline phone mounted on the wall next to the lottery ticket dispenser. Elias picked up the receiver. His fingers were so numb he could barely press the buttons.

He dialed 9-1-1.

He pressed the receiver to his ear, waiting for the dial tone, or the operator.

There was no ringing.

Instead, a voice spoke immediately. It was crystal clear. No static. No interference.

"You should have left him in the snow, Elias."

It was Julian’s voice.

Elias frowned. "What?"

He pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it. Then he looked back at the floor.

Julian was still lying there, near the entrance. But he had rolled over. He was propped up on his elbows, watching Elias.

"You really should have left him," the voice on the phone said again, at the exact same moment the Julian on the floor moved his lips.

The Julian on the floor smiled. It wasn't a smile of relief. It was a smile that stretched the skin too tight, pulling the corners of his mouth toward his ears. His eyes were wide, unblinking, and entirely devoid of white.

"I’m walking to the main road," the thing on the floor said, mimicking Elias's voice perfectly.

The phone slipped from Elias's hand, dangling by its cord.

Above them, the fluorescent lights buzzed once, violently, and then went out.