Samantha blinked back tears as the frigid wind stung her eyes, lungs aching from the cold in the thick air, and she sniffed before running a damp sweater sleeve across her dripping nose. Her feet felt leaden, sliding on black ice, and she curled her numb fingers tighter into the wet material as she caught her balance and pushed on.
Sam sucked in a surprised breath as another icy blast of wind hit her in the face, but didn't stop. The more space between her and Melvin, the better. "By and by, Sammi," she told herself, lowering her head against the wind. "One foot in front of the other." She would stay away from highways and frontage roads. Maybe, with any luck, the storm would get worse, and Melvin would have other things to worry about.
Fifteen minutes later, the snow had become blinding, travel through it no longer possible on foot. Sam broke into a house set behind a thick row of trees - her hands, feet, and face burning. She grabbed a bag of treasures from the home: blankets, a man's heavy trench coat, a pair of shoes, and a loaf of bread with only a little mold on it. Tempted to stay and enjoy some of the old comforts, she made her feet take her instead to the small tool shed behind the house. Being a girl scout had saved her life more than once in the days since the War had come and blown away everything she knew.
The shed held a small, green riding mower and three bales of inviting hay, and after putting her things inside, she opened the window and went back out into the cold. It was a struggle to close the door and lock it, the gusting wind pulling it from her numb fingers, and she tried to hurry, looking over her shoulder before climbing back into the window. Enough time had gone by for Melvin to have gotten free and started after her, and he would have his rage to drive him through the storm.
Sam closed the window, hanging her wet shirt over it, and wasn't afraid of the pitch-blackness or the unfamiliar room. Her terror walked on two legs and she was very glad to be out of sight. She planned to lay low for a few days, then continue her solitary journey south, the Cheyenne Mountain complex housing NORAD now her goal. There was no way the compound had been breached. That bunker housed the President, the Joint Chiefs, and of course, all the records of those with a pass. All she had to do was get there.