Glenn bent down and shook his burly friend. "Charlie."
Staying in the middle of Malum Street left them incredibly exposed.
The sun had just broke behind the lone house at the end of the forgotten road, all the weeds and gnarled growth glistening with frost. The two-story home looked as though it could be pushed over. Glenn had often thought of doing it himself, of putting the structure out of its misery. What little paint remained was no longer colored and the wood beneath it had given way to rot and ominous noises whenever the wind picked up. It was assumed that it had been abandoned and looted, the same as every house in the neighborhood, but the boys went by every morning regardless.
Because Charlie had begged and Glenn had relented. Someone at Training had said they'd seen lights on inside the house. Not candlelight, either. Light light. Electric light. It was the stuff of legend, buried with the last superheroes in '64.
It had been relatively easy for Glenn to work the lifeless street into their delivery route, to swing by the house in the dead of morning and let Charlie check for the lights. How quickly that simple choice had become a poor one.