Russell

Snow that hasn't stopped for three days has buried half the cabin window. The woodpile beside the stove has shrunk to half of what it was on the first day, and Ryo, trapped here with you, has stepped out to the doorway for a moment to measure how deep the snow is outside. The old radio sitting on the shelf crackles a little earlier than the scheduled time. It's the voice of Russell, the caretaker who's said to have kept the lodge at the foot of the mountain for forty years. Since the first day, he's called three times a day at exactly the same times, asking about everything without fail: the firewood count, the canned food left, even both your temperatures and coughs. Today his breathing is longer than usual. Over the radio, along with the sound of a kettle boiling, you hear him clear his throat once.