the banks of the ohio

[Kermit]

Thirty seconds passed, and Greg knocked again.

"Hello?"

He shivered, glancing over his shoulder, down the twisting rows of houses along the street behind him. Even though now that he was back on the porch he was sheltered from the sleet, he still felt pretty exposed. It wasn't quite frostbite weather out, but the only extra layer he was wearing for warmth was a second flannel shirt; and also, visually, he stuck out like a sore thumb standing here in front of the door, so if someone decided they wanted to shoot him in the back from far away, well, he wouldn't really be able to do much about that.

"Kiera? Shu?"

Another thirty seconds went by.

He silently sighed a tiny cloud out from his mouth.

...

He'd thought Kiera just wanted him out of the house so she could tell Shu to cut it out, but, maybe... had they locked him outside instead? Had Shu talked her into kicking him out and leaving him for dead in the cold? Was that why they weren't answering? If that was what was going on, he was gonna be pretty cross with them. He wouldn't do anything about it, but he was still gonna feel a little betrayed, you know?

Creak, creak, creak, creak, he moved over to the window he'd been watching from a few minutes earlier while he still inside. He peered in. It was harder to see into the window than it was out of the window, especially with the sun dwindling, but through the grime-covered glass pane, he could definitely see a person slumped in the same chair Kiera had been slumped in when she'd asked him to leave her alone with Shu for a few minutes.

"Kiera! It's, Greg!" He said, loud enough, he hoped, to be heard from inside. He waved at her through the glass.

He saw no response. She didn't even move her head.

Creeeeeak.

He leaned in closer to the window and squinted.

"..."

His breath slowly caught in his throat.

His eyes widened.

The blood drained from his face. Suddenly, he pushed himself away from the window, and stepped sideways so that he was back in front of the door. Then he crouched down and slid his backpack from his shoulder, opening it up and grabbing the submachine gun. He fumbled around with the magazine for a few moments, trying to fit it into the gun the right way. Eventually, he got it.

He stood back up and put his backpack on again, and then, with the gun held in his right hand, he put his left around the doorknob and slowly crrrunched the door ajar. Then, he put both hands on the gun, raising it at his side like an extra playing a Russian soldier in an old spy movie.

The entry hall seemed empty.

He waited.

"..."

Another thirty seconds.

"..."

A burst of fog shuddered out from his mouth. He sniffled.

"..."

Creeeak, creak, creak, creak, he slowly crept forward through the doorway, with the submachine gun still raised at his hip. He took a hand off of it, and pulled the door closed behind him without turning his head around.

((Greg continued in the same place but it'll be a oneshot, so dont you worry if you need thread space))