He grabbed his flashlight again, bundled up in double layers, and stepped once more into the storm. The wind hit harder this time, slicing across Raymond’s face and tugging at his coat like greedy fingers.
He clutched the tin plate close, its shallow bed of peanut butter stuck to it like a piece of candy. The scent was already cutting through the cold, thick and distinct in the frigid air. Raymond moved carefully, retracing his earlier path across the yard.