He stood and stared.
The sliding door was open, but the glass was still intact. It was open wide enough that the snow had drifted in and was nearly a foot deep well into the family room. Somewhere underneath was the carpet where he had once lain watching cartoons.
The others told him not to come, that he would find nothing good, that he was stupid to leave the safety of the walls. It had taken a year just to get here from New Mexico.
There were no bodies there, or answers. He sat down on the couch and cried.