Chion

First came the snow. Then came the screams. Six hundred and fifty pupils, confined to their classrooms, waiting impatiently for the break-time bell to ring, eager to rush outdoors for a snowball slugfest. But when the first foot crosses over the doorway to the playground, something goes terribly wrong: the boy is strangely powerless to prevent himself from falling and then screaming. If the pupils thought being restricted to a classroom for half an hour was hard, all of them are now about to get a lesson in the real meaning of the word confinement. No one can leave the building. Not now, not when schools over, not tonight, and not tomorrow. Its the same story all across the country, in every school, every workplace, every home, every vehicle: death is waiting outdoors. No one knows whether the phenomenon is a freak weather condition, a chemical weapon, or a divine curse. One thing is certain: whats lying outside is not snow. And unlike snow, it is not melting away.