As the group spilled out of the cabin, hearts pounding, the first thing they noticed was the fog.  The blanket of fog had rolled in from the general direction of the lake, and now covered the landscape to a depth of about four feet.  More was rolling in, as if the fog were a liquid flowing into the world and filling it inch by inch like some great vessel.  Indeed, as soon as the front door was opened, the fog began to roll into the cabin.  Its leading edge was eaten by the drier air in the cabin, but more rolled in until it flowed along the floor, into the living room, reaching into the hallway.<br/><br/>The fog hid the ground from view, so everyone found the going slow lest they trip and fall over unseen obstacles below the field of white.  Below the fog was a pale, featureless world where visibility was measured in inches.  Above, the trees remained, blue sky above, a normal afternoon landscape.  The hellish horn remained silent for now...as did everything else.  There were no birds singing, and the wind had gone out of the trees.<br/><br/>The Ford was still parked out in the fog-flooded driveway, its roof a metal-blue island in the languidly-deepening sea of white.  The group made for the car, Angela stumbling over an unseen object buried in the fog.  To the rest of the group, she simply fell into the fog, an eddy in the liquid white the only sign to the world above that she had ever existed...