The Darkest Winter

by Lindsey Pogue

  Meanwhile, I was too afraid of what would happen if I challenged him. I never considered the ramifications of silence would be worse. I was the one who was punished for her disobedience, and deep down, I think she knew that.

  The hardwood floors, brittle from the cold, creaked as I walked through the rest of the house. The kitchen was smaller than I remembered but much the same, the six chairs nestled around the dining room table with only a single place setting for one.

  I crossed the living room toward the hallway and hesitated outside the first room on the left. My room. As much as I wanted to keep the door closed, my hand reached for the doorknob and opened it.

  Somehow, I’d convinced myself that Dr. John would’ve turned it into a gym or a guest room after I left, but it was exactly as I’d left it, save for the open drawers and discarded clothes I’d left in my wake. There were no incriminating photos though, nor a nasty note telling him there were more where that came from. He’d straightened it and kept it clean, his need for control ensured that.

  The lotions and body sprays that littered my dresser were the same ones I’d left behind. The quilt my mom made for me when I was born, the one that matched Jenny’s, was still folded at the foot of my bed.

  Fleetingly, I wondered if she’d really left us to Dr. John, the way he told the story. I’d always told myself there was more to her abandonment than selfishness, like a dying cat that slinks away to die alone and in peace. The truth was, I had no idea what to think.

  I clenched my hands at my sides, my fingers sweltering in my mittens.

  Screw them all—John, my mom, even Jenny. I was closing a chapter, not opening an old wound. I couldn’t afford to spiral right now, and I was finished allowing them to have any more power of me.

  Suddenly too warm to breathe, I pulled off my beanie, and I rushed out the door, slamming it shut behind me. I walked over to my purse to grab my phone to dial Sandy. In a couple days, this entire place would be a distant memory, Dr. John, my mom, and my sister would disappear with it.

  Chapter 4

  Elle

  December 8

  Sandy cancelled our meeting about the house due to a sudden cold. To distract myself from a wasted day in my personal hell, I had a Lyft driver drop me off at Taps, a local hangout with cheap drinks and a decent bartender, so said the driver. He was an older man who smelled of cloves and wore a leather biker jacket, which gave him some street cred in my book, even if it was illogical, but his recommendation didn’t disappoint.

  Walking through the door was like stepping into the past, complete with Formica tabletops, pleather swivel-seat bar chairs, and herringbone wood paneling along the back of the bar. The only thing I didn’t see was Patrick Swayze with his flowing brown locks and his arms crossed over his chest, looking pensive and ready to rumble.

  The jukebox was playing low in the background, something with a melodic country twang, but it was warm and wasn’t Dr. John’s house so I stayed. The scent of stale beer and musty wood was the least of my worries.

  I shrugged out of my coat and hung it on the wooden coat rack by the door. My North Face, fleece-lined jacket was pretentious beside the beat-up leather one from the 90s and the trench coat draped with it. The two men sitting at the bar nodded as I walked in, a bottle of beer in their hands. They were regulars; I guessed.

  I pulled out an empty seat at the opposite end of the bar, smiling warmly at the bartender. He was an older gentleman with a balding, shiny spot on his head, overgrown beard, and a large beer gut.

  He smiled back, his face open and brimming, like Santa himself. “You a tourist?” he asked, studying me.

  “Here on business,” I said, pointing to the Jameson two shelves up. “Whiskey, please.”

  He flipped a highball glass over and poured two fingers full. “Whiskey,” he said with a slight whistle. “On the rocks.” He placed it on a small square napkin and slid it to me.

  I slid him my debit card. “You can start a tab.”

  “You got it.”

  “Thank you.”

  He turned to the cash register as I lifted the glass to my mouth. I pretended not to notice the lipstick stain on the rim. Though drinking was never really a vice of mine, I felt almost desperate for it, and with a quick swish of the glass, I swallowed the whiskey down with one gulp. I reveled in the trail it blazed from my throat into my stomach and licked my lips.

  “You’re a whiskey girl, huh?” The bartender’s brow crinkled. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was admiration in his non-question.

  I shrugged. “By default. It’s the only thing my stepdad wouldn’t drink.”

  “Ah. I see.” His eyes fixed on me, measuring me up as I pulled out my phone to give the Lyft a five-star rating and his tip. I assumed the bartender was good at gauging people, it was part of his job—would a patron cause trouble and when was one more drink one too many? In a state with freezing temperatures most of the year where the natural beauty could be equally cruel and terrifying, I assumed he’d seen a lot of desperation in people’s eyes over the years. I was probably no different.

  I noticed twelve emergency alert notifications as I was about to put my phone back in my purse. I clicked the first text open. It was an image of a man that read: Anchorage manhunt for assault and battery charges. I clicked it shut before I could read the rest. I’d been getting more and more notification lately, and I didn’t need to hear about all that shit right now. I was on a mission to forget my problems, not get sucked into the desperate state of the world and humanity—both of which were completely out of my control.

  There was a reason Alaska took a certain person to thrive here. The arctic nights could stretch long, and dark thoughts ran rampant; a never setting sun in the summer could be just as maddening. We lived in a place so far removed from one town to the next; it was easy to get lost in restlessness. Traveling with the cruise lines helped even if it was to have subpar conversations and get outside of my head for a week or two at a time.

  “I’ll have another, please,” I said, running my fingers through my hair. The bartender filled me up again and slid my glass back. I turned the glass around and around.

  Being so far from the ocean was strange. Moisture wasn’t heavy in the air here like it was in Seward. Eagle River was farther removed and cold in a way that made my bones ache at their core, and my body stiff. The whiskey though . . . I tossed it back, breathing out an invisible fire. Oh yeah, one more of these would do the trick.

  “Looks like they have another update for us,” the bartender muttered.

  The outbreak in the lower-forty-eight had been making the headlines for the past week, a possible chicken flu outbreak from an unsanitary factory, which seemed to happen more and more frequently.

  Pulling my hair up into a ponytail, I turned to the flickering light of the television. I wasn’t sure if the heater was cranked up to a hundred degrees or if the shot was finally making its way through my veins.

  The bartender cracked up the volume on the television.

  “—Influenza hospitalization is at an all-time high. Hillman is in Georgia now, outside of the Center of Disease Control, awaiting Stanley Donaldson, the Deputy Director of World Health, to make an announcement at noon. Joseph, have you heard anything new since this morning?”

  The screen flashed from the brunette news anchor to who I assumed was Joseph Hillman, standing outside the CDC with a measly scarf and windbreaker. “No, Veronica, there’s been nothing new officially reported. The Virginia and Georgia departments of health are still investigating a multi-state outbreak of an avian flu with the help of the U.S. Department of Agriculture. We already know they think it might’ve started with an outbreak at a chicken plant in western Colorado, but there have been no official announcements made.”

  “Did they say why they thought it might be a strand of an avian flu, or why they’ve been having such difficulty containing the outbreak?”

  Joseph was shaking his head before Veronica could get the words out. “Al
l I know for certain is there was an outbreak reported last week at two different plants owned by the King Corporation. Forty-two people were initially infected, half of them in critical condition and there have already been five deaths. We’ll see what the CDC has to report, and if the flu-related hospitalizations are related to the same outbreak.”

  “Are they saying these are two different instances, coincidentally happening at the same time?”

  “There’s been a lot of vague talk, so it’s hard to say. Sometimes when the government is vague, they’re still working on the answers, so we’ll know more after their official statement at noon tomorrow. Either way, it’s become a major concern across the country.” A gust of wind whipped over him, his scarf flailing around him.

  “What does the King Corporation have to say about all of this?”

  “Unfortunately, they could not be reached for comment.”

  “The numbers of sick reported in the Wales yesterday were staggeringly high as well. Is it possible it’s the same disease, or that they are connected in some way?”

  “There’s no way to know for sure, but one thing I can tell you is historically, the CDC operates on the basic principle that disease knows no borders. Statistically, this means in today’s interconnected world, diseases can be as dangerous as a wildfire, spreading from an isolated village to any major city in the world in as little as thirty-six hours. This information was on their website last week, and as of today, I could no longer find it.”

  The reporter’s voice was droll, but his words sent chills down my spine.

  “Without speculating too much,” he continued, “I think it’s safe to say this could be an epidemic that spreads much further than they originally thought.”

  The guy at the end of the bar set his beer down with a clank. “Thank God we’re way out here,” he muttered, but I couldn’t breathe so easily. The sticky fingers of fear crept in. The reporter was right. Just last week I’d met hundreds of people on a cruise, traveling from around the world.

  “Can I getcha another?” the bartender asked, eyeing my empty glass.

  “Uh, yeah. Please.” I tried and failed not to wonder how long before a virus like that was out of control.

  “The name’s Terry, by the way,” he said with a weak smile. Either he could smell my fear or he felt it himself.

  “Elle,” I said, flashing him a wavering smile back.

  He poured me another shot, heavier this time. “It’s on the house.”

  Chapter 5

  Elle

  December 8

  My mind spun as Terry drove me back to the house. His old truck was loud and rattled over every bump in the road and skidded in others, making my stomach churn more and more as the minutes passed. Although I’d had three or four shots, it wasn’t until I’d stood up to leave the bar I realized just how drunk I was.

  “I’d wanted to forget the past tonight,” I slurred. My tongue was heavy and thick in my mouth. I laughed. “I think I accomplished that.”

  Terry chuckled. “I think you did, Miss Elle.” He was a nice man, I’d decided. He was a grandpa who was very proud of his grandkids in Juneau, but wished he saw them more.

  “What’s Elle short for anyway, Eleanor?” he asked. “My grandmother’s name was Eleanor.”

  “I hate the name,” I admitted. “No one ever calls me by that name.” I peered out the window at the passing trees in the darkness. They moved so quickly, I had to catch my breath.

  “You hate your own name?”

  I laughed, more of a cackle and grabbed onto the seatbelt that was cutting into me. “You would too, if they named you after the heartless bitch who birthed you, had the balls to name you after her, then ran away and left you with the devil.”

  The headlights flashed on the dog kennel sign that was coming up fast. “It’s right here.”

  He hit the brakes, thrashing me forward, and turned onto the frontage road. Had I ever been so drunk? I nearly lost the contents of my stomach as he drew closer to the driveway, and I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to be this drunk again.

  As we pulled into the drive, I thanked Terry for the ride and fumbled to remove my seatbelt. “That was fun. We should do it again.” As the words came out, I knew I would never see this man again.

  “Here,” he said, shifting the truck into PARK. He was about to climb out and help me when I held up my hand, the passenger door swinging open. “I got it. Get home to your wife,” I told him. My mouth tasted like bile but I hadn’t even thrown up yet. At least not that I remembered.

  I stumbled out of the car.

  “Take care of yourself, Miss Elle.”

  I flicked him a goodbye wave as I ran as fast and steadily as was possible to the front door. The snow was cold as it clung to my face, the wind like sheets of ice against my skin, but internally, I was on fire. My insides roiled, like they were smelted in a caldron churning until I couldn’t take it anymore.

  I clung to the porch railing and doubled over, everything scorching its way up my throat as I expelled it into the hibernating rose bushes. My entire body trembled, and it took everything I had left in me to hold myself upright and not fall to my knees.

  Pulling in a deep breath, I peered out at the driveway. Olive was there under a thin blanket of snow, Terry was gone, and everything was dark. Despite the sweat beading on my brow, I needed to get inside where it was warm before I froze to death on Dr. John’s stoop.

  I fumbled for my keys and leaned against the door. I didn’t feel drunk anymore; I felt like I was dying—dehydrated and miserable.

  Minutes passed, or maybe seconds, before I was in the sweltering heat of the house. In darkness, I fumbled into the kitchen. All I could think about was water, but lifting my arm for a glass in the cupboard was nearly impossible. I stuck my cupped hand under the faucet instead, sighing with relief as cool water rolled off my skin.

  Chills immediately followed, then momentarily numbness which was a welcomed sensation. Bending over, I slurped the water overflowing from my hand as quickly as I could, but it wasn’t enough. I needed more water. No… I straightened. My stomach rumbled again, my insides twisting in knots. I needed to puke. Again.

  I hauled my ass down the hall and into the bathroom, peeling off my suffocating coat and the scarf around my neck. It felt like I couldn’t breathe and tears stung my eyes. I switched on the light and dropped to my knees on the tile. I needed to purge every rotten thing inside me if I would live through the feelings of pure misery.

  I retched into the toilet bowl, over and over until my insides were raw and cramping with pain. Nose running and eyes too heavy to keep open, I rested my burning cheek on the cold toilet seat. “God,” I pleaded. “Kill me now.”

  DECEMBER 9

  Chapter 6

  Jackson

  December 9

  I stared at the clock on the dash. It was barely 1AM and I still had another three hours before I got a break. My mind was numbing over, and I wondered how many more frantic calls I would have to take before my good Samaritan side wore off completely.

  The emergency alert notification blared through my speakers, peeling a layer of haze back from my mind. I ran my hand over my face. I wasn’t sure I could take another Amber Alert either.

  “The following message is issued at the request of emergency management. Due to the possibility of a viral outbreak, a mandatory quarantine has been issued for all cities in Alaska with five-hundred or more civilians. Residence of the state of Alaska, including the Juneau, Anchorage, and Fairbanks are asked to stay tuned to TV and radio stations for further updates.”

  I blinked out the window at the black morning as the recording repeated. Things had gotten crazy, but I wasn’t trained for quarantines. I reached for my phone and dialed Ross. Even if I was certain he would’ve told me if he’d known, he was my superior and might not have had a choice.

  The phone barely rang once. “Are you hearing this?” he said in answer.

  “Yeah. You didn’t know?”


  “I had no idea.”

  “The chief said things were worse than they thought, but a quarantine?” I stared at the radio, waiting for it to beep again—for another Emergency System Alert that would explain what the hell was happening, not just contribute to the spreading fear. “Are we supposed to know what to do?”

  “Shit—he’s calling. I’ll hit you back in a sec.” [LP3]Then the line went dead.

  Things had worsened in the past few hours, that much was clear. Or maybe everyone was just finally catching on. It was hard to tell out here where everything seemed normal, parked at an abandoned gas station on the side of the highway. Other than the paper-thin mask I was wearing, at least. The roads were white and desolate like any other winter night. I’d only passed a few cars on the stretch between Anchorage to the surrounding boroughs in a matter of hours, but that’s how the back roads were in a territory where miles of wilderness stretched between one unincorporated town and the next.

  Chief Gonzalez’s request that all units remain on-call was justifiable when we thought it was to maintain order due to the spreading hysteria as conditions in the lower-forty-eight worsened. But quarantine meant contagions not food poisoning and chaos as the rest of the US scrambled to make sense of everything. How had it spread so fast? Or had it? The past twelve hours had been a blur of breaking up bloody-knuckled fist fights, responding to car accidents from sick people who shouldn’t have been behind the wheel, and catching an arson in Sutton that claimed he wanted to know what it felt like since the world was ending, anyway.

  Government officials had downplayed what was happening, risking everyone, and I wasn’t fucking bionic. Troopers were as susceptible to contagions like everyone else, and the damn masks we were issued wouldn’t do jack shit if a perp was infected.

  I clenched my hands to fists and hit the dash. It creaked in protest and the computer screen shook, but I didn’t give a shit.

  There was no way to know if I’d caught the virus in the span of the last eleven hours or if I would pass it on to Hannah when I got home.