She didn’t seem to notice me at first, her attention solely on her baby. “Excuse me,” I said, stopping beside her. “Ma’am—excuse me.” I raised my voice, and she finally stirred and looked up, hugging her baby closer to her chest.
“Hi.” I forced a smile. “I’m Elle,” I offered, wondering if this was a situation where pleasantries were expected. “Um, where the hell is everyone?”
“Oh,” the woman grinned. There was a flicker in her eyes that lit the deep lines of her face and the dark circles under her eyes. “Aren’t you pretty,” she said, like I was a five-year-old girl.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re just like my Sarah was, but she gone now.” Her unnerving smile widened. “I still have baby Byron though.” Her foul breath hit me in a wave nearly suffocating.
Whatever apprehension I was feeling flared to unbridled fear. “What?”
She looked at the kids by the door and waved. “Just like my Ted[JB18],” she muttered, then glanced at me again. Her face was pallid in the flickering lights. “Isn’t he handsome?” She pulled the blanket away from the baby. It was a corpse, a blue- and hollow-faced corpse. I stepped back, noticing the men walking over and turned for the exit[JB19].
“We’re getting out of here,” I told them, pointing for them to leave. “Now.” But as they turned to leave, the door opened and the Coast Guard from the highway stepped inside.
“You made it,” he announced.
“No,” I stopped behind the kids. “We’re leaving.” I grabbed Thea’s hand. “Let’s go.”
He raised a gun and aimed it at me. “No. No. I don’t think so.”
I froze and gripped Thea’s hand tighter.
“I told you it’s been a while since we’ve gotten anyone new. You can’t leave so soon.”
I took a step back and bumped into a hard body, then spun around. The two men were right behind me and we were officially fucked.
Letting go of Thea’s hand, I nudged her closer to Sophie and the others behind me. “Let us go,” I said with false bravado, and pulled the pistol from my waistband. “And I won’t shoot your friend.” I aimed the barrel at one man, causing him to smirk. Chills ran up my spine. “I will kill you,” I promised him.
“Who, Ted?” the Coast Guard asked. “Meh, you don’t want to kill him. Then Kathy over there will get all worked up, and trust me, that’s no good for anyone.”
I watched the way Ted’s eyes sparkled with excitement as the Officer Donahoe carried on behind me. If he was even part of the Coast Guard at all. I stepped as close to the wall as I could so I could see them all; the kids followed. “Maybe not good for you,” I seethed, my gaze shifting between the two lascivious men who were getting their jollies off watching us fidget in fear.
“Besides, you kill one of them, then I kill one of you[JB20].”
My gaze darted to him at the sound of a cocked gun, aimed at Sophie.
“You won’t hurt them,” I blurted, praying it was true.
The Coast Guard shrugged. “Correction—we don’t want to kill them, but we will kill who we have to get what we want.”
The kids trembled beside me, whimpering. I could barely hear the words above my racing heart as I spoke. “What do you want?”
“I’ll take you,” Ted said leaning in a close as he dared with my gun still pointed at him[JB21].
I squeezed the gun in my hand. “Fine. Me for them. But I want to watch them get in that car and leave first.”
“No!” one of the kids shouted.
If Donahoe and Ted wanted me, they could have me, and everything that came with me.
The Donahoe laughed. “It’s tempting, but I’m not giving up that much flesh so that Ted can play with you alone.”
“I didn’t say she was only for me,” he growled, sounding like a rabid animal too starved to control himself. “But I’ll go for that too.”
Thea’s cries turned to screams and the woman with the dead baby began to shout nonsense in reply, scaring Thea even more.
“Hmm . . .” the Donahoe contemplated my offer, oblivious.
“Shut the kid up,” the other man growled. “Shut them up! Shut them up!”
Sophie and Alex dealt with the kids while I tried to keep them distracted. “Let them go and you won’t have to hear them cry.”
“Or we could just kill them and finish it—”
A gunshot came from somewhere else in the building, and I ducked instinctively, but so did the others and aiming the gun at Ted’s chest, I pulled the trigger. Then pulled it again for good measure as he fell to the ground.
There were two more gunshots, and before I could full process what had happened, I was standing over Ted and the man, both dead. The bullet wound in Ted’s chest trickled with fresh blood. My ears rang and my body shook.
Chest heaving and frantic, I spun around to the kids. They were all on the floor, a human ball with their hands over their ears and tears streaming down their face. The Coast Guard laid in front of the door barely breathing. I hadn’t shot him. I hadn’t fired the first bullet.
Sobs met my ears, and I saw the crazy lady with the baby bleeding a few yards away as she sat on the ground with the baby in her arms. A man stood behind her, [LL22]one who hadn’t been there before. My gun shook in my hand as I aimed it at his chest, adrenaline whirring through me[JB23].
“I will not hurt you,” he said slowly, carefully, in a voice low. He held up his hands so I could see him, and his gun.
He was tall with broad shoulders and dark features, and probably of Inuit descent. He took a step closer, his gaze landing on the kids. “Cover your ears,” he told them. “And look away.” Then he looked at me, my gun still trained on him. He nodded to the Coast Guard gasping for breath.
“Cover your ears,” he repeated, and I did the same as the kids, as the man walked over and shot the Coast Guard in the head. The gunshot echoed through the building, and I watched happily as the dead man’s chest fell for the final time[JB24][MOU25].
Chapter 18
Elle
December 12th
Even with a flannel blanket wrapped around me, I was still shaking. I’d shot a man—I’d gone from never hurting a living soul to killing three [K26]men in a span of forty-eight hours.
The weekly practice was for self-defense. But shooting at a target down range was nothing like staring down at a human being that would never breathe again; and the gratification, knowing they could never hurt or frighten someone again, made me sick to my stomach.
I massaged the incessant pounding in my head, determined to keep it together until I knew more about our mysterious new friend. His house was nice enough, shabby chic with a little glam I hadn’t expected. It was normal, which was nice for a change. The warm scent of vanilla hung faintly in the air, not decaying bodies positioned to look like sleeping survivors at the outpost, which was another win.
Books and folded maps were stacked on the side table next to the plush leather chair across from me, and a satellite phone lay on top. Discarded Sharpies and pens were strewn out on the carpet beside empty, coffee-stained mugs. Our host was planning a trip, or maybe he was squatting and this was one stop of many in a long journey far away from this city. He could be out getting supplies now, for all I knew. After he’d told us to eat whatever wanted in the kitchen and pointed to the bedrooms upstairs, he’d disappeared outside and I hadn’t seen him since[LP27].
Thea moaned in her sleep, and I peered down on the pallet of blankets the kids had made on the floor. It turned out they didn’t want food or space—they didn’t want to separate from each other at all. They wanted warmth and needed rest, and the two of them together outweighed any apprehension they had in being in a stranger’s house, after the night they’d had. A little voice in the back of my mind told me the four of them might’ve even seen worse. The fact was, I knew little about them, but I wasn’t sure I needed to know anything. Facts were facts. We were orphans and we’d been lucky enough to find each other. Now, we needed to
stay alive.
I watched the four of them, bodies rising with rhythmic asleep.
The front doorknob clicked and opened, and our generous host stepped inside. It seemed silly not to know his name, but there hadn’t been a good time to exchange pleasantries either. A bottle of amber alcohol sloshed in his hand as he stopped in the entry, staring down at the kids camped out on his living room floor.
“Safety in numbers,” I whispered.
He glanced at me huddled in the couch’s corner. Then he looked at the flicking candle beside me.
“I left the lights off, like you said. I hope the candle is okay.” I prayed it was. “I saw the matches above the fireplace and—”
“It’s fine,” he said and glanced around the room like he didn’t recognize it or maybe just didn’t know what to do with himself now that it was inhabited. He stepped over Sophie’s feet, sticking out from beneath her blanket, and he shrugged off his coat, and laid it on the stairs. Then, he glanced at me and claimed the leather seat beside the unlit fireplace.
His stubble seemed thicker in the flickering shadows, his features harder and more mysterious. “I can’t risk anyone noticing the lights through the drapes,” he explained. “The candle is fine.”
“I understand.” I wanted to be invisible to. I shivered and pulled the blanket up around my neck.
“You can turn the heater up,” he said, eyes shifting to the staircase. “We might as well use it while we got it.”
“It’s okay,” I told him. I wasn’t cold—I wasn’t sure I would ever be cold again at the rate my insides were burning—but the blanket brought me comfort and I gripped it tighter.
“How much longer,” I asked. It was one of many questions on my mind since the news began looping. “Until the power goes out?”
He let out a breath and stared into the empty hearth. “A couple weeks maybe. Between the storms and lack of maintenance it won’t be long.”
I’d assumed as much, and even though I hated the dark and had no idea how I was going to tackle that problem in the moment, I was too exhausted to care. “Thank you, for everything,” I said. “I know it’s hard to trust strangers now, but you’ve been very kind.”
He looked at me, but just as quickly he looked away. “You’ve used a gun before[LP28]?”
“Oh, uh”—I swallowed thickly—“yes, but not like that.”
“It’ll get easier.”
“It already is,” I thought aloud, and hated myself for it. Killing people wasn’t something I wanted to be easy, yet part of me hoped it would too.
That caught his attention, and he look at me, confused.
Regrettably, I shook my head, uncertain what all I should tell him. “Someone broke into my house. I didn’t have a choice.” I cleared my throat. “It’s been a long couple days.”
He studied me a moment, the candle flickering as I let out a deep breath. “You’re holding yourself together pretty well.”
I laughed, if a little hysterical. “I’m waiting for it all to catch up with me. I had a mini breakdown earlier, but I think I’m due for another.”
“Only one so far?” he said wryly.
“In the last six hours.”
His amusement faded and his gaze shifted to the bottle in his hand. It was Bourbon. He hadn’t opened it yet, but he gripped onto it so hard his knuckles were white. “You’re lucky then.” He turned it around in his hand, eyeing it like he wasn’t sure he really wanted any. Drinking was definitely one way to deal with the world ending; I’d done that already and woke up with glowing fingers. I figured it was best not to tell him that part though.
“What happened tonight is only the beginning of whatever comes next, isn’t it,” I said. “It will get worse before it gets better.”
“Yep,” he drawled, and I watched the battle inside him end. The demons won, and he shut his eyes and took a long pull from the bottle.
“I’m Elle, by the way.”
He pulled the bottle from his lips. “Jackson[K29],” he breathed and rested the bourbon in his lap. He glanced over at the kids. “Are they all yours?”
I shook my head. “We met last night.” I peered down at Alex curled up in a ball of blankets, sleeping like he hadn’t in days, Beau sprawled out beside him with his mouth open, snoring softly. “But I guess they are now, aren’t they,” I realized aloud. I looked up, and Jackson was watching me. “They were the only survivors I found in Whitely.” It already seemed like so long ago as my mind grew fuzzy with warmth and the promise of sleep. “My sister was gone, but they were there.”
Jackson stared at me, but I didn’t take it personally. It wasn’t even at me, he was staring through me, at a memory that made his brow crease and his knuckles whiten again. He was disappearing before my eyes. “This is a nice condo,” I said, reeling him back in. I had a hard time imagining such a mountain of a man living in a place like this. “It’s way nicer than my apartment in Seward.”
Jackson pulled his gun and holster off and set it on the floor next to his pile of maps. “It’s my buddy Ross’s place.” He nodded to a framed photo on the wall behind me. It was two Troopers in uniform, Jackson holding a graduation certificate. A woman with wavy, long blonde hair smiled between them, her arms over their shoulders. “She’s pretty. Is that his wife?”
Jackson frowned at the photo so long I didn’t think he would answer. Then, he looked away. “His sister, my wife,” he muttered.
My mouth opened, and I blinked dumbly as I tried to think of what to say. “I’m sorry,” was all that escaped.
“We parted ways two days ago so he could check on his wife[LP30].”
“I see,” I hated to ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “Is she okay?” I assumed I knew the answer, but I still hoped that maybe she’d made it. The more survivors would make it seem like there was more likelihood everything would right itself again.
Jackson shrugged and took another drink from his bottle. “We were supposed to meet here today. You know as much as I do at this point.”
Aside from the soft slumber of sleeping children, the room grew silent. “If he survived the sickness, and he’s a Trooper, I’m sure he’s fine,” I told him. Jackson didn’t want my sympathy, he preferred the bottle to conversation and feeling swapping, but I refused to believe it was impossible for at least one of us to catch a break. “You’ll probably hear from him tomorrow after he’s had time to process whatever he’s found. He could still surprise you.”
Jackson’s eyes cut to me. “So, you’re an optimist then?” He smiled with feigned amusement.
I wanted to see a full, real smile. I could imagine it was wide and welcoming. Big guys had a way of surprising you with their big hearts, even if it seemed unlikely seeing Jackson like this.
He was probably thirty-years-old, a little unkempt but his clothes weren’t soiled, which I expected after the past couple days; he could give two shits what he looked like, though, that much was clear[LP31]. Then again, I hadn’t shaved my legs in almost a week, so I wasn’t one to talk.
“No,” I said. “I’m not generally optimistic. I’m one of the most miserable people I know, but—” I squeezed my gloved hands into fists beneath the blanket, knowing I had to be or I would lose my mind.
“But?”
“But I have to be strong, for them.” I nodded to the kids. “So here I am, trying to be optimistic.”
Jackson studied me more closely than before, his brow furrowing before he leaned his head back in his chair. “So . . .” He exhaled. “From Seward to Whitely to here, huh?”
“I was taking care of my step-dad’s estate—he died a few weeks ago—”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, I’m not. He was a monster.” I ran my fingers through my hair and pushed John from my mind. There were worse things out there that could hurt me now. “I was at his estate in Eagle River, planning on selling it when all of this happened. I knew Jenny was sick, so I went to Whitely, hoping I would get to see her again . . .” I stared
at the flickering candle flame. “She was already gone.”
Jackson only leaned forward to take another swig of bourbon before he rested his head back again and stared up at nothing. “My father lived in Eagle River,” he said, then was thoughtful a moment. “He had a mushing business for the tourists, up near the mountains.”
Cold-hot fear washed through me, and the fire inside me pulsated with my heartbeat. “He was a musher?” I whispered.
“The son of a bitch loved his dogs more than his own kid.”
I glanced back up at the photo of Jackson in his uniform and the certificate he held in his hand. Jackson Mitchell.
Thomas Mitchell. Tall and broad shouldered, just like Jackson, though Thomas had lighter skin.
“Your mother?” I hedged, petrified to know the answer.
“She died during childbirth when I was nine, when we lived in a Yupik village outside of Sitka.”
I saw Thomas looming in my doorway all over again, felt him grabbing onto my neck.
“It was the strangest thing,” Jackson mused. “The way he died . . . I can’t get it out of my head.”
“Your dad? What do you mean?”
“Someone strangled him.”
I could feel my fingernails digging into my palms through the mittens. “How could you tell?”
“I know what bruises around a neck look like. And you’d have to be strong to crush a man’s throat with your bare hands.”
I held my breath. Only bruises?
Jackson’s hard-set eyes fixed on me. “Would you think I was crazy if I told you I think it was a woman?”
I cleared my throat this time, the heat of the room and the low burn inside me practically eating me through. I wasn’t sure how my cheeks weren’t on fire. “I guess women could be that strong,” I said, not wanting to incriminate myself. I wasn’t that strong, there was no way I could’ve done that under any other circumstances. “But what makes you think it was a woman?”
He held up his large hands, twice the size of mine. “Small hands,” he said.
Still, that didn’t mean it was Jackson’s father lying lifeless on my bedroom floor. For all I knew the police could’ve shown up and taken the body. But Jackson was a Trooper. It was probably how he’d found him. I had to force my lungs to work as my chest tightened, and I silently tried to talk myself down, knowing the odds were far too low.
The Darkest Winter Page 11
