Frost

by Isabelle Adler

  A NineStar Press Publication

  Published by NineStar Press

  P.O. Box 91792,

  Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87199 USA.

  www.ninestarpress.com

  Frost

  Copyright © 2019 by Isabelle Adler

  Cover Art by Natasha Snow Copyright © 2019

  Edited by Elizabetta McKay

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at the physical or web addresses above or at Contact@ninestarpress.com.

  Printed in the USA

  First Edition

  March, 2019

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-950412-14-3

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers, and depictions of violence and physical beating.

  Frost

  Isabelle Adler

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  THE HOSPITAL WAS huge, which was both a curse and a blessing. It meant Finn had more ground to cover. But it also meant there was a bigger chance of finding anything left after the building had been raided repeatedly for drugs and equipment.

  The emergency generators had long gone dead, of course. The permeating chill made refrigeration redundant, and the fact that none of it worked hardly affected the leftover medications. However, the permanent gloom made the search difficult, and Finn had to waste more batteries for the flashlight, which produced a feeble, creepy glow.

  He walked down the dusty corridor, making sure to read the plaques next to the doors and entryways carefully. There, behind the next nurses’ station, was another storage room with rows upon rows of drawers with faded labels. It had clearly been looted at some point in the past—probably more than once. Most of the drawers were upturned and scattered on the floor, devoid of contents. A thick layer of dust and shattered glass from the cupboard doors covered everything, and gossamer cobwebs spanned the far corners of the room and the bare shelves.

  Finn stepped inside, examining the labels by the light of his flashlight. Two years ago, he’d pilfered a few medical books from a deserted doctor’s office and had studied them religiously, so he had some basic understanding of what he needed. General stuff like analgesics were great too, but those were increasingly hard to find—not to mention the majority of the stuff he managed to score was long expired. As he’d learned from experience, the meds could still be used after their nominal expiration date, if he was careful. What would happen in a few more years was a different question, but the impetus for immediate survival rendered these questions moot. If he couldn’t scavenge what was necessary now, there might not be a future to think about.

  As he’d feared, the storage room was completely ransacked. All he could find were some empty pillboxes and a few rolls of gauze that had fallen behind one of the cupboards. Finn stuffed them in his cross-body messenger bag. These always came in handy, especially the ones that were still in their sterile plastic wrappers.

  As there was nothing else to be salvaged from the room, Finn continued on to the patient ward. The hospital rooms weren’t always as thoroughly searched as places designated for storage, and that meant there were still some things to be found there—personal items, medical supplies, and the occasional blister pack left behind by the bygone patients. Even things like shampoo and tubes of hand cream were useful, but he hoped to come across something more substantial.

  Siobhan had been unwell these past two weeks, and that was the only reason he risked venturing out into the heart of the city where there’d been sightings of feral gangs. Nothing she’d taken so far had had any positive effect. He had to find something to make her better, to take away the awful coughing she’d been suffering from, or at least to alleviate her pain. Their own little stash of supplies had greatly diminished (they were out of Robitussin and down to their last box of ciprofloxacin), and he had to replenish that somehow before she took a turn for the worse.

  The beam from his flashlight picked up upturned beds and smashed monitors. The mattresses were gone, but the utilitarian white nightstands were still there, and Finn rummaged through them, despite the sharp smell of urine and mold that seemed to have seeped into the walls. He stuffed all he could find into his bag—bottles of antiseptics, plastic tubing, boxes of Band-Aids—deciding to sort through his loot later, when he didn’t have to conserve battery life.

  He recoiled as a swarm of cockroaches scampered from a lower drawer he’d opened without thinking. Must have been true what they said about the nasty buggers surviving a nuclear holocaust. The cockroaches and other critters certainly seemed to thrive where mammals were now failing. Finn shook his head ruefully at the thought and continued with his methodical search.

  The window was tightly shuttered, but he could still hear the distant howling of the wind outside. The weather had grown progressively worse ever since he’d left home. He should probably head back before the storm hit or he’d be stranded here for God knew how long. Just a few more rooms, to make sure he hadn’t missed out on anything important.

  As he straightened his bag and left the room, the sound of footsteps echoed somewhere farther down the hall. A few sets of them.

  Finn froze. It was never a good sign. Abandoned hospitals and stores usually attracted marauders and other sorts of people he had no desire to meet with. He turned off his flashlight and edged down the corridor, away from the noise, keeping to the deeper shadows, but the footsteps were fast approaching. He ducked into the closest room, careful not to make any creaking sounds, and peered out cautiously, concealed by the partly closed door.

  Three bulky silhouettes drew nearer. Geared up as they were, carrying large bags and wearing several layers of outerwear, it was hard to make out details since their lights were facing him. After a short muffled conversation, they split, going down the length of the corridor in both directions, entering and checking rooms, apparently with the same idea as Finn regarding potential pickings.

  Finn cursed internally. Judging by the looks of their bags, there probably wouldn’t be anything left after they were done even if he managed to slip out unnoticed and come back again later, and there hadn’t been much to begin with. At any rate, this was definitely his cue to leave. He waited until all the looters were busy searching the rooms and tiptoed down the corridor as quietly and as fast as he could, looking for the emergency exit at the end of it.

  The heavy metal door was there, beneath the smashed EXIT sign, but when he tried the handle, it clicked dryly and didn’t open. Finn cringed at the sound that was far too loud for such an empty hallway. Shit, shit, shit. He only hoped the others were too absorbed in their rummaging and making too much noise themselves to notice it.

  He tried pushing the door open with his shoulder, but it didn’t budge. Maybe there was something obstructing it from the other side. After a few tries, he left the door alone and crept to the window in hopes of finding it open. The snow-covered rails of a fire escape were visible through the patterns of frost on the windowpane—a tantalizing view of a retreat route.

&n
bsp; When he tried the opening mechanism, though, it didn’t even click. It was either frozen solid or corroded into place. Possibly both.

  Oh, fuck. Finn looked around desperately, but there was no other way out that he could see. He couldn’t really hide in one of the rooms for fear of being discovered, so his only hope was to make his way back while the looters were still inside the rooms. It would be incredibly risky, but he had no other choice. He didn’t know who they were, and he preferred not to find out. He kept to the wall as he hurried along the darkened hallway back toward the nurses’ station.

  It might have worked out if by some shitty luck the looters’ search of the next room wasn’t shorter than the previous ones.

  “Nothing here at all,” said an annoyed voice, and then two of the three men shuffled out of the room. One of them pushed a dilapidated bed aside with a loud scrape, which diverted his attention, but the other chanced to look straight at Finn and stopped in his tracks.

  “Hey!” The guy said, blinding him with the ray of his flashlight.

  Finn threw his arm up to shield his eyes from the light. There wasn’t anywhere to hide, but he took advantage of their momentary surprise and bolted down the hall that led toward the ER entrance.

  “Hey, you!” the same guy repeated, none too eloquently, and ran after him, joined by his two comrades. The beams of their flashlights picked random patches along the hallway ahead, dancing jerkily, but it was hardly enough to make out the way clearly. As he rounded a corner, Finn bumped into a gurney, sending it rolling on squeaking wheels and losing his footing with the impact. He went down hard, hitting his knee on the floor that was luckily clear of broken glass and other debris.

  Finn hissed in pain and frustration and scrambled back to his feet, but he’d already lost precious seconds. The foremost of his pursuers grabbed Finn by the strap of his bag before he could take another step, pulling him roughly backward to face them. Finn squinted, blinded by the glaring light.

  “What d’you have here?”

  “Nothing. Let me go!” Finn tried to tear away from him, his heart pounding. That was one unfortunate turn of events, to put it mildly. With three against one, he had no real chance of fighting them off, even if they were unarmed, which he bet they weren’t. If he was lucky, they might take his stuff and let him go. If he wasn’t…

  Siobhan would never make it on her own if she fell seriously ill.

  The thought spurred him into desperate action. He kicked his attacker, aiming for the knees, and when the man’s hold slackened for an instant, he threw off his bag. It was worth it to ditch the loot for an opportunity to get away, but he didn’t get too far. One of the other guys, the largest of the three, blocked his path, swinging a metal rod. It looked like a section of rusted railing, but Finn hardly had time to register further details. With the other men right on him, he didn’t have much room to maneuver. He ducked, but not fast enough. The blow that was aimed at his head landed on the shoulder, making his right arm go nearly numb.

  Finn staggered and grunted in pain as the two other men grabbed him from behind, holding him in a lock by his arms. He flailed in their grasp, kicking wildly, but to no avail.

  The tall guy raised his weapon again. Finn caught a glimpse of his assailant’s tattered green parka and a dirty-blond beard before shutting his eyes against the blow that was sure to land on target. He had no doubt they were going to beat him into a pulp for being brazen enough to resist. Please, let them do it fast. I’m so sorry, Siobhan.

  There was a loud screech from the ER entry doors opening. A gust of icy wind rolled through the hallway. “Hoy!” another voice boomed, the echo bouncing against the decaying walls. “Cut that out!”

  Finn let out a rattled breath and risked opening his eyes. A shadowy figure loomed in the entryway. The newcomer was alone, but he was carrying a long shotgun. He wore a heavy, bulky gray coat that almost reached the floor, and a thick scarf was wrapped around his head, obscuring his features.

  The shotgun gave Finn’s attackers pause. The large guy lowered his rod and turned to face the stranger, squaring his shoulders menacingly. It was like watching two alpha dogs staring each other down.

  “What d’you want?”

  “I want you to let him go and get the fuck out of here,” the gunman said in a deep, slightly gruff voice. “Drop your weapon.”

  “Fuck off, man,” the looter said, but Finn could hear the hesitance.

  The man raised his gun, pointing at the looter’s head. There was an unmistakable click of the safety.

  “I won’t give you shitheads another warning,” he growled.

  The thugs holding Finn shifted, but didn’t release him. The standoff seemed to last for an eternity, if Finn’s heartbeats were anything to go by.

  The man pointed his shotgun upward in a swift motion. A shot rang out, nearly deafening. All four of them, including Finn, ducked instinctively as plaster rained down from the ceiling. Finn nearly stumbled as the hold on him loosened.

  “Crazy bastard,” the large guy hissed. The metal rod clattered to the floor when he tossed it aside. “I know who you are. Been seein’ you around, carrying on like it’s your turf. You better watch it.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that,” the stranger said. “Now get out.”

  The marauders let go of Finn and made for the exit, giving the stranger a wide berth. The leader in the green parka threw him a dirty look before the three of them filed outside.

  The door closed behind them with a resounding bang, plunging the hallway into darkness. Finn sank to his knees, searching the floor blindly for his bag. He was shaking, whether from relief or residual panic, he couldn’t tell. Eventually, he managed to get ahold of the messenger bag and fish out the flashlight, which he promptly turned on.

  The beam rested on his rescuer, who squinted at the sudden illumination. He was tall, almost burly, and sported a rather neat beard, but the rest of him remained obscured by the coat and scarf. He half turned to the exit, listening intently. Apparently finally satisfied the looters were gone, he sighed, lowering the shotgun.

  “Wasted a round. You all right?” He thankfully stayed right where he was.

  “Yeah.” Finn wished his voice sounded less tremulous, but he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t been nearly killed a few minutes ago. He had a right to be jittery, not to mention that being around firearms made him nervous. The gunman might have saved him, but he was still wary of anyone with a deadly weapon. “Um, thanks.”

  “No problem.” The man holstered the shotgun somewhere behind his back, and Finn relaxed a little when he saw him putting it away. “You’re lucky I stopped here to take a piss and heard all the ruckus.”

  Finn barked a laugh, still rattled. At least this guy, whoever he was, didn’t seem inclined to turn on him.

  “Well, I should be going, then,” he said. The more he lingered, the more difficult it would be to make his way home in the worsening weather, and he’d already been away for too long. Siobhan was bound to be worried—and she’d have a valid reason, as it turned out. “Thanks again.”

  The man nodded. “Anything else I can help you with, while I’m here?”

  Finn thought about it.

  “I might ask you to walk me out,” he said reluctantly. “In case those guys are waiting for me outside.” Trusting a complete stranger with his safety wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but he was Finn’s best bet, and Finn wasn’t above admitting he could use the temporary protection.

  His rescuer’s smile showed briefly behind the beard. “Sure.”

  Outside, the gale lashed hard enough to make walking challenging, and the perpetually ashen sky was now covered with roiling black clouds. Finn threw the hood of his coat on his head, but it didn’t help much against the sleet blowing in his face. The jagged silhouettes of the surrounding buildings were barely visible in the whiteout. The storm he’d been worried about was already here, and it was getting worse by the second. There was no way he could hike back home in such weather, u
nless he was willing to risk frostbite or worse.

  At least no one seemed to be lying in wait to ambush him. The looters must have been driven away by the storm as much as by the threat of being shot, but Finn didn’t want to risk returning to the empty hospital for the chance of them coming back sometime later to finish their scavenging. He halted, keeping his head down, unsure of what to do next. Finding proper shelter was paramount, and time was of the essence.

  The other man glanced at him, as if sensing Finn’s anxiety.

  “Do you have some place to stay?” He was close to shouting to be heard over the howling of the wind and the pounding of hail against the broken pavement.

  Finn shook his head. “I’m not from around here.”

  “I suppose you could stay at my place until the storm’s over,” the guy said. “It ain’t much, but at least it’s warm and dry. There’s no traveling in this blizzard.”

  Finn looked up at him, struggling to keep his hood in place as the wind tried to tear it from his head. Going off with a complete stranger seemed like a particularly bad idea, but so was risking freezing to death. If this guy wanted to hurt Finn, he’d have done it already; there was no need to lure him anywhere. They already were in a convenient enough spot to perpetrate a crime, as recent events had clearly demonstrated. And, frankly, the promise of warmth was too good to pass on. The skin on Finn’s face was already prickling with cold, and the chunks of ice falling from the sky and blown at him sideways weren’t helping.

  “Thanks,” he said finally. “I’ll take you up on that, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.” The guy extended his gloved hand. “I’m Spencer, by the way.”

  “Finn.” They shook hands. Finn noted it was the first time Spencer had come close enough to touch. “We better go before we turn to icicles.”

  Chapter Two

  “NEARLY THERE!” SPENCER yelled.

  It had been quite a long walk to make in this kind of weather, about one and a half miles from the hospital in Finn’s estimation, but at least they’d taken a relatively straight path through Michigan St., past the frozen canal and the remnants of the World War Memorial. These kinds of storms were a common occurrence; the gray sky would fill with blue and black clouds that carried acidic rain and hail the size of chicken eggs, and the wind would bring a flurry of dirty snow. Intellectually, Finn knew that the sky used to be bright blue, but after five years, it was hard to recall the exact shade. Even the pictures in books and magazines were faded, as if the microscopic ash that permeated the existence of the remnants of humanity had somehow ingrained itself into the very paper.