Frost

by Isabelle Adler

  Finn’s heart sped up, this time for all the wrong reasons. He’d chosen the absolute worst time to leave Siobhan alone. He could have gone in search of meds any other day; why did he have to go during a freaking blizzard? The fact that there had been no way of predicting it was poor consolation.

  Running was definitely out of the question if he didn’t want to break his leg tripping on some piece of junk hidden under the snow, but he picked up the pace, hurrying as much as he could. Spencer did the same, keeping up with him without wasting words until they were finally standing on the driveway that led to the bungalow, breathing hard with the effort.

  The sight that greeted them did nothing to assuage Finn’s mounting dread. The roof, which had been giving them a lot of trouble lately, was partially caved in under the weight of a fallen oak tree, now resting on the front portion of the house where the living and dining rooms had been.

  Shit. If Siobhan had been in there… She shouldn’t have been; she knew well enough where to take refuge when these sudden tempests hit, but what if she’d come up to fetch a jug of water from the kitchen, or a blanket from the bedroom? So much could go horribly wrong in a matter of seconds, and with Finn not being there to keep an eye on her…

  He sprinted toward the back of the house, to the separate entrance next to the porch that led to the basement. There was no way he was getting there through the house. This side, at least, looked intact, and the basement door was shut tight. Spencer followed on his heels, a silent shadow.

  “Siobhan!” Finn called, pulling at the handle. The door rattled, but remained closed, which meant she’d locked it from the inside. It served to calm him a bit, because she was down there and not in the house, and so probably safe. On the other hand, she wasn’t answering.

  A rush of panic left him nauseous and weak in the knees. His fingers shook as he tried the handle again, pulling at it with every ounce of strength he had. It was an old door, the wood darkened and the hinges rusted with age and frequent rains, but it still wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard he tried.

  Spencer put a hand on his arm, effectively stopping his frantic efforts, and Finn looked up at him. Spencer must have read something in his face, and it must have been dire, because he asked, “Want me to try to break it in?”

  Finn nodded mutely. His throat was so constricted he couldn’t utter a word. He merely stepped aside as Spencer put down his bag and weapon and rammed the door with his shoulder, putting his entire weight into it. The boards creaked, and the whole house seemed to shake with the impact.

  But it wasn’t going to be enough. Finn could see it already. He unslung his own bag and joined Spencer, bracing his shoulder against the door.

  “Ready? Push!”

  They both slammed against the door at the same time. Pain spiked in Finn’s already abused shoulder, but he barely registered it as the old hinges burst and the door crashed inward, emitting a cloud of splinters and dust. Stale air wafted in their faces.

  “Siobhan?” Finn called into the pitch dark, but again, there was no answer.

  He cursed and stooped to rummage through his messenger bag for the flashlight. His labored breath was coming out in white puffs, and his fingers suddenly decided to become uncooperative. But finally, he fished out the flashlight and pointed it at the entrance.

  The wavering beam illuminated the single flight of stairs that led into the basement, covered in half-melted snow that had blown through the cracks during the blizzard. Spencer stepped over the threshold before Finn could rush in, stopping to clear the broken door out of their path.

  A shrill shriek cut the air, and something—or someone—lunged at Spencer from below. The faint light reflected on the blade of a large kitchen knife as it sliced the air in a wide arc, missing Spencer’s arm by a hair. He stumbled backward, nearly falling on the stairs and barely managing to catch himself on the rickety railing.

  Finn sucked in a breath and dived under Spencer’s flailing arm, throwing his own hand up to protect his face while pointing his flashlight downward. Its beam picked up a pale face and bloodshot eyes, wide with fury. The knife trembled in an unsteady hold, raised high.

  “Siobhan, no! It’s me, Finn!”

  She growled and came at Spencer again, ignoring Finn completely. He moved to intercept her, colliding and grabbing her arm, wrestling her for the knife. For a moment, he felt her resisting, but then her strength gave, and the knife fell to the floor. Her eyes rolled back, exposing the red-streaked whites, and she sagged against Finn, who struggled to hold her up with one arm.

  “Spencer, help me! She’s burning up.”

  The basement was freezing, but Siobhan was only wearing sweatpants and a thin sweater. With Spencer’s help, Finn carried her the rest of the way downstairs, to the nest of blankets next to the crude fireplace. Siobhan had constructed it (complete with a chimney that directed the smoke into the air vent) to keep them warm during bad weather and other emergencies; the basement was barely livable otherwise. The fireplace was ice cold, despite there being a stock of kindling. Siobhan must have fallen seriously ill during Finn’s absence to have let the fire die out like that.

  The thought did nothing to calm him. He knelt beside her bed, leaving the flashlight on the floor, and covered Siobhan with the discarded blankets that were strewn across the floor. His hands were shaking.

  Siobhan’s eyes were closed, her breathing raspy. Every exhalation tore out of her with a high-pitched wheezing sound that pierced Finn’s heart. Sweat glistened on her forehead, and her skin burned with fever when Finn touched her wrist to check her pulse. She didn’t respond when he called her name.

  Spencer lowered himself beside Finn and put a hand on his shoulder. As light as the touch was, it grounded him, taking the edge off the dismay that threatened to escalate into hysteria.

  “I’m sorry she came at you like that,” Finn said once he found his voice again. “She must have been delirious, and she only intended to defend herself.”

  “That’s all right,” Spencer said. “No harm done. What do you want me to do?”

  His hand still lingered on Finn’s shoulder, and he turned to look at him. Spencer’s eyes glinted in the light of the flashlight.

  “Why are you helping me with all this?” Finn asked, his voice barely a whisper.

  Spencer shrugged.

  “These days we all find meaning where we can. Because without it, how can we go on? So when life suddenly gives you something to care about, just as you thought you’d never have that again… You don’t question it.”

  Finn swallowed hard. He opened his mouth, but the right words wouldn’t come.

  Spencer squeezed his shoulder and got up. He set his things to the side in a dry spot under a boarded up narrow window.

  “I’ll get the fire going and see what I can do about the door,” he said. “If I can close the entry, we might as well stay here for the meantime.”

  Finn nodded wordlessly. The upper floors were ruined, and they’d have to find another home as soon as possible, but at least for now, they had a relatively dry place in which to keep themselves warm. The most important thing was breaking Siobhan’s fever, and once they had a nice fire going, he could relieve her of the blankets.

  While Spencer used their stash of kindling to light a fire, Finn roused himself into action. He found a bottle of water and a cup and, wetting a rag, made a cold compress to put on Siobhan’s forehead. He then tried to pour some water between her slackened lips. Most of it dripped on her chin, but some of it went in, making her cough feebly and mutter something unintelligible without opening her eyes. He tried to get her comfortable, ignoring the smell of sickness that came off her bedding.

  She’d been under the weather when he left her yesterday morning, what seemed like ages ago, but not anywhere near this ill. The progress had never been this rapid before.

  “Please,” Finn said, his voice quivering dangerously as he pushed a strand of sweat-soaked hair out of her face. He didn’t know who he wa
s talking to, and it didn’t really matter. “Please.”

  What kind of brother was he, leaving her like that? How could he have enjoyed eating, drinking, being warm and safe while she was all alone in the dark, slowly losing her grip on consciousness?

  The thought made him nauseous. If she didn’t make it, he’d never be able to live with himself. There was no forgiveness for taking advantage of a stranger’s hospitality while his sister lay dying, no matter how kind and funny and amazing that stranger might have been. He should have known that those few hours of comfort after his own brush with death couldn’t have come without a price.

  Finn’s pleas hung heavy in the air, and he wiped his eyes jerkily. He continued to wet the compress and Siobhan’s lips with water as Spencer got the fire going and climbed the stairs to attempt to put the broken door back in place, at least temporarily.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” Finn whispered, leaning in closer to Siobhan’s ear. It sounded childlike, but he pressed on. “You know, I met someone yesterday. And he came along with me, too.” He brought another sip of water to her lips. “His name is Spencer, and I kinda like him. You’ll like him too, when you wake up and meet him.”

  Once upon a time, when the world was still whole and they were both ridiculously young and full of dreams, they’d talk about these kinds of things—boys, books, school, which countries they’d go backpacking through after college. He missed those talks, sitting next to Siobhan on the back porch of their old house, gazing at the stars while they shared their secrets. They’d always been close, and they’d been fortunate to have each other to hold on to while everything around them crumbled to pieces.

  Finn didn’t think he could go on if Siobhan weren’t there by his side. There would be no point. He closed his eyes and let the despair wash over him.

  Chapter Five

  THE AIR INSIDE the basement gradually grew warmer as the fire caught on, and Finn removed Siobhan’s blankets and his own outerwear. The cold was still seeping in from the open entrance while Spencer was busy fitting the door back in place, but it was much warmer now than when they’d arrived. Finn switched off his flashlight, too, as the flames gave off plenty of illumination.

  It was afternoon now, and they were all hungry and tired. Well, at least Finn was. And he had to try to feed Siobhan, somehow, as he doubted she’d anything to eat since the night before. He hoped she could force down some food once it was ready.

  He took one of the precious cans of corn soup Spencer had gifted him out of his bag. There was a small pot hanging over the fire, and the entire contents of the can went into it. A sweet, strong smell filled the dank basement as he diluted it with water to make sure the quantity was enough for three people.

  “I propped the door and secured it as best I could, but the hinges and the lock are busted,” Spencer said, coming down to sit beside him. He’d removed his gloves and coat, and now warmed his hands by the fire.

  “Thanks,” Finn said, flashing him a quick smile.

  A quiet moan came from the bed and nearly made him jump. Siobhan’s lashes fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes. Her gaze was bleary, uncomprehending.

  “Siobhan?” Finn rushed to hold her and took advantage of the moments of wakefulness to feed her a few spoonfuls of soup. He had to almost force it down her throat, but she ended up swallowing at least some of it before sinking back into a fretful sleep, without ever acknowledging his presence. Her fever, as far as Finn could tell without measuring, wasn’t giving any signs of coming down.

  Spencer kept quiet the entire time, watching him from where he was sitting on the floor. It was clear without Finn saying anything that the situation was grim.

  Finn rubbed his face tiredly and sat back on his haunches. He went through the motions of pouring the soup into two cups and handed one to Spencer. They had to eat, and there was absolutely no way he’d waste food that was already prepared, but it tasted like ashes in his mouth. He still gulped down his portion and set the cup aside.

  “Do you have enough water?” Spencer asked once he was finished. “I can bring in some snow, gather kindling. Anything I can do to help.”

  Finn nodded and glanced at Siobhan’s sleeping form. She tossed in her sleep, a sheen of perspiration filming her forehead. Her breaths were less hoarse, but they were also much shallower.

  “She needs her meds,” he said. “We still have some left over upstairs.”

  “Is your sister often this ill?”

  “She has a history of respiratory tract infections,” Finn said. None of them had been life-threatening, until now, but this looked to him like a bad case of pneumonia. “Can’t be sure if this one’s viral or bacterial, so all I can do now is get her antibiotics and hope they work, because otherwise… Anyway, we still have one last blister pack of ciprofloxacin left. I’d hoped to score more, but you saw yourself how that went down.”

  The problem was also that all their meager supplies were stored in a chest of drawers in the living room. As loath as Finn was to leave Siobhan’s side again, even for a little while, he had to go inside the house to fetch them.

  “Do you want me to go find them?” Spencer asked, already rising from his seat, but Finn stopped him with his hand.

  “No. Thank you. You’ve done enough, and I know exactly where to look. Could you please stay here with her in the meantime? Just make sure to keep her compress wet.”

  Under any other circumstances he wouldn’t dream of leaving his sister alone with another man when she was this helpless. Usually, she could stand up for herself (and had, on several occasions), but not when she was like this. Again he believed in Spencer enough to entrust him with her safety. He’d proven himself time and time again, and Finn knew he was incredibly lucky to have met him just as his fortitude had begun to waver.

  “Sure,” Spencer said, sitting again. Despite his readiness to help, Finn could see he also was tired, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced. He hoped he wasn’t going to come down with something as well.

  “I’ll be right back, you hear?” Finn whispered to Siobhan before getting up, though she was too far away in her own mind to hear him. “Hold on. Just a little bit longer.”

  He grabbed his bag and the flashlight. Pausing at the middle of the stairs that led to the main house, he looked down at the two figures huddled by the fire below. Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them away and hurried up. Just as he expected, the door was unlocked, but didn’t budge when he tried the handle. Something was obstructing it from the other side. He pushed, putting more shoulder into it, and it finally gave.

  Part of the ceiling in the hallway had caved in, and the floor was a jumble of plaster and timber. Finn made his way very carefully, so as to not bring anything falling on his head. He could see the sky from the gaping holes in the roof. The tree had landed smack in the middle of the living room, crushing the homely set up of the two armchairs and old couch in front of the fireplace. Snow had piled up on the floor, and icicles were beginning to form on the mantelpiece.

  The place they’d called home for the last three or so years was gone. But Finn didn’t have time to mourn its destruction. He walked slowly around the tree trunk, shoving aside the barren branches that blocked his path. They didn’t have a lot of possessions, but he’d have to get everything he could while he was here. They’d move to a different place once Siobhan got better.

  She had to.

  The kitchen cabinetry was still standing, and Finn headed there first, picking up whatever he could stuff in his bag. The heavier items would have to be left behind; he couldn’t possibly haul all the cooking utensils and the blankets. He salvaged the important things—matches, candles, spare batteries, dried food in plastic jars (not that there was much of them). When he could take no more, he returned to the living room.

  Unfortunately, the chest stood at the far end of the room, away from the windows, so Finn had to climb over the tree trunk to get to it. Thankfully, the meds were still there, intact and dry, and he fill
ed his pockets with the content of the drawers. It certainly didn’t come anywhere close to Spencer’s preparedness stash, but there were plenty of peripheral medical supplies he’d scavenged at local clinics and pharmacies over the years.

  But as he turned to climb back, a portion of the ceiling held only by a single broken beam protruding into the gaping hole shifted and slid. The keening wail of splintering wood was the only warming Finn had before the whole thing came crashing down, nearly missing his head.

  The entire house shook. Finn lost his footing and fell into the tangle of branches and shattered shingles, hitting his back hard on something sharp and solid. There was a dry cracking sound, and for one awful second, Finn was sure he’d broken his spine.

  He lay there, stunned, as a cloud of dust swirled in the air around him. Then pain kicked in, and with it, delayed terror.

  “Fuck.” He rolled over to his side, groaning and coughing. His back hurt like hell, but to his immense relief, he could move.

  Having asserted that, he slumped right where he was, closing his eyes to let his heart slow down and return to its proper place from where it had plummeted into his stomach.

  I can’t go on like this, he thought with sudden clarity. How many more close calls could he survive before his luck ran out? Every such mishap threatened to leave him crippled, or worse. What would become of Siobhan if he were seriously injured? And how would that affect Spencer?

  The thought surprised him. In this short period of time, Spencer had become someone he cared about, someone who might be shaken by his death. He recalled that easy joy of sharing a meal and conversation with Spencer while waiting for the storm to subside—the happiest he’d been for the past five years. He ached to have that again, that feeling of easy companionship, perhaps even exploring a possibility of there being something other than simple friendship, and having his interest reciprocated. He wanted to be with Spencer for longer than a few hours.

  But that couldn’t happen if he continued to lie there, feeling sorry for himself. Siobhan and Spencer needed him, and he had to haul ass if he wanted to be of any use to them. Finn pushed up with a grunt, gingerly taking stock of his injuries. He’d landed backward on a thick gnarled branch, which was the cause of most of the pain, but nothing seemed to be broken. He adjusted the straps of his bag and crawled back to the hallway to avoid disturbing the wreckage any further.