Killing Frost (After the Shift Book 2)

by Grace Hamilton

  “Come,” Strickland said. “Join the congregation.”

  There were only a few spare chairs in the main body of the church level, as all the others were filled with boiler-suited figures, their heads bowed to look at books in their hands or open on their laps. Only one or two folks looked around to see who was exiting the elevator, but they looked back quickly—Nathan couldn’t tell if it was because they were uninterested or if they were concerned Strickland might see them looking when they should, like all the others around them, have been in silent contemplation.

  The stench of humanity in the room cloyed at the back of Nathan’s throat and almost made him gag. As he looked sideways at Cyndi, he could tell from her face that the aroma of sour bodies and warm skin being so concentrated in one place for the first time was having a similar effect on her.

  “Don’t worry,” Strickland said. “You really do get used to it after a time. Everyone, I’m sure, washes as much as they should, and we don’t really know what causes the buildup in the ventilation systems, but it’s a small price to pay for the privilege of living here.”

  Under any other normal circumstances, Nathan would have offered his services to Strickland, to have a look at the filters of their air filtration system in the silo. Now that he could smell it in all its glory, he realized it wasn’t necessarily coming from the people themselves, but that when more high numbers were gathered in one place, the ambient heat would get the air to work harder to stabilize the system, trying to balance it out. If there were mold or other matter caught in the filters, then when the backups came on, the smell would permeate the whole of the facility, just like it was now. But Nathan wasn’t going to offer anything yet—not until he was sure what the deal was.

  Nathan wasn’t a religious man per se; he didn’t have anything he would describe as faith, and didn’t go to church or pray. He didn’t discourage his son from finding things out for himself, and his daddy before him, who had been a believer, had left it to Nathan to find his own way spiritually.

  You and God can find each other without my help, he’d said, if, that is, you’re looking for each other.

  Nathan had appreciated his daddy’s wishes on the matter, unlike some of his friends who had been brought up to be believers whether they’d wanted to or not. Nathan had always promised himself that’s what he would do for Tony, and now Brandon.

  He also had a natural wariness of any kind of organized thinking, whether it was that of a church or a fan club or even a Dodge wrecker owners’ group. Nathan was not a joiner in the classic sense, and Cyndi had told him once that this was one of the things she loved about him the most. His reliance on himself to find answers logically and not accept anything without the evidence of his own eyes.

  But with all that said, Nathan had admitted to himself over the last long months since leaving Glens Falls that there had been moments when he’d wished he did believe, that he did have a certainty to fall back on, something outside of himself to pull reserves of strength from. His failings and screw-ups had been more than he would have wished for, and seriously dangerous at times. It would have been good to have the certainty that it had all been God’s plan, or what was wanted for Nathan by some higher power. But then, the words his daddy would have said to him would come back at times when he felt himself slipping towards a spiritual explanation for his woes.

  No one who’s already happy converts to a religion, son.

  Even though his daddy had been a believer who attended church in his later years more often than not, and who would never blaspheme or take the Lord’s name in vain, he had transmitted that singular truth to Nathan. It was those words, more than any others Nathan ascribed to him, that made him agnostic, at least, if not a fully paid up member of the atheist club.

  Who knew how unhappy he’d be in the future, though, and how he would deal with that psychologically and spiritually?

  Strickland asked some of the congregation to move apart and make room for Nathan, Cyndi, and Dave to sit.

  Nathan could see Dave’s stiffness had transformed into him rubbing his hands together, the pads of his fingers stopping briefly on the scars at either side of his hands each time he did. Dave had still not talked in-depth, to Nathan at least, about his ordeal, and it was clear to see there was probably some talking he would need to do in the very near future, or every time they came across Christian iconography, if the boy was going to be as distressed as he was now.

  Nathan hated the fact it was as much as he could do to take care of the physical needs of those around him, let alone their psychological needs. Who knew how they might be affected, or would be in the months and years to come?

  Once Nathan, Cyndi, and Dave were seated, Strickland and his wives went to the dais and, at a signal from him to Pamela, she operated a control on the white sheet-covered table behind them; it looked far too humble to be called an altar, and religious music, possibly a hymn that Nathan only half recognized, began to play from concealed speakers somewhere in the ceiling.

  A lectern rose from the dais in front of Strickland. When it smoothly locked into place, Strickland leaned forward. It was interesting, Nathan thought, to note that the air system was fritzed, and no one seemed to mind the smell; the walls were not plastered or finished, and the furniture in the room was still in flat packs, and yet expensive and well-maintained electronics worked the sound system and the activated lectern. There was an interesting set of priorities at play here. Maybe ones that extended to how they’d know the ‘right people’ to join the Calgary group. They had certainly not thought to make sure they brought someone down into the community who could service the air conditioning.

  Nathan glanced over to see that Cyndi appeared just as worried about Dave as he was. She had placed a calming hand on his knee and was trying to gain the boy’s attention to give him something different to focus on. Nathan’s own experiences with his panic attacks back in Detroit told him that perhaps it wasn’t a good idea for Dave to sit here and ride this one out. The boy’s eyes were glazed over already and he was staring hard ahead at the crucifixion frieze, his fingers still moving absently at his scars. Nathan leant in and suggested, “Dave, why don’t you go back to the others? Get some rest? We can handle this from here…”

  Dave shook his head. “Gotta deal with it sooner or later. Might as well be now.” A thin smile crept onto his lips and his eyes finally moved away from the frieze causing him anguish. He puffed out his cheeks and took some deep breaths. “Won’t be the first time this happened to me. Remind me… remind me to tell you about Philly one day.”

  “I will.” Nathan squeezed the boy’s trembling arm, and the music came to an end.

  “Friends of Calgary!”

  At some point, while Nathan had been looking to Dave, Strickland had been handed a radio microphone. Strickland wasn’t the kind of orator who started small and built his way up to a frenzy like the televangelists Nathan had caught from time to time while flicking through late night cable. Strickland turned it up to eleven from the get-go. The audience immediately sat to attention, closing their bibles and folding their hands across them on their laps. It was almost like a military parade, how it happened all at once.

  Nathan found himself catching Cyndi’s raised eyebrow and pained expression again. His wife was slightly less agnostic than Nathan, and would probably have described herself as a causal Christian, if such a person could exist, but even he could see how uncomfortable the regimented nature of this gathering was making her. She leaned across Dave and whispered, “As soon as it’s polite, I think we should just go, and head out. I think I’ve seen enough to tell me that however good this place is, it’s not for me or my kids.”

  If Nathan had nodded his agreement any harder, his head might have detached from his body. It might be difficult to get Lucy on board with the idea of going straightaway, but if he and Freeson had to carry her out of the silo kicking and screaming then so be it. He had nothing against God, but he was sure that if he could sit dow
n with the deity and ask Him or Her about it honestly, they’d say that regimented rows of boiler-suited supplicants weren’t what they’d had in mind when they’d set this whole universe thing up in the first place.

  And then there was the sermon.

  “Blessed are we, the Children of the Silo! The keepers of Calgary, and the only hope for the world in this time of the Devil’s Winter! We welcome all, but we take few, as you all know, and we have with us today some new blood to bring to the pool. They must, of course, be tested, and once they have been examined, there will be an offer made based on their bodies’ sufficient suitability for service. But looking at them already, I know they are strong and skilled and resourceful. Once the test has commenced, there will be scant few hours to wait!” Strickland, his voice loud, his mouth wide, and with spittle flying from his lips like it had in the picture from his Nazi-saluting youth, was the very image of that photograph from the screen.

  As Nathan watched, the zeal and the fury of that youth showed itself there in the man. “Friends, we must not falter; we must not relax our standards. We must only allow God’s purest to join us here, and this has been our greatest strength and our most honorable duty. The pool will never be sullied. You are all testament to that desire. You are God’s chosen people. Everyone, let us pray!”

  Nathan shivered at the subtext below what Strickland was saying. Not a wholly political creature by any stretch, he still knew the sound of corrosive tenets of supremacy and nationalism, however they might be dressed in the borrowed clothes of religion. As he remembered it, from what his daddy had told him as a child, Jesus kinda loved everyone.

  No one was chosen more than anyone else, and all that ‘love thy neighbor and do unto others as you would have done to you’ stuff seemed seriously at odds with what Strickland was saying up on his dais. If he was trying to put Nathan’s mind at rest about Strickland now and Strickland twenty years ago being two separate people, he was doing a terrible job of it.

  It was Cyndi, however, who snapped first. She got to her feet and, in a barely disguised sotto voce, said to Nathan and Dave, “Come on, I think we’ve heard enough, don’t you?”

  “Yup,” Nathan said, definitely having reached the threshold for listening to this kind of thing. He wasn’t just disgusted by the attitudes being displayed, but also angry. The emotion was hot in his face and scalding his throat.

  He stood up and began edging his way along the rows of chairs. Most of the boiler-suited figures moved their knees out of the way to let him past. He looked back to see if Cyndi and Dave were following. They were, their faces set.

  “Please stay and listen to the rest of the sermon.” Michaela had seen what was happening in Nathan’s row, and had come out to stand at the end of the row. As Nathan edged out past the boiler-suited congregation, she smiled. Putting her hands on Nathan’s shoulders and looking into his eyes like a cheap hypnotist from a county fair, she repeated, “Please stay and listen to the rest of the sermon.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve heard enough, and so have my wife and Dave. You’ve got a setup here that I’m sure works for you, but it sure doesn’t work for us.”

  “That is such a shame, but please if you have to leave, leave quietly and we’ll discuss getting you back your things before you leave after the service.”

  “Thank you,” Nathan said has he extricated himself from Michaela’s grip. He stood back as Dave and then Cyndi exited the row. Then they began to walk towards the elevator.

  But whether it was the bright lights, or the smell of the air or the anger in his gut, Nathan took three steps and wavered. The room spun, his legs fully gave way, and the lid of the world clamped down before him, black and cold on his head. The last thing he heard was Cyndi scream his name.

  Nathan awoke in blackness. His mouth was dry and tasted of dirt. He felt his face. His eyes were covered with cotton wool, held down by tape, and he started feeling around with his hands, using his nails to try to find an edge to the tape so that he could take it off.

  “He’s awake,” a female voice he didn’t recognize said.

  “Where am I?” Nathan asked as the strong hands of two people grabbed his wrists and pushed his hands down to his sides. He heard the rattling stutter of metal on metal as cuffs were closed tight against his skin.

  Nathan tried to move his feet off what he supposed was a medical gurney, but the hands on both sides of him moved down his body and secured his feet in the same way as his wrists.

  “I asked where I am! What’s going on?”

  Nathan heard a click and a hum as something charged. At first, he thought it was a defibrillator, and a lance of panic speared through him. Was he having a heart attack? Was he dying? Why had he fallen unconscious—were they trying to save his life?

  He rode the wave of fear for a few seconds before the feedback from his body told him his muscles were in working order, and the heartbeats thumping in his throat were as strong as ever.

  Something cold was rubbed against both of his temples and then something that smelled of rubber was forced into his mouth. He spat it out.

  “If you spit it out again, you’ll more than likely break all your teeth. Keep it in, Mr. Tolley,” said the female voice again, “this is for your own good and, when it’s done, we’ll explain everything to you.”

  The rubber thing was fitted into his mouth again, and this time he left it there; everything was going crazy, and all he wanted to do was get out of this place, take the pads off of his eyes, and find his family.

  The charging hum ceased and the woman’s voice asked another person in the room, “Ready?”

  “Yes,” Michaela replied.

  Nathan tensed at the voice, but dared not remove the rubber gag in his mouth. Something cold and metallic was being held against his temples then, and a second later, his head exploded with light.

  21

  Nathan bowed to the final Station of the Cross and knelt. Still unsteady on his feet, he rocked as he went down and had to put an arm out to steady himself. He still wasn’t 100 percent, but he was feeling better, and with God’s love and God’s grace, he would make a full recovery. He wished he could read his bible for longer stretches of time, too, but the headaches were still coming hard one after another. They made his head fuzzy, making it impossible to concentrate or work on the backup generator that had failed.

  Nathan understood how important it was that the generator get back in working order soon; the three levels of redundancy had to be maintained now that Calgary was in full lockdown. If the interlopers managed to shut down any of the services maintaining a link to the outside world, those generators would be their only saving grace.

  Praise be to Jesus. Praise be to the Pure.

  Strickland put a hand on Nathan’s shoulder to help steady him as he rocked forward on his knees. “And how are you feeling today, Nathan?”

  “A little shaky, sir, but on the mend.” Nathan’s voice sometimes sounded distant to him, as if it was being spoken by someone else. But he knew that was a silly notion, and possibly a symptom of his illness.

  “And your treatment?”

  “It’s really helping, sir. Michaela says she’s very impressed with my progress. I want to be up and ready to help out in any way I can as soon as I can. I hate not being useful.”

  Strickland patted the top of Nathan’s head like he was dealing with a child. “And we want you to be past satisfactory, too, Nathan. But let’s not run before we can walk, yes? It’s important you finish all of your prescribed treatments and get back as strong and well as ever.”

  “I hope so, sir.”

  “Jesus knows it, Nathan. Jesus knows it and decrees it.”

  “Praise be,” Nathan said with all the righteous passion he could muster. “Praise be.”

  “In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  “Good for you, Nathan; now go about your business. Thank you for coming to see me. I’m very happy with your progress.”

  Nathan cou
ldn’t help smiling as he got to his feet and, still a little shakily and with stiff knees, walked across the chapel to the elevator. He felt wonderful, having come here to see Mr. Strickland and tell him how he was getting on. It was good to be up and about again, even if it exhausted him so, and especially now that the little work he did manage was light duties at best. Everyone else seemed to be working so hard, and when they weren’t working hard, they were praying hard, and Nathan couldn’t help feeling a little guilty about that.

  Tomorrow, after treatment with Michaela, he would be able to do more.

  By the grace of God. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

  As Nathan got into the elevator, he pressed the control for floor three and composed in his head a small prayer.

  God, bless Calgary, and all who live here.

  God, bless especially Mr. Strickland and his beautiful wives, for leading us and treating us, and helping us share the beneficence of Your bounteous earth and waters.

  Father, please bless the government in waiting, and give them the wisdom to bring the right people of America together as one; give them the wisdom to work out who the best of us are, and who then from the pool to breed and make the babies You need to populate Your army.

  The elevator stopped and the doors hissed open onto the curved corridor. Nathan smiled at another boiler-suited figure who was waiting for the elevator to go down to the mess. Nathan believed the young man’s name was Ronald, but he still wasn’t very good at remembering names. His memory had been almost completely shot since the accident. He knew he was lucky to be alive, and that his expected recovery still had a ways to go before it was realized.

  “Oh, there I go again, Mr. Forgetful!” he chided himself as he walked, “I’ve completely forgotten to finish my prayer. Forgive me, Lord. Where was I?”