They Came With The Snow Box Set {Books 1-2]

by Coleman, Christopher

  A scream pierces the silence of the stale air like the screech of a passing jet. I know immediately it’s Alvaro.

  Danielle and I backtrack down the corridor to the main dining room, reaching it in time to see the pain on Alvaro’s face as he’s pulled into the kitchen by a pair of ghostly white hands.

  Terry comes up beside us and the three of us stand in shock, not knowing whether to pursue or retreat. Danielle decides first and bursts through the hinged doors toward her co-worker and fellow apocalyptic survivor.

  “Wait!” I start to follow but stop and turn to Terry first. “What happened? Where did it come from?”

  Terry remains frozen, his gaze locked on the door to the kitchen, as if waiting for the reveal of the joke that’s been played.

  “Hey! What happened?”

  “There was a table. In front of the doors. He...he moved it and...it grabbed him.”

  “Let’s go.” I’m through the swinging doors and halfway across the kitchen when I realize Terry isn’t with me. He’s fled.

  I continue toward the exit door at the back of the restaurant and immediately see Danielle standing tall, butcher’s knife held straight and poised, staring across the stainless steel counter into an open walk-in freezer. She says nothing; she just points inside.

  The crab that grabbed Alvaro, ostensibly the delivery driver with the keys to our truck, is on his haunches, staring back at us, teeth bared in a posture of protecting his kill. Alvaro is directly behind the crab, but the puddles of blood that flank him flow from wall to wall of the freezer, leaving no doubt about his fate.

  “We have to go, Danielle.” My voice is flat, calm, despite the flood of terror inside of me.

  “We’re not leaving without the keys.”

  “We’ll find another truck. We don’t even know if this truck will start. Or if that thing is our guy.”

  “The keys are on the floor. Right there.” Danielle moves her eyes down and to the right and cocks her head in the same direction. “I guess when he turned into this thing he was standing by the freezer. And then his clothes disintegrated or whatever, and the keys ended up there. He obviously got locked in here from the dining room. My guess is that he turned just before Gun and his family, and they barricaded the door.”

  “You’re pretty smart for a waitress.”

  “I’m well out of my teens, so I’m way too old for you.”

  I fight the urge to laugh, an impulse that’s made even more difficult by Danielle’s stone face and flat tone. “I’m sorry about Alvaro. He seemed like a good person.”

  “He wasn’t really. A bit of a sleaze ball. But he didn’t deserve to die.” Danielle looks at me. “Where is Terry?”

  “He ran. I guess he’s back at the diner.”

  Danielle nods as if not surprised and turns back to the freezer. “Here’s the plan: there’s nothing to be done for Alvaro, so I’m going to move next to the counter, staring down this creepy dickless goblin while I do, which will give me an open path to the door. And at the same time you’re going to move behind the freezer door. When I say so, you’re going to slam the door shut as quickly as you can.”

  “What about the keys? It looks like they’re in the path and could be swept in. Will the door clear the keys?”

  “They’re clear. I already calculated it. Remember about me being smart?”

  I chuckle and nod, and then creep on the balls of my feet behind the freezer door, making sure not to make eye contact with the crab.

  “He’s fine,” Danielle assures, “he’s focused on me. Tell me when you’re ready. Both hands on the door and push as hard as you can when I signal.”

  I position myself as instructed. “I’m ready. What’s the signal?”

  I can’t see the scene as it plays out, but I hear a rattle inside the freezer and then “Now!”

  I hesitate a half-second and then spring. The door is heavier than I’d estimated, and it takes me a few seconds to build up the momentum to swing it quickly.

  “Go! He’s coming!”

  I get my shoulder into the door now, and have almost worked the large metal gate to the jamb when I feel a sickening resistance and a terrifying scream. The door bounces back toward me a bit and I heave against it again, this time getting a bit less resistance before the door finally erupts with the satisfying sound of locking in its proper place.

  I push my back flat against the closed door, breathless. “What the hell just happened?”

  “Not the plan I intended, but we’re clear. I threw the knife inside to distract the thing, but he didn’t go for it, and as soon as you started to close the door he made a run for it. You caught his body pretty good that first time and he backed off, scurried back inside. Then he made another dash on your second close, and you took a couple of his fingers off.”

  Danielle nods down to the floor where three white appendages lie, sterile as chalk.

  “It’s a good thing you got a second chance too. I misjudged the keys. If he hadn’t have blocked the door that first time, they’d have gone in with him. I was able to kick them clear”

  “Guess not that smart, huh?”

  Danielle snickers and picks up the keys, dangling them in front of her. She smiles as the screams of agony sound from the other side of the freezer door. “But still too old for you.”

  ***

  “Where did you go?” The anger in my voice is crisp, and Tom stands and moves between me and my suspect.

  Terry sits on one of the stools at the counter, his back to the door. His colleague Stella rubs his back, soothing him. “He’s a bit shaken,” she says.

  “Shaken? Are you fucking kidding me?” I take a step toward the counter and Danielle grabs my arm, keeping me next to her. “We could have used some help. Alvaro’s dead.”

  Tom closes his eyes and drops his head, and then sits back down at one of the dining tables. He looks defeated.

  “He was dead before anyone had a chance to save him.” Terry speaks without turning. “You were all dead the second the bomb hit. We all are.”

  “Terry!”

  Stella’s exclamation rings odd to me. It sounds more like a stifle than an admonishment of his pessimism.

  “Maybe not.” James says, a hopeful lilt in his voice. “Maybe we just haven’t gone far enough, like Mr. Dominic says.”

  I free my arm from Danielle’s grasp and move slowly toward Terry and Stella. Danielle doesn’t fight me.

  “What do you mean bomb? Who said anything about a bomb?”

  Stella stands from the stool and walks away, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

  Terry looks up at me. “It was a bomb.”

  “How do you know that?” Danielle says, now standing beside me.

  “Because we work for the people who developed it.” It’s Stella. She’s standing in a far corner of the diner, staring out at the parking lot, a cigarette between her fingers.

  “What?” James’ question is a whimper.

  “It was supposed to be contained. A small blast on the campus.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” My fury is leaking into fear, almost despair. “Who are you?”

  “We are who we said.” Terry takes the reins. “We’re psychiatrists. We were sent to monitor the psychological impact of a “blast event,” he makes air quotes, “in a small, self-contained area. Warren College. It wasn’t real. It was an experiment. It was just supposed to be a test.”

  “Who in God’s name could have authorized such a thing?” Tom asks. “You work for the government, do you?”

  “Not directly, but we’re contracted by them, yes.”

  James has begun to cry.

  “You killed my boy. Don’t live another minute thinking you didn’t.”

  Terry looks up to the ceiling as if sincerely considering this. “I suppose I played a part, sir.”

  “I can’t believe this,” I say. “I don’t understand what is happening. Why would you have volunteered for this assignment?”

  “It wa
s supposed to be an experiment.” Stella is almost yelling now. “Of course we wouldn’t have involved ourselves had we known the turnout was this.”

  “So what happened?” It’s Danielle, and she’s steely in her tone, having moved past the hysteria. “What went wrong?”

  Terry matches Danielle’s demeanor. “I don’t know exactly. We were never a part of the front end of the assignment. We were just supposed to observe how people reacted to the event after it happened.”

  “But what was the event? How was it going to look?”

  “They told us we’d hear a sound. They were going to create some kind of sonic explosion in the sky above the campus. That was all, just a sound. They were going to temporarily eliminate all cell and cable service. The only information anyone was supposed to receive was from one of the local stations that they were going to commandeer.”

  “WBXO,” I say to no one.

  “So the broadcasts were fake? The ones about the world being destroyed?”

  “I don’t know anymore. I thought so at first. I mean, obviously something went terribly wrong—the snow and the...things out there...weren’t ever part of the plan that we were told about—but I was still hopeful that this was all contained to our little area. Until we started driving. Until we found James and he told us about the distance he’d come.”

  Everyone stays silent for a few seconds, considering the importance of Terry’s words. Fifty miles at least. In every direction. That was quite a bit more ground than the campus of Warren.

  “Why would they have picked Sunday?” I say finally, shifting gears a bit. “There’s no one at the college on Sunday. If they wanted to conduct this experiment on the students, why did they pick Sunday?”

  “That’s how we knew something was wrong. It was a day early. It was supposed to be Monday, late morning. Stella and I came a day early; we had reservations at the Marriott down the street. We stopped here for something to eat, and, well...”

  “So you really don’t know what those things are? The crabs?” James asks. He’s regained his composure, almost resigning himself to his fate.

  “We don’t,” Stella says, walking toward him from her corner sanctuary. Her eyes are soft, kind. “And we don’t believe any of this was an accident.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The people we work for don’t make mistakes of this magnitude. Mistakes of conscience and ethics, yes, but not the technical mistakes that would have been required in this instance.”

  I step away from the bar and stand in front of Stella, my face at least eight inches above hers. “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying we’re a part of this. Terry and I. We’re part of the experiment.”

  “Or maybe you telling us you’re a part of the experiment is a part of the experiment.” It’s Danielle, now standing next to me aligned against Stella.

  Stella raises her eyebrows and nods, accepting the logic of Danielle’s skepticism. “Our lives are in as much danger as yours. Or anyone’s here. Do you think those things out there are also in on the whole plot?”

  Danielle stares at Stella for a beat and then frowns and shakes her head.

  “So all the more reason to get in this truck and leave,” I say. “If this isn’t the global catastrophe we thought it was. If it’s just this county, or even the whole state, then we just have to keep going. We just need to find the line that divides us and the perimeter of the blast area.”

  Terry snickers and shakes his head. “You think they’ll just let us go? You think that if this is an experiment that they’ll just let us drive through the perimeter back to our previous lives? No questions asked?”

  “So what’s your plan, doctor? Hmm? Same as before? Just sit on that stool until you starve to death? This is your fault, so if you have the solution we’re all fucking ears.”

  My words hang heavy in the air, the group paralyzed by the tension.

  Stella finally interjects. “I think you’re right, Dominic?”

  “What?” Terry asks, incredulous.

  “He’s right, Terry, we have to leave at some point. We have to try. Maybe this was a mistake after all. Maybe we were supposed to be part of some experiment and it all went badly. Spread out of control like a forest fire. That’s possible, right?”

  “You just said yourself they don’t make mistakes like this. Are you now saying the opposite?”

  “I don’t know! I just know we’re going to die if we stay!”

  Terry stares back down at the bar, as if studying the cracks of the countertop. “I’m driving.”

  Stella smiles and looks at me.

  “The hell you are,” I reply.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The engine of the refrigerated truck grumbles in protest on the first attempt at ignition, but on the second attempt, it takes the bait, and we all sense the communal sigh of relief at the satisfying sound of the crankshaft rumbling to life.

  The snow hasn’t fallen for four days now, and the temperature is lingering just below freezing; but the sun is shining bright in the clear sky, and the snow that has piled high gives little resistance to the eight-ton truck.

  “Are they following?” Terry asks from the back of the truck. He’s decided to separate himself from the rest of us in a what appears to be a pout of some kind. Tom and Stella have squeezed between Danielle and I on the long front bench seat, and James occupies the jerry-rigged captain’s seat just behind us.

  “No, they’re just standing there,” Stella says. “I’ve always felt they were afraid of cars and trucks. I don’t think they like the sound.”

  “Well if they get too close,” I say, “they’re going to like a whole lot less than that.”

  After a half hour of driving and only fifteen miles, Terry makes a request from his protest position in the back. “I need to stop.”

  I ignore him, and then he repeats himself. “Dominic, I need to stop.”

  “For what?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “It’s not something I can help.”

  I look over at Stella and she nods, confirming the validity of Terry’s urgency. I have no desire for more details.

  “I saw a sign for a gas a few miles back. It should be coming up.”

  “A gas station? We’re not on a family trip to Niagara Falls. Dig a hole in the snow and get to it.”

  The entire truck is quiet, and I can feel the eyes on me, judging my lack of compassion.

  “Might as well keep life as normal as we can,” Tom says, the old-guy wisdom dripping from his voice. “That sign said a BP should be right here at this exit.”

  “Yeah, I saw it.” I glance in the rearview. “You really can’t wait another thirty minutes?”

  “I can barely wait another three.”

  To this point, the interstate has been slow but passable, and it appears that even a car or two has traversed it at some point during the last few days. We’re cautious about building hope, and we take the evidence for what it is: a sign of other survivors.

  But for all the allowances offered by the main road, the exit ramp forbids. It’s a rising ramp, a c-shaped road that circles up to a high ground upon which the lone service station sits. I regret veering onto the ramp just a moment too late, just a second before I can straighten the truck back toward the interstate.

  At the beginning of the bend in the exit, the truck’s right tire slips from the road and slides forward, ignoring the commands of the steering wheel, and sticks into a large snow bank.

  “Dammit!” I slam the gear shift into reverse but get only spin, and then shift to park and immediately hop from the truck to assess the crisis. It doesn’t appear fatal. By the looks of the situation, we can wedge one of the pallets from the back of the truck under the wheel and give ourselves some leverage to reverse back. We might need some bodies to give it a push, but we have gravity on our side.

  “Hey doctor!” I yell, kneeling in front of the truck. “Your p
otty stop has been rescinded. The snow is now your friend.”

  “He’s walking.” James has made his way to the front of the truck to check on my progress. I can see him staring off up the ramp. “Looks like he’s committed to that station.”

  “What the hell?”

  I stand and watch with James as Terry comically slogs through two feet of heavy, melting snow, marching like some Russian deserter toward the BP station.

  “Thought he couldn’t hold it. It’s gonna take him fifteen minutes to get up there.” I cup my hands around my nose and mouth. “Hey doctor! We need some help down here. I need you to help push this truck back.”

  The doctor keeps marching, either not hearing me or pretending not to.

  “Do you think we can get it free?” Danielle has arrived and lines up with James and me to watch Terry trudge ahead.

  “I think so,” I reply. “We’ll need to clear one of the palates. Might need to break it into pieces and use one of the slats. I’ll need a hammer from the toolbox. Maybe the rubber mallet.”

  “What are we going to do about him?”

  I turn to Danielle. “I’m going to follow him.”

  Terry stops suddenly just before reaching the top of the exit and stands as straight as a silo, staring. It’s as if he is suddenly caught in the tractor beam of an alien spaceship. His last steps were desperate and exhausted, allowing me to close the gap on him. I’m only fifty yards or so back, maybe less. I am depleted myself, my feet like magnets to the snow around them. But I keeping moving, now convinced of my suspicions about the doctor and his dedication to reaching the station.

  And then I see the source of his fixation. It’s no spaceship, but its presence is no less startling.

  First to appear is the muzzle and barrel, piercing the horizon as if born from the ether. And then the rest of the tank follows, tracks and wheels crushing the white snow below like talc, turret rising high and bulky, a menacing ornament atop a metallic mountain of death.

  I stop and assume the same posture as Terry, frozen by the surreality in front of me. But unlike Terry, my paralysis lasts only a moment. My instincts kick on to flight mode, and I turn back toward the interstate. I was correct to be wary of the doctor, but the clichéd cautions of curiosity have proven correct once again.