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

by Coleman, Christopher

  “What the hell is going on, Smalley?” Jones asks. “You know this piece of shit? You were under his command? When?”

  For a moment, I think the colonel is going to rush Jones and snap his neck with his bare hands. I can’t imagine someone as intense as the man standing before me letting a remark like that slide. But he doesn’t react a bit.

  “This was my story, Jones,” Smalley says. “I just never told you the details. Special orders. Top secret. Orders were for peacekeeping, but I knew that was a lie. I found out what was happening three days into my tour, and then, during one of our missions into the interior, I walked away. They didn’t abandon me, I went AWOL.”

  Smalley pauses and blinks a few times, clearing her thoughts.

  “I thought since I knew the perimeter and where the snipers were that I’d be able to get us out that day. But they reinforced everything. It was my fault, Jones, it was my fault we lost all those people that day. And you don’t ever talk about it, but it was my fault. I was the one who suggested we go that direction.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Smalley. I never blamed you for a second. But...why didn’t you tell me about this?”

  “I don’t know. It was stupid. The rest of you had similar stories about being left in the cordon, abandoned, so I adjusted my story. I thought otherwise you might think I was some kind of spy or something. And then it just got too far in to change. I’m sorry, Jones.”

  “We never discussed this,” Stella says to the colonel, breaking up the internal revelation between Jones and Smalley. “And we have way too many loose ends as it is.”

  I can’t know for sure, but something tells me the loose ends she’s referring to are Pam and Sydney.

  “Ah, but see that’s where you’re wrong,” the colonel says, smiling, never taking his eyes off Stephanie, who looks as humbled and uncomfortable as a prisoner of war. “Specialist Smalley is no loose end.”

  Smalley looks over at me now, tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, soldier!” the colonel shouts. He’s in Smalley’s face now, spittle flying.

  Jones steps over to wedge himself between the two soldiers, and without a second’s pause, the colonel thrusts his knee into Jones’ groin, sending him to his knees with a thud. Jones keeps his back straight, despite the trauma, and I can see the butt of the pistol sticking from the small of his back.

  I’d forgotten about the gun, and to this point, no one from Stella’s team has thought to check us for weapons. I’m still adorned with the backpack containing the various supplies from the grocery store, including the knives and flares.

  “Don’t step to me, son. I don’t know where unit you’re from, but I’d suggest you never step to a ranking officer that way.”

  “Fuck you,” Jones manages, though it’s barely audible through his pain.

  Smalley meets her colonel’s eyes now, and I can see the tension that’s built up in her jaws. “Yeah, Colonel Marsh, fuck you.”

  The colonel stares coldly at Smalley and, for a moment, I think she’s about to meet a similar fate as Jones, perhaps with a backhanded slap to the face instead. But the colonel just smiles and turns back to Stella. “I guess you’re right, Ms. Wyeth, it looks like we can continue with the experiments as planned.”

  “What are you going to do?” I ask.

  “What do you think, Hemingway?” the colonel asks. “Take a few guesses. I bet you’ll never get it?”

  I ignore him and stay locked on Stella. “I assume you plan on killing us, but what else? Are you going to turn us into these things?”

  “Look at that!” the colonel shouts, as if I’ve landed on a jackpot at a casino.

  “I know you’ve noticed the snow, Dominic, how it’s melting. Slowly, but it is melting. And there’s no more coming, at least not of the variety we created. And our new creations don’t do well in the warm air. You may have seen our resident example on your way through the corridor.”

  The gray creature in the office. I nod.

  “They need the snow for life. The chemical that laced the initial snowfall caused their change, but it’s the snow itself that keeps them alive. They need it, like a great white needs the salt of the ocean. But it also makes them lethargic and docile. That is until, as you know all too well, they get agitated or intrigued enough to attack.” Stella looks up and to the side, pondering. “We haven’t quite nailed down what qualifies as intriguing tot them, not yet, but we think we’re getting closer. However, we have a dilemma. A paradox I suppose.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Now that the snow is melting, they’re becoming more aggressive. They feel threatened, we think. Perhaps it’s pain, we’re not sure, and they’re lashing out in ways they haven’t to this point. They don’t need the sound of crashing glass or the approach of a person anymore, they’re just attacking.”

  “So what does any of this mean exactly? We’re all screwed, I take it?”

  “Soon the snow will melt and they’ll eventually die. But in the meantime, in that transition phase, they’re expressing the aggression that we’ve been trying to harness, the combative qualities that will be useful to our sponsor.” Stella motions to the colonel. “Therefore, in our new batch, we’re hoping to find that proper balance that will keep them alive but also aggressive, even after the snows have gone.”

  “New batch? What the hell are you talking about? You just said they’re dying? That’s what you need to let happen. Even if you kill us, Stella, you can’t do this again. How many people can you kill? And do you really think you can keep exploding bombs in small towns and explain it all away with terrorism?”

  Stella shakes her head matter-of-factly. “No. No, of course not. We’ve purchased other islands around the world—on behalf of our sponsor, naturally—and that’s where we plan to perfect things. Obviously the citizens of this country can buy this story only once. Twice would be a bridge too far, I think.”

  Stella stops again and looks to some distant spot, considering that this could happen again. Another terror attack, perhaps.

  “But in the meantime,” she continues, “during the melting, we can still do a lot of work here in the lab. There’s so much more to learn about their behavior, why they attack, how they change. And that’s where you come in. Though, honestly, you and your friends are a bonus, Dom. I was thinking we would just have Tom and James to work with—and Pam and Stella, of course.”

  Pam’s eyes immediately shoot wide and she begins to shake her head. “No. You said you needed us for—”

  “For what, Pam? IT. This entire place is run remotely from Headquarters. You’re here for just the purpose I’ve intimated. You always have been.”

  “My family knows I wasn’t in the blast. They know I’ve been flying in, working on the ‘cleanup.’” Pam makes the air quotes, again with the last two fingers on each hand.

  “And your family will be sad to learn of your disappearance somewhere in the interior. You were following Spence, of course. You two were sleeping together, right?”

  “No,” Sydney cries. “You can’t do this.” And as she says her last word, she turns and races toward the door that opens into the long corridor that leads out to the lobby, never looking back.

  I see the soldiers raise their guns, followed by Stella shouting, “No!”

  The two soldiers lower their weapons and shoulder them, and then race down the ladder and in the direction of Sydney. The first one takes a wide path through the office corridor, but the other takes the more direct path, coming right toward me and the open cellar.

  And that’s when I make my move.

  As the soldier reaches the start of the cellar, just as he begins to pass me, I thrust out my hip and shoulder, and catch him squarely on the right side of his body. The collision almost sends him airborne, and he careens toward the hole, flailing.

  His left foot goes in first, and he nearly drops to the bottom of the pit like a bag of sand; but as his body begins to slide down, sendi
ng him in completely, he manages to grab the ledge of the cellar with his right hand. For a moment his right foot catches the ledge as well, which would have kept him in a position to climb up, but it slowly drops in by his left, and now he’s hanging on with only his hands, his dead weight below him.

  And the gun has dropped straight down to the floor past him.

  I turn to see the colonel grab for his pistol, but it’s too late for him—Jones has his own pistol aimed at the man’s chest. “You blink and you’re dead, motherfucker. And I’m really hoping you blink.”

  I walk to the opening of the cellar and look down at Tom and James, who are both beginning to stir, awakened by the ruckus above and the rifle that’s fallen in a clatter beside them. “Tom!” I call.

  “Help me, you bastard,” the soldier says to me, his voice pleading and desperate despite the impoliteness of his words.

  I reach down as if to grab his hand, hoping he’ll hang on long enough for one of the two men below to grab the gun. The fall will be a painful one for the soldier, but not likely fatal, and if he’s able to secure the gun, he’ll have Tom and James hostage and me in a tricky position.

  The dangling soldier falls for the ploy, perhaps underestimating my own will to survive and to sacrifice him in the process, and as he slides his hand ever so slightly toward me, raising the tips of his fingers, searching for my grasp like an ant’s antennae, I call again, “Tom!,” this time loud and authoritative.

  The old man’s eyes open with a start. There’s life in them, awareness.

  “Grab that gun, Tom.”

  He nods, shaking away the cobwebs from his brain, and he picks up the weapon and instinctively locks the next round into place. “Let him fall.”

  “No!” the soldier cries, and before the word has completely left the back of his throat, I nudge the toe of my boot to the fingers of his left hand, and he plummets to the ground below with a splat.

  Chapter 12

  One soldier is down and the colonel is contained. That leaves the second soldier who is currently in pursuit of Sydney. And Smalley is only a step behind him. There’s not a lot I can do to improve that situation other than to put my faith in Smalley.

  Which leaves only Stella.

  I have no idea if Stella is armed, but based on the flanking soldiers that were standing beside her less than two minutes ago, I’m guessing she’s not. She’s the scientist after all, and I get the impression that she would consider guns beneath her.

  In all of the mayhem, however, she’s managed to disappear.

  I check back on the men down in the cellar, and I can tell that the soldier is in bad shape, at least on his right leg from the knee down. His tibia is clearly broken, the white of the bone is glimmering and flecked with blood. He’s writhing in pain, and the sound coming from him is that of a wounded vixen, perhaps one caught in a hunter’s trap. But Tom is unmoved by the howls of agony and holds the gun steady and aimed, looking twitchy, ready to shoot.

  “Hold on, Tom, I’m gonna get you guys out. How did they get you down there in the first place?”

  “Had a rope ladder of some kind. Just flopped it over the side and forced us down.”

  I look at Pam, but she shrugs and shakes her head, indicating she doesn’t know the whereabouts of the ladder.

  I turn to the colonel, who stands as if bored by the whole display that’s unfolding, mildly frustrated that he’s allowed someone to get the drop on him. “Where’s the ladder?” I demand.

  The colonel squints and gives a thoughtful pose, looking up to the ceiling in contemplation, and then says, “You know, the last time I saw it I think it was up your ass.”

  I feel a primeval urge to move on the colonel, but before I can take a step, Jones is in front of him, the barrel of the pistol against the middle of the colonel’s forehead.

  The colonel closes his eyes, his mouth a flat, sterile line of resolve. “Do it.”

  Instead of firing, Jones slams his knee up into the colonel’s groin and then pushes him away. The colonel reels back a few steps and then collapses to the floor, rolling to his side in the fetal position.

  The assault is pure satisfaction, but it doesn’t help me with the ladder, though judging by the way the colonel looked down at Tom and James on his way over to Smalley, I’m fairly sure he doesn’t know where it is anyway.

  “I’m going to secure this asshole and then go track down Smalley,” Jones says. “There’s plenty of material here to keep him tied up for a while.” Stewart Jones gives me the look of a general, though I never did get the background on his rank or who he is exactly. “Pam, I need you to track down that ladder and get it down to them.”

  “How will we get him out?” she asks, obviously referring the soldier.

  “Not at the top of my list of concerns, Pam. We’ll do our best. First things first, though.” Jones ducks his head a bit so that he is at perfect eye level with the woman. “Find the ladder.”

  Pam gives a wide-eyed nod, indicating she’ll at least give it her best shot.

  Jones looks at me. “Go find her, professor.”

  “You find her too, Jones. Find Smalley. We’re getting out of this place.”

  Jones and I give simultaneous nods, and as we begin on our separate missions, a banging sound rings from the back of the hangar, near the rink. No doubt it’s Stella, and I hold the possibility high that she’s trying to lure me.

  “Be careful, Dominic,” Jones says, and then, a propos of nothing, looks down and gives a quick shake of his head followed by a smirk. “I wonder what it would have been like to grow up with a name like ‘Dominic.’ Pretty cool, I would imagine.”

  “Well, Stewart, I suppose it made me softer than if I had ended up with something less cool. Maybe instead of being a teacher—with all the air conditioning and summers off—I would have been a hard-ass soldier like you.”

  Jones gives me a piercing stare now. “You’re far from soft, professor. Now let’s do this.” And with that, he takes off down the corridor toward the front of the building, following in the wake of Sydney and Smalley and the second soldier.

  I move quickly but cautiously toward the sound in the back, and when I reach the hockey rink and look through the glass, I’m immediately mesmerized by the white crabs milling around inside. The snow lining the rink is high, up to their shins in some areas, and when they move, they’re as slow as sloths.

  “I’m here, Stella,” I call to the emptiness beside the rink, “so tell me how you want to play this? Before you answer though, full disclosure, you should know that your colonel buddy is in zip ties, and one of your soldiers has a shattered leg and is staring at the business end of his own rifle. And in another minute, I’ll have the other one too.”

  I wait for a reply, but none comes.

  “This is over,” I continue. “The experiments, the company, all of it. You’ll go down as the biggest mass murderer in the history of the country. But lucky for you, it’s this country, and you might get to live.”

  A few of the crabs look over at me through the glass, apparently responding to the sound of my voice, wearing the same expressionless look they always seem to have. At least until they’re activated, triggered to aggression.

  But these crabs seem virtually harmless in this frozen environment. The temperature is frigid back here, even on this side of the glass, and it’s clearly the snow and cold that has these crabs so calm, just like Stella said.

  It’s the warming that agitates them and turns them nasty.

  And with the warming comes the melting.

  It’s already started, Stella revealed as much. The snow is disappearing, and when it’s all gone, the crabs will die. But in the meantime, as they go through their transition from docility to death, they become the ravenous monsters from the student union, the ones that formed a ladder of their bodies and came in through the shattered window on the day Naia and I left.

  The thought of the crabs’ almost certain demise buoys me though. The world hasn’t come
to an end after all. We, in Warren and Maripo County were simply the unfortunate chosen ones on whom an almost indescribable madness was tested. But it’s ending, soon, and now we need only to wait out the virtual spring that is right around the corner. They’ll be no more explosions, no more chemicals released into the air which turn the sky to white and then release fluffy flakes of poison.

  I walk further around the perimeter of the egg-shaped rink until I come to a door in the middle of one of the long sections. The door opens into a tunnel that leads out into a round room in the middle of the rink. From that central room, I can see that several other walkways radiate out in four or five different directions, like the spokes of a wheel, which end in similar rooms to the hub in the middle. This is the penalty box, I presume.

  The walkways and rooms are open at the top, but there is a protective glass, which starts about three-feet high and extends up at least ten feet.

  The rink door that opens into the main walkway is closed, but, judging by the unlocked deadbolt and the accompanying chain that snakes limply from the door to the floor, it’s accessible.

  I walk past the door toward the back of the rink, where, about fifteen feet past, a giant wall rises from the floor to the massively high ceiling, and extends across the entire width of the hangar, cutting off this section of the hangar from the rest. It looks almost identical to the wall that separated the lobby from the section of the hangar I’m in currently, though this one seems to be made of concrete.

  I walk up to the wall and place my hands against it, feeling the cold, black stone against my palms. The side of the wall I’m on is only a fraction of the entire building, so whatever is on the other side makes up probably three-quarters of the rest of the facility. I can see a door in the wall about twenty paces to my left, and I’d like nothing more than to enter to the other side. But I can’t spend time exploring now. Right now, I need to find Stella.