Cody had been certain the carp was dead. By the time his father eased the fish to the lake’s surface, it was still. Eyes blank. His father dipped the fish into the water, and immediately it sprang to life, kicking off a small wave of water and sending his father reeling with laughter.
The carp swam a circle, then vanished into the mirky greens. Cody couldn’t stop smiling.
If only Cody could do the same for Brandon. That same dead look on his face. Peace subbing in for the pain as his oxygen-starved body gave in.
“Brandon?”
Cody shook him violently. Sophie said something that didn’t penetrate Cody’s bubble. Brandon’s head lolled on his shoulders, then came to rest on his chest. A string of drool snaked from his lips and landed on his stomach.
“Cody!” Sophie pulled him back, freeing Brandon from his clutches. Cody’s eyes widened as his bubble popped and the realization of his outburst hit him. Sophie eased Brandon’s head back and rested it against the wall. “We’ve got to be careful with him. We don’t know what could make him worse.”
“We need to make him better,” Cody replied. “We can’t just leave him like this.”
Sophie nodded. “I know. But this isn’t the way. We’ve already lost Kyle, Travis and…” She exhaled slowly and composed herself. “We’ve lost too many already. This isn’t the way. He needs medical attention. We can’t just shake him back to health.”
Brandon grunted, eyes flickering beneath closed lids.
“We don’t know that Kyle is dead.”
“How can he not be?” Sophie retorted.
Cody’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What do we do, then? We can’t just sit here. We can’t.”
Sophie sighed. “I don’t know. Wherever this place is, it’s far from anywhere.” She looked around the room. In the corner a door was ajar, still left open from Sophie’s exploration around the tiny shack. Cody had sat with Brandon while Sophie checked the house, able to find only one other room on the ground floor, and a set of stairs which led to an open space upstairs that had once been a bedroom. The shack was empty of other people. Holes as wide as girders dotted the walls upstairs, allowing the storm to sweep through and drop the temperature. She had arrived back, wide-eyed and shivering.
At least this room was properly sheltered.
“What even is this place?” Cody asked.
“It makes no sense. Maybe it was one of the earlier houses in the town? Could be a false start from when the first settlers founded Denridge.”
“That doesn’t explain why there’s a tunnel connecting it to the school.” Cody rose from Brandon, happy to leave him with Sophie as he crossed to the window. All was white outside. There were no landmarks or signs to mark their compass by. “Where the hell are we?”
Sophie placed the compress back onto Brandon’s forehead. A relieved smile played on his lips. Goofy, crooked. Brandon coughed, then shuffled uncomfortably, fingers tightening on his heart.
Cody gave him a pitied look. “He’s the smart one. He’d know what to do, that’s the bitch of it. He knew about Travis and his concussion. If we could get him to talk now, he could help us out of this situation. He could tell us how to fix him.”
“He’s not a doctor, Cody.”
“No. He’s a friend.”
Sophie shook her head. “I think the answer would lie in not being chased by wendigos through a rotting tunnel, much less having to sprint when you’re overweight, too.” She placed her head in her hands. “Fuck, Cody. What the hell were we thinking tonight?”
Cody rested his back to the wall, all thoughts of rebellion and basketball and girls cycling around his head in a sour mess. “I don’t know. I guess…” He chewed his lip, unsure whether to say what was on his mind.
Sophie helped him out. Her skin was tainted with dirt and grease, her hair out of sorts. However bad she looked, Cody was almost certain he looked worse. “I hate to get morbid, but I’m pretty sure there’s a real possibility we could die tonight. Whatever you’ve got to say, just say it.”
Cody’s eyes grew glassy. Sophie was an arm’s reach from him. He traced his toes along the ground, creating small, clean grooves in the dust. “I guess… I guess I wanted to spend time with you.”
Sophie smiled, her own eyes misty with tears. She leaned forward and placed her lips on Cody’s and once again he was transported. For a brief moment they were gone from this world to a private plane where all that existed was Cody and Sophie. His hands cupped her cheek. She tasted of earth and dust, but he didn’t care. Her hands found his lower back. Their tongues danced. What little breath remained in his lungs vanished as they claimed their moment—possibly their last—together.
When Sophie pulled away, tension hung in the air between them. She smiled, though there was fear in her eyes. “We have to get out of this.”
Cody nodded. “But what do we do? Where do we go?”
Sophie looked out of the window. “I don’t know. But we can’t wait here. This shack is no protection if the wendigos come.”
“Fuck.” Cody’s hands balled into fists. No matter which way he turned, it all amounted to the same. They were trapped. It was a choice between hiding in the shack until the monsters came or chancing a deadly blizzard in the hope of finding safety. One way or another, the most likely outcome was death.
Cody took Sophie’s hands. “We’ve got to go out there.”
“But, Cody…”
“Not far,” Cody assured her. “Enough to see if anything is nearby. That’s the only option we have.” He took a long breath and zipped up his jacket. He brought his hood over his head. “Keep an eye on Brandon. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Stay here. Come for me. I don’t know…”
Sophie’s face was twisted in frustration, although she knew that Cody’s mind was set. She nodded as she remembered something, then ran from the room. She came back a moment later with a long coil of rope in her arms. “I found this in the other room. It’s a little worse for wear, but it might be enough to tie to the house and to make sure you don’t get lost in the storm.”
“I’ll find my way back.”
Sophie’s face hardened. “I’m not taking any chances. If you lose sight of this house, the blizzard will take you. I’m sure of it. In case you hadn’t noticed, the weather is working against us, too.”
Cody reached for the rope. Sophie pulled away, looking at him earnestly. “Make sure you come back. I can’t lose you, too.”
Cody nodded.
The storm roared at him the moment he opened the front door. It hurled its snow and battered his body even as he knotted the rope around the bottom bar of the stairway banisters. Sophie checked the knotting around his waist, then kissed his lips once more. “Good luck. Don’t be long.”
“I don’t plan to.”
Her hand rose to his cheek. “I’m not sure tonight cares much for our plans.”
Cody nodded, then turned and entered the storm, the door closing quickly behind.
10
Kyle Samson
The floorboards creaked beneath him. They sagged and flexed with each infinitesimal movement, but at least from up here he could keep watch. He could keep safe.
They had made it safely out of the tunnel. Well, Sophie had, at least. Through the missing knot in the floorboard he watched over her as she examined the upstairs room of the shitty little shack. She wouldn’t find anything of value. Kyle already knew that. He had already searched every nook and cranny of the place. Had time to peruse the house and determine that there was nothing around that would help their cause. Nothing there to fight the monsters and guide them home. Not downstairs, at least. Not that they cared. All of them were conspiring against him. They hated him, and he hated them back. Tit for tat.
He wondered how Travis was doing; if Sophie had left the poor guy downstairs while she searched the house. He was already in bad shape, stairs wouldn’t help anything there. Travis was
going to be a goner soon. They all were. Kyle had been certain that he had reached his end. One look out of the window offered no sign of relief. They were in the ass end of nowhere, and those creatures would get them.
Or, so he had begun to think.
The hatch to the attic had been easy to miss at first. It wasn’t until he’d climbed inside the wardrobe and searched amongst the moth-bitten jackets and clothing that a creak drew his attention upwards. He squinted in the darkness, noticing a thin break in the gloom, and with that he climbed. The old clothing rail bowed in protest, but still he climbed, finding his way into the rafters.
It was cold up here, but that didn’t matter none. It wasn’t as cold as the room below, and that was enough.
Boxes littered the attic space, most of them filled with rotten shit that had decayed over time. Crates and cardboard now bent and warped, filled with the ghosts of forgotten times and better years. Dust itched his nostrils and stung his eyes. Yet, amidst it all, in a rectangular chest, cushioned on a bed of velvet…
A revolver.
Somehow, despite the passage of time since the gun had last been handled, it was in near mint condition. Kyle had only ever handled his father’s rifle, but he could glean enough and extrapolate the information to work out how to use a revolver. It was loaded. It was ready. Four bullets nested in the chamber. Would the gunpowder still ignite? Would the damn thing fire? Hell if Kyle knew, but dammit did he feel powerful.
The tables have turned, fuckers. Now it’s time to play my way.
Knowing that they would eventually end up in Kyle’s little corner of the world, he had bided his time. Laid low. Shivered. Napped. Conserved his energy. Lying in wait…
And now they were here.
When Sophie disappeared from sight, Kyle counted the seconds, waiting to see if the others would come upstairs. After half an hour, he pushed himself to his knees and grinned in the darkness. He weighed the gun in his hand, flexed his finger near the trigger. How would it feel to shoot a human? Would it be a far cry to the birds and moose he had taken down with his father? Would they scream and beg for mercy in the end?
Kyle crawled towards the hatch, taking his time, not wanting to do anything that might alert the unsuspecting victims. He teased open the edge of the hatch and was about to lower himself down when a sound caught his attention. He was almost certain he’d heard a cough.
He glanced back into the dark, the shadows playing tricks with his mind. Visions of wendigos danced in the black, one small figure drawing his focus as it stood there and trembled.
“Please don’t go…”
The voice was gentle, innocent. Kyle shook his head, wriggled his finger in his ear. It couldn’t be.
The girl stepped forward, fingers laced in front of her body. She was tiny, dark hair covered one side of her face. As she stepped out from behind a box, her neon-pink snow boots drew his focus.
“Are you real?” he asked.
“I’m lost,” the girl said. “Please, can you help me?”
Kyle eased the hatch shut and turned to face the girl, sitting on his ass. The gun hung loosely in his hand. “Is this your house?”
The girl shook her head.
“Then what are you doing here? Are you one of them?”
“One of what?”
Kyle considered his reply. “You’re alone?”
The girl nodded. “I ran. There are monsters out there.” She stated the words as casually as a news reporter reeling off the death count from a plane crash.
“I know.”
“Are you a monster?” She took a cautious step back.
“No. I’m Kyle. Who are you?”
“Alice,” the little girl replied. “Can you help keep me safe?”
Kyle glanced down at the gun in his hand. Thoughts raced through his mind of the horrors they’d seen tonight. Those creatures were out there, hunting them down. His friends had abandoned him. It was every man for himself, and now here was a little girl, asking him to look after her. Didn’t she realise that he was no one’s hero?
He brought the gun to his eye and aimed it at Alice’s chest. If she felt any fear, she showed no sign. He pulled back the hammer and took a slow breath, finger tensing on the trigger. “No, Alice. Nothing can keep you safe, now.”
There came a disturbance from downstairs. A door opening and the rushing howl of wind. Kyle glanced over his shoulder at the hatch, wondering what the hell they were doing down there.
In his moment of distraction, the girl came for him. She held a steel box, the contents unknown. She swung it at his head, the box colliding with his temple. Kyle’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as the attic faded to darkness.
11
Alex Goins
It was the only door that had been left open, and blood pooled at the threshold.
Alex knew they were in the right place. The awkward wall signs told him to continue to the gymnasium, but the sight of the crimson puddle veered him in another direction entirely. Corrugated metal stairs led into a downstairs room, but all that Alex could focus on was the dead girl.
Or, what was left of her.
“Damien, stay back,” he said, without turning away. It was no use, Damien had already seen the body. What would Alex have done with it, anyway? Covered it with a blanket and told the kid the floor was lined in cherry juice.
Damien stood by his side and took Alex’s hand. “Is that Cody?”
Alex’s eyes trailed down the metal staircase, following the miniature river of blood as it continued to drip and slither to the bottom. A pair of hot pink pants gathered blood halfway down the stairs. A couple of bones had been discarded and lay haphazardly, obstacles to their descent. A hunk of naked flesh lay against the wall, bite marks gouged along the creases of remaining skin.
Alex shook his head. “Watch your step and stay close.” He started on the staircase, already feeling the friction fade as the blood lubricated each step. He used the metal railing for support and encouraged Damien to follow by his example. When they reached the bottom, Alex was prepared to find the bodies of more children but was relieved to discover that there was no trace. There were, however, a mix of strange chemicals spilled along the floor. Shelving units were toppled and the whole room looked more like a trap than a functional space.
“They had to have been here,” he said, more to himself. Scraps of silver wrappers confirmed his belief, as well as a strange stream of wind of which he couldn’t detect its source.
He glanced warily at the puddles on the floor. In patches around the concrete basement, the liquid bubbled and baked the stone black. The yellow hazard labels caught his attention.
“Climb onto my back,” he told Damien.
The boy didn’t argue. Alex helped him, holding his feet and feeling the tacky residue of blood gather on his palms. He cupped his hands together beneath the back of Damien’s thighs and started across the room, lifting his own legs high enough to avoid tripping on the metal shelving structures, and avoiding the patches where acids consumed the stone flooring. When he reached the far side of the room, the air called his attention, and a quick look to his left found a hole in the wall.
He stood there for a minute, wondering just what the hell had happened here. What kind of kids could smash through a wall? He turned back to the stairwell, wondering if he was just making assumptions. Maybe Cody was elsewhere. Maybe he was hiding in a classroom. One dead body didn’t prove they had come this way.
Then why was his gut pulling him in that direction?
A faint sizzling hiss rose from below. Alex spotted the leather of his thick soles bubbling in the clear liquids. He marched away, turning to the tunnel’s entrance as he stepped across the threshold and stared into the darkness.
“You got a light?” Alex asked Damien.
“Nope. Dad won’t let me have a phone.”
“Damn…”
“That’s a bad word.”
“Get ready to hear more of them.” Alex stared into the dar
kness, trepidation in his breath. He turned back to the room, finding the bucket of tools near the tunnel’s entrance. He checked the floor and placed Damien down where it was dry, then tore a section of his jacket off and wrapped it around the long handle of a hammer. He found a dull knife and examined the blade before sliding it roughly along the stone.
Meagre sparks glowed in its wake.
“Interesting…” Alex thought back to the research he had undergone when writing his desert thriller. His protagonist, Archie Taylor, had been trapped in the catacombs of the Egyptian pyramids, in dire need of a source of light. Alex had poured over the internet for hours, hunting for means and methods to provide some kind of light source for the guy, hating the idea of going back several chapters to rewrite what he had already spent days labouring over. At the time, the research had been painful, and the block in his writing had taken almost a week to pass. Now, though, he was glad of the interruption.
“Let’s see if this works in practice…” Alex touched the rag to the puddle on the floor and brought it back to the wall. He held the damp cloth next to the stone and hacked at the wall with the knife repeatedly until the metal grew hot and another few sparks lit. A few more urgent scrapes and a couple of sparks caught the material, the cloth bursting suddenly to life with a warm, orange flame.
Damien tugged his waist, hungry for the warmth. Alex held it towards them both as they each basked in the heat for just a moment. He brought his finger to the tip of his nose, dismayed that he couldn’t feel its touch.
Worry about frostbite when this is over. There’s little you can do for it now.
After a minute, he held the torch aloft and looked down the stone tunnel and into the gloom. The flames flickered, catching the notches and crevices in the crude construction of the passageway. There was a green stain of moss on the walls, interspersed with white clusters of fungus. The ground was soft in patches, with stone intermingling between the dirt. The dancing shadows caused the tunnel to wobble, making Alex queasy.
When Winter Comes | Book 4 | Masks of Bone Page 6
