Whiteout (Book 2): The Dark Winter

by Maxwell, Flint

  “The wraiths? The shadow things?”

  She laughed. “Wraiths. I like that. Sounds a lot more sinister. Fits ‘em. Billy would’ve liked that, too.”

  “Who’s Billy?”

  She patted her belly. “The bastard who did this to me. He’s dead now.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Nah, he was an asshole.” She turned and pulled down her bottom lip. A nasty half-healed cut ran along it. “He did this a few days ago. Busts open whenever I chew. I still taste the blood from my last meal.”

  She thought it was funny. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Sorry. I’m making you uncomfortable, huh? I’m good at that. My mom always said I was too upfront. Me, I think that’s a good thing.” She narrowed her eyes. “You know, you’re kinda cute, actually.”

  “Thanks…”

  “But you probably don’t wanna get with a pregnant chick, do ya?”

  “I’m seeing someone. She’s actually back in the station. Come on in and meet her.” I cleared my throat. “You can wait out the dark with us.”

  “Nah, I got places to be.”

  “South.”

  “Right. Me and Billy met a family a few weeks ago when we first left Canada. They were talking about these government sanctuaries the States set up farther south. Called ‘em ‘Cities of Lights.’ That’s where they were going, too. To find one. Maybe I’ll see ‘em there.”

  That was news to me. Then again, we hadn’t really met any other people. Not normal people, at least.

  “Where’d you get this snowmobile?” I asked. “And was there just the one?”

  She frowned. “Jesus, is this Twenty-One Questions or some shit? I got it at some ski resort up the road.”

  “Avery’s Mills?”

  “I dunno the name of it. I said it’s right up the road, go look for yourself.”

  “All right,” I said.

  “Damn it, I’m being rude again. Sorry.” She smiled. “Yeah, I think that’s what the place was called. There’s a couple more snowmobiles there, too. Enclosed just like this, but this was the only one that had gas in it. Guess they don’t keep the tanks full in the summer. Makes sense, but my ma always said you gotta expect the unexpected. I was never good at listening to her. Damn shame. I bet she’s dead now. Most everyone’s dead.”

  I nodded. “I know.” But I wanted to stay on the subject of Avery’s Mills. “What about a snowcat? That big thing they use to groom the trails? You see that?”

  She laughed. “Billy thought the same thing. That’s why we went there. Turns out it wasn’t exactly an original idea. That thing was long gone.”

  My heart sank until I remembered what the woman had said only a moment earlier. I held up a hand. “Wait, there’s more snowmobiles, right? All they need is gas?”

  The woman nodded. “Yup. All yours for the taking, too, buddy. Good luck.”

  I didn’t move. My mind was working out a solution. I could’ve left her then, knowing Avery’s Mills wouldn’t prove fruitless, but I didn’t.

  The woman cleared her throat loudly. “Uh, dude, that means you gotta get movin’ and groovin’. If you ain’t coming with me, that is.”

  “No, not coming yet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I looked the young woman in the eye. This seemed to surprise her. “Stay with us. It’s not safe out here for anyone, let alone a pregnant woman. We’re stronger together. We have a better chance at surviving. Especially you.”

  “I’ve been survivin’ pretty well the last couple days on my own,” the woman said. “Believe me, I’ll manage.”

  “We got food, water, and a little fire going inside. There’s a shutter over the window, and the door’s barricaded. Those ‘rages aren’t going to get through that.” I rapped a knuckle against the windshield. “I can’t say the same about this.”

  The young woman wore a steely expression, but I saw her eyes slip and glance at the dashboard. Slight nervousness rippled through her features.

  I leaned forward, already knowing what I was going to see. The gas needle hovered just above empty.

  “I know it doesn’t mean anything to you when I say this,” I said, “but you can trust us. We’re good people. And you’re not going to get much farther on less than a quarter of a tank. There’s not another gas station for a few miles, either, that I know for sure. This city isn’t exactly a metropolis. Come first light, I can get you some fuel, but for now, come in and rest. We’ll figure out our next moves later.”

  A long moment of silence passed. It seemed like the woman wasn’t going to break, that she was going to continue being stubborn because she hated to lose an argument. Now wasn’t the time for stubbornness, though. Winning or losing didn’t matter; surviving did.

  “I get it,” I continued, “I do. But if you’re not gonna do it for yourself, do it for the sake of the baby.”

  Bingo.

  Her steely expression collapsed, and she smiled softly. “Shit, I guess I could use a snack. I’m hungry as hell, and Monica’s been kicking me nonstop since Billy died.”

  “Monica,” I said. “I like that. That’s a beautiful name.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m Grady.” I stuck out my hand. “And you are?”

  “Mia.” She pronounced it as Mee-uh.

  We shook.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mia.”

  “You, too. Hey, you got any beef jerky in there? I’ve been craving beef jerky and Skittles for a goddamn month. Together, I mean. Like Skittles wrapped in the jerky. I know, it sounds disgusting.”

  “I think we have that,” I said. “And you can have it all.”

  “All right, Grady, you got yourself a deal. But you oughta know that if you try pulling one over on me, I won’t hesitate sticking you.” She made a thrusting motion with an imaginary blade, and she only sounded like she was half-joking.

  I put up my hands. “I don’t know much about pregnant women, but trust me, I know not to piss one off.”

  “Right you are.”

  A moment later Mia steered us toward the station, engine muted by the roar of the wind. I was grateful for this because I wasn’t sure I’d make it back walking without first warming up and getting some rest.

  As we were climbing out, Mia cleared her throat. “Hey, uh, I don’t wanna get all sappy and all but thanks. I guess I’m not used to Ohio hospitality.”

  That was surprising. “You don’t have to thank me, Mia. Or anyone, for that matter. We’re human, and if we’re gonna survive this”—I waved a hand toward the endless snow outside—“whatever the hell this is, then we gotta stick together.”

  “Yeah. You’re right, we gotta stick together.”

  The end of the world didn’t mean the end of humanity. We still had a chance, and we weren’t giving up.

  Not yet. Not ever.

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  About the Author

  Flint Maxwell lives in Ohio with his beautiful wife, daughter, and their four furry best friends.