When Winter Comes | Book 6 | Winter Comes

by Willcocks, Daniel

  His finger tensed on the trigger, arm waving wildly about as the chaos set in. On his lips was a dark, confused grin—the mask of a lunatic—and then a muzzle flashed, something hard and heavy crashed into his stomach. Air fled his lungs, abandoning him as his friends had all done earlier that night.

  Back when things were simple…

  The world went black.

  The world was dark.

  Kyle closed his eyes and exhaled his final breath.

  Finally, at peace.

  5

  Tori Asplin

  Tori swam in an ocean of tar.

  The world moved in slow motion. Each movement was a struggle, each thought rising to her memory in puzzle pieces that she had to assemble with no hands. The gunshots rang in her ears like thunderclaps, the screams of the others the painful glue that bonded the sounds. Alex lay on the rug behind her. The gunshots stalled to nothing, but the activity continued. People ran and voices called, undefined in their announcements. She pushed herself to her feet but knew she couldn’t move fast enough to make a damned bit of difference. Blood pulsed around the cuts of her nose. Her head pounded.

  And still this night was far from over.

  Alice’s cries were what finally aroused Tori, bringing clarity to their situation with stark command. Tori stood sharply, blood rushing to her head. Bile fizzed her throat. She spotted the dead boy by the front door, then staggered towards Alice who had fallen dangerously close to the fire, the embers licking at the back of her coat.

  “Come here.” She pulled Alice to her chest and buried her face in her shoulder. “Oscar, check that he’s down, then close the door. Damien? Damien, where are you?”

  Damien’s face appeared beneath the coffee table. There were cracks in the walls from the other bullets the gunman had fired. They were lucky he hadn’t broken the glass.

  “He’s dead!” Sophie declared, dust and dirt stuck to her face. “He’s dead!”

  The words bounced off Tori as she turned and saw the large lump on the floor. She wouldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Not Alex. Not the man that had dragged her through the storm and rescued these children as he went. Alex, the saviour, the one beacon of decency which had shone brightly during the darkest night of her life. An overwhelming rush of conflicting emotions swallowed her whole, threatened to drown her, keep her buried under the throbbing tides. It couldn’t be him. Please, no…

  She passed Alice to Sophie and got on her knees beside the still figure. Blood pooled around Alex’s head, soaking into the fibres of the carpet. The stink of piss and shit came from his trousers, and in rolling him a little she could make out the dark stains around his crotch.

  “No. No, no, no, no…”

  His head rolled back. His lips were parted. She drew closer, knees soaking up blood, hands growing slick with the stuff. She grabbed his cheeks and pressed her ear to his lips, pressed her lips to his, tried to see through the fuzzy haze of tears curtaining her eyes.

  “He’s dead,” Oscar said flatly, his voice trailing through the house. How much death must a kid have seen in order to become so emotionless in the process of its declaration? The door slammed shut and the wind’s cry cut off.

  Though Oscar was talking about the gunman, the words resonated with Tori. In her arms was a dead man. Another. Two in one night. Stanley. Alex. Interchangeable sacks of flesh that had met the same end via different means. Her hands scrambled across his body, blood-stained palms painting his clothes, searching for the bullet wound like a dog seeking a rabbit which has just fled down its burrow. Her mouth was a rainbow of upset, the tears flowing freely. She was aware of the others moving behind her, aware of Alice’s racking sobs, Damien’s flat, innocent lines of questioning, Oscar striding over as they all gathered around Alex and Tori.

  Yet, she still couldn’t find it. She examined his chest for the bullet wound, searched his neck, checked the back of his head. Where was the blood fountaining from? It was still flowing freely, the puddle growing larger, a metallic scent lingering in the air. Sophie took the other side of Alex, kneeling in the growing lake of blood. “Tori…”

  Tori ignored her, not understanding what had happened. Something was wrong. She had looked death in the eye that night, studied her enemy and grown familiar. She attacked his body with her frantic hands, rolling Alex back and forth, the blood covering so much of his body that the only part of his flesh left on display was the pale skin of his face. Flecks of blood marked his white cheeks. His nose was flushed with blooming roses.

  Did his eyelids just flicker?

  Sophie put her hands on Tori’s shoulder, trying to rouse her from her frenzy. Oscar stood behind her, rifle in his hands, shadow stretching atop the three on the floor.

  “Tori…?”

  “No.” There was no argument to be had. Tori rolled Alex to his side, and a small pulse of blood leaked from Alex’s shoulder, looking more like the ripples left in the wake of a crimson fish leaving the pond than the sprays that came before. The blood was slowing.

  But there was the wound.

  In his shoulder.

  His shoulder? Then…

  “Oscar, go to the utility closet and grab some towels.”

  Oscar turned to the woods, impatience in his eyes.

  “Now!” Tori screamed. Oscar jumped. He ran up the stairs and appeared a moment later with an armful of pristine white towels.

  “Tori, what are you doing?” Sophie asked.

  Tori patted the towels against Alex’s shoulder, the white turning red in an instant. The site of the wound soon cleared and in the dark pit of where the pistol had caught Alex, she finally saw a glint of gold.

  Acting before she could think, Tori dug her fingers into Alex’s shoulder. The bullet had caught in the bone, and as Tori pinched her fingers around the metal head, fighting for purchase against the fresh swell of blood, Alex’s eyes fluttered. His lips curled into a snarl and he gave a weak cry that soon grew as his eyes snapped open and pain erupted in one clean note from his lips.

  “Hold him down!” Tori cried.

  Oscar and Sophie obeyed, holding Alex’s other arm and pressing him to the ground while Tori fought for the bullet. Her fingers closed around the curved head and she scooped it out. Although she could feel the bullet in her hand, she couldn’t see it for the blood, but now that she was satisfied that the wound was clear, she set about cleaning up the mess.

  Alex writhed in pain as his consciousness came back. Oscar and Sophie fought against him, growing sweaty and tired as Tori took her own belt and tied it around the wound, applying pressure in order to stem the bleeding. She wrapped his shoulder with the last of the cotton towels, and then sat back on her ass, hands sliding in the blood beneath her.

  She nodded to Oscar and Sophie. They let go of Alex and moved away, giving him some space. Alex lay on the ground, eyes closed, nose wrinkled, gasping and panting as the pain began to subside. Tori instructed Oscar to find some aspirin, and with a little assistance, Alex took three. After a few minutes, he tried to sit up. Tori and Sophie came to his side. He looked around the room as if he’d just woken from a nightmare, arm bent across his body in the makeshift sling Tori had fashioned.

  “What the fuck just happened?” He gasped for air, eyes dark and shadowed.

  Tori laughed. She clamped her hands to her mouth, realising just how strange a reaction it was to laugh after the heat of the moment, but she didn’t care. Relief lightened the weight that had appeared on her shoulders for a few moments, and she fought the urge to throw her arms around Alex and hug him. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

  “I saw a light.”

  “That’ll be the muzzle flash,” Oscar said.

  Alex’s brow narrowed. “The gunman… Is he…?”

  “Dead.” Oscar glanced over at the corpse growing cold by the door. “Yes.”

  “Who was that?” Alex asked. He straightened his back and grimaced as a flood of pain passed through him.

  Oscar shrugged. Al
ice and Damien sat together in the corner of the room, arms around each other. Sophie rose to her feet and crossed to the body, hands clapping to her mouth when she saw the face staring blankly at the ceiling.

  A strange sound escaped her lips.

  “You know him?” Tori asked.

  Sophie nodded, unable to verbalise her emotions. She struggled for breath and took a step back before tearing her eyes away from the gunman’s body.

  Tori turned to Alex and whispered, “Are you going to be okay if I…”

  Alex waved his spare hand. “Go on.”

  She could tell he was lying, but she had no choice. Alex wasn’t the only mess that needed clearing up in that moment.

  Nothing in her life had prepared Tori for cleaning up this kind of mess. The children seemed okay—the young ones, at least—but who knew what kind of emotional scarring they would carry from tonight into the rest of their lives? Alice stopped crying. Damien stayed by her side, watching over her like a loyal retriever, playing the protective older brother as Tori tried to clean up the worst of the mess. Oscar helped her, the pair of them working to cover the dead boy in a rug so that he was at least out of sight and, hopefully, out of mind. There were some stains that would never come out of the wood and the cloth, but that could be dealt with later.

  Alex moved to the sofa, laying down across its length as he spoke through gritted teeth to Sophie who had since gone silent. She hardly blinked, eyes drifting occasionally to the wendigo sentinels outside.

  When, at last, the worst of the mess was cleared, Tori returned to the living room and took a seat by Alex’s feet. She scanned around the sea of expectant faces, aware of the subtle shift in the atmosphere. The patriarch had been compromised. There was a new leader in town.

  “I think we now know who’s going to be staying here,” she announced, the burden of her words weighing on her as she spoke.

  Alex started to protest.

  “No.” She placed a hand on his chest and held him firmly down. It was easier than it should have been. “You’re staying. No argument. You can’t go in there like that. You can’t.”

  “I’ll be fine. It’s too dangerous—”

  “No!” This time it was Sophie’s turn to interject. Her face wore the mask of someone much older than she, eyelids heavy, bags like wet hammocks beneath her eyes. “No more arguing. No more time wasting. We need the healthy and the able to go out there and end this fucking nightmare.”

  Damien flinched. Alice drew closer to him.

  “I’ll go.” She turned to Tori, determination in her eyes. “I’ll join you. Oscar will go, too.”

  “I want to come,” Damien said weakly.

  “No,” Tori said.

  “But I want to help,” Damien replied. “I want to help you, too. I can. I promise. I’ve helped Alex all night.”

  Alex gave a reassuring grin but shook his head. “Step down, soldier. You’ve done your part.”

  Damien’s brow furrowed. He looked as if he was going to protest, then huffed, instead.

  Oscar stared out of the window to where the wendigo stood. “We need to get going. Mum is out there, and she can’t do this alone. Auntie Tori, let’s go.”

  “Have you got your father’s…”

  Oscar motioned to the far wall where a collection of pistols and rifles were gathered, the firearms that they had originally come back to the house to collect before distraction after distraction came.

  Tori looked into Alex’s eyes, worry traced in every line. “Will you be okay here?”

  “Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice, does it?”

  She smirked, hollow gesture. “We’ll be back.”

  “I know.”

  He’s lying.

  Oscar helped Sophie pick out a double-barrelled shotgun from the pile, and soon they were standing by the back door once again. Tori’s mind flashed with images of the previous attack, the way the wendigos worked as one to block them from the forest the moment they stepped over the line. When Alex had arrived at the house, she had hoped to be able to grow their numbers and increase their chances, but what hope was there now when he was in such a state?

  Her hand lingered on the door. She looked back at the room, eyes glittering, taking in each face staring up at her. “You be good for Alex, okay?” she told Damien and Alice. “Do what he says and make sure he gets better. If we don’t come back…” She took a long breath. “If we don’t come back, seek help. Wait for the storm to pass. Try the telephone lines. Look after each other.”

  Alice looked at the floor. Damien nodded. Alex smiled.

  And wasn’t that smile the most painful part of all of this?

  She opened the door and a blast of cold air met her skin. The wendigos remained silent, stoic in their positions. A slight tremor ran through her toes, or was that simply her nerves beginning to rack through her body? The answer came when a strange sound launched from the forest, erupting from the gaps in the pines, and the wendigos all bowed to one knee.

  Tori stared wide-eyed at the sight ahead. When the full tremor came, she fell to her knees, too. They all did. All except Alex. The lights swung from their fixtures, trophies and photo frames crashed to the floor. Glasses shattered as they shook free from their shelves, and as the monstrous expulsion of sound came, they all clamped their hands to their ears. All except Alex who turned into his pillows and did what he could to shut out the sound without triggering further pain.

  Something shook in the trees. The sound faded to silence. Tori stood frozen by the door. The wendigos silently turned as one and ran back into the forest. Before Tori could ask Alex what was happening, the rushing sound of dozens more creatures came from around the sides of the house. Dark figures, blurred as they sprinted, stalked back into the darkness of the trees, the shadows hungrily claiming them. Dozens upon dozens of wendigos of all shapes and sizes, tearing back to the place from whence they came.

  After a beat, there were no more.

  Tori swallowed dryly. Oscar shuffled beside her, a single word melting off his tongue. “Mum…”

  6

  Cody Trebeck

  The belching bellow stopped Cody in his tracks. He was surrounded by darkness, coddled by the trees, yet still, impossibly, he knew the way ahead.

  The way to what? He couldn’t answer that question, all that he knew was that the trees parted for him, moving as if by their own volition, and the path ahead was as clear as day. The thorns and leaves and detritus that powdered the forest floor was clear from the single-track path that led ahead, winding through the boughs of the ancient pines. He could smell the passage of time, his nostrils deep with the scent of dusty attics and moulding floorboards. There was a dryness to the air as it held its breath in anticipation of his passage. A warmth, minimal, but in huge contrast to the chill from the outside world, thawed his bones and he soon found his forehead peppered in a thin film of sweat.

  Things moved in the darkness. The farther in he trod, the more he was aware of them, dark figures running through the shadows. He could guess what they were, but he couldn’t know for sure. All he knew was that their passage was impossibly silent, and it wasn’t long before the flock had passed and they were gone again. Occasionally the canopy of pines would break and grant him a reprieve from the cloying shadows, and in those brief breaks in time and space he saw the stars wheeling above him, bending and dancing along with the aurora borealis, the crimson phenomenon forcing Cody to think of the trails of blood left on a neck in the wake of a butcher’s knife. Once more he found himself thinking about the strange transition of colour, from blues to greens to red, until the trees snatched his glimpses and the world faded to black once more.

  He was barely aware of the dog walking by his side, yet to have a companion was a gift beyond his wildest dreams. For a short while he had feared that he would be alone forever, facing whatever may come his way with no one left to tell his story, but at least with the dog beside him he knew two things: that his encounter with the witch had
been true, and that he wouldn’t have to die alone.

  Who said anything about dying?

  The trees peeled apart as the road grew wider. After a stretch of time in the woods that could have been minutes, could have been days, his first break in the blackness presented itself. A great, jagged shape lodged at the base of a tree. The bones gleamed white in the shadows, the ridges of a beasty ribcage like thin teeth chomping at the sky. Antlers stretched at least ten feet in either direction on the enormous stag’s skull. The last scraps of flesh and meat clung to the bone, dried and forgotten over time.

  How long had this creature been here? What monstrosities had picked it clean, licked the bones and chomped the meat? Well, he thought he knew the answer to that last one at least.

  He stared a long while at the skeleton, feeling as though this was all somehow strangely connected. There was a familiarity in its shape, an aura surrounding the dead beast that spoke of warning, of blood, of danger, and yet still he stared, stared until his eyes stung and he could picture the great beast standing on all fours, wandering through this mystical forest like a beast of legend and myth. What a sight it would have been to behold the regality of the creature, to see this giant specimen in its prime and to gaze from afar. They sure didn’t make them like this in England.

  Kazu whined by his side. Cody knelt by the dog and threaded his fingers through his fur. Kazu whined once more, nose pointing into the surrounding darkness.

  A darkness interjected by the twinkling studs of dozens of pairs of eyes, patiently waiting for Cody to continue.

  7

  Sophie Pearce

  Sophie breathed a conflicting sigh of relief as they left the snow behind and entered the forest.

  On the one hand, she had had visions of breaking free from the house and entering a Wild West showdown with the wendigo sentinels, bullets erupting from a gun that she barely knew how to control as she fought alongside Tori and Oscar for her life. She had smelled their fetid stink, felt the dry roughness of their limbs on her body, imagined herself screaming and doing all that she could to narrow their number and gain entry across the threshold.