Whiteout (Book 3): The Numbing

by Maxwell, Flint

  “How do you figure?” I asked.

  “The answer’s right under our nose, if you really think about it,” Bob said. He flashed his politician’s grin. “What I’m talking about is the dark. They came with the dark, they thrive in the dark, right? And I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen one actually eating.”

  “Because they’re not like us,” Ell said. “They’re not, what’s the word, corporeal? Besides, if you can’t really see them head-on, you know, like the way I’m looking at you now, how could you ever see them eat?”

  She made good points.

  “Yeah,” I said, “whenever I’ve been close to the things—and believe me, I’ve been way too close a few times—they hang at the corners of my vision as long as they haven’t projected into something else. Ask Ell or Stone or Mikey, they’ll tell you the same.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Bob said, still grinning. “But everything’s gotta eat, my friends. Be it the plants in the ground or you and me. Call it nature, call it God’s intentions, but any way you slice it, that’s the way it is.”

  I shook my head. It didn’t make sense.

  Then what Bob did next surprised me. He leaned forward and took my hands in his own. They were gloveless and ice-cold. “Grady, you’re not allowing yourself to look at the bigger picture…you’re in denial.”

  Now that I have some distance, I realize he was right about being in denial. I knew the wraiths fed off something of ours. I just didn’t want to admit it. I mean, it made sense, right? They tapped into our greatest personal fears and used them to get closer. What other reason would they want us for other than to feed?

  “The things out there, they devour our horror. And when the snow began to fall there was a lot of that going around, wasn’t there?”

  Grimacing, I pulled away and out of his grip. All of our hands were cold, it was unavoidable when the temperature stayed so low, but his hands reminded me of a corpse’s hands.

  Bob leaned back. “Fear as far as the eyes could see. The images I saw on the television”—he shuddered—“they’ll give me nightmares as long as I’m breathing.”

  “The TV? You had power when this began?” Ell asked in an excited voice.

  “For about two or three days. Then the cold claimed it, like it claimed everything else.” Bob looked at the clocks, but he wasn’t seeing them. It was like he was looking through a window only he could see—a window into the past. “The big cities got it the worst. Mobs of people who’d been touched were running around like maniacs, the wraiths floating over them like puppet masters controlling invisible wires. I watched a lot of CNN, but I remember on the day before the power cut out for good, some fat Englishman slit a reporter’s throat right in front of Buckingham Palace. They didn’t kill the feed until the poor woman had lost half a gallon of blood.” Another shudder. “What they showed on the news was bad, but it wasn’t as bad as what happened right here on this street.

  “Little boys and girls, so excited about the freak storm, wasted no time in heading out for the usual winter activities that helped winter become a little more bearable: snowball fights and sledding and making snow angels and building snowmen. In fact, there was a snowman just across from my place a pair of twin girls built. Jessy and Jamie were their names, and they couldn’t have been any older than seven or eight. Their little snowman wasn’t any great work of art, but it had alotta charm. Carrot nose, button eyes, not an old silk hat like the song says, but a baseball cap they probably lifted from their old man. The cherry on top was a sparkly pink and purple scarf around its neck. Then the monsters swooped down on Woodhaven, and…well, you know the rest. I’ll spare you the terrible details—that’s where the devil lies, according to the old saying—but that snowman across the street was pink with the twins’ blood for a while after. I kept looking at it, hoping the storms would bury the bastard. Eventually, I just had to go out there and knock it down myself.”

  Terrible, I thought, but as grim as it was, his words had my undivided attention. We’d been closed off since the first blizzard. No TV, no internet, no cell service. Beyond the little section of Ohio we had traveled the wider world remained a mystery. There was so much I wanted to know, and another perspective went a long way.

  “So it happened all over the world?” I asked, almost breathlessly.

  “All over, Grady. Nothing hurt the things but the light, and by the time the big wigs figured this out, they were either dead or crazy and doing their dirty work. That is, if the cold hadn’t gotten to them first.”

  “Jesus,” Ell said. “How many people do you think are left?”

  Bob shook his head. “Hard to tell. I only caught a snippet of the carnage. If I had to guess, I’d say not a lot. Not a lot at all. I think the monsters won’t…” He trailed off, never finishing the thought.

  I knew the rest of that sentence. Ell probably did too. It was one of those things you dare not utter for fear of it coming true.

  I said it anyway.

  “The monsters won’t stop until we’re extinct.”

  “China and India got it the worst. The overpopulation, it was like a buffet for those things. I’m not too proficient on the computer, my nieces always got a good laugh out of that, but I managed to log on to the Facebook without their help. I wish I hadn’t.” He bit his tongue, not wanting to go on. “Saw some truly terrible stuff on there too.”

  I felt bad and almost told him to stop, but the curiosity won out before I could.

  “Like what?” Ell asked. “We can handle it, I promise.”

  Bob nodded grimly. “Well, I saw the military move through New York City and Los Angeles. The government ordered a quarantine. Told everyone to board their windows up and lock their doors. There was no time for us to really comprehend what was happening. The president addressed the nation and told everyone to remain calm, then a day later, a video made the rounds on Facebook of the president chewing on his fingers while people in hazmat suits were trying to restrain him.” Bob looked longingly down at his own hand. “He chomped damn near down to the bone—you know, so gristle and flesh were hanging from his teeth. His mouth was so bright red with blood, you might’ve thought he was wearing lipstick. I remember he kept shouting about the dark too. Not the dark—I mean, the dark, italicized and everything. He shouted about worshipping it and embracing it. The leader of the free world reduced to…to that.”

  “Was he…” Eleanor wasn’t sure how to finish, but I was.

  I ran a finger down the middle of my forehead. “Infected?”

  Bob nodded. “Yep, but no one knew what it meant then. The VP took over shortly after that video made the internet rounds. There were talks of dropping nukes on the biggest cities.

  Ell gasped. “Did they do it?”

  I was glad she asked the question because I currently couldn’t find my voice.

  “I don’t know…power went down not too long after I heard the VP was taking over. I don’t see how they could. Even with mass evacuations for the survivors they’d be killing millions. New York is far from here. Like I said earlier, I had more to worry about in my backyard by that time. I won’t tell you anything worse than the twins and their snowman”—and Bob’s words made me think, God, what could be worse than that?—“but there weren’t a lot of people here to begin with. Just a lot of craziness, confusion, and death. Then more snow fell and buried the bodies like none of it ever happened.” A sniffle. A swipe of his eyes and his nose all in one motion. “Those were my friends and neighbors, and now they’re all gone.”

  If the coffee hadn’t sobered Eleanor, these stories certainly did the trick. She looked at me, then back to Bob. “I’m so sorry. We’ve all lost people we cared about too. It’s terrible.”

  “It is,” I agreed.

  “Thank you, but don’t sweat it,” Bob said. “You know what they say. Life goes on. So we just gotta keep living. Now, you guys should get some sleep. You need it.”

  We did not long after, and as Ell and I reinforced the
window barricades in the spare bedroom, I was thinking about Bob’s last sentiment.

  Life goes on. So we just gotta keep living.

  It was a positive outlook, for sure…only, in my opinion, living in constant fear was almost as bad as not living at all.

  6

  The Taking

  I woke up to Bob holding a knife against my throat.

  I told myself it was just a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.

  From the corner of my eye, I looked over to the spot next to me, where Eleanor had fallen asleep. She wasn’t there, but this was a dream, and I didn’t stress about it. Still, I had promised myself I wouldn’t fall asleep, and here I was stuck in a nightmare.

  The part of me determining this to be a false reality knew I wasn’t actually in danger, but hell, it seemed so real.

  Bob pressed the knife harder into my flesh. I bit my tongue against the pain. The idea of being asleep started to fade, and sudden panic overloaded my mind. I tried to push this dream version of Bob away.

  Nothing happened. A different part of my brain expected it because paralyzation was a common occurrence in my dreams. Probably yours too. Think about how many times you’ve tried to run away from the snarling monster chasing you through the shadows of your mind, think about how your legs moved in slow motion, or how maybe you sank deeper and deeper into the floor with each step. You know that feeling all too well, I’m sure.

  I blinked a few times, hoping to understand what I was seeing. The dark, however, had temporarily blinded me.

  In my head I said, Wake up, this is only a nightmare, wake up, Grady…

  Almost as slowly as my mind was working, my eyes somewhat adjusted and Bob came more into focus. I don’t know what I expected to see. Maybe him with the glowing red eyes of the rats who had attacked us in Penny Wiser’s; maybe him with the fangs and the claws of some terrible beast; or maybe even the forked tongue of a devil sliding out from between serrated teeth.

  I thought this because I’ve had some truly bad dreams in the past, even before the snow fell and the wraiths came. Haunting images like these, or so I’ve heard, were often a result of traumatic experiences, repressed childhood memories, and/or our old fears bubbling up to the surface, but my childhood wasn’t anything upsetting. It was pretty normal, all things considered. I watched a few scary movies here and there—I was particularly fond of the Nightmare on Elm Street series, although they never scared me, they were just fun—and every Halloween season, I went through my fair share of haunted house attractions with groups of friends, the guys and I puffing out our chests and trying to show how brave we were by laughing like idiots whenever a chainsaw-wielding butcher or a bloody corpse popped out of a hidden trapdoor and screamed (this was especially true if girls were present).

  Yeah, I’d say I grew up normal, but damn, the things I sometimes saw in my dreams were enough to make even the most seasoned horror aficionado curl up into a ball and cry out for their mommy.

  At that moment, the worst thing about Bob was how he looked like himself. No dripping fangs, no red eyes, no forked devil’s tongue.

  Visibly, he was no monster; he was just Robert J. Ballard.

  “Bob,” I said in a hoarse, sleep-heavy voice.

  “Rise and shine, Grady.” His free hand grabbed my arm, and even through my many layers, the cold of his skin burned, biting nearly as sharp as the blade. I barely focused on the pain; my mind was elsewhere. I was focusing on Eleanor.

  If this wasn’t a dream and she wasn’t here…

  I tried turning and looking again to make sure I hadn’t missed her, but couldn’t without my throat getting slit. Besides, deep down, I knew she wasn’t there. The thing about Eleanor—one of the many attributes I fell in love with—was her presence. She could be silent and as still as a graveyard, hidden, and you’d sense her warmth as soon as you stepped into the room.

  I found none of that familiar warmth here.

  Only the cold.

  Speaking through gritted teeth, I said, “Where the fuck is Eleanor?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about her,” Bob answered. “She’s fine…for now.” He uttered a humorless chuckle. No infectious comfort in this one. “I lucked out, really. Rather than having to wrestle with you both, I caught her on her way out of the bathroom. All that wine, I guess. You two were the only ones I was worried about.” A shrug. “Oh, don’t give me that look. If you were in my shoes, you’d think the same thing. I mean, I may be a little older and on the decline, at least before I became acquainted with my newest companions, but a pregnant bitch, a crippled guy, and a pimple-faced teenager aren’t exactly much of a challenge, even for me. Although I’ll admit that Mia does have a nasty streak in her, and so does that dumb fucking dog.” Bob thumped the bed frame with one of his boots, hard enough to jostle the mattress. “But a few swift kicks with my steel-toes got them both in line.”

  A barrage of emotions hit me then—rage, fear, dread, helplessness. Larger than all of these was a desire to survive. Because, as they say, I was currently up shit creek without a paddle, and I needed to find a way to the shore. Fast.

  Fortunately, I knew the solution was simple…in theory, at least.

  I had to fight.

  So I jerked to the left, toward the wall, but the sudden movement caused the blade to cut my skin. The pain was sharp and immediate, and it obliterated the sliver of hope I clutched onto of this being a nightmare.

  Blood trickled down my neck, warm and unwelcome. I was thankful for the surge of adrenaline pumping through my veins because the pain faded almost as fast as it came.

  Bob’s free hand squeezed my arm tighter, wrenched it. I pivoted my whole body in an attempt not to have my funny bone cracked or my shoulder pulled out of its socket, and at the same time, I kicked.

  The blow hit Bob square in the gut, yet he showed no reaction. I tried again, and again received no reaction. Not even a gasp of breath or the slightest hint of doubling over. I wasn’t really aware of it then, but thinking back on it, I remember Bob’s stomach feeling hard. I was confused enough already, so I doubted my brain had the capacity to make these conflicting observations. Because, if you had gone off Bob’s outward appearance—the stooped shoulders, the way his neck jutted out like a man who’d spent years hunched over a keyboard, and the little pooch-going-on-pot-belly of his gut—you’d never think he possessed so much as half an ounce of muscle. But that’s what it felt like: muscle.

  Or maybe rigor mortis.

  In the near pitch blackness of the room I watched as his snarling mouth twisted itself into an unnatural grin.

  “You’ll have to try harder than that, Grady. Because I have a secret. No, I won’t tell you yet, but let’s just say I’ve been getting by with a little help from my friends.” He let go of my arm and slapped me on the cheek. “And, for the sake of time, let’s keep this whole ordeal streamlined, dig it?”

  “Fuck you,” I spat. “You’re a dead man.”

  “What, you’re gonna kill me? Good luck.” He looked down at himself. “I’m not even sure if I’m still alive.”

  What the hell?

  “Now,” he continued, “if you don’t want your throat slit, you’ll cooperate. Mind, I won’t kill you—they like you guys better alive—but I’ll cut you deep enough so it hurts. Hurts real bad.”

  My anger lessened for a split second, replaced by relief. Bob must’ve really been a mind reader, because he said, “Yeah, yeah, breathe easy, Grade. Your little friends are alive. Fine and in good health? Well, that’s debatable, but their hearts are still pumping. If it were up to me, I’d chop them up like a bunch of deli meat. Unfortunately, it isn’t up to me.” He gave an excited, almost sexual quiver.

  The knife vanished in a flash of muted silver. Then, with strong hands, Bob ripped me from the bed and threw me onto the floor. My chin knocked the hardwood. A canine tooth went through the side of my tongue like a smaller version of the icicle that had gone through Bob’s thigh, and more blood spilled.

&
nbsp; “You’re going to get on your feet, Grady, and you’re going to head on down to the basement with the others.”

  “You’ll have to kill me, Bob. I’m not doing shit.”

  I heard the smacking of his lips as he either frowned or grinned like a madman behind my back. In the dark, with my head fuzzy from the fall, he was just another shadowy enemy capable of dishing out punishment in the form of pain and fear.

  “I already told you, Grady. I wish I could kill you. Kill you all! But I can’t.”

  “Then it looks like we’ve reached a stalemate.”

  “Oh, far from it. I can’t kill you, and I can’t even kill that hot piece of ass you’ve somehow managed to bag.” He bent slightly, both hands on his hips. “How did you do that, anyway?” A wave of the hand holding the knife, more muted silver. “No, don’t answer. I doubt you know, but if I had to guess, I’d say your pairing has a lot to do with you being one of the last men on earth. At least in her immediate reach.” He laughed. “Chicks like her, they’re always hungry for the ol’ one-eyed monster, aren’t they? And she sure as hell wasn’t going to date a black cripple or her own brother…well, Mikey’s probably already been there and done that. She did say they were from the south. Lotta sister-fuckers down there, if the rumors are true. My ex-wife didn’t say too much intelligent shit, but she once said rumors were rooted in truth or something like that, and I believe she was right—”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I whispered shakily. I wish what I said was more threatening, but I wasn’t thinking straight, and I just wanted him to stop.

  Bob kept on talking like I’d never said a thing. “None of that’s my point though, Grady. The point is that I can hurt you. I can hurt you real good. ‘Course, I’ll make you watch first. Make you watch when I flay Ell’s flesh from her bones. Bet she’s a screamer, huh?”

  I said nothing, I just ground my teeth back and forth, back and forth.

  “Cat got your tongue? Well, that’s okay ‘cause we’re gonna find out. You bet your ass we are. It’s only a question of what I should cut off first. An ear? Her nose? Or how about a few pieces of sweater meat? She sure as shit has more than enough to go around. Maybe if I cut a tit off, she won’t be so quick to flaunt them.”