Forever Winter Box Set (Books 1 - 4): A Future Dystopian Survival Series Adventure

by KM Fortune

  In the interim, Raven turned to the furniture. The broken bed revealed raw wooden slats, which had been used to reinforce the mattress. They were nicely broken in places after her fall onto the bed. The headboard, although cheap pressboard, would burn too, but it would be hard to break apart and she worried the varnish would be especially smoky. I need to be smart about this, she thought, impressed she remembered so much about wood fires. Nothing green, she thought. Nothing overly processed because the vapors could be poisonous. Glancing around the room, she realized it did not leave much to burn and she hoped the kitchen might bear usable wooden shelves and drawers. It would have to last until she could dig a tunnel to the outside world anyway. Then she would just have to count on luck in finding some branches small enough to fit into her stewpot.

  Raven paused to drink the now hot water. It tasted so sweet and warmed her mouth. She drank every drop before setting it back under the slow drip. Warmer, no longer as hungry with the hot water to help fill her stomach, she was thankful to be alive. She sat on the floor on the doubled up old rug, wrapped in her blankets, and looked over at the old corpse still propped up against the wall. It did not seem quite so grisly now, even with part of the face missing where the reading glasses had been torn free. She was even getting used to having the stranger in the cabin with her. “Thank you for saving my life,” she said to the remains. “Whoever you were, I’m glad you needed reading glasses.” Sitting back to relax and watching the fire burn one of the wooden slats, she realized even though it was letting off warmth, the temperature of the room was not rising. It was too large of a space and any heat would eventually escape through the hole above her head. I need a tent, she thought. Or at least a lean-to. Definitely something to do next, Raven thought as her eyes drifted closed. Slipping onto her side, she wondered if the leather boots on the mummy’s feet would fit her as she drifted to sleep.

  RAVEN WAS BUSY. TWO days had passed and although the search for food had come up empty, she was feeling reasonably good. The old bed mattress was propped lean-to style against one wall and the headboard was positioned to act like a backdrop to her stewpot fire. The remains of the nightstand covered one opening of the lean-to. The whole thing looked like a hobo’s nest, but Raven was very pleased with how it turned out. Even when the fire died, which it did almost every time she slept, she was much warmer in her little fort. When she was able to get enough sunlight to relight the fire, it kept her almost toasty warm and provided a nice supply of hot water via melted snow. There was plenty of snow. Raven had decided to dig her way out of the cabin and her excavation activities lead to a large mound of melting snow in the bathroom.

  She also felt good because the dead man’s shoes had turned out to be wearable, at least for the moment. The leather was very dried out and cracked. Tears along the sole had already begun, but still, they were better than soggy socks. The removing of the boots was something of an ordeal. Raven’s first pull resulted in taking off the boot with the mummified foot still enclosed. It had taken a couple tries to build up the fortitude to use her bare fingers to pull out the dried up skin and bones, but necessity prevailed.

  To go along with the boots, she discovered a thick outdoor jacket. It had been hung on a hook behind the door of what was a small coat closet. The closet space itself had been ransacked and looted, but the coat, hidden from view when the door was open, was missed. Raven only found it while she was contemplating how to take the door off its hinges and break it down for firewood. The coat, designed for all weather, was made of a good quality waterproof fiber. It was in surprisingly well-preserved condition. New, she thought it might have been a forest green color, but time and dust had faded the fabric to a sort of tan. It was too large for her, as were the boots, but it was a good thing. It allowed her to layer, wearing the coat over the poncho she made from one of the blankets. She wrapped the second blanket around her waist like a long skirt and a strip of blanket wrapped around her head like a kerchief to keep her head covered and trap any escaping heat. All in all, she managed to stay reasonably warm, especially when she stayed active.

  Staying active was not a problem. The idea of excavation came to her after she found the coat. Until that point she was in no hurry to get outside the cabin, planning to dismantle it from the inside out if necessary to keep the fire going. Inside the cabin she was warm and safe. The lack of food was discouraging, but Raven knew she could go a long time without food as long as she had plenty of water. The lack of nourishment did make her lightheaded at times, but the stomach pains had stopped for the most part and she tried not to think about where her next meal might come from.

  The discovery of the coat and one other artifact prompted her to reconsider waiting to dig out. While sorting through the last of the nightstand’s remains, Raven found an ashtray. It was glass and the base contained a logo which read “Tahoe View Cabins” with a picture of a group of five little cabins all nestled in the woods. The graphic made Raven wonder if her cabin was in fact one of many and if other buildings were nearby. What if I can salvage stuff from them too? she had thought. Could one of them contain some food? Raven decided it was worth the effort to look and so the digging had begun.

  CHAPTER 10

  KIT SMELLED THE SMOKE long before she tracked down its source. It was faint and likely undetectable to anyone not cued into their senses, but Kit noticed. In order to survive, she made it a point to notice everything. She was on the trail of a deer, a young one from the small track it was leaving, and she hoped she could take the animal down with one well-placed throw of her knife. The trail took her up over one of the lesser ridges of the mountains and it was there she got the first whiff of something different in the air. Following her nose and the wind patterns, she backtracked in the direction of the smoke’s source. Now she observed the smallest wisp rising up from a dense patch of evergreens where it quickly disappeared into the air.

  Is it one of the Patrols? she wondered. Kit was not sure. But who else could it be? Nomads did not normally travel this high up in the mountains. Mutants certainly never would. Yet it made no sense. Why would a soldier camp be here, less than a day’s hike from the main entrance to the Great Cave? The hike would be a long day, probably from dawn to dusk at the rate the Patrols hiked, but regardless, the alternative was sleeping out in the cold. Maybe someone is injured, she reasoned. And so they are moving slowly. Or maybe they have captives or some other heavy cargo. There were many possibilities and Kit could not resist the desire to investigate. With a little luck, it would only be a few soldiers with some decent weapons or bounty for her to steal. Sneaking into their camp would not be easy as they usually kept someone awake at night as a lookout, but in other ways there was less of a challenge stealing from the Patrols than the mutants. Their senses were poor.

  Kit decided to hold off until dusk before getting much closer. Keeping an eye on the smoke to see if it went out, which would mean the soldiers had moved on, Kit waited until the sun dipped low in the sky and threw good shadows for her to hide in. Once she thought it was safe enough, she followed the ridge toward the source of the smell to investigate. After about a quarter mile of walking from shadow to shadow, Kit saw a clearing. She peered from around the edge of a boulder and was surprised to find a single person moving around a snow-covered space. It definitely was not a soldier from the mountain and she was fairly certain it was not a mutant. Who is this then? Kit was puzzled.

  It was hard to tell much about the stranger. Whatever it was, it was busy and obviously racing against the fading daylight to finish dragging old frozen tree limbs into a tunnel in the snow. The bizarre clothing made identification even more difficult. Gray blanket looking things flapped, covered by a tan coat. A wrap hid the person’s head and lower face, but Kit determined it must be a man. The stranger was too tall to be otherwise. Much taller than Kit, which was no surprise, but also tall by the standards of the people in her clan.

  Darkness crept closer and Kit moved with it, letting the circle of light be
her guide as to how close she should move into the clearing. Smoke still rose from the snow and Kit figured out the tunnel lead to a dwelling buried under a landslide. The stranger was taking the firewood inside to keep the fire going. Kit did not quite understand the logic. The wood was frozen and would burn with too much smoke, giving away to anyone nearby the camp was here. If the stranger did burn it, Kit knew before long a patrol would come along and investigate. Actually, she was a little surprised one had not already. Or is it possible the raiders from the Great Cave do not care about this strange hermit? Kit did not think so. The Patrols made it their mission to destroy or capture everyone and everything outside the Great Cave. It was simply a matter of time and a patrol would come and kill this odd person. Certainly the stranger realizes this, Kit thought. No one could live on the wasteland and not be aware of the dangers. Especially this close! What was this crazy person thinking? Kit shook her head and settled down to watch a little longer.

  A DAY AND A NIGHT PASSED and Kit continued to hide at the edge of the clearing and watch the stranger. She found the whole thing interesting, seeing the funny man with hardly any hair and very pale skin, dig and poke in the snow. Kit could not figure out what the hermit was looking for unless it was for more food. So far she had not seen the man eat much nor had she smelled much cooking. There had been one moment this afternoon where the funny man jumped around excitedly after uncovering something, but all it had turned out to be was part of a frozen rabbit probably left by a fox the night before. It was definitely still edible, but not what Kit considered a significant find. Kit came to the conclusion there was really nothing much worth stealing from the hermit. The stranger had no weapons, meager amounts of food, and no unique belongings. For Kit it was nearing time to go back and rejoin her clan.

  It was not that they would be especially worried about her. Her people knew she could take care of herself, but with so much danger and death on the plains, it was always good to check-in and see what had changed while she was away. Plus, the clan always looked forward to Kit bringing home weapons or other goods which could be used or traded. Her travels often lead her across something worthwhile and after stealing the item, she would stash it until the time was practical to carry it back to the cave. Being too overloaded with contraband while hunting was dangerous. She had done the same with the weapons she took from the mutants the night she burned herself.

  Kit looked down at her hand. The skin was still red and healing, but the blisters had broken and dried up. She thought the real danger of catching “the stink” had passed. The snow had done the trick, keeping the wound clean and the pain less. There would always be a series of scars on her hand, on her palm especially, but at least she was getting her dexterity back. The skin was tight and shiny and it was painful to open and close, but she knew it would get better. This was not the first wound she received when dealing with the mutants or the Patrols and she doubted it would be her last.

  The Patrols had not come yet and Kit was a little surprised. Maybe because the smoke is so close to their own Great Cave, they don’t think to look here, she thought. Or perhaps it is because the clearing is hidden by a small valley and thick forest, making the smoke hard to see. Either way, they had not come to investigate the hermit yet. Kit even scouted around part of the day to check for them, but their usual paths were empty and the tracks left there were a few days old. Kit was somewhat relieved by this, more than she would have been normally. She had taken an odd sort of liking to the stranger who worked so hard. The hermit was amusing to watch as he struggled around in the snow, digging like a rabbit here and there, darting in and out of the snow tunnels he made. Always looking for something, but all he ever seemed to find was more ratty blankets and small pieces of firewood.

  Kit’s curiosity made her move in close on the second night. She noticed firelight coming from a hole up on the slope above the man’s cave and decided to go check it out. Moving with the utmost of care, Kit crept up on the hole and looked in. There was not much to see. Just an odd lean-to from a mattress. She simply could not understand where the funny man came from.

  Then Kit had a thought. What if this man came from inside the Great Cave? Could he be a deserter from the Patrols? The idea made some sense, but the clothes were too weird, not at all like the black and gray uniforms the Patrols wore. Maybe he is an escaped prisoner then? No, that isn’t likely, Kit thought. No one escaped once taken inside the Great Cave. The Patrols may be lousy woodsmen, but they were ruthless. Whenever they captured a nomad on the plains, they quickly shot the males and chained the females together in a line. Escape did not happen. So then where did this funny hermit in the snow come from? Kit was simply puzzled.

  CHAPTER 11

  DAYS PASSED AND RAVEN was now comfortably settled in her cabin. She had found other cabins nearby. Some were just remains, having been burned out and destroyed, but a couple, those closest to her own cabin, were intact and covered by snow. She decided to dig tunnels into them, eager to explore. The work was difficult, but she realized her muscles were responding to the work. Even without food, she was growing stronger and gaining endurance with each load of snow she hauled. Apparently the hormones and other supplements Matthew gave me are still working, she had thought, feeling a pang of sadness at the memory of Matthew. At times she wondered how he was and what happened to him, but then she would refocus and know her survival was what he had wanted most. She was determined not to let his sacrifice be wasted.

  Each cabin had been looted and trashed. There were no mummified corpses though and very few personal items. No more clothing as she had hoped and no food. All she found of use was a heavy, solid walking stick. Its head was carved into that of a hawk and it was beautiful. Regardless, at first, Raven thought to use the stick as firewood, but when a couple of quail scooted across her path as she walked back to her cabin, Raven swung the staff on instinct and stuck down one of the hens. She could hardly believe she made the kill. It had been an incredible swing and more luck than skill, but at least it meant there would be something for dinner. The walking stick had survived the woodpile.

  Kindling turned out to be plentiful, as Raven had uncovered two large piles of downed branches around the snow buried cabins. They were frozen, but she was careful to let each piece thaw in her cabin before burning it. The thought of too much smoke from her fire weighed on her mind, but so far she felt she was careful enough. She also had as much water as she could drink by constantly melting snow in her tin can. The forage for blankets turned out okay too. From the bits and pieces she recovered, she created a little nest to sleep in.

  Raven knew it was extremely fortunate she had fallen into this cabin and had the mummified corpse to take resources from. It was a miracle, she often thought and she was grateful to the universe and to the unknown person who had died there. Yesterday, Raven had taken all day to dig a shallow hole in the cold ground to bury the body. Scratching the frozen dirt out by hand using the sharp end of a broken panhandle had not been easy, but in the end it was worth it. Raven even used one of the precious blankets she salvaged from another cabin to wrap the body. Finally, as night began to fall, she placed the last rock over the burial site and took a moment to say a prayer of thanks. She knew she would never know who the person was as there was no identification she could find on the body or in the cabin. Regardless, she would never forget the resources the person provided her. You saved my life, she thought as she stood over the grave. May your soul be at peace.

  RAVEN CONTINUED TO use the days to explore around her cabin, hoping to find other buildings or artifacts buried there. One morning, while using her walking stick to poke down into the snow banks, hoping to hit upon something hard like a roof or wall, she saw a doe at the edge of the woods. It paused to look at Raven, no doubt intrigued by this strangely bundled creature trudging about in the snow. Raven held her breath as she looked at it, stunned by its beauty and gracefulness, but also by the thought of the amount of food the small doe could provide her. A memory
from her past washed over her and she knew with conviction she had hunted deer back in her old life. The recollection was crystal clear. While she was a young woman, she hunted with her father, and carried a rifle up narrow deer trails. She could picture his broad shoulders ahead of her, leading them to a spot. Together they would sit in silence and wait, crouched in the brush not far from where the deer would travel. It was always her job to scan the valley to the left and point out any sign of movement. Raven focused hard on the brush below them and hoped to see a flick of a tail or the twitch of a deer’s head. She knew it would be something subtle yet enough to give the creature away.

  Raven remembered one particular instance. She saw a buck and touched her father’s arm. He looked and then nodded. The line of sight was good. Raven raised her rifle and braced herself with one knee on the ground. Putting the rifle butt firm against the inside of her shoulder, she looked through the scope and located the target. Her father had taken her shooting each fall, a week before the hunting season opened, and he would make her practice steadying her rifle before each shot at the paper targets. He had helped her become a good aim and to be confident with the rifle. In the memory, it was her turn to take down the buck at the bottom of the valley. Raven held her breath, touched the rifle’s trigger and started to squeeze. The buck in her sights lifted his head, as if sensing what was about to happen. Raven stopped, stared at the beautiful animal through the scope and did not want to kill it. Next to her, her father whispered. “It’s all right. He has been sent to feed us. We will honor his dying, as this is meant to be.” Raven understood and pulled the trigger. The buck fell.