Freezing Point (After the Shift Book 1)

by Grace Hamilton

  They reached the Interceptor, and nothing changed; nothing moved. The overhanging trees with the domes of snow made it feel as if they were entering a dank, arctic cave, and the gloom deepened as they approached, to a fairy-tale light in an enchanted forest. Were Nathan and his wife just following bread crumbs to the Wicked Witch’s Gingerbread house, like Hansel and Gretel…?

  A chill that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature rushed through him. Maybe they should have listened to Syd and moved on.

  Cyndi and Nathan split from each other. Nathan went to the passenger side, Cyndi to the other, the two of them raising their weapons to their shoulders—ready, hopefully, for anything that might occur. Nathan kept side-eyeing the trees in case there were Seven-Ones waiting to yank the starters on their Ski-Doos, burst out of the woods, run them down, and carve up their foreheads.

  He mentally slapped himself when the image of all that followed. Those kinds of thoughts weren’t helping.

  He edged forward; one more step and he would be able to see inside the front of the Interceptor. He craned his neck, opening his eyes wider, willing them to see around corners when he heard Cyndi exclaim, “Well, damn it all to hell!”

  Nathan looked across the roof of the Interceptor to see that Cyndi was already straightening up and putting the AR-15 to her shoulder. He took that last step and looked inside the police utility vehicle.

  There were two youngsters inside, each no more than twenty. The male was black, shaven-headed, strong boned, and a little on the thin side. The girl with him was pale white, almost translucent, with a shock of red hair and a pleasing plumpness that suggested a hearty laugh and that she’d be a good person to be drunk with. Her eyes were almond shaped around Kohl black and her nose was pierced. She had small pieces of colored cotton tying random areas of her hair into tufts.

  Two things were immediately evident, too. Neither of the kids were cops, and they had, before being disturbed by Cyndi and Nathan’s approach, been huddled over laptop computer screens on which lines of code raced.

  They both looked terrified upon seeing Cyndi and Nate, and both had their hands raised. The boy had his eyes closed and was wincing as well, as if he was expecting to get shot through the head at any moment.

  Nathan motioned for the girl to get out of the Interceptor and she complied, closing the laptop and putting it under her arm, making it difficult for her to keep both arms raised.

  “It’s okay, hands down,” Nathan indicated, and as if to drive the point home that he didn’t want to be seen as a threat, he put the AR-15 safety back on and copied Cyndi’s form by putting the rifle over his shoulder. The four of them moved to the front of the Interceptor, which was also pretty shot up. Nine bullet holes in the hood had made the engine eventually drop its lunch and stop moving.

  “Where are the cops?” Cyndi asked. “You’re obviously not cops.”

  “Hardly,” said the girl—who, now they knew they weren’t going to be shot, was allowing a streak of arrogance and annoyance to seep through. “And you’re not the authorities, either, so what gives you the right to point guns at us in the first place? Were we a threat to you?”

  The boy touched her arm and gave it a placating squeeze. “Donie, cool it… look, they’ve got transport.” His eyes indicated the head of the spur, where the Land Cruiser and Dodge Airstream combo could just be seen.

  “Look,” he continued, his green eyes nervously flicking from Cyndi to Nathan and back again, looking for a lead on who he needed to address as the leader. Like any good kid who didn’t see traditional gender roles as anything but fluid, he said to Cyndi, “We need a ride out of here. Can you help?”

  “Depends,” said Cyndi. “What can you offer us in return?”

  It turned out that the kids, who were called Donie and Dave, had quite a lot to offer inside the dead Interceptor. There were two shotguns, plenty of ammo, a nifty pair of P1050 Steiner Police tactical binoculars which Nathan knew Tony would really dig, a fire extinguisher—which would always come in handy—and two medical kits, as well as two police plate-carriers, which would be useful for wearing to carry spare mags for the rifles when checking out places en route. In a rifle bag, there was a well-used but serviceable Rock River LAR-15, fitted with an Aimpoint pro optic site and a bunch of spare magazines. Cyndi seemed particularly happy with that. There were also two metal bulky flight cases, which didn’t look at all police-issue, and Dave commented, “We’ll show you what’s inside when we get back to your transport, and it will, I promise, blow your mind.”

  One thing Donie and Dave didn’t offer, however, were surnames or any information about how they’d come to be driving a shot-up Police Interceptor, other than Donie saying grudgingly, “It was my dad’s.”

  Nathan’s question about where her dad was now remained soundly ignored by both of them.

  Dave’s indie-band t-shirt and Levis combo under his parka was a little more traditional than Donie’s alt-to-the-max gear of bullet belt and mini-denim skirt over dragon-printed leggings. Adding more color, huge suede boots erupting with yellow fur were orange leopard-spotted with what looked like homemade dyes. Beneath Donie’s parka, which was the same police-issue wear as Dave’s, she wore a crimson Basque tied over a black t-shirt that rolled up in a polo neck below her chubby chin.

  When they climbed into the Airstream to get acquainted with the others and take off their parkas, Nathan could see Syd checking out Donie’s fashion credibility before she’d even had a chance to speak to them.

  Dave and Donie had dragged the two metal flight cases on wheels, through the snow and back to the trailer. They’d hauled them out of the back of the Interceptor and not wanted Cyndi or Nathan to help them at all. They already had had the cases fitted with straps for easy purchase. As they’d moved back along the spur, they’d reminded Nathan of roadies getting ready for a gig.

  As to what the flight cases contained, Nathan had no clue.

  Once Freeson had been helped by Lucy back to the Airstream and introductions had been made, Dave and Donie held court outside the Airstream to show off what was in the flight cases.

  “We have three collapsible wind turbines—set them up, and they’ll run ’puters and monitors in a breeze. Very efficient. We have two solar arrays, too, for trickle charging. Put them on the roof of your car, even on an overcast day like this, there’s enough sunlight getting through to fully charge a laptop battery in a few hours, and a killer sound system. If you want to open a club, we’re your guys.” Dave was the salesman of the two. With a hot coffee in his hand, surprisingly supplied by Lucy, he was warming to the task of telling them about their toys. “Scads of lithium-sodium batteries. Run power tools; run a refrigerator. Not that anyone needs one of those these days…”

  “Oh, but champagne,” Lucy whispered lustily, “needs to be cold, but not frozen. Imagine a few bottles being kept just right!”

  “What about communications?” Nathan broke in.

  Donie took over—she was the comms expert, it seemed. “We have satellite phones, digital walkie-talkies, and a satellite uplink; cop tech, but we’d just finished hacking into the network when you came pointing guns.”

  “Hold the sarcasm,” Nathan said. “We can be mutually good for each other.”

  Donie set her chin. “I’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much. First of all, where are you heading?”

  “Detroit,” said Nathan, figuring there was no point in hiding the truth if they were going to build up mutual trust with these kids. Their equipment and computer gear made them a good addition to the party.

  Donie and Dave had been whispering heatedly in each other’s ears. Donie looked up. “We heard Detroit was a waste.”

  “Can you get onto the web with the satellite uplink?”

  “Does a bear poop in the woods?” Donie answered.

  “Get a connection, and I’ll introduce you to our contact in Detroit. He might change your mind.”

  Donie and Dave went back to whispering and
Nathan stomped around in the cold, wishing they’d hurry it up.

  Eventually, Donie looked up and said, “Okay, we’ll help you out with stuff—charging, computers and the like. In exchange, we come with you to Detroit, and you provide the transport, food, and shelter.”

  Nathan smiled. “Sounds like a basis for an agreement. Can you set the communication link up now?”

  Dave shook his head. “When we have line of sight and a break in the cloud cover, yes. But not right now. Later today, maybe. We’ve got a downloaded searchable database of ten-meter ground maps of the whole of the U.S. It’s like an always on SatNav, however fritzed the communications to the grid are, which means we’re always on when it comes to route planning.”

  That, Nathan thought, was something which they could use. Now that they were off the highways, Freeson’s maps weren’t of a small enough scale, or up to date enough, to give accurate information for travel.

  “Okay, I think we can deal. You want to travel with us, yes?” Nathan asked.

  “For now,” Donie said.

  “For sure,” Dave said over top of her.

  “Then you need to get me online. Tonight.”

  But before Dave could answer, Nathan heard the growl of a Ski-Doo.

  13

  Nathan helped heave the flight cases into the Airstream as Syd and Cyndi took up defensive positions, using the Land Cruiser and Dodge as cover.

  What they’d heard had been the growl of a single engine, and it was clearly some distance away, but Nathan needed to be sure it wasn’t heading towards them.

  When the cases were packed back up, and Tony, Lucy, Freeson, and the two new arrivals were hunkered down inside the trailer, Nathan took an AR-15 and called Cyndi forward with a hissed command to join him. The sound of the Ski-Doo was coming from the south, which suggested, since Nathan’s party had been travelling west, that they weren’t on their trail—but that they were near enough to stumble on them accidentally.

  They walked through the snow-filled ditch on the opposite side of the road of the spur, up to where there was a patch of raised ground, topped by trees, giving them a view over the fields beyond.

  They reached the rise and crouched down in the line of trees. The land sloped away for half a mile, to where the highway they’d been traveling on the day before was visible. There on the road, almost directly parallel to their vantage point, was a dark colored sedan moving along the highway as best it could in the conditions.

  With horror, Nathan watched as the yellow Ski-Doo, probably the same model as the one he’d disabled outside the mall back in Glens Falls, caught up with it. He saw the muzzle flashes before he heard the cracks of the bullets being fired and hitting home.

  The sedan slewed into a wide skid and crashed off the highway into a ditch. The Ski-Doo slowed and halted beside it. Three more shots rang out, and the Ski-Doo’s engine died.

  There were two riders. Nonchalantly, they unhooked their legs from the Ski-Doo, opened the sedan door, and fired two more shots into the sedan’s interior. Muzzle flashes seared themselves on Nathan’s eyes, the dull thud of the impacts on the metal inside of the chassis being dampened by the distance, but still chillingly unmistakable.

  The identity of the raiders as Seven-Ones was confirmed when two limp corpses were pulled from the car. Each raider dropped to his knees and began to work on the faces of the dead.

  It was a procedure that didn’t take long.

  After they’d finished with the bodies, the raiders looted what they could from the car, putting what they found in their packs and then skidding away on the Ski-Doo as if this had been a routine stop to pick up cokes and burgers from a gas station.

  Nathan felt sick to his stomach. Firstly, because he hadn’t been able to help the stricken victims, but also because he couldn’t help imagining the faces of the victims in his mind’s eye as those of Cyndi and Tony.

  Back at the Airstream, they held a quick council to decide what the best course of action would be. If they stayed where they were for the night, then they risked discovery because the Seven-Ones were in the area. But, as the gang could travel cross-country on their Ski-Doos, the Seven-Ones, although not hunting them specifically, might also just find them by accident.

  “But if we move now,” said Lucy, “they might hear us. You said the highway was half a mile away. These old buses make more noise than a thousand coffee grinders in a cemetery.”

  “If we stay, we’re sitting ducks,” said Cyndi. “At least if we move and we’re lucky, we might find somewhere before dark. Somewhere with a barn where we can hide the trucks and the trailer for a bit. Give us some breathing space until they move out of the area.”

  “We don’t know that they are moving out of the area,” Freeson noted. His eyes looked clear and his speech seemed less groggy. Although his forehead was still a mess, he wasn’t showing signs of concussion. For that, at least, Nathan felt grateful.

  “We know a place,” Dave offered.

  “Shut up!” Donie commanded.

  “It’s okay. The Seven-Ones haven’t found it yet!”

  “And there’s no need to lead them there.”

  “If we’re all dead, it doesn’t matter if they find this place or not,” Nathan pointed out.

  And to that, Donie had no comeback.

  “There’s a set of cabins, up in the woods, about five miles from here. Hunting lodges, that sort of deal,” Dave said. “We holed up there a week ago. They’re not on any maps because they’re new, and unless you know the tracks up to them, you’re never gonna find them. It’s rough country, but the Dodge and Cruiser will make it easy. You’ll have to be careful with the trailer.”

  Donie’s face was thunderous, her eyes bulging as the information tumbled from Dave’s mouth. “That’s it. Tell the world.”

  Nathan ignored her. “How long to get there?”

  “Two hours, tops.”

  “Could you get us there at night?”

  Dave considered, and then answered, “Yes. I think so. I have the route on the map database.”

  Nathan looked at his watch. Two-thirty. “Then we leave in three hours.”

  Dave and Syd went back to the Interceptor to retrieve the guns and equipment they hadn’t been able to carry in one trip.

  Donie sat grumpily in the Airstream, refusing to answer questions from Lucy, Freeson, or anyone else.

  Nathan and Cyndi patrolled the perimeter of their makeshift camp, listening for the distant sound of Ski-Doos and periodically going up to the treeline to look down along the stretch of highway. It hurt Nathan’s sensibilities not to go down there and care for the dead, but the situation was too hot right now to do the right thing by the murder victims. He did drop his eyes and stand silent for a minute in the best analog of respecting a fellow fallen human he could muster. Nathan didn’t know if there was a God or if people had souls that could be released by heinous death, but it didn’t hurt him to at least offer up some silence to whatever might fill the void in their honor.

  Whatever God was up there, if indeed there was one, the deity was surely testing all humanity right now, and if even a little bit of peace could be transmitted to those recently departed people, it was worth Nathan’s time doing it.

  “This Big Winter makes strange bedfellows of all of us, doesn’t it?” Cyndi had appeared at his side. He didn’t know how long she’d been watching him, and for a moment he felt foolish about doing what he’d done for the dead.

  “Me, you, Tony, Free, and then Syd the wild child, Lucy, one of the richest women on the planet, and two geeks we’ve known for five minutes who have two trunks of tech and a stolen police car full of bullet holes.”

  “And the dog.”

  “And the dog,” she acknowledged. “But face it, Nate; the dog is the least strange of the lot of them. At least the dog’s behavior is predictable. The rest, I’m not so sure.”

  “Do you think we can trust them?”

  “All of them?”

  “Well, Lucy I
wouldn’t trust as far as I could throw a Buick full of bricks—and the jury is still out on Syd, but Dave and Donie…” Nate trailed off, and then asked, “What do you make of them?”

  Cyndi considered the question for a moment, and then asked in return, “What can we make of anyone right now? Who knows how any of us will react in any given situation, and this is absolutely not a usual situation. If you’d told me a year ago that we’d be on the run from a group of forehead-carving scumbags, trying to get to Detroit so I can have a baby, I’d have been on the telephone to the nearest psychiatrist and pouring Rohypnol into your coffee…”

  “Well, I’m glad you have it already worked out how to deal with me if my brain breaks down.”

  “It’s what prepping is all about, baby. Think the unthinkable, and then plan for it.”

  Nathan had been living the unthinkable for a while now, but was glad that Cyndi had done something about it. If it had all been left up to him, his head would still be stuck in the sand, thinking summer would come and business would pick up...

  He’d let go of almost everything he’d thought of as certain, but he certainly wasn’t letting go of Cyndi.

  The track up to the hunting lodges was worse than Dave had indicated. Maneuvering it in the dark added an extra layer of terror that Nathan could have done without.

  There had been no more Ski-Doos, and they’d left the head of the spur without incident although they’d had to back up on themselves again, as the start of the route up to the lodge had been two miles back in the direction they’d already come from.

  Cyndi had felt antsy about wasting more fuel but getting out of the way of the Seven-Ones and their murderous intents made sense for a couple of days, at least.