Alex couldn’t explain that last one other than to say that his gut was telling him to run. The voices in his head concurred as they started shouting up their own storm. Alex found himself rooted to the spot, his throat sandpaper dry. His heart beat so violently against his chest that he was surprised he couldn’t see it through his jacket. There was something strange about that figure something…
Inhuman.
The figure raised a slender arm, the small tube-like instrument moving back to its mouth.
It was then that Alex knew what he must do.
Alex ran.
8
Tori Asplin
She sat with the dying man in the dark, invisible insects crawling up her spine.
After the creature’s howl fell to silence, Tori remembered that she had the ability to move and forced her leadened legs upstairs. She quelled the heat from the open fire with great difficulty, smothering the flames with the flour-like powder she had bought from the store, then tamping out the embers with a damp blanket. She worked quickly, fingers trembling and fumbling with the items until her bedroom window no longer leaked the light into the street. She envisioned her house from the outside, window appearing like a giant winking in the storm. A beacon to draw the creatures towards her.
As Stanley groaned and complained downstairs, Tori turned her attention to her need to get warm. In the sudden lack of heat expelled from the fire, she donned a thick pair of woollen trousers and shrugged on two knitted jumpers that she hadn’t worn in some time.
She whirled around the room, head in a tizzy, desperately clawing for anything else that she could do. Stanley’s words echoed on loop, the urgency in each syllable enough to flood her bloodstream with adrenaline.
They’re coming.
Tori stood in the center of her room, ears alert to the outside world. Her chest rose and fell in rapid beats. She searched around the room, feeling as though she needed to do something else, but unsure what that thing was. If something was coming for Stanley, something that could rip out a section of his chest and expose his insides, then she needed—
—a weapon.
She found the ancient rifle in a wooden box at the back of her wardrobe. A .338 Winchester Magnum her father handed down to her before he passed, knowing that his baby girl was going to be living alone. She had never been much of a gun enthusiast, but her father showed her the basic mechanics of cleaning and maintaining a weapon, as well as how to load, aim, and fire.
“Point and shoot. Simple as that?”
“Attagirl.”
He also gifted Tori’s sister one of his treasure trove of firearms on the day that she first moved out of their family home. A 7mm Remington Magnum that was soon adopted by Tori’s brother-in-law. At the time they had both joked about how they would hardly need to use something that kicked out such violence but, then again, Not once did Tori ever envision that a man would be bleeding out on her sofa, a strange creature howling in the womb of the storm.
Now, the darkness cloaked her. She clutched the Winchester in shaking hands. Stanley was still breathing, but only just, and Tori knew there was little more she could do for him here. She had managed to bandage the wounds, enough only to cover the horrific sight of his organs, but without proper medical help, he would be a lost cause. The storm was too violent. The lines were dead. She could hardly drag him outside to the doctor now, could she?
“Stay with me, Stanley. We’ll find a way to get help. I promise.” She was surprised by the hollowness of her words. An empty promise. How was she going to get help, when there was something out there that would do this to a man? When the storm was causing the house to sway and the idea of carrying him to the town’s physician was nothing more than ludicrous.
I have to do something.
There had been no more calls for a few minutes and Tori began to wonder if what she had been hearing was only an illusion fuelled by Stanley’s ravings echoing around the chamber of her mind.
Come on. Even you’re not that stupid. If that was the case your thoughts are influenced by Stanley’s delirious proclamations, then come up with one alternative to what may have ripped out his stomach? Nothing? Didn’t think so.
Feeling fundamentally useless, all thoughts of Karl Bowman knocked from her mind, Tori rose to her feet and stalked across the darkened room. If she could only see what was out there, if she could only get a picture of what stood in her way, maybe it would be enough to push her onwards, to find a way to help Stanley. If only…
Stanley groaned, each breath a rasping struggle coming in hauntingly slow bursts. Tori glanced back, her eyes stinging with tears. She wanted to help him. She couldn’t just let him die like this—
The windows rattled violently. Something crashed against the glass. Stood only two feet from the window, Tori let out a sudden scream.
A man’s face stared through the window—if you could call it that. A snow-white face, staring intently in her direction with eyes that appeared as though they had lost the ability to blink. Eyes in which the lids were almost non-existent. Lightning cracks of blood trailed across the sclera towards pupils so dilated that there seemed to be no other colour but black in those circles. A thin line stretched across the face where the lips should be, nothing more than a dark scar. He wore no clothes that she could see from his position in the window, just the vague decorations of dark paint splattered across a body as white as the snow.
His head cocked to the side like a bird studying the worm. He found Tori’s eyes and stared intently. A moment later, he smashed his hand against the glass again, the jolting bang enough to cause Tori to take a step backwards. She raised the rifle and pointed it at the face, her eye lining up with the rifle’s sight. “Stay back! I’m warning you, this thing’s loaded.”
The face registered no fear, only a strange morbid curiosity. Intelligence wasn’t a language it spoke, that much was clear by the several repeated bangs that followed as he hit the flat of his palm against the glass, once, twice, a third time, gradually repeating the steady drum beat until the glass threatened to break in its frame.
“I won’t say it again!” Tori didn’t recognize her voice. Her words scratched her throat as fear created tiny hooks which betrayed her own body, as if they were doing everything to stay deep down inside, where it was safe.
That face. There’s something wrong with that face.
A tear rolled down Tori’s cheek as Stanley started to mumble incoherently, his fear mixing with the final beatings of his dying heart. “Stop! I’ll shoot!”
Her words did little to assuage the man. If anything, they spurred him on. His face, devoid of any emotion, continued that unblinking stare. A disturbing addition to a haunting human.
Human?
“No, no, no, no…” A second smash against a second window. A woman this time, hair twisted and tangled, thick with lumps of something she could only assume was dried blood. Eyes wide and a hungry look on her face, lips dark and stained with sticky residue.
Were these the creatures who had attacked Stanley? These strange tribal beasts who seemed unaffected by the blizzard, brave enough to not even wear clothing as temperatures plummeted to below what any normal human could survive without aid? She threw a glance back at Stanley, even as the drumbeats grew louder and more desperate. He had stopped moving, stopped breathing. Whatever hope there had been—and she doubted there had ever been any in the first place—was gone. There was a dead man in her house, and attackers on the outside.
Something gave way. Glass sprinkled to the ground as the hammering palm of the man finally yielded its result. A thin gust of cold crept into her house, followed swiftly by the man’s hand as he reached inside and attempted to continue its dissection of the window. His skin scraped across the jagged edges, the glass cutting its way along his pale flesh, though the man showed no immediate sign of pain. As he reached towards her, she noticed with sudden clarity that his fingertips were blackened and pointed, the whites of his palms crossing the spectrum as
the frostbite took his extremities.
For that’s what it was. She had seen enough incidences of frostbite, had been passed enough cautionary tales in her school days to know what the cold could do to the body if left to its own devices. Yet, in all of her lessons in which she had been taught that extreme frostbite deadened nerve endings and destroyed the regenerative capabilities of soft tissue, it appeared to do little to affect this man’s basic motor skills. His fingers worked as if unafflicted, tugging and tearing away sections of the glass until the gap in the window was wide enough for him to climb through.
Which was exactly where he was when Tori’s attention snapped back to the immediacy of the moment, one foot balancing on the windowsill, arms stretched wide with the ghoulish length of some deranged man-bat steadying itself to take flight. It poised, what little muscles remaining in its malnourished body tensed and ready to strike. A hollow choking sound leaked from between his lips as the woman at the other window howled in triumph, her own hand through the glass.
Another howl joined her own. Then a second, third, fourth…
And so on, until Tori knew nothing but howling. A disharmonious chorus of syncopated howls bursting like machine gun fire.
How many of them were there? How many encircled her house and closed in on their prey, their hungry mouths wet with saliva at the prospect of the kill.
For that was the intent that called to her from the man’s eyes. A language of only death and hurt and pain and—
Hunger.
A still moment of clarity passed between Tori and the creature, a moment in which the world stopped turning and the silent conversation was all that existed. Tori’s throat was drained of moisture, her bones brittle and ready to snap. She fixed her gaze on the dark pits of his eyes, her lips forming the hollow word, “No.”
And then he was in the air, leaping towards her with such suddenness that her body could only react by instinct. Her fingers tensed, pulling the trigger as the rifle fired off in her hands, the butt of the gun jarring her shoulder. The bullet found the creature’s chest, creating an almost identical wound to the man they had attacked. His soaring arc was disturbed, his trajectory interrupted, and he fell just a short distance from her feet, writhing and jerking in pain as a bone-chilling shriek erupted from the split of his lips.
Tori heard something behind her and whipped her head around. Stanley stared at her, eyes laced with terror, a single word coming from his mouth. “Run.”
For a fleeting moment, Tori could only stare in confusion at the man she had presumed dead. Then the crash of glass indicated the woman’s entry into the house and drew her attention. Another cry and the heavy grip of a third came as the vacated window was quickly inhabited by more of the ghoulish creatures.
Tori wasted no more time in obeying Stanley’s final commands. Feeling awful at leaving him behind, but knowing she must get out, had to get out, she fled through the living room door and into the kitchen. She slammed the door behind her so hard that it bounced against its frame, then made her way towards the back of the house. With hands that didn’t feel like her own, trapped in the visage of some strange nightmare, she indelicately shoved the key in the lock and opened the back door. She had time enough to grab a pair of shoes, but no time to put them on her feet. On the other side of the house the din of shattered glass and the beating hands of the invaders mixed with the howling winds. She imagined the horror on Stanley’s face as those things… whatever they were, closed in on him, ready to finish whatever job it was they started.
She only hoped that he was already dead.
Tori ran, ran into the white, ran into the maelstrom of the growing blizzard. The world beyond her immediacy was masked in a fuzzy blur of snow and gloom. She had lived in this town all of her life, but now she had no clue which way she was heading. Her compass only held one direction and that was ‘Away from whatever the fuck those creatures were.’
Her feet grew numb, her socks wet. The thick carpet of snow drained her energy as she narrowed in on a set of houses she did not recognize and found succour from the wind in the alleys in-between. With her back to the wall, she kept an ear out and put on her shoes, knowing that she’d never get her feet warm while they were wet, but doing whatever she could to add an extra barrier between herself and the freezing ground.
Another cry. Distant this time.
That was something, at least. Tori closed her eyes and gathered her breath, her body threatening to spill its tears and throw her into a spiral of frenzied emotion. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh. She fought against all of those things, tightening her grip on the rifle, her only protection. Her fingers were already numb, and for a moment she saw the man’s own fingers, their frostbitten tips blackened and cracked, filed to points.
“What the fuck is going on?” she said to the wind, considering her next move. She studied the gold lettering on the side of the rifle and thought back to her sister, the only family she had remaining in Denridge Hills.
If these… things were attacking the center of the town, who’s to say that anyone was safe? Could there be more out there? Could they be closing in on her sister’s house, breaking through the glass and coming for her nephew?
Tori tried not to imagine it to be true, but she had to warn her. Had to find comfort in the arms of someone familiar.
What about Karl? Aren’t you concerned about him?
The truth was that she was concerned. But given Karl’s physical stature and the fact that he hunted for a living, she imagined that he would be the most prepared for a situation like this. On more than one occasion he had bragged about his armoury, and the multitude of weapons he had stored aside for his hunting trips. He would be fine, tucked in his nice cosy bed with his wife. He would be just fine.
Isn’t that all the more reason to go to him? He lives closer than Naomi does. Make a detour to his house, get some protection.
Tori shook her head, snow gathering on the tips of her lashes and weighing them down. There was no time to debate this, no time to argue. She had to make a decision, before the frosty teeth of this blizzard bit into her and made the decision for her.
She started forward, working her way into the small pathways between houses, her arms wrapped tightly around her body. Her teeth chattered, her eyes almost closed to brace against the wind and the snow. Another cry came from somewhere in the town.
Tori let out an involuntary yelp as something dark moved in front of her. She was sure of it. Something lean and nimble. She tucked herself into a nearby crevice, soaking in the momentary shelter from the snow, wondering when she would be lucky enough to catch a goddamn break. Where was the rest of the town? Why hadn’t they woken up? Was she actually in the throes of a terrible dream, cast alone in a world of snow while monsters ate up the very fabric of her known reality?
She peeked around the corner and was relieved to find the way ahead deserted. She crept out further, her whole body exposed once more, then caught the faint crunch of feet on snow.
Tori had enough time to stare into those dark eyes, before a hand came up and clamped over her mouth.
9
Cody Trebeck
It all came down to this… the final shot.
They had played two games and moved swiftly onto a third. Although Cody’s nose throbbed and he was pretty sure that both his eyes would soon shine in shades of purple and yellow, he couldn’t help that his competitive side had come out. The first game had gone to Cody, Sophie, and Brandon. The second game to Kyle, Travis, and Amy. At some point between the two games both Amy and Brandon had taken a seat, putting a car’s width between the pair of them as they watched stoically from the side-lines.
Cody and Sophie made a surprisingly good team. He wasn’t sure where she had earned her basketball skills, and she certainly knew nothing about his old run-arounds on the courts back home. Still, they drove up the court with impressive fluidity, each making space and passing at the right moments so the other could layup, o
r take the jump shot, and shine.
From the moment Kyle had charged Cody, Sophie guarded him, and Cody took Travis. Travis was swift, his ball-handling skills impressive. He had a way to pivot fast and drive the ball up the court, though often his speed was to his detriment. A messy layup would see the ball bouncing off the backboard and clearing the hoop, the point forfeited as Kyle scowled and Amy cheered naively from the bleachers.
“Don’t fuck up now.” Travis teased Cody from three feet away, his chestnut eyes locked onto Cody’s own. Cody guarded the ball, holding it by his hip in both hands, keeping it out of reach of Travis’ long arms. Travis’ skin was peppered with sweat, his chest heaving from the exertion he hadn’t realized he’d need to give in order to take on Cody and Sophie.
From the corner of his eye, Kyle and Sophie wrestled on the edge of the key. He had been soft on her, nowhere near as brutal as he had been with Cody, though she tested his limits now, pressing her shoulder against him and trying to push him off balance.
One more shot… That’s all he needed.
“It all hangs on this.” Travis grinned, a knowing look in his eye. “Make the shot, get the girl. You’ve seen the movies, right?”
Cody’s ears burned. Each exhalation sent a small ream of condensation into the air. “Unlucky for you, all I care about is making the shot.”
He shouted the last words, catching Travis off-guard as he dropped his shoulder and sped around him with the dribble. He made it to the edge of the key, looking up just long enough to see the feral look on Kyle’s face as he realized that his teammate had failed him. It was down to one man versus two, and Kyle didn’t like that one bit.
Kyle hurtled towards Cody, arms leading the way as he closed the gap between them. Cody planted both feet into the ground, twisted towards him, then lobbed the ball over Kyle’s head.
The First Fall Page 8
