They Came With The Snow Box Set {Books 1-2]

by Coleman, Christopher

  I turn around now, and, as if the thought of my former companion was itself a summons, I see Stella standing against the rink. The second soldier, the one who was chasing Sydney, is standing beside her, his rifle high on his soldier and pointed at my chest.

  Sydney is below him on the floor, her feet and hands tied. Smalley and Jones are nowhere to be seen.

  “Curiosity killed the cat, Dominic. You don’t really want to go over there anyway. That’s where the helicopter lands, and you never quite know when it’s coming. They tell us one day, but it’s usually the wrong one. I think they keep us guessing on purpose.” Stella looks over at the soldier. “Escort him to the penalty box, Aaron,” she says.

  “Where are they?” I demand. “What happened to Jones and Smalley?”

  Stella shrugs and then nods to the soldier, giving him permission to answer.

  The soldier mimics Stella’s shrug and says, “Sydney was easy to catch, she’s back in—”

  “I don’t give a damn about Sydney!” I interrupt, yelling now. “Where the hell are my friends?”

  The soldier pauses and says calmly, “They ran right past me. I caught Stella, stood behind the door, and watched them chase after me into the lobby. I thought about picking them off from behind, couple of shots to the head, but that could have gotten messy, maybe even led to some kind of firefight. It was easier just to lock them out. They’re on the outside again. Without the code, there’s nothing they can do to get back in.”

  They’re not dead, that’s the takeaway. I may never see Jones and Smalley again, but at least they have a chance to get out once the melting takes place and this ultimately ends. I have to believe that.

  “Let’s go,” the soldier named Aaron commands, and he motions me back toward the entrance to the penalty box. He stops me in front of the door, and Stella continues walking on, back toward the corridor between the offices.

  I watch her go, and then look at Aaron. “Do you know what’s happened, Aaron? On the outside, I mean? I guess you do, right? How could you not?”

  Aaron keeps his eyes fixed and demeanor stoical.

  “You’re going to die, soldier, and I don’t mean fifty years from now. This event, and your complicity in it, is going to be what kills you. But you can do the right thing before you go. And maybe by doing the right thing you’ll save yourself, who knows?”

  The soldier blinks and shifts his jaw to the left, a sign that maybe my words are at least having a small effect on the man’s conscience. He says nothing.

  I turn back to the hockey rink and study again the desultory beasts inside. Nineteen of them, that’s what Pam said, and there seems to be no pattern or reason to their clusters or movements. They look despondent, hopeless, and for the first time in ages, I recall that all of these things were people once, people who had friends and families, many of whom were spared from this cataclysm and now live somewhere on the outside mourning the death of their loved ones.

  But they’re not dead. Not quite. They still have working muscles and organs, lungs to breathe and hearts to pump blood. And they feel pain, perhaps the most indicative quality of animal life.

  But though they aren’t dead, these crabs, these beings that I’ve come to fear and hate and pity, are not human. Not anymore. They’re modern-day mutants, humans that have devolved into mindless, speechless savages. With many of the same characteristics, yes, but different in too many ways to continue calling them human.

  Lost in the existential thoughts of these beings, I’m brought back to the present moment by the sound of a grunt from behind me, followed by the sound of Stella’s voice, barking commands.

  I turn back and look across the hangar to the corridor of offices, and there, emerging from the long hallway, is the aggressive gray crab from office six. The crab is hunched over, not on all fours the way they tend to move naturally, but bent at the waist, like some beat-down geek from a turn-of-the-century circus. Stella is behind the crab, barking at the creature as she pushes her arms forward, shoving them towards the back of the crab’s head.

  As Stella and the twisted crab approach me, it starts to come into focus what is happening. There’s a shackle around the crab’s neck, a manacle, and coming from the back of the metal bond is a long, stiff bar that stretches at least five feet before ending in Stella’s hands.

  Stella and the beast move quickly toward me, almost running now, and for a moment, I think Stella is going to pull back on some trigger and release the crab from its metal bind, allowing its momentum to send it towards me in all its rage. And with the armed soldier still present, serving as Stella’s protection, this possibility seems very real.

  Instead, they just continue coming, Stella shoving and agitating the crab with every thrust, the thing’s black eyes, normally expressionless, wrinkled in anger as it tries to turn its neck back to the source of the agitation. But the device in Stella’s hand makes it impossible for the crab to turn, frustrating it further.

  Stella suddenly stops the crab about eight feet from me. The thing is about at the level of my waist, and it doesn’t meet my eyes, so preoccupied is it on the metal constraint around its neck.

  “Open it,” Stella says to me, motioning to the penalty box. She pushes down on the rod and lowers the crab’s head almost to the ground, holding the tool in position the way one would hold a shovel in preparation for digging a hole.

  “What are you going to do, Stella?” I ask, having some idea.

  “I told you I wasn’t done. There’s so much more to learn from them, more to study. Now open the door and get inside. I won’t be stalled. I know time is running out for me, but it can still happen.”

  I’m not quite sure what ‘it’ means in Stella’s sentence, but I take a deep breath and turn to the door of the rink, opening it and stepping through to the walkway that leads down into the hub in the middle. I shut the door behind me.

  “I didn’t tell you to close the door, Dominic.”

  I don’t respond or move to re-open the door.

  “Move to the center and stay there.”

  I hold Stella’s eyes a moment longer, thinking of something to say, something that will persuade her to re-think the murder she’s about to commit. But I can see there’s only madness behind them.

  “Shoot him, Aaron.” Stella says calmly.

  I raise my hands immediately in surrender, staving off Aaron’s shot. I can see the look of doubt in the soldier’s eyes, and the relief at not having to squeeze the trigger. I walk slowly to the hub, but I when I reach the middle of it, I turn around quickly, watching the entrance with angst, nearly hyperventilating as I wait to see the unfolding of my execution.

  Aaron lowers the rifle and opens the door to the penalty box, and then takes a huge step to the side as Stella shoves the metal rod forward, pushing the crab’s head and neck until it reluctantly creeps inside the contained area. Then, with a yank of her rear hand, she releases the claws of the manacle from the crab’s neck.

  The crab instantly spins back toward Stella and lunges at her, but Aaron is quick with the door, closing it just in time and bouncing the beast back inside the walkway.

  The creature attacks the door relentlessly for a full thirty seconds, at least, but then, getting no results, it finally turns to the open space that stretches out in front of it. I stand at the end of that space with my heart racing like a hummingbird’s, and a brief flash of my mortality enters my mind, a recognition that my life is going to end in a matter of seconds. And there’s little doubt to it, really. I don’t have the strength to fight this thing, and I’m not sure there’s a human alive who would. It would be like grappling with a deranged chimpanzee; maybe the strongest man in the world could deal with it, but that’s not me.

  And there’s no real chance of escape. I’m literally trapped. No matter which one of the five tunnels I run down, once I get to the end of it, there’s nowhere to go from there.

  My mind suddenly clears, and I think of my backpack, which, miraculously, is still
in my possession. I don’t remember exactly what’s inside still, so before I make my final flight for life and sprint down one of the spoked sections, I fling my bag from my back and unzip the main part of the case.

  And with the sound of the zipper, the crab drops to all fours and starts running.

  I sprint to the spoke that extends in a ten o’clock direction from the hub, rifling through the bag as I go. I reach the end of the spoke quickly, and immediately the crabs that are on the ice begin to move toward me in curiosity. I don’t know if it’s because I’m new to the chamber, or because of my frantic motion, but their energy has definitely lifted, and I can see now how the design of these chambers are perfect for observing the creatures, much the same way those walkthrough hamster-style tubes are popular in some high-end aquariums.

  I stand with my back pressed against the far wall of the spoke, looking back toward the penalty box entrance and down the main walkway, trying to gauge where the crab has run. But my view is now obscured by the angle of the spoke, and with the crab down on all fours, I can’t see over the walls of the walkways. The beast could be anywhere now.

  And then I hear Stella yell, “That’s good, Dom, keep running. And feel free to hide, though I know there isn’t much to shield you. But that’s what I want to see: how long it takes for him to find you. Oh, and when he does, please fight. It will add to the research.”

  I’m hoping the cold air of the hockey rink will slow the creature down, even if only slightly, just to give me a chance to escape when it eventually does come in my direction.

  Feel free to hide. It’s not a bad idea. I don’t have anything to block me, but I don’t need to be standing high above the walls of the box, exposing myself to everyone. Thanks for the suggestion, Stella.

  I crouch down below the level of the windows, hoping to give myself another few seconds to figure something out before the creature comes barreling down my spoke. I continue to rifle through my backpack, trying to keep as quiet as I can, and then, as if my hand has come upon Merlin’s magic wand, I feel the papery outer lining of a flare.

  I pull the flare out and hold it in front of me, unlit, and then begin to creep back toward the entrance, hoping to catch the crab off guard, poised to light the flare and stab it if the opportunity presents itself.

  From my stooped position, I now can’t see anything happening outside of this particular spoke, but I creep back toward the central hub of the penalty box anyway. I can’t see Stella or the crab, but that means I’m invisible to them as well.

  I close my eyes and take three more steps. I’m now back in the hub.

  Chapter 13

  As I turn the corner into the hub, I hold the flare in front of me, ready to twist the cap and bring the spark of death to life. But I see the backside of the crab as it heads off in the direction of a different hub, chimp-walking down the spoke that radiates in the opposite direction from the one I’m exiting.

  I stand up straight again, wasting no time as I jog into the corridor that leads back to penalty box entrance, where Stella and Aaron are standing outside of the closed door. The soldier has his gun at his hip, which means the door is locked.

  “Obviously it wasn’t going to be that easy, Dominic,” Stella calls through the glass.

  The sound of Stella’s voice prompts me to check my back, my assumption being that her voice would resonate through the chambers of the penalty box like an opera house auditorium.

  And I’m right. From the end of the spoke that radiates to the two o’clock position, I see the crab suddenly pop into sight, standing upright, searching.

  Its eyes meet mine from the back compartment of the hub, and, with little more than the time it takes to blink, the crab drops to all fours and begins heading back towards me.

  I run up toward the entrance until I’m almost in arms reach of the door and yell, “Let me out, Stella!”

  “Sorry, Dominic,” she says, a thin smile across her face. “Give it your best shot.”

  I wait for the crab to enter the main corridor and then I twist the cap of the flare, sparking the dull red baton to life. There’s a trace of fear in the crab’s eyes, but it’s nothing like the reaction I get from the crabs in the rink on the other side of the box. Their howling starts immediately, and they all begin to cluster together, hugging the furthest side of the rink, trying to get as far from the fire as possible, despite it being no danger to them from where I stand currently.

  The crab standing before me, however, shows only a fraction of his brethren’s fear, and I can only imagine this reduced panic is the result of some long, brutal form of conditioning. It edges closer to me, now all but ignoring the fire.

  “Yes!” Stella whispers. “Look at it! Come on. Come on.”

  I jab the flare out, but the crab keeps coming, its eyes focused, full of terror and hunger.

  It takes two or three quick steps towards me now and then stops, pulling back slightly, like a sprinter false starting before a race. I know at once this a test, a gauge of my reaction for when it finally decides to attack.

  I push my back flat against the door now, feeling the cruel, impenetrable Lucite barrier behind me. The crab takes one more slow step forward and then lunges.

  I fall to my knees and close my eyes, holding the flare up in front of me like an offering to a god. The god of death. The ghostly abomination of man.

  I say a silent prayer for Naia, and then I hear the gunshot.

  Chapter 14

  I don’t feel the pain of the attack, and the sounds that follow the gunshot aren’t the gluttonous echoes of a feeding monster, but rather the scurrying feet of a scared animal. I open my eyes to see the crab running away from me, bounding off like a dog before turning the corner at the hub, escaping back toward the far spoke of the penalty box from whence it came.

  I’m not sure what’s happened exactly, but instinctively I get to my feet, watching as the crab finally disappears from my sight. I pivot toward the glass of the door and see Stella with her hands raised. Face down on the floor beside her is the dead body of her soldier Aaron, a hole the size of a bullet at the back of his head.

  Behind them, Tom stands with the rifle of the soldier that fell into the pit atop his shoulder, staring through the sight at Stella. James and Pam are beside him. Pam’s face is locked in shock at the killing of Aaron that just took place, but she doesn’t waste a tear on him. Or perhaps she has none left. “I found the ladder,” is all she says.

  I nod. “I see that. Thank you.” And then to Tom and James, “Are you two okay?”

  James nods, but Tom just steps forward, the gun poised still and straight as he approaches Stella. He stands only inches away from her and says, “Get inside, Stella.”

  Stella swallows as her eyes grow wide. “Tom, no.”

  “James,” he says, motioning to him to go open the door.

  James unlocks the deadbolt with the key that was resting in the lock and then swings the door open. I look back to the empty corridor once more and then step out.

  “Your turn, Stella,” Tom says.

  “Tom, wait,” I protest. “Listen, we’ll take her in.”

  Tom shakes me off. “Gonna have to let me do this, Dom. I’m sorry; it’s the way it is.”

  “We don’t have time for this, Tom. I have to find Smalley and Jones.”

  Tom gives me a quizzical glance and then focuses back on Stella. “Who are they?”

  “They helped me. After I left the boat. I...just trust me, Tom, I need to find them.”

  “Well, we’ll find ‘em then. But first this business. Get in, Stella.”

  “Shoot me,” Stella says, her eyes fixed on her captor, daring Tom to squeeze off a round. “If I’m to die, I’m not dying like that.”

  Tom pauses, as if considering the option, and then says, “Let’s go.”

  Stella begins to scream as James grabs her and carries her toward the penalty box entrance, and for a moment I consider a full on physical confrontation to stop it from happenin
g.

  But it never comes to that. Simultaneous with Stella’s scream, almost harmonically, really, a sound like a medieval drawbridge opening roars through the hangar. It screeches loud and low, the sounds of gears and age, amplifying Stella’s bellows even further. And then the second act of the ruckus follows when a whipping sound enters the symphony, drowning out the drawbridge sound like the flapping wings of some giant bird.

  We all stare up in awe to the junction in the ceiling, as it’s clear that the massive noise is coming from outside the hangar, above us and on the other side of the wall that divides the sections of the building.

  “What the hell is that?” James yells.

  “It’s the roof,” I call back. “The roof of the hangar is opening. And it sounds like a helicopter is landing inside.”

  “That’s impossible,” Stella says, now standing awkwardly by the door next to Tom and James, still on the verge of being sent to her death by the two men.

  I look at Tom for a moment with pity. His rage has now made him a cold-blooded killer. It’s likely that’s what’s kept him alive, but I’m saddened by his new demeanor.

  “The roof can only be opened by the guard stationed on the perimeter of the roof,” Stella continues. “But Aaron is dead and you said Curtis is in the cellar.”

  “He’s dead too,” Tom says, and I don’t want to know the details of how that played out.

  “Smalley and Jones,” I say under my breath.

  I can’t know it’s them for sure, but who else could it be? They knew that the hangar was currently unguarded, and once they were locked out and not able to get back in the building through the interior door, they must have found a way up to the roof. Maybe they even heard the approaching whir of the helicopter and it gave them the idea. There must be some exterior ladder along the side of the building for just that purpose. And with their military background and technical training, they would have figured out how to open the roof easily. It probably was no more complicated than pressing a button labeled ‘OPEN.’