The Cold

by Rich Hawkins

  “You’ve got electricity,” said Seth. “Impressive.”

  Felton nodded. “That’s not all. We’ve got an underground reservoir that provides drinking water, and a waste treatment plant. You can even have a shower later. The air temperature is kept at around fifteen degrees. The power generators are fed by fuel tanks stored deeper into the complex. They’ll keep us going.”

  “For how long?” asked Seth.

  “I’m not allowed to tell you that.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t worry; it’ll be a long time before we run out of our original supply.”

  “Okay.”

  “The bunker is beneath the base, or what remains of it. Seventy feet below the ground, made of reinforced concrete and steel. It’s equipped to hold over five hundred people. Most of the complex isn’t even being used, and those parts are left without power. Saves fuel.”

  Seth recalled the three men who’d found him after Mack’s death. “Are there soldiers here?”

  “The ones who survived,” said Felton. “The bunker is much too big for the number of people down here. It’s a bloody tragedy. We could have saved more civilians. Although I suppose it’s better to have too much space than not enough.”

  “How many people are here?”

  Felton cleared his throat, wiped his mouth, and then returned the hand back to its pocket. “Forty-seven civilians, yourself included. Then there’s me, the only doctor on site. Eight soldiers.”

  Seth did the maths in his head. “Fifty-six people in total. Jesus.” His voice was sombre. He felt sick. It was a paltry number. Pathetic. It was the brink of extinction.

  “We could do with Jesus,” Felton said. “He’d be a great help with our food supplies.”

  “Quinn died,” Andy said from behind them. “It happened when the tractor crashed. We were attacked by some big bastard thing.”

  “We found the crash site,” said Seth. He paused, swallowed. “Mack’s dead too.”

  “I know.”

  “What about Delia and Jack?”

  “They made it. They’re fine.”

  It was a miracle of a sort, and he held on to it with all he had.

  Ruby cleared her throat. “After the attack, those of us still alive walked the rest of the way to the base. We lost a few more people on the way. Andy led us, like Moses guiding his people out of the desert. Then the soldiers found us and let us into the bunker.”

  A dismal look passed over Felton’s pale face. “The death toll must be catastrophic. It’s hard to believe, really.”

  Seth was about to ask the doctor if he meant the death toll for the world or just the UK, when the corridor widened and they arrived at a set of double-doors.

  They halted.

  “This is Medical,” said Felton. “Time for your check up, Seth. Follow me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  The medical bay was a large room, approximately two thousand square feet in size, with a white ceiling and white walls. Strip lighting buzzed and glowed. Blue linoleum covered the floor. Ten beds lined part of the wall on one side of the room. Five of the beds were occupied by patients, four of whom were asleep. The only one currently awake was staring up at the ceiling. One side of his face was heavily bandaged. The other patients looked in worse shape, with legs or arms encased in plaster casts. One of them muttered in her sleep. A female nurse sat nearby at a desk, studying a textbook while she sipped black coffee. She glanced up at Felton’s group and nodded.

  “I’m quite busy at the moment,” said Felton. “Aside from the usual colds and sprained ankles, there have been a few serious injuries. Had some problems with infection from untreated wounds and such. And then there’s the psychological issues. We could do with a mental health specialist, as most people are still in shock.” He gestured to large wall cabinets on the left side of the room. “Fortunately, we’re pretty well stocked as far as medication goes. At the moment. There’s a separate ward adjacent to this room, but it’s not in use. We’ve also got a few smaller, single rooms, like the one you stayed in. You wouldn’t believe the amount of paracetamol and ibuprofen some people go through; we’re always looking to stock up on those items. Asthma medication, too. Fortunately we’ve got loads of cod liver oil tablets…”

  They walked past assorted medical equipment that Seth vaguely recognised from hospital visits. Bulky electronics and snaking wires. A defibrillator on a chrome worktop. Shelves crammed with textbooks and thick medical volumes. The air smelled of bleach and coffee.

  Felton stopped by a workstation. He told Seth to take off his jumper and t-shirt and sit on the edge of one of the beds, so he could be examined. Andy and Ruby stood several yards away, whispering to each other, exchanging brief smiles.

  “We’ll come back after Doctor Felton’s finished with you, Seth,” Ruby said. She and Andy left the room.

  “Young love,” Felton observed.

  “Good for them,” replied Seth.

  “Indeed. You can have a shower after we’re done.”

  “Do I smell that bad?”

  Felton coughed out a dry laugh. “A little bit. No offence.”

  “None taken.”

  Felton talked through Seth’s medical background, checking for pre-existing conditions, and then he gave him a swift but thorough physical examination. Half an hour later, he was done. The doctor gave him the all-clear. He was in pretty good condition apart from a few muscle strains, bruised limbs, and some patches of sore skin on his face, all of which were easily treatable.

  Seth put his clothes back on. He craved some decent food. Maybe a beer, if there was one around. God, yes!

  Moments later, a soldier wearing creased fatigues entered the medical bay. He was bull-necked, stocky, with a shaven head. The rolled-up sleeves of his fatigues exposed tattoos on his forearms.

  “Sergeant Hanso,” Felton said. “Good to see you.”

  “Is he ready?” the sergeant asked, glancing at Seth.

  “Yes, we’ve just finished. He’s all yours.”

  “What’s going on?” Seth asked.

  The sergeant’s face remained impassive, and this time he looked straight at Seth. “We’re off to see the captain. He has some questions for you.”

  *

  Seth recognised Hanso’s voice. He was the soldier who’d first found him in the ruins of the army base above. The walk to Captain Miller’s office was done in silence; they passed only a few other people, civilian survivors running errands, who greeted Sergeant Hanso with a respectful nod or a half-raised hand.

  When Seth had first entered the office, Captain Miller shook his hand and complimented him on surviving out in the snowy wastelands. Miller was polite but curt, and it was obvious from the start that he was appraising Seth. His eyes lacked warmth.

  Now Seth sat facing him across the desk. The sergeant stood to attention behind and slightly to the left of Miller.

  The Captain’s hair was combed to one side and he sported an old-fashioned thick moustache, neatly trimmed, with flecks of grey in the black.

  His office was sparsely furnished, with only the desk and the two chairs that Miller and Seth sat upon. A framed watercolour of an English wheat field hung on the wall behind the desk. A filing cupboard and a kettle on the side. Two mugs and a jar of coffee. A standing lamp in the corner. The only items on the desk were a pot of pens, a closed notebook, and a snow globe paperweight. The air smelled of old sweat, but he wondered if that was his own stench.

  Seth’s hands fidgeted in his lap. He swallowed, glanced at Sergeant Hanso then returned his gaze to Miller, trying not to appear nervous. Trauma and terror had made a nest in his heart.

  “What happened to you, Seth?” Miller asked, opening the notebook.

  “What do you want to know?” Seth asked, unsure where to begin.

  “All of it.”

  There were elements which brought him shame, but Seth withheld nothing, and when he was done, he sat in the chair with his eyes downcast. There was something cleans
ing in confession. He waited for Miller to finish scratching his notes.

  “Quite a few people have died in order for you to live, wouldn’t you say?”

  The bluntness of Miller’s statement caught Seth off guard, and at first he could only nod and avert his eyes. His mouth and throat were dry and his stomach ached from hunger.

  “It’s true,” said Seth, barely raising his voice above a murmur, ashamed to admit it to stronger men who probably thought him a lucky coward. “I don’t know what else to say.”

  Miller placed his hands together on the desk. One finger ran over the wedding ring on his other hand. He leaned forward. “A lot of my soldiers gave their lives to save people like you. Sometimes the strong have to die for the weak to live. But in the meantime the weak must grow stronger to take their place. That’s how I see it, anyway.”

  Weak, Seth thought, and looked at the floor. “How far has the snow spread? How bad is the situation?”

  “As far as we know, it’s everywhere.”

  “Everywhere?” Seth’s guts tightened. He had hoped it was confined to Great Britain. “You mean…?”

  “The snow, the monsters, the cold. It’s worldwide. I’d heard that the Americans were putting up a fight, especially in the Southern states, but it was a losing battle. Mainland Europe went dark on the first day. The rumours about the Chinese detonating nukes in their own cities couldn’t be confirmed.”

  “Christ,” said Seth. One hand went to his mouth. A dull pain pulsed inside his head. He ground his teeth, picturing the Earth afloat in space, covered in ice and snow. A white sphere dying a slow death.

  It was a few moments before Seth could speak again. “Does anyone know what caused it?”

  “There are a few theories, but nothing can be confirmed. Most who tried to investigate were killed by the beasts. Listen, the cause is not my concern right now; my job is to protect the souls in this bunker. I need to know that you’ll follow the rules and not be a problem for us. I’ve asked the same of every civilian here, and they’ve all complied. This is a military installation. We’ve managed to give ourselves a chance, but we need to keep pulling together. Are you with me, Seth? Are you with us?”

  “I won’t be a problem.”

  “That’s good to hear. You will be expected to help out, of course. To pull your weight.”

  “With what?” Seth asked. “What are you doing?”

  Miller gave a polite smile as cold as his eyes. “We’ll let you know when we need you, don’t worry.”

  “Okay.”

  “I think we’re done now.”

  Seth rose from the chair.

  “I hope you settle in quickly, Seth. We have to make the best of a bad situation. We like team players here, don’t we, Sergeant?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Hanso, still looking straight ahead.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Andy and Ruby took Seth to the communal showers and waited outside while he washed. The place was deserted, but he still chose to use one of the private stalls. It was heaven, a relief beyond understanding; the warm water washed away the accumulated sweat, grease and grime of the past few days. He used too much soap, and it stung his eyes, but he didn’t care. It was so wonderful he cried for a short while, the sound of the shower spray hiding his sobs.

  And for a while he put aside his shame and embraced the warmth.

  After that, it was time for dinner, and he was shown to the canteen where the population of the bunker gathered for the last meal of the day. Delia and Jack were there. Delia hugged Seth and said she was relieved to see him. Jack gurgled in his carry-cot and looked up at Seth with little interest. But when Seth offered his finger for Jack to wrap his hand around, the infant did so without hesitation and even gave a small smile.

  “This place is a sanctuary,” said Delia. “I never want to leave.”

  They lined up for food with the others. Today’s dinner was spaghetti bolognese and a slice of unbuttered bread. Water was available from plastic jugs on the tables.

  The canteen was larger even than Medical. The civilians were seated at two long tables stretching down the room, while six soldiers sat at a smaller table near the door. In the far corner, Captain Miller, Sergeant Hanso and Doctor Felton ate at a table too big for just three people. They were deep in conversation, but it was mainly Miller doing the talking. The other soldiers – the privates and an NCO – scoffed down their meals in silence. They looked worn out and pale, dark patches under their eyes. Seth wondered what they had seen since the snow began to fall. They were fighting a war with no chance of winning.

  It was all about hiding and surviving, now.

  Seth forked the spaghetti into his mouth and chased it with a sip of water. The food was pretty good for a dingy canteen at the end of the world. He looked around as he chewed, observing the other survivors. He recognised a few from Quinn’s group, and he wished the brothers had been alive to see the people they’d saved.

  They ate quietly, with some muttered conversation. Ruby kissed her silver cross and put it back in her pocket. Andy gave his slice of bread to her, and she placed her hand upon his on the table. Seth noticed a young family, the parents gently encouraging their daughters to eat without spilling the food down the front of their clothes.

  There were hardly any old people. Not a man or woman over sixty. And he counted less than a dozen children, including Jack. So few.

  Seth swallowed, put down his fork and looked at his plate.

  “You all right?” Andy asked him from across the table.

  Seth raised his face, tried to give a reassuring smile, but he failed. The nod he offered instead was barely a movement of his head. “I’ll be fine.”

  The concern in Andy’s face only faded slightly. “I know it takes some getting used to, mate. It feels weird to be safe, doesn’t it? Especially when you think about all the bad shit that’s happened out there.”

  Delia spooned puree to Jack, resting the boy in the crook of her elbow upon her lap, pretending to ignore their conversation. Jack looked up at her with large eyes, his cheeks rosy red.

  “I know,” said Seth. “I know.” He had so much to say that he might never stop. Instead, he picked up his fork and kept eating.

  *

  Seth was assigned a bed in Dormitory Two, adjacent to Dormitory One where Andy, Ruby, Delia and Jack slept. He reckoned that Captain Miller was testing him, separating him from the others. Both dormitories, each with enough beds for approximately fifty people, were barely half-full. The other dormitories were empty and unused.

  He was given a new toothbrush in a plastic wrapper, and a small bag of toiletries. Military issue. Simple stuff. The basics. Then he lay on his bed, reading a week-old newspaper he’d found nearby. It was one of the tabloids he didn’t like, but he found himself full of bittersweet sadness for the messy world before the snow and the cold. Back when his parents and friends had been alive. The everyday news. Politics and social justice. Crime and punishment. The football results from the previous weekend. Such a deep pang of nostalgia and melancholy swept over him that he had to put the newspaper away. So much had changed in such a short space of time.

  In some effort to keep a day-night cycle below ground, the lights were turned off at ten o’clock. And with only his head exposed above the blankets, he stared up at the dark of the ceiling, listening to the sniffles and small sounds of others around him. Some were already asleep. A whispered voice said a prayer. On the other side of the room, a woman sobbed.

  Seth closed his eyes and wished for sleep, wrapped below the world of cold and monsters.

  *

  He dreamed of the dead people, those he once knew, and their faces were full of sorrow within the falling snow. They felt wronged; their lives had been snatched away and yet somehow he’d survived.

  He begged for forgiveness, but they turned away and faded into the white fog. He was still beseeching them when a monstrous entity emerged from the fog and loomed over him. It was as big as a mountain, coil
ed and serpentine like something from the Book of Revelations. Its cavernous maw dripped yellowish saliva, teeth jagged and as big as trees. Its skin was sheer black. Smaller insectoid creatures living upon it, like some alien species of parasite.

  The God of the Wastelands.

  Seth cowered, cried out.

  Then he woke up.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  The days bled together without the rise and fall of the sun. Days spent playing board games with Andy, Ruby and Delia, and meandering around the parts of the bunker they were allowed to visit. Many of the other civilians seemed listless, pale and solemn, like ghosts in some kind of in-between place. A population of traumatised survivors. Some sought solace in religion, while others adapted to military rule with barely-hidden contempt. There were complaints about rationing and the duty rosters for housekeeping.

  “So, you and Andy have grown close,” Seth said to Ruby as they swept the floor of some nameless corridor on what might have been a morning. Andy was off helping in the kitchens.

  Ruby stopped sweeping, leaned on her brush and swiped a strand of hair behind one ear. A small smile creased the corners of her mouth. “Yeah, very much so. He’s a good man. I might’ve given up if it weren’t for him.”

  “Is it official, then?”

  “Sort of.”

  “I’m really pleased for you both. Take care of each other. Make the best of things.”

  “The best of things,” Ruby repeated, but in a whisper.