9
Karl Bowman
Karl had never known a hunger like this.
His stomach cramped with every step. Tiny, skeletal hands wrapped around his insides and squeezed, their long nails puncturing into the fleshy sack inside of him.
But he shouldn’t be hungry, should he? Not after eating so much of the woman growing cold and stiff in his bedroom. That was how he thought of her now. The woman. No longer could he associate her with her name or imagine her on their wedding day, her dress as white as the snow around them. No more could he remember the incredible resilience and strength she had shown on the day she pushed out a living, breathing baby from between her legs and blessed him with a daughter. Nor could he hear the gentle squeaks and grunts which escaped from her lips as Alexa nuzzled into him in bed, her smile all the sign in the world that she was happy and content, something Karl had never been.
To do any of those things would be to humanise her and see her as more than a sack of meat bleeding into the fibres of their wolf-skin rug. If he ignored those things, he could picture her as a skinned buck or seal, the stomach sliced as their life force pooled on the stone floor, dripping hungrily into the waiting grates.
Oh, that hunger.
Karl turned the house over, spurred on by Alice’s scent. He gripped the bottom rungs of her wooden bed and flipped the whole thing in one heroic toss, one part of him hoping to find her cowering in the crevices beneath, the other praying that she was long gone from here. What would be worse for a seven-year-old? To be tossed into the embrace of the frigid storm, or to be torn limb from limb by her father?
For that’s what he knew was coming. His body wasn’t his anymore. His arms, as thick and tight as knotted rope, flexed and throbbed with his hunger and an anger he couldn’t qualify. His peripheries had darkened, and it took all of his might to be able to focus on what was in front of him. The chest of drawers came tumbling down, the doors to the wardrobe ripped off their hinges with ease. By the time he was done with the bedroom it was as though the roof had blown clean off and a tornado had unleashed its wrath inside.
And still the sentinels watched.
They didn’t move, not an inch. Standing in their strange formation as Karl swept from room to room, tossing furniture, shattering glass, traipsing across to picture frames and relics that had once been carefully preserved for years and smashing them off the walls and tops. When he reached the bathroom, he caught his reflection in the mirror and gripped the edge of the porcelain bowl of the sink with shaking hands. His eyes were dark, glinting like obsidian crystals in their sockets, his hair a sweaty tangle on his head. His beard was dark and crusted, matted with blood and a part of him wanted to wash himself clean, but his body wouldn’t allow it. His knuckles whitened as he let out an almighty roar, his strength taking over as the sink buckled and the faucet snapped. A concentrated spray of freezing cold water shot towards him and caught his face and for a second he could see clearly, could see what he’d become. The cold was like a sudden slap, but already, as he turned back to the doorway and found the Masked One waiting patiently, the darkness crept back in. The respite gone from the madness.
Downstairs soon told the same tale of destruction as Karl tore the TV from the wall and threw the sofa clean across the room. Every cupboard in the kitchen either lost its door or was left hanging on a single hinge. Karl checked the garage, the understairs cupboard, his trophy room of firearms, and still he came up empty. His stomach ached for another morsel, his senses overwhelmed by the satisfaction that would come from his next meal. Where the hell was she? She couldn’t have gone far. She was a child for fuck’s sake.
Where the hell was she?!
Karl returned to the living room, head slumped, shoulders rising and falling with each laboured breath. A steady, rumbling growl purred from his throat as he found the Masked One waiting at the bottom of the stairs. His sentinels nothing more than ghostly decorations to his curious aura.
“She’s gone,” Karl said flatly between breaths. “She’s not here.”
Again, that curious head tilt as the Masked One lifted a bony finger and pointed towards the front door. There was a small entry room with coats hanging on large golden hooks on one side. Ordinarily these were full, with Karl, Alexa, and Alice each accommodating one of the hooks with their coats.
One was missing.
Karl automatically moved closer, unable to control his feet as he stomped across the room and investigated further. Her boots were gone, too. The neon-pink snow boots which Karl and Alexa had bought her only three weeks ago, bright enough that she shouldn’t get lost out there in the snow. Karl still remembered the love that he felt for her when they arrived home and placed those boots beside his and Alexa’s, the tiny things looking so out of place beside their own monstrous sizes.
A trace of a smile came to Karl’s lips. He flicked his tongue across them, catching the dregs of the crusted blood as a realization washed over him.
If he were to go out there now, he would not return empty handed. Karl was a hunter, and one of the town’s best at that. If he couldn’t fight off these creatures now, then what hope did he have out there, in their world? What hope did Alice have of survival if they triggered his primal instincts and set him to hunt?
Karl took a steadying breath, regretting it instantly as the sickening scent of copper and sweat tickled his nostrils. He turned towards the Masked One, alarmed to find the being already standing only a couple of feet from Karl. When had he moved? Its footsteps made no sound.
The Masked One’s eyes were level with his own. Karl wasn’t used to others reaching his height, with most of the town’s residents easily half a foot or more shorter than him. Already he felt at a disadvantage as he stared into those vapid black sockets in the mask and searched for any semblance of humanity.
“I can’t…” The words came out weaker than Karl would admit. Each thought was laborious, as he sought to fight against whatever poison they’d injected into his system. “You will not claim her. She is mine. I will not do this for you—”
Karl’s throat closed, invisible hands squeezing it shut. The saliva and drool that had been a constant presence in his mouth since the dart dried instantly as the Masked One closed the gap between them and stopped but an inch from his face. An alien, piercing shriek burst from somewhere beneath the mask and an overwhelming stench of death poured from the cracks and crevices of the stag’s skull.
Karl had never felt so cold. Standing in this thing’s presence was akin to opening the door to an industrial freezer you hoped you would never find yourself trapped inside, but suddenly it’s too late and the doors won’t open. His skin prickled. He wanted to cry, but the tears hardened and froze inside of him, a torturous pressure behind his eyes.
The Masked One pressed closer, moving infinitesimally slowly now until his mask rested on Karl’s forehead. At the moment they touched, the chill was confirmed, shooting from head to foot like a bolt of electricity, the static laced with icy needles. Karl gasped, eyes closing as all that he knew was ice and hunger, a primitive aching drive once buried deep inside the Neanderthals of old, those who had survived the ice age and did whatever it took to continue their legacy. He saw generations pass in the blink of an eye, stars wheeling overhead, exploding like fireworks. Green teeth of a dark forest against a sky burning with the kaleidoscopic colours of the Aurora. The skeletal shape of the world beyond death, a gathering of ritualistic fervour as some danced in the flames and many tucked their blood-stained faces into the hollows of their human prey. A great beast at the edge of the clearing, towering above its flock, skeletal ribs like organic scaffolding as the greatest and largest skull of all watched on, cavernous eyes, titanous hands…
Karl’s breath came back in a sudden, urgent whoosh of air as though surfacing from a long dive. He opened his eyes and the Masked One was gone. His sentinels were gone. The house was devoid of anything but himself, a heavy silence the only thing keeping him company.
For an unfound moment
, Karl wondered if it had all been a dream. If all that he had seen and done that night had been cast in the clutches of a terrible nightmare.
But if that were true, why did his house look as though a war had broken out inside? Why were his face and hands sticky and dark?
And why was there a solitary bear skull waiting for him by the back door?
Karl’s stomach bit with a sharp and sudden vigour. He crumpled over, falling to one knee as though his body was forcing him to bow to the skull. He glanced into the empty hollows where the animal’s eyes had once set and understood what it was he must do. What task he must complete if was to ever feel full again.
Karl licked his lips and smiled.
10
Tori Asplin
Tori was tired of running, but what else was there to do? Every time she stopped, some horrendous event lifted straight from a nightmare spurred her onwards. If it wasn’t those things coming for Stan, then it was the strange projectiles they fired at Sherri and Harvey, devouring their sense and turning them mad.
Snow pelted her face, but at least she had some protection now. The clothes she had taken from Sherri’s closet were dry, and that was something at least. While the cold was bad, it didn’t seem so terrible when she was wrapped up and prepared.
Not that anything prepared her legs for the amount of energy she would have to exert just to traipse through the knee-high snow that blanketed the town.
“Just a little farther,” Alex called back to her. His jacket was unzipped, with Damien clinging to him like a koala bear. Alex stretched the fabric of his jacket around the boy, but he couldn’t get it to close. Damien had stopped crying, at least, but now he was silent, lethargic, the cold slowly freezing his system.
“Give the boy to me,” Tori said for the third time since they’d set out. “I’ve got more room in here. Please. It’ll be safer for him.”
Alex had already expressed his doubts that Tori would be able to carry the boy that far. Her slight frame wasn’t built for the heavy lifting of lugging around an eight-year-old while also tackling the snow. Still, as he looked into Damien’s face, the skin slowly taking on a sickly blue hue, he had no choice but to relent.
“We have to find somewhere to take a pitstop,” Alex said as he passed Damien to Tori and helped her zip the jacket around them both. Sherri’s extra weight allowed just enough room inside the jacket to allow her to zip it shut. It was a tight squeeze, but it actually helped to support Damien inside the material.
The boy shivered in her grasp.
They had gotten lucky so far and hadn’t met any of the creatures along the way. Not that they would be able to tell if any of them got too close, the wind and snow limiting their vision to little more than a twenty-foot radius as Tori shouted directions and tried to navigate using the only landmarks that they could find. She estimated that they had to be at least halfway across town, now. Though it felt like it should be more than that. Each step sapped their strength as the snow did all that it could to block their passage. She wondered what would happen if those things found them now. They were no doubt more equipped for padding across the snow. Was running even an option?
“Tori?”
“Yeah… Fine. We can’t stop for long, though. If we keep this stop-start going, we’re never going to make it to them.”
Alex’s eyes were determined. “Agreed. Come on, let’s make it a little further and see what we find.”
Tori soon grew thankful that Alex had borne the brunt of the carrying. If she thought walking through the snow in a blizzard was difficult, it was nothing to the strain that came to her back and legs as she took the extra weight and attempted to keep the kid warm. On a couple of occasions, her thoughts strayed to abandonment, wondering if they could simply drop the kid off at someone’s door, knock twice, then run. But as she passed each darkened house, her thoughts drifted back to Sherri and Harvey, and the monsters they had somehow become. How many of the townsfolk had been converted? Which of these houses, if any, were truly safe tonight?
The only thing she could trust in the world right now was the stranger leading the way before her. He carved a path in the snow, offering some respite from what could have been an even more burdensome journey. A man whom she had never met but heard tell of from the townsfolk. A stranger to these lands who was giving everything he had to battle the monsters and the elements to find his nephew.
A man with honor and integrity.
Something she had never found in Karl. Had their relationship been flawed from the start? Had she been kidding herself all those months, imagining that infidelity would be the fuel to start the fires of a real relationship? How stupid had she been?
They came to an intersection where the road widened. From where they stood it was all but impossible to make out any other houses across the street.
“Which way?” Alex asked.
Tori caught her breath. “Straight ahead should be St Mary’s, then it’s pretty much a downhill slope until you get to the school. Probably about another half mile or so. Naomi’s isn’t too far from there, either.”
Tori groaned as a pang shot across the muscles in her lower back.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, though the pain showed in the wrinkles of her brow. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
After a dozen steps the houses crept into view like a fleet of ships appearing through a foggy ocean. There was a ghostlike quality to them, the snow softening their corners and edges, the roof so laden with the stuff that it was impossible to see where the houses ended and the sky began.
“There.” Tori pointed ahead. “St Mary’s spire. That place is always open.”
“Even during a blizzard?”
“The pastor has an open-house policy. He doesn’t want religion to be constrained to business hours. We’re a small town, remember? You’re not going to get your London graffiti artists spray-painting the side of our places of worship.”
“You have a low opinion of London.”
“I need to sit down.”
The church was a little farther ahead, accessible through a side street that passed between the town butchers and the only bar in Denridge with a commercial music license to play the latest worldwide hits. On a sunny day, you might find the cobbled street leading you toward the quaint church, but for the majority of the year snow covered the pebbles. They funnelled through the street, the church coalescing before them as they grew closer. The large wooden doors beckoned to them like the warm smile of a friendly stranger.
“Will it be warm inside?” Alex asked. “It’s all stone and brick.”
“It will be warmer than outside.” She glanced down at the tuft of hair sticking out of her collar. “Besides, I’m worried about the kid. We need to wrap him up properly and check if he’s okay. He’s been through a lot…”
Alex moved a finger to his lip, his eyes widening as he listened out for something that Tori couldn’t hear. A second later she heard it, too. Someone was stumbling through the snow, mumbling incoherently and occasionally grunting.
Alex pressed Tori against the wall, finding a small recess where they attempted to shield themselves from sight. Alex’s back, however, was still well in view as the mumbling grew louder. It was a man’s voice, talking and babbling to himself as he walked alone through the storm.
Tori peeked her head around the wall as the man came into sight. From this distance, it was difficult to make out particulars, but Tori’s heart stopped as she recognized the man’s gait, his broad shoulders, his mat of beard. Although she had been tricked earlier that night, there was something about the way he moved that confirmed who she was seeing.
“Karl…” she whispered.
Alex kept his eyes fixed on the man as he walked across the street not too far from them. Lost in his own world, he paid no heed to the trio hiding in the crevice of the nearby building.
“A friend of yours?”
Tori’s heart ached. “It’s complicated.”
“Maybe he
can help?” Alex suggested, until he noticed the strange object on his head. “What is he wearing?”
Tori narrowed her eyes and tried to make it out. While his dark beard sprung from his lower jaw, something white decorated the top of his head and blended with the snow. There were two dark circles atop and…
“That’s a skull…” Tori couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “He’s wearing a skull on his head?”
“Is that normal for him?”
Tori didn’t answer. They watched with morbid fascination as Karl drunkenly shambled onwards until he was out of sight. They waited a few minutes, wanting to be certain that he was gone before they broke cover, and Alex led them the final distance towards the ancient church.
Author Notes
The midlands of the United Kingdom is a long way away from Alaska, yet there’s something about the isolated reaches of the planet that fascinate me.
My first experience of the frozen northern coastlines came when I watched “30 Days of Night.” I couldn’t get my head around the fact that there are places around the world where the sun is literally absent for not just hours, but weeks on end.
I use writing as exploration. I dig into my research and try to get a real feel of what’s going on in places I haven’t (and may never) visit. Do I get the details 100% correct? Not always. But that’s the point of fiction, isn’t it? Not to get the world perfect, but to explore, escape, and imagine.
You’ll likely have picked up a lot of UK influence in this book (I’m talking in characters besides Cody and Alex). Here in England it’s impossible to imagine a Christmas where it’s snowy, let alone a blizzard taking over the landscape. The most we get is a sprinkle of icing sugar that soon melts away as the tepid weather rises above freezing and the motorways clear up.
England is boring, really. But I’d rather be here right now than in Denridge Hills, wouldn’t you?
When Winter Comes | Book 2 | Buried Page 7