Bitter Cold

by J. Joseph Wright

  “That old bastard shot at me!” Jeff blinked away the snowflakes blowing strong in his face. He watched along with the other unbelieving souls as the Jeep drove straight for the creature engulfing the southeast end of town. Blackness spread from the riverfront to the old elementary school at the top of the hill. Jeff could see the porch buckle on a house by the highway. It splintered in two, one half still attached, and the other collapsing in a heap, tossing up a spray of black mist as it hit the ground. Then rest came down. Darkness drizzled over and up to the front entry, where it followed any path it could, pressing its weight, and finally smashing the door. It got to the windows and did the same thing, then the roof, wood warping and bending, pressing and flattening the entire building. Then it happened to another house, then another—several wiped out in a row.

  Despite the devastation, the Cherokee motored on, the man seemingly blind to the awaiting peril. Jeff’s heart fell to his stomach. How many men would he have to see die that day? He felt his son next to him and reached to take his hand. He refused to see any children die. He refused.

  “Dad? What’s he doing? He’s driving right into it!”

  He could only shake his head. As the Cherokee passed the sole traffic light in town, which was blinking yellow in the winter storm, a spark flashed behind the bend in the highway, silhouetting the hillside. Then another spark, this one brighter, traveling toward town, lighting up the road until it looked like the sun had broken through the clouds in that one spot. The streetlights flickered, dimmed, then went dark.

  All the lights in the southeast side of town went out, starting along the road, then rolling up the hill and down toward the river, where a small pier housed tugboats on the water. The large lights along the docks went out, and the early morning gloom set in. The sun was shrouded by a thick layer of storm clouds, and what little light penetrated them was absorbed by the blackened snow. Like everything else, the creature seemed to consume all illumination as well.

  The silver Grand Cherokee rolled on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  Sadie went silent and ran to the curb. There she sat, whining.

  April sounded anxious. “What the hell is that guy’s problem! Doesn’t he see it!”

  “Y-you guys weren’t kidding, were you?” Evan stammered. Nobody answered. Kathy stood motionless apart from her eyes. They flashed from the encroaching blackness to Jeff, then to the Jeep as it drove into certain destruction.

  Finally, the 4X4 reduced speed. Then brake lights came on.

  “Fuck! Thank god!” Jeff gasped for air. “Now turn around! Come on! Turn around!”

  The taillights turned white, signaling the man had put the Jeep into reverse. By the way the tires were spinning, it was moving fast.

  The dark snow moved faster, along the sidewalks, on top of the parked cars and pickups, surrounding the Jeep on three sides and working fast on the fourth. Then it got ahead of the Cherokee, saturating the snow at the base of a utility pole. The pole shook, then listed toward the street. Breakers burst with bright sparks as the forty-foot post toppled to the icy pavement, taking with it three heavy lines, which in turn brought down another pole.

  In that instant, the rest of the power in town went out. The lights under the gas pump canopy died, as well as inside the little market. Kathy’s eyes widened even further. Her mouth fell open and she tried to scream, yet only managed throaty gurgles. Finally, she sprinted to the store, disappearing in the back.

  Jeff knew the man in the Cherokee was a lost cause, yet couldn’t tear away his gaze. The old guy made a desperate try at saving his skin by pushing his rig over the power pole. However, the Jeep made it only inches before it stopped cold, held in place by the dark snow. Then the vehicle sank. The descent went slow, until it got to the midway point. Then it dipped under, leaving behind only a lump in the black, frozen mire.

  April pulled his arm. “Come on, Jeff. We’ve got to find a way out of here!”

  “What do you suggest!” he asked. “What the hell are we gonna drive?”

  “We-we can take my car,” Evan pointed to the side of the Jackpot building, where an early nineties, two-door hatchback Civic sat, wearing a sheepish smile.

  Jeff wanted to laugh. “There’s way too many of us. We can’t all fit in that!”

  “What if we steal something?” Logan suggested.

  “We don’t have time!”

  Sadie whined louder, watching the black wave of death descend upon the town. It seemed none of them could move. They stood transfixed, staring.

  April turned to Jeff. “I know we’ve only got a little time, but don’t you want to try to warn people? I mean, look at this town. These houses are sitting ducks for that thing.”

  He scanned the tiny hillside community. Rainier had always reminded him of a miniature San Francisco. Steep streets lined with quaint, turn-of-the-century Craftsman homes. Columns of smoke swirled from rooftop chimneys, blending with the steady white flakes in a wintry haze. The landscape overflowed with puffy whiteness, everything so soft and innocent. He knew it was an illusion, though. He’d seen just how quickly pure snow could be turned into something sinister beyond imagination.

  “It’s too late,” Amy answered for him.

  Jeff’s skin tingled when he heard a scream. A woman cried out in the gloom. As the black snow brought its trail of destruction closer, he heard all kinds of terrible sounds. Glass breaking, wood splintering, concrete crumbling. And more screams. Shrieks of agony and desperation. He imagined people waking up to their homes collapsing on top of them, the blackness tumbling in, dissolving into their bedspreads and searing their skin, eating them while they still breathed. He pictured that happening hundreds of times.

  April held onto him, squeezing harder with each cry for help, each sound of another house crumpling, another family destroyed by the insatiable creature.

  A glass door slid open in one of the apartments across the street. A man in his forties, wearing underwear, rumbled out to his back patio. Kicking aside a cheap plastic lawn chair, he leaned against the railing and peered toward the commotion.

  Jeff ran to the curb, slipping to a stop.

  “Man! Get out of there! Now! Everybody in the apartments! Get out!” he cupped his mouth and turned to the houses ascending the hill. “Everybody! Wake up! Wake up! Get OUT!”

  April, Logan, and Evan joined Jeff, coaxing the man in his boxers to leave. More people came out to their porches with sleepy eyes and unkempt hair, wearing bathrobes, pajamas, underclothes. They stared at the crazy people in the Jackpot parking lot. Some laughed. Most looked annoyed, especially the first guy, his wife-beater stained with grease, his balding hair cropped short. Not until they saw another burst of sparks from a nearby power pole did they shut up and take notice of the danger.

  Too late.

  Jeff felt like the breath had been punched out of him when he saw a crest of black snow rise over the concrete wall that separated an empty Chinese restaurant parking lot from the three-level apartment complex. He ran without thinking toward the devastation. Logan yelled at him to come back. April took him by the hand, turned him around, and forced him away. He couldn’t help watching over his shoulder.

  In a small patch of grass behind the apartments was a snowman with a crooked head, an icy red scarf, and a humorous, pebbly smile. Blackness engorged Frosty from bottom to top, transforming the jolly character into a charred demon. It lurched forward, waddled a few quick, awkward paces, then toppled over a children’s playset before finally breaking apart, crumbling into chunks while the dark creature charged toward the building.

  Underwear Man took one look at the stained snow and bounded into his apartment, slamming the door closed. The other apartment dwellers copied him, dashing into their units, squawking obscenities about their escape. It didn’t matter. The monster had already found a way to their patios, windows, doors.

  The ground rumbled. The apartment building shook. Jeff had to stare, marveling at the monster’s strength a
s it cracked the structure like an egg—roof caving in, glass shattering, pipes bursting—it drowned out everything except the screaming, the distinct sound of a child in distress. Jeff’s blood boiled even more. He needed to help, but knew it would have been suicide.

  Then an explosion made everybody at the gas station duck for cover. The three-level complex had been reduced to one. Screams of agony spilled from the shattered, steaming pile of lumber and insulation, broken glass, wires and plumbing. A woman crawled through a split in the roof, stood, and cried out loud. Her ankles began to smolder. She looked down and went quiet. Her expression told the story. Excruciating pain. She reached for her feet and her hands dipped in blackness. She looked like she couldn’t stand back up. Struggling, wincing, shaking, she finally managed to shout as the dark snow pulled her in, swallowing her with one gulp.

  Jeff stepped back, spurred on by April’s shaky yet strong-willed lead. She seemed determined for all of them to live. It renewed his own resolve, even when all seemed lost. He sensed Logan behind him and reached out.

  “I’m here, Dad!”

  THIRTY-TWO

  KA-JINGLE!

  Kathy’s bulky Las Vegas keychain hit the frosty ground.

  “Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!” she flashed a nervous look at the shadowy snow surge and bent to pick it up. Her face lost all color. She stood and backed against her beat-up Celica. Puffing, she turned and managed to open the frozen door. She jumped in, started the car, and plowed backward toward the highway. The Toyota bounced hard as it rolled over the curb, crashing into a large berm along the roadside.

  Evan shouted and started running. Jeff helped April get him and pull him back.

  The cauldron of bubbling darkness crept along the gutters, spreading out on the asphalt in thin streaks. Jeff drew his son close. He clutched April’s jacket, then stood in front of Amy and Evan. He wanted to protect everyone at that moment, with the black snow coming straight at them.

  But it didn’t come after them yet. Instead, it seemed distracted by the Celica, as Kathy punched the gas, trying to dislodge her bumper from a mound of ice. She finally gave up and got out of her car, then ran down the middle of the highway, glancing back as the black snow rushed around her feet. She fell, face-first, into some unpolluted snow. It didn’t stay unpolluted long. Dark tendrils reached for her left calf, severing her leg below the knee. Her shrieks joined the din of the destruction surrounding her.

  Kathy screamed herself dry, gulped for breath, and screamed some more, right up until black snow hit her lower lip and poured in, filling her gaping jaw. She flinched and tried to heave. The stuff stayed stuck to her tongue, clamped over her mouth. In the next split-second, she was no more.

  “Jeff,” April shook him. “We’ve got to do something before that thing comes after us.”

  Jeff let his ears tune into the other sounds from the neighborhood streets. The voices. Hundreds of desperate pleas that would go unanswered. He hung his head, wishing it all away. Then he saw Logan, standing between a Marlboro sign and a handmade announcement, declaring the station was out of propane until later in the day. He took a deep breath when it hit him.

  “Propane,” he said.

  “What?” April tilted her head, looking at the sign with him.

  “Gas,” he hurried to a pump island and took a nozzle from its holster.

  “What are you doing, man?” Evan asked him.

  “We’re gonna use gasoline and make a barrier. That thing can’t stand fire.”

  “You’re not gonna get anywhere with that, right now,” Evan pointed at the dead digital readouts. “The power’s out. I’m gonna hafta turn on the emergency generator. Hold on!”

  He rushed into the minimart and vanished past the restrooms.

  “Hurry!” Amy cowered next to the checkout counter. Logan stood beside her, shivering. Jeff kept his eyes on the blackness, creeping closer, slipping over the curb, and invading the sidewalk, entering the gas station’s parking lot.

  “Shit!” he turned in time to catch Evan coming back from the minimart, flashing a thumbs-up. The large Jackpot sign sizzled and flickered to life again. Jeff looked at the nozzle in his hand, then at Evan. “Is this thing ready?”

  Evan checked the pump. “It’s ready.”

  “Good,” he inched toward the creature, a black wave of doom.

  “Wait!” Evan gave him a different hose. “Use this. Premium. The expensive stuff.”

  Jeff traded with him. “Why the fuck not.”

  “Screw ‘em, huh?” Evan flashed a nervous smile.

  Jeff stretched the hose as long as it would go, then pointed it at the black snow. He squeezed the trigger. Gasoline sprayed from the nozzle, spreading far and wide, saturating the sidewalk, the parking lot ramps, creating a line in front of the filling area. When he thought he’d sprayed enough, he dug into his pocket and found his lighter.

  “Okay, now! Everybody stand back!”

  They all huddled in the gas station, shivering, watching with wide eyes. Jeff flipped open the Zippo’s lid, spun the flint wheel with his thumb, and the flame appeared, rippling in the wind. He shielded it with his hand, then, stepping backward, threw it into the gasoline-soaked snow.

  He felt a surge of heat as it exploded, fireballs racing left and right. When the blaze hit the blackness, Jeff heard a shrill screech, like the creature was howling in agony. The dark snow reeled back, shriveling and melting. It almost seemed confused, unsure. It probed the fire in places, thin, dark fingers testing for weaknesses, looking for gaps in the burning wall. It found no such openings. For the moment.

  Jeff made sure it never would find a chink in the armor. He took the hose and sprayed the perimeter, wrapping halfway around the minimart. Then he repeated the process with the second pump island on the other side of the building, encapsulating it in a blazing cocoon. To his left, he saw movement and flinched, thinking the blackness had somehow burrowed through. To his relief, it was Evan, helping to spread the fuel, keeping the heat on the relentless monster. Jeff nodded, pointing at an area where he couldn’t reach. Evan hurried to the spot and drenched it with unleaded.

  “Be careful!” April was barely audible above the sounds coming from the black snow as it worked along the periphery, keeping its distance from the fire. Jeff felt his face roasting, smelled his clothes beginning to burn. He kept it up, though, getting as close to the flames as possible, pumping gas gallon by gallon by gallon.

  “How long do you think we can keep this up?” he asked Evan.

  “You mean how much gas do we have?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No clue, man. I just work here. I know they bring in more gas every Thursday. Today’s Saturday, so the tanks are pretty full. But this can’t go on forever.”

  “No shit.”

  He couldn’t help but stare at the town of Rainier. His hometown. The grade school where he’d gotten into his first fight, where he stole his first kiss—gone, razed by the snowy menace. The monster had become quite efficient at destroying buildings. It was growing even bigger, too, spanning the entire length of the highway and spilling along the side streets one by one, infecting every shred of whiteness in its path, searching, demolishing, consuming.

  The apartments across the street were mere ash and rubble, still the blackness kept coming, churning over broken, splintered lumber, spitting out bones and teeth and bits of clothing, then swallowing them again.

  Jeff walked along the protective circle, pumping the stream of gasoline steadily, trying not to listen to the sounds of screaming coming from seemingly all directions. As the inhabitants of the town were being digested around them, the wall of flames became their only refuge.

  He watched April inside the minimart, giving orders to the children, keeping them occupied and safe. Thankfully, April was around. A responsible, heady person to help take care of his kid. He wanted to tell her how much he appreciated her.

  He appreciated her even more when they all came running toward him, each carryin
g an armload of cigarette cartons.

  “We thought these would help the fire burn longer,” she panted.

  He looked at Logan, then again at her. “Great idea! Do it!”

  She nodded and told the kids, “Okay, be careful! Like this…”

  She stood at a safe distance from the flames and tossed a carton of Marlboros. It bounced once and slid into the blaze. Logan narrowed his eyes and bowled a box along the ice-covered ground, straight into the fire, coming to rest near April’s cigarettes.

  “It works!” Amy pitched one, crashing it into the first two. All of the sudden, they were playing shuffleboard with carton after carton—Kool, Virginia Slims, Newport, Camel—they emptied their arms and hurried back for more.

  After a few trips, they had the entire circumference enclosed with a fence of burning cigarettes. They didn’t stop there. Newspapers and classifieds, boxes of crackers and bags of chips. Even wooden chairs and tables from the eating area were sacrificed. Logan said he wanted to rip out the cashier counter. Swore he could, too. With the right tools, just like his dad. They didn’t need it, though. The fire they’d built actually worked. The blackness kept away, rushing like a river, the murkiest, most lethal river ever known. They were an island in that stream of death. The screaming had stopped. Jeff heard nothing but churning, roiling, bubbling as the monster feasted on everything it could find.

  Everything but them. They were safe. For now.

  In a moment of eerie calm, Jeff saw lights across the river—Longview, Washington, on the other side of the Lewis and Clark Bridge. He knew, eventually, the black snow would cross that bridge, and he didn’t want to think about what would happen when it did.

  He waved to Logan. The boy came to him, breathless.

  “What is it, Dad?”

  He handed the nozzle to his son. “Hold this for me. Keep the fire going. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Of course,” Logan kept a straight face. All business. Made him proud.

  “You know how to work this thing?”