Dead Frost

by Adam Millard

  Shane exhaled with relief, the pistol relaxed in his grip.

  He watched the horde become smaller in the rearview mirror, but with visibility reduced so severely they had vanished before their groans had ceased.

  'I don't think I could ever do that again,' Terry finally said. His breathing came in short, sharp gasps that suggested how difficult he had found it keeping motionless. 'Intense just doesn't cut it.'

  'Is it over?' Marla asked from the floor of the Snatch. 'I swear to God, Shane, next time you better go straight through them.'

  'It worked didn't it?' Shane said, checking across his shoulder, glancing into the snow for a sign the creatures weren't going to return.

  'Who was whining back there?' Terry asked, placing the Remington back between his knees. 'Shit like that could get us killed.'

  'I'm sorry,' Jared said. 'I had no idea how many of them there were; nobody tells me shit.'

  'For good reason,' Marla said. 'Anyway, it doesn't matter. We're okay and those fucking things didn't manage to get in. You said this thing has armour?'

  Shane nodded. 'The best,' he said. 'But if they really wanted to get in, they'd just keep on trying until they succeeded. Thank fuck they were in no mood to hang about.'

  'Can we get out of here, now? Terry said, straightening up in his seat. I think I'm gonna need a pit-stop at the next available junction.'

  That, Shane thought, might be a good idea.

  He turned the key in the ignition.

  ELEVEN

  Victor decided to call a meeting before leaving. It was the done thing. You didn't just up and leave, with no notice; you informed the people who placed their trust in you, and that way they respected you even more.

  Staring down at the faces in the crowd, though, Victor wasn't so sure. He felt as if he were addressing a bunch of school-kids, but all of a sudden he felt exposed, vulnerable, and very naked.

  'Ladies, gentlemen, can I just say a few words.' He watched as a few of the survivors decided to button it, urging the people standing next to them to “Let him speak.”

  In the corner of the room, Maggie Cox smoked a cigarette and stared at him with those sunken eyes. Her wizened, macerated face seemed to be taunting him silently. He could only look at her for a second before choosing a different focal-point altogether.

  'People,' Victor said, raising both hands calmly, almost apologetically. 'I need to speak with you regarding a problem I have been made aware of.'

  That did it. People hushed their neighbours more vehemently, and they listened.

  'That's better,' the captain said. 'Now, as most of you know, I have been trying to keep this place going as best as I can...safe, guarded. I have been bringing food in so that we all eat, and I have been trying to obtain medicine for the sick.'

  As if to emphasise just how sick some people were, there came a chorus of coughs. Victor had to wait for a few moments before he could continue.

  'Now, I think that I have been fair, and helpful, and taken care of everything that it has been within my power to do. But a few people, who if you look around you will notice are no longer with us, have decided to strike out on their own, make a run for it, so to speak.'

  A cacophony of shocked gasps filled the room, and Victor Lord knew that he still had his people, or the majority of them.

  'Now, people, I wouldn't have given two shits had they decided to go in the middle of the night. Everybody has the right to decide their own fate, and that goes for all of you standing before me, now. But these people, these...assholes, took something that we believe is vital to the well-being of this here group.'

  The survivors were rapt; a few of them yelled towards the front of the room, outraged by the audacity of the deserters. Typically these were males, forty-to-fifty, general scumbags who didn't want to have to lift a finger to maintain the camp, and it was beginning to sound like they might have to.

  'One of our Jeeps has been taken,' Victor continued. 'These sonsofbitches decided to just up sticks in the middle of the fucking night. Now, I have no idea where they are going, but I can ensure you that we will find them, and bring back our truck.'

  There were a few cheers, but nowhere near as many as Victor had hoped for. Once the dire applause died down, a voice spoke from the back of the room. Victor didn't even need to look to know who it was.

  'And what are you going to do with the people?' Maggie Cox asked, exhaling a plume of bluey-grey smoke into the atmosphere. 'You gonna be bringing them back, too?' She already knew the answer to that, which is why she had wanted to bring it to the attention of the others.

  'Do you think they deserve a second chance?' Victor asked. God, how he hated that mummified old sow. 'They have taken something that is vital to this group. Their selfish actions could cause deaths, could kill all of us.'

  Maggie huffed and stubbed her cigarette out on the doorframe to her right. 'You and I both know that that is not the truth,' she said, her voice hoarse. 'We have more vehicles, and we have that whirly-bird up on the roof. You have absolutely no reason to go running after them other than revenge.' She lit another cigarette and smiled smugly to herself. The survivors turned back to Victor and awaited his response silently.

  He laughed, a nervous chuckle that made him look stupid and inept; God, how he fucking hated that rotting bitch.

  'I assure all of you that revenge is not what I am after. These people have forfeited their rights, as far as I am concerned, and I want to make sure that they realise just how much danger they have placed all of you in.' That's right, Victor thought. Lay it on thick, get the crowd back vying for blood.

  'Do you even know where they have gone?' Maggie called, stepping forward between two dome-tents. 'They could be anywhere by now; you're talking about going out after them as if you know which direction they're pointed in. Shit, Captain, just how dumb are you?'

  'Now you just watch your tongue,' Victor said, sensing that the woman was intentionally trying to make him look moronic. 'We know they left this morning, early, and that snow out there is going to tell us just which fucking direction they've gone in. Their tracks will still be visible from the helicopter.'

  'And you're going to bring them back here when you reach them?' she reiterated.

  Victor paused, tried to think of a way around it, then said, 'If that's what you people want, then I'll make sure that no harm comes to them.'

  'I couldn't give a shit,' one man said near the front of the assembly. 'They've made their beds. I say, let them sleep in 'em.'

  Victor nodded towards the man, who he didn't recognise in the slightest. 'You see,' he said to Maggie. 'These people know what their rights are. They trust me to do right by them, and I will not fail them.'

  A few cheers from the side of the room; once again, the lumberjack contingency.

  'These people are being fed lies,' Maggie said, trembling a little now. 'You've put the fear of God into them and now they trust you implicitly. Just so you know, Mr High-And-Mighty, I will not be part of any schemes you put forward. I don't trust you one bit, and I want everyone here to listen to me.' She sucked hard on the cigarette, struggling to keep it steady in her trembling, gnarled hand. 'This is wrong. Going after them is wrong. We all know what he's going to do to them when he catches up. It's murder, plain and simple, and whichever way you sugar-coat it it's fucked up.' She glanced around the room to all the faces, young and old, staring in her direction. She could tell that her words were having little or no impact. Without another utterance, she turned and left through the doors, the sound of the mumbling assembly behind her.

  'Well, that was special,' Victor said, victorious. She'd made herself look like a crazy, old witch – perhaps that was being too kind, and offensive to witches everywhere. 'Now, I don't know how long we're to be gone,' he continued, glad to see that the focus had returned to him. 'But I assure you all that we will be back, with the Jeep, and a shitload of supplies and medicine. You have my word.'

  The applause that followed was deafening. Victo
r Lord was on the verge of actually bowing, as if he had just finished a masterful stage performance on Broadway.

  He made his way down and out through the doors, survivors patting him on the back as he went. Once out of earshot, he turned to David Moon and said, 'Is the pilot ready?'

  Moon nodded. 'Yeah, but he ain't in the best fucking mood about all of this.'

  'Ahhh, I don't give a shit whether he's crying his eyes up. Get him onto the roof, and tell Randall to load the weapons.'

  Moon nodded and raced off up the stairs. Victor approached another of his men, Henry Colburn, and pushed his face as close as possible without touching him.

  'If that old trout were to cease breathing while we're gone,' he said, 'then I think a promotion would be the order of the day.'

  Colburn thought for a moment before a grin crept onto his face. 'I sure wouldn't mind that, at all,' he said.

  'Gooooood,' Victor grinned. 'I'm leaving you in charge for the next few days; I don;t think it should be too much of a problem, not with a man of your tenacity.'

  Colburn didn't know what that word meant, but assumed it was something good. 'Everything will be just as you left it,' he said. 'Apart from one thing.'

  Victor laughed, knowing that Colburn meant it and would not let him down.

  'Time to go get my fucking Jeep back.'

  TWELVE

  The morning hadn't come quick enough, as far as she was concerned. The snow must have started soon after she had arrived back at the house, though, and she hadn't been able to see out of the windows due to the panels that had been hammered haphazardly over them. She was shocked, therefore, to discover at least six inches of white powder as she left the house.

  It was nice.

  It would have been a helluva lot nicer if the undead weren't returning with a taste for human flesh, but you couldn't have everything your own way, could you?

  She left the house with more layers than she needed. It was better that way. There was always the option to remove a layer, whereas she would be fucked if the temperature plummeted even more.

  She headed across the field and into the town, knowing that the creatures would probably be around at some point. The difference now was: She could see them properly. It was easier evading them – or hunting them – when the sun was up, and the snow made it even easier as she would hear their footfall before she would even spot them.

  She had a problem, though.

  The house was no longer somewhere she felt safe; she wanted more, something bigger, a place where there was more than just a window and a plank of MDF separating them from her. There seemed to be a lot more of them hovering around the field after dark, and she had no idea why.

  It was only a matter of time before they began to go to work on the windows and doors; her sanctuary was no longer invulnerable. Add to that the fact that there was no heating – and the snowfall had made her wonder just how cold it was going to get in the following weeks – and she knew she had to find somewhere new to hold out.

  Trudging through the snow with just a tiny backpack, she reached the outskirts of town feeling quite refreshed. Apparently, a bean supper washed down with strawberry-flavoured water did wonders to the system. She felt like she could run, perhaps for the first time in days.

  She just hoped that it wouldn't be necessary.

  After a quick break and a sip of water – normal, tasteless water – she pushed on, following the signs at every junction.

  The snow was falling heavy, once again, and she remembered the Christmases past when things had been normal – or at least a little bit more regular – and the snow had fallen outside the window. She pushed the memories away, though, as she came across a large building.

  Surrounded by a black, wrought-iron fence on all sides, it looked to be the kind of place where British Royalty might visit. The golden finials sitting atop the gate added to the regal look. She stared down the long, winding driveway, trying to figure out what the place was. She had never seen it before, but then again she had never ventured out to this side of the town.

  There was no way in, at least not from where she stood, gathering snow. The fence snaked around the building, shutting it off from the world.

  It was perfect.

  It was exactly what she had been hoping for.

  After walking the fence-perimeter, she located what appeared to be the main entrance. Whatever this place was, it was intended for visitors. There were small signs just off the driveway; one pointed to the large door at the front and announced: Museum Entrance, while another directed you to the back of the building, where apparently there was a cafeteria and public toilets.

  Museum.

  She walked the driveway. Despite the increasing inches of snow, gravel crunched underfoot. She kept a close eye on her surroundings, making sure that there were no creatures following. She could hear a few off in the distance, somewhere behind her, but they were far enough away to be considered no threat.

  The door was closed but not locked. She pushed through it and found herself standing in a remarkable foyer. She had seen elephants up close on many occasions, but she had never seen one in skeletal form until now. It was amazing. Standing right there, probably to greet the visitors and announce the amazing things to come, it looked as if it had been stripped of its flesh and skin where it stood.

  The door clunked shut behind her, and she found the latch which would offer her a little bit of safety. With the door secure for now, she moved from the foyer – and that magnificent beast of bone – and into the first room.

  The first thing she noticed was the change in temperature. The foyer had been cold, almost as cold as outside, but this room was nice, warm, comfortable. It meant that the heating was still working which, in itself, made her instantly ecstatic. Light poured down from the three expensive-looking chandeliers. So, she had warmth, she had light, and she knew that somewhere in the building there would be food. The sign on the driveway had pointed the way to a cafeteria, but she didn't want to rely on the food there; sandwiches would be no good, and cakes and fancies were probably just as useless. Maybe there was a freezer, but that was something she would concern herself with at a later time. For now, she knew exactly what she had to survive on.

  Across the room, pushed up against the wall, sat a vending-machine. Even from where she stood she could name most of the brands of crisps and chocolate. Her face lit up at her discovery.

  Would it be alarmed?

  She didn't know, but she would figure out how to get at the food later.

  For now, though, she was content with what she had; it was a damn sight better than the house. She had no reason to return there, not now. The few items which she had left behind were replaceable and unworthy of a trip back in the wrong direction.

  She began to make herself at home in the museum.

  Thirteen

  Kyle was not happy about the situation, not at all. Being ordered around by an ex-captain was one thing, but being forced into the helicopter with a gun to his head, well, that was just downright rude.

  'There's no need for that,' he said, seating himself in the cockpit. 'I said I was pissed off; I didn't say I wouldn't do it.'

  'Hey, I've got an idea,' Moon said, tapping the barrel of the Walther against the pilot's head. 'How 'bout you shut up and get this fucking thing in the air?'

  Flyboy swallowed. There was something a little disconcerting about having a pistol held to your head, and it was all new to him. 'We'll be in the air in a jiffy,' he said, his throat suddenly blocked with bile.

  A voice came from behind. Flyboy recognised Victor Lord's throaty rasp almost immediately.

  'Is he giving you shit?' Victor asked.

  'Nothing I can't handle,' Moon replied, climbing into the helicopter. 'For somebody with a gun to his head, he sure has a lot to say.'

  'No I don't,' Flyboy interjected. 'In fact, I was just trying to figure out what gun it was. I'm a huge fan of gu—'

  'Just get this bitch in the air,' Vict
or snapped. 'And if you try anything stupid, it'll be the last thing you do.'

  It'll be the last thing we all do, Flyboy thought. Since he was the only pilot aboard, he was kind of irreplaceable, which gave him the smallest sense of security. Although, he could still fly the chopper with broken kneecaps, which was something worth thinking about when it came to opening his big mouth.

  He took the helicopter up. The three men in the back – Victor Lord and his minions, Moon and Randall – were mumbling amongst themselves. Flyboy couldn't hear a damned word they were saying, which he thought was probably a good thing. The less he knew, the better.

  What he did know, though, was that this was not a rescue mission. Shane had pissed the captain off royally by taking the Jeep. The best possible outcome of this little expedition was...well, he didn't want to think about it.

  Had he had any options? He didn't think so. When a man the size of David Moon holds a gun against your head, the best thing to do is comply. Sure, he head given a pointless diatribe in an attempt to stall the inevitable, but that was about as far as he was willing to go. Hopefully his recalcitrance had bought Shane and his group a few extra minutes.

  For what it was worth.

  He lowered the chopper down to about a hundred feet. There were no powerlines in the vicinity, nothing he could snag on at that particular height. They were safe, for now. Beneath them, the tyre-tracks on the road were still visible. Leading north, to I20. He knew where they were headed, but the longer he kept that nugget of information to himself, the better.

  A group of lurkers – around twelve of them, in total – were shambling through the section of forest beneath them. They looked lost, which was probably the case.

  'Motherfuckers!' Moon snapped, before beginning to fire at them with his pistol.

  Victor grimaced, contorting his face to show how annoying the gunshots were. 'Do you have to?' he sighed. 'You're hardly making a difference.'