Dead Frost

by Adam Millard

  He fired again.

  *

  She spun through the air, the blade swinging from her hand as if it was nothing more than an attachment of her arm. She lopped the heads of three of them in quick succession. From out of nowhere she had found the will to survive. It had something to do with the man with the gun, the guy who had emerged from the shadows to help her, but she didn't know what.

  She fought, taking as many of them out as possible, and soon she was standing amongst a pile of rotten undead, breathing heavy but otherwise unharmed. Her back was turned to the man, who had shot about the same amount of corpses as she had decapitated, but she could sense his eyes on her. She trembled, scared, for she didn't know what the next few minutes held for her, just that they involved this strange saviour. She heard a woman scream from off in the distance; the man obviously had a team, and she had been too busy fighting to notice them cowering in the shadows at the side of the museum.

  She turned around, slowly, and found herself staring into the sad, hollow eyes of a broken man.

  *

  How had he managed to mistake the girl for Megan? How could he have been so stupid? Did he not know his own daughter at all? The girl standing before him now was nothing like her; she didn't even have the same colour hair as Megan, and yet her pigtails...in the half-light...they had seemed identical.

  The girl was staring back at him, not knowing what to say, unable to find the courage to speak first. What did it matter? Her words would mean nothing to him; she was not Megan, and he had been so foolish to think that she was.

  'Shane!' Marla screeched, running across the museum grounds with Terry in tow. 'Are you out of your fucking mind?!'

  And he was. He knew now that he was completely off his rocker. He must be, otherwise he wouldn't have seen his daughter's face, her hair, her fucking pigtails when the girl had been fighting with the cadavers.

  But he had been convinced, so utterly mesmerised by the thought that she was still alive...and now, now he was staring into the terrified face of just another girl.

  'Are you okay?' Marla asked, taking the steaming-hot pistol away from him. He looked like he had seen a ghost, literally. He was trying not to look at the girl, for some reason, but failing.

  'Fine,' Shane muttered. The girl was still looking at him, trying to figure him out, wondering why the man had risked his own life to save hers. Terry trundled across to where she stood and crouched beside her.

  'Are you okay?' he asked, in a manner usually reserved for kind grandfathers. 'What's your name, honey?'

  The girl, for the first time, allowed her gaze to drift from Shane to Terry. 'Rebecca,' she said. 'But my friends used to call me River.'

  There was a story behind that, of course, but this wasn't the time, nor the place, to get into it.

  'Well, River, what you did was just phenomenal,' Terry said taking her by the arms and pulling her towards him. 'How sure are you that one of them didn't scratch you, sweetheart?'

  Now she knew why he was being so kind to her; he was simply making certain that she hadn't become infected during the fight. She wasn't annoyed about it, though. In fact, she would have done exactly the same thing in their position.

  'I didn't get scratched, mister,' she said, although she was now checking herself over to make sure that she was telling the truth. 'I would've felt it. I always make sure that I keep their heads away from me, as well, so they can't bite me.' She smiled, a thin, beautiful smile which belied her age.

  Always keep their heads away? Terry thought. How long had this girl been surviving like this. Judging from the way she fought, since the outbreak, but she must have been pretty nifty with a blade before even the first signs of the virus. Fighting like that was a gift, something that needed to be honed and practised. She was clearly gifted, and Terry found himself in awe of her spirit as he looked searchingly into her eyes.

  'C'mon,' Shane said, suddenly. He was walking away, trying to put some distance between River and himself. 'We need to carry on. The house is only a few streets away.'

  Marla could see that something was not right; she had learned, quite quickly, to pick up on Shane's emotions, and was now getting pretty good at spotting when something was wrong, even though he was unaware of it.

  'Shane, what about River?' Marla said, gesturing towards the girl. There was no way the youngster could hear; Marla turned to find that she was talking to Terry, anyway, not paying the slightest bit of attention.

  'What about her?' Shane said, indifferently. 'She's done well to survive out here for so long on her own.'

  Marla couldn't believe her ears. 'So, what? You suggest we leave her here? She's been doing so well on her lonesome that she's earned her place amongst them, fighting them, on her own?'

  Shane suddenly snapped. There was no warning, and Marla took a step back in anticipation. 'What do you want me to fucking do, Marla? I thought she was fucking Megan! I thought she was Megan, which was why I put my own life on the line. She's not Megan. She's not anybody, so we need to carry on just the way we were before she fucking showed up!' He stood, mouth opening and shutting for a few more seconds – as if there were other things he wanted to add but couldn't find the words. Marla's expression told him that his comments were not appreciated, but he had to tell her how he felt, didn't he? They had to push forward, just the way they were going. This River, or whatever her name was, could do whatever she wanted as far as he was concerned. At least she could fight, she was safe? Megan was helpless in a world that she couldn't understand.

  Marla was about to speak – something reproachful, too, that would have no doubt pissed Shane off even further – when River cut in.

  'Megan?' she said, stepping past Terry. She was speaking directly to Shane, whose voice must have travelled something rotten in the howling wind. 'Do you mean Megan Bridge?'

  Shane looked towards River, his features softening, his eyes seeking answers. He didn't speak, though; he couldn't. He began to trudge through the snow towards the little girl, who was still holding the machete as if it was her favourite doll. When he reached her, he dropped to his knees and grabbed her by the arms.

  'How do you know my daughter's name?' he asked. 'River, please, I need you to tell me if you've seen her, or you know where she might be hiding.'

  River looked to Marla, silently asking for support. Since she was the only other woman present, it came as no surprise. Though Marla didn't know what to say, or do in this instance, so she simply nodded. Tell him what you know.

  River began to speak, her voice barely audible over the howling wind. 'We were in the same class at school,' she said. 'I didn't really know her, not as a best friend or anything like that, but she was nice to me. She used to help me with words that I couldn't spell properly. She was really good at that.'

  Shane didn't like the constant use of past-tense, but didn't interrupt.

  'She told me about you, though. You're her daddy, aren't you? She said that you worked away, in a different part of the country, which is why you could never come to any of the parent meetings or shows. I can see, now,' she said, reaching out and touching Shane's face with tiny, frozen hands. 'You look like her.'

  Shane fought back tears; River's own eyes seemed to be filling with them, too.

  'Tell me,' Shane said. 'Please, where is she, River?'

  The little girl sighed, and in that moment Shane couldn't stop the tears from falling.

  'I was over by the supermarket a few weeks ago,' River continued. 'I'd managed to fight my way through a few of them so that I could get some supplies, some food and water. I saw her in the supermarket.'

  Shane smiled; his daughter had been alive only a few weeks back. She had survived the beginning of the outbreak, and was probably holed up somewhere safe, waiting for help, with Holly...

  'Did she speak? Was her Mommy with her? You know what her mother looks like?'

  'She wasn't there,' River said. 'And I didn't want to get too close Megan. I knew that something wasn't right. Th
e others, they were out roaming the streets, looking for people like me, but Megan was just sitting in the middle of the supermarket.'

  Shane couldn't comprehend what he was being told. 'Was she hurt?' he asked, raising his voice a little. 'Didn't you try to help her?'

  River once again looked to Marla for advice. This time, Marla had to speak.

  'Shane, let the girl finish what she's trying to say,' she said. 'This must be really hard for her.'

  Hard for her? Shane thought. It's fucking killing me. All I need to know is where she is, and how to get to her...

  'I couldn't help her,' River said. 'There was nothing I could do. By the time I got there, it was too late. I could see it in her eyes, and she was just sitting there, growling like they do. She was chewing a finger...I remember that part because it made me want to spew. I just got what I needed and ran, back to the place I was staying in then. I didn't see her again after that day.'

  Shane shook his head. 'No, you're wrong,' he said, shaking River so hard that she almost dropped her machete. 'You must be wrong. Megan's fine. It might not have been her that you saw...you were confused, she's fine...she's my daughter, and I'll find her.'

  River was frightened, that much was clear. Marla stepped in and managed to prise Shane away from the terrified little girl. He was sobbing, his face twisted into pure misery. 'She's fine,' he told Marla. 'I swear I'm gonna fucking find her, and she'll be just—'

  'She's gone,' Marla said, pulling him into a hug. 'Shane, she's gone. Shhhhh. Everything's going to be okay, Shane, please trust me.'

  But he couldn't. He couldn't trust anything, anymore. The whole world had gone to shit and taken his daughter with it. She might not be dead, at least not truly dead, but she was dead to him, and there was nothing he could do to take that back. It hurt like hell; the worst pain he had ever felt in his entire life – and he had been through a lot of pain recently.

  'Did I hurt him?' River asked Terry, who was trying to comfort her.

  'No, sweetie,' he replied. 'He's just upset about his daughter, that's all. You did everything right.'

  It didn't feel like it, to her. The man was shaking violently, sobbing his heart out, and she had caused it. She felt terrible; maybe she shouldn't have said anything.

  Shane finally managed to compose himself and, wiping the frozen snot and tears away from his face, he spoke. 'We still have to find her,' he said. 'I need to see for myself. I need to release her.'

  Marla nodded. She understood what he was asking, but didn't know the likelihood of finding his daughter now, especially since she was just shambling aimlessly around the city like the rest of them. The chances had been slim when they had pinpointed a likely location; now, they were anorexic.

  'We'll do what we can,' Marla said, shivering as a sudden chill coursed through her body. She knew that getting back to the barracks was the only way they would survive, and despite Shane's pleas to locate his daughter – who was now a lurker – she knew that they would only stay alive for so long without the protection of a larger group.

  Terry suddenly stood up and pointed off into the distance. 'Guys,' he said. 'Look.'

  The street was filled with lurkers, more than any of them had ever seen before all at once. They were like an army, a spreading plague of malevolence, and they were stumbling towards them through the snow inexorably, grunting gutturally, moaning along with the wind.

  'We need to move,' Shane said. He turned to find that the other direction was just as bad; a shambling horde of around a hundred, aiming for the very spot on which they stood. 'Fuck!' He lifted the pistol, but it would be no good. Ammo was low, he knew that, and firing aimlessly into the horde would just be wasting the few bullets that remained.

  The little girl – River – raised her machete and pointed to the museum. 'I was in there,' she said. 'But I had to bug out because I hadn't checked the escape-routes properly. We'll be safe in there for now.'

  She was already moving for the grey building, not looking back. Terry began to follow; it didn't seem right to let the girl out of sight of an adult, and then he remembered what she was capable of, what she had already survived, and felt silly for even thinking of her as the pre-pubescent little thing that she was.

  Shane shook his head. 'We'll get trapped in there,' he said to Marla. 'They'll find a way in.'

  Marla grabbed him by the arm and began pulling him towards the entrance. 'We don't have a choice, Shane,' she said. 'If we die out here tonight, we'll never find Megan. River's right. We'll be safer in there than anywhere else. We'll just have to make sure we barricade it up properly.'

  Shane was offering little in the way of resistance, and allowed himself to be dragged towards the museum. He knew that there were too many of them to fight; fuck, probably too many to outmanoeuvre. He had never seen such an immense horde, and they would converge in the middle of the street in a few seconds. It didn't pay to be present for that.

  They reached the museum doors and stumbled through them. The first thing that Shane noticed was the temperature-change. At least the building still had heating, which was more than could be said for 90 percent of the rest of the country.

  The groaning cadavers were shambling towards the doors, drawn by the light and the promise of live flesh. Shane slammed the doors and screamed for somebody to find something – anything – that could be used as a barricade. Terry was already on it, and was halfway across the room pushing a mahogany cabinet. It seemed heavy enough to keep the doors closed. Shane was pulling the deadbolts across as Terry pushed the cabinet into place. It would have to do, at least for now.

  'Marla, switch off the lights,' Shane said, stepping away from the doors.

  Marla began to scan the room, searching for the switch. River pointed across to the far wall, and she raced across. She flipped them, all three of them, and the room fell into darkness, accompanied by a tiny blinking noise as the lights shut down.

  In the half-light of the morning, the room looked dull and gloomy, not the kind of place you'd want to find yourself trapped in for extended periods of time.

  They listened, silently, waiting for the horde to reach the building, to start tearing at the doors, a hundred rotting talons scratching to get in.

  They weren't disappointed.

  'So this is it?' Shane said, whispering over the terrible clawing at the entrance. It was like being in a hurricane, one that could consume you alive if the doors hadn't been properly checked. 'This is how it ends?'

  Terry slid down the wall across the room. 'This is just the beginning,' he said. 'I don't know about you guys, but there is no way I'm going out like this, not a chance.' He pulled the bible from his coat-pocket and began to leaf through the pages as if he knew what he was searching for. Once he found it, he read silently, mouthing the words to himself, closing his eyes.

  Listening to the hellish scratchings of the lurkers upon the door.

  'He's right,' Marla said. 'We're gonna make it through this, Shane.' She looked over to River, and said, 'We have to.'

  Shane thought for a moment, about everything that had happened, about Holly and Megan and how they were probably walking the streets in search of living flesh, and he knew that the world had ended, that everything had altered beyond repair. He glanced towards River, who was standing and watching Terry Lewis flick through his tattered bible with the naivety of any eight year-old girl. He knew, as he watched that little girl – the machete-wielding warrior who could fight better than the rest of them – that not everything had gone to shit. As long as people were fighting, trying to survive the day, then it wasn't completely pointless. If a little girl could see a future worth existing in, enough to fight for, then shouldn't they all?

  He pulled out his .22 and began to load it.

  'Shane?' Marla said, unsure of his motives. 'Are you okay?'

  He nodded, sighed, and forced a smile. 'We're fine,' he said. 'We're all gonna be fine.'

  epilogue

  The main hall of the barracks was almost empty
. Only a few lurkers remained, feeding on what little flesh they could tear from the corpses that lay amongst the bloodied tents and rudimentary camps that had been set up in haste. Creatures were now moving on, trying to find a way out of the facility. Little did they know that the barracks was secure, locked down, and the only way of getting out was by going over the fence, something that was beyond them. In one corner of the room there was movement. Only a little, a twitch at first, and then a spasmodic jolt. The pile of flesh and blood that had been wedged into that particular corner began to move more vigorously, until it became apparent that it was not just a heap of steaming remains; it was – or had been – a person. It grunted through its blackened maw, shook off the dismembered body-parts that were strewn across it, and dragged itself forward, out of the corner.

  A new lurker in an old body. Maggie Cox was starving, and for the first time ever she had no cravings for tobacco.

  Just living, breathing flesh.

  She screeched and pushed her hollowed-out body to its feet.

  Food couldn't be too far away.

  *

  From the darkness of the store-cupboard, the sounds of the cadavers stumbling around outside were almost impossible to bear. There was a screech, something from the very depths of hell, and then what appeared to be a thousand guttural growls all in unison.

  Kelly Bloom gripped tightly onto her mother's arm, terrified, her mind trying to work through what had happened, what had driven them into the cupboard in the first place and what kept them there now.

  She knew that they couldn't remain there, trapped in the darkness. They would be dead before the end of the day. It was cold, so undeniably uncomfortable. Kelly couldn't feel her fingers or toes, and it had been like that for hours. No matter what she did, how viciously she rubbed them, there was nothing. Her mother, who had sacrificed her sweater during the night so that her daughter might rest more comfortably, was remarkably still, not even trembling, not even...