by Luke Duffy
Marcus, with burning eyes and a dry throat, stared out at the thick layer of snow that carpeted everything in sight.
"Shit," he hissed as he realised what the snow would mean.
"What?" Jennifer asked as she stood beside him, admiring the view and revelling in the fact that they had a white Christmas; the first they had seen in many years.
"Snow," Marcus replied hoarsely as he moved towards the door.
"If it has snowed, then it means the temperature must have risen."
Jennifer realised his concern and followed him as he went to check on the thermometer. Marcus snatched it from the wall and stepped out through the large double doors. Howls of delight and excitement erupted from the children behind him as they began tearing into the presents sitting below the tree that Lee had erected in the foyer.
Outside, the cold air assaulted Marcus' flesh and made him cough and splutter as it seeped into his lungs. Instantly, his nose began to run as he stood staring down at the thermometer in his hand.
He prayed that his fears were unfounded.
Finally, after a moment, the mercury settled, reading zero degrees Celsius in the glass tube. He paused and looked out to the south, squinting in the harsh light of the winter morning. It was impossible to see anything from ground level.
He remained still and silent, Jennifer standing by his side and watching him intently. He angled his head and squinted, opening his mouth to cast out the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears as he focussed his hearing.
He could hear nothing.
The low murmur of thousands upon thousands of corpses was absent from the air and he began to relax as he turned to his wife and smiled.
"I think we're okay," he said with relief.
Jennifer smiled in return and was about to say something when her husband looked up towards the roof, and stepped back into the snow-covered gravel of the parking area in front of the house.
"Hey," he hollered into the cold air, "who's up there?"
Two heads suddenly appeared over the ledge of the roof, instantly recognisable as Jake and Kieran.
"What's up, Marcus?" Jake called down.
"You see anything moving out there? Are those pus-bags still frozen?"
The two heads paused and scanned to the south then looked back down to the ground at their leader as he stood watching them in anticipation of their reply.
"Yeah," Kieran shouted back down to him, "they're completely dead and frozen; just like a bunch of shitty ice-pops, Marcus."
"A little like my arse," Jake added, "it's fucking freezing up here."
"By the way," Kieran added, "Merry Christmas."
Marcus waved to them and headed back inside to the warmth. Jennifer linked her arm through his as she sidled up beside him, heading for the large wooden doors.
"You worry too much," she spoke to him softly.
"Someone has to."
"Yes," she replied, with a nod of acceptance, "but there are plenty of other capable people here, Marcus; people who have proven themselves many times over. So, just for today, let someone else do the worrying and play at being boss. The boys need their dad." She paused and smiled up at him. "I need you, too."
They remained standing at the top of the steps for a while, holding and kissing one another, completely oblivious to the cold air that wrapped around them as they embraced and revelled in each other's warmth.
24
The cold snap continued and the land remained frozen, locked in the grip of the sub-zero chill. The snow continued to fall and coated the ground, buildings and trees, burying them beneath a thick layer of brilliant white.
The dead remained motionless in the icy shells that their bodies had become, covered in the deep snow and hidden away from the eyes of the living, but they were never forgotten. The dead were never too far from the mind, as they stood frozen in place and awaiting the inevitable thaw.
For months, the reanimated bodies of the deceased had ravaged the earth, their ranks swelling each day as more people died and joined the legion of ravenous monsters that roamed the land, constantly in search of warm living flesh to devour and consume.
The cold brought a respite, a lull in the battle against the army of rotting corpses as their bodies, unable to generate heat, iced over and sent them into hibernation.
At first, Molly had not realised that Andy could also freeze over. She awoke one morning, thrilled about the thick blanket of snow that covered the ground outside her bedroom window and rushed down the stairs to tell her friend.
She burst into the sitting room, gibbering with excitement, to find an iced over and inert Andy, seated on the couch in front of the fading embers of the fire as it slowly died. Molly tried to get him to move with words of encouragement, thinking that her friend had just lapsed into a stupor, but the sight of his frost-covered eyes and hard, cold flesh made her realise that the dead were incapable of keeping themselves warm.
From then on, she kept the fire burning throughout the day and night as she fought hard against the elements to prevent Andy from freezing over again. On a number of occasions, she had seen his discoloured flesh begin to collect a coating of frost again, prompting her to add more fuel to the flames that warmed the room where her lifeless friend remained confined, as the temperature outside plummeted to the coldest winter she had ever experienced.
Andy sat quietly, watching as Molly continuously checked on him, encouraging him to stand as she observed and listened to his joints, ensuring that they had not seized up on him and that the oils were keeping him well lubricated.
As the weeks past, with little else to do other than sit and wait out the cold spell, Andy learned more and more from the little girl. She spoke to him, sometimes giving him instruction and other times telling him stories and making conversation to keep the boredom at bay that had begun to creep up on her.
He had remained inside and watched through the window as Molly ran around in the snow outside. She lay on the floor, flapping her arms and legs, making strange patterns in the dazzling white substance that seemed to bring her so much joy.
He looked on in confusion and curiosity as she collected a large mound of the snow and began rolling it into a ball, which grew larger as she guided it around the courtyard.
Something about Molly's activities seemed familiar to him as his dead eyes continued to stare out at her while she jumped about, laughing and waving to him through the window. Faint glimmers of memories came to him, from a time long ago when he used to do a similar thing when the ground turned cold and white.
Eventually, Molly stepped back, brushing the clumps of snow from her gloved hands and admiring her work.
"You see?" She called to Andy as he stood staring at the strange sculpture. "It's a snowman. A man made of snow, Andy."
He felt the urge to go out and help her, to join in with her delight as she ran around with a joy that he remembered once feeling himself when he played in the white brilliance, but her words echoed around in his decayed mind, ordering him to remain indoors. Words such as 'stay, no, danger' and 'dead', resonated through his ears as he remembered the possible consequences of him leaving the house, the danger and consequences that Molly had so vigorously explained to him.
He understood little of what she said, but he recognised certain words, and her body language was clear enough; he was not to go outside while the whiteness covered the ground.
With a sigh of disappointment, he turned from the window. He looked down at his lifeless hands and saw that his fingers had begun to turn white; a layer of sparkling frost had crept over him while he stood close to the cold window.
Feeling the panic rise within him, he quickly moved back towards the fire. As he stood in front of the heat and flames, he saw the pale crystalline coating that had formed over his face and head in his reflection in the mirror. Slowly, the frost disappeared and the fear inside him subsided but he remained close to the heat, afraid of becoming locked in place while Molly remained outside.
Molly, one morning, in a moment of great wisdom, decided that his body was protected from drying out but not against the ravages of decay. She concluded that he needed extra protection from the rot that slowly ravaged his body. Molly reasoned that it would be in his best interest if she were to paint him with a layer of wood gloss from a tin that she found in the shed at the bottom of the garden.
Again, it was something that she remembered from watching her father when he painted the fence, and explained that the varnish would help to protect the wood from rot and prolong its existence.
She smiled at the idea of looking on Andy as a machine made from wood and engine parts.
Andy stood patiently in front of the fire, stripped naked apart from the old towel that was used to protect his newfound modesty and Molly's embarrassment. His young friend diligently applied the sticky brown substance to his flesh, giving him several coats as he stood with his arms outstretched and legs spread. As the varnish dried, his joints began to seize up, but Molly assured him that he would be fine and that eventually the stiffness would go away with continued exercise.
He looked down at the little girl, completely trusting in her knowledge as she gently brushed the varnish into his skin.
As an extra precaution, Molly wrapped his elbows, wrists, knees and ankles in bandages, soaked with oil to ensure they remained well lubricated.
She looked up at him and grinned and he replied in the only way that he knew how; a rasping gurgle which was the closest he could come to laughing. Molly found his attempts hilarious and broke into fits of laughter. Andy attempted to follow suit, grunting and spluttering, trying to mimic the sounds of the animated child as he flailed his arms and shook his head.
Once he was covered, she ordered him to remain standing in front of the fire with his arms and legs outstretched. As he dried, Molly re-entered the room with a bundle in her hands.
"Here you go, Andy. I thought you could do with some new clothes. I got these out of my dad's wardrobe, and he was always very smartly dressed."
He stared down at the pile of material on the couch. He looked back up at Molly in surprise while she stood before him, smiling as she began holding up each item of clothing.
"This is a lovely shirt, Andy. You will look very smart in your new clothes, don’t you think? I think we should get you a hat, too."
Andy stood and stared at her as she folded the clothing. She really did care for him and he could feel the affection that she held towards him. It warmed him from within and if he had been capable of crying, tears would have flooded his dried and varnished cheeks. He had never imagined wearing new clothes, especially clothes that were given to him by a member of the beautiful people.
He adored the little child that gave him a feeling of life. She did not look at him as one of the vile creatures outside. She spoke to him and treated him as her equal, a friend that was lost in the same horrific and cruel world that he was.
Later, Andy stood before the mirror, staring at himself as he studied his new look. At first, he did not recognise his reflection and became confused by the man that stared back at him. It was only when Molly joined him at his side, he realised who he was actually looking at.
His skin no longer looked dry and brittle. It shone healthily with the layers of brown varnish that Molly had applied. He was far from looking like the attractive picture on the driver's license he carried in his wallet, but his flesh no longer looked like it was ready to fall from his bones.
His new clothes, free of the filth that had covered his old ones, fitted to his withered body in a much more flattering way than the rags he had discarded. As ugly as he believed himself to be, he was no longer terrifying to behold, even to himself as he stood staring back at his reflection in the mirror.
He felt a sense of pride rise up in him as he studied the figure staring back at him. The fresh and smart clothes with the dazzling white shirt and the jacket that covered the worn and bony shoulders that had jutted out from the old clothes, made him look far different from the despicable, shabby creatures that remained standing, frozen in the cold outside.
A dark green trilby hat and leather gloves were added as a final touch and at a glance; Andy appeared like a normal human being, an older man with weather-beaten skin and a touch of arthritis, standing beside his granddaughter in front of the mirror before leaving the house for a walk in the country.
For days, he strutted around in the sitting room, revelling in his new image and the joy it brought him each time he saw a fleeting glimpse of himself in the mirror.
It was early morning and, as the sounds of the singing birds drifted to him from outside, Andy raised himself from the couch. He could see the light beginning to shine through the curtains as the sun cast the night far towards the western horizon.
He staggered towards the window, glancing at the burning embers of the fire as he passed by, and then down at his own flesh to check that the frost had not begun to take its grip on his body again.
Reaching up, he pulled the curtains to one side, allowing the morning sun to penetrate the sitting room with its bright light, casting the shadows away into the far corners of the room. Around the window-frame, Andy noticed droplets of water, steadily dripping down from the melting icicles that had formed around the plinth at the top of the window.
He glanced down at the sill and realised that the snow was melting away steadily, turning to slush as the freezing cold released its grip on the land.
The snowman that Molly had made for him, no longer bore the appearance of fresh, sparkling white that it once had. Instead, its surface began to turn opaque as the frozen water slowly returned to its liquid form.
Andy let out a grunt as he eyed the strange sculpture. It had become misshapen and dull in its appearance, despite the radiance of the sunlight reflecting from its white body.
He considered going out into the courtyard to attempt to restore the snowman, to save Molly from disappointment when she awoke to see her hard work steadily turning into a slushy puddle. He did not want to see his young friend despair and as he considered his course of action, he noticed something else.
His eyes widened and his throat rattled as a grumbling moan forced its way up through his rasping larynx. Quickly, he turned and headed for the stairs. Climbing the steps as speedily as possible, he headed for Molly's room.
She lay in her bed, slumbering and completely unaware as Andy opened her door and slowly stepped over the threshold. He looked at her still form as she lay, wrapped in blankets and lightly snoring as she slept.
Andy grumbled and staggered forward into the room, his heavy feet scuffing against the carpet as he dragged himself to the side of Molly's bed.
She remained completely oblivious to his presence as he stared down at her. Her long, flowing hair covered much of her radiant face, leaving just a glimmer of the plump, soft flesh of her cheeks and her rose-tinted lips.
Andy paused, looking down at her, and feeling something spring to life inside of him. His hand reached out for her and he bent at the waist, bringing his face and mouth down towards her face.
His hand grasped her by the shoulder and a loud moan erupted from his mouth, his tongue flopped from the gap between his teeth as his jaw sprang open.
Molly's eyes shot open and she turned to see Andy's vacant eyes staring down at her, just centimetres from her face, his speckled black and blue tongue hanging from between his broken and discoloured teeth.
She stared back at him in horror, unable to move from fear as Andy's rotted face closed in on hers and his cold, clutching, bony hand remained tightly gripping her shoulder, pinning her to the bed as he moved in closer to her.
A whimper escaped from between her lips and she screwed her eyes tight, waiting defencelessly for the teeth of the dead man to close around her flesh and sink deep into her soft tissue.
The bite never came.
In its place, she heard the urgent grunts of Andy as he began shaking her by the shoulder. Gingerly, she peered at him thro
ugh her squinting eyes, terrified of the figure that she no longer recognised as her friend.
Andy grunted again and pulled at her arm. She realised that he was not there to attack her, but he was trying to tell her something.
The terror that she had felt a moment before flooded from her body as she watched Andy's bulging eyes staring down at her with his own fear and concern.
"What is it?" she began as she stared back at him while he continued to grunt and groan urgently. "Andy, what's wrong?"
He pulled at her shoulder again then released his grip. He looked up at the window and raised his hand, his fingers closing inwards with his index digit pointing towards the world outside. He nodded, indicating that Molly should go and look, a long lingering moan surging from his mouth as he encouraged her to see for herself.
Molly jumped from the bed and headed for the window, sparing a backward concerned glance at Andy as he began to follow her across the room. She could see fear in him, but the fear was not for himself. She recognised that.
At the window, she realised immediately that the temperature had risen and the snow was already beginning to melt. The gravel of the courtyard was beginning to become visible in patches as the ice turned to liquid water.
The trees lining the track leading up to the house glistened as the snow and ice that clung to the branches liquefied, leaving them wet and dripping as the sun warmed their moss-covered bark.
Molly turned to Andy as he arrived at her side and looked out through the panes of misted glass. She saw that he was not looking at the courtyard, or the trees, and she followed his gaze out into the fields that surrounded the house.
Andy growled and bared his teeth as his brow furrowed into a frown, his cold and unblinking eyes fixed upon something that she had not yet seen.
There, in the long wet grass, Molly saw a number of stumbling figures, headed towards the house.
The dead had thawed.