The Ghosts of Winter

by Christopher Coleman

  I didn’t slam the brakes, but I gave them a good, steady push, enough to bring the car to a lurching stop and send the White One above us tumbling from the roof, down over the windshield and across the hood, collapsing to the road below.

  The monster was directly in front of the Explorer now, hidden from our view on the street below, so I threw the car into reverse and took it back ten yards or so to get visibility. And by the time I put the truck in park and looked back to the road, the White One was on its feet, standing in the beam of the headlights like a hunched statue of ice. I could see the damage done by the crash—blood on its face and chest, its arm hanging low by its shin, the shoulder clearly separated from the socket that held it in place—but it made no show of relenting as it dipped even lower to the street, returning to its familiar insect-like position, its black eyes again clear and focused.

  I shook my head in disbelief, like a fighter who’s beaten the hell out of an opponent who refuses to throw in the towel. The creature began to move forward, slowly and hurt, but appearing no less motivated.

  I gritted my teeth in frustration and put the car back into drive. “Damn these things,” I grumbled, and then I sped toward the creature as if to meet it head on, to let its flesh and bones feel the full brunt of 4500 pounds of torque and metal.

  But at the last possible moment my senses won out, and not more than five yards from the creature, I swerved the car to the right and just clipped the beasts arm with the sideview mirror, spinning it around so that it was facing the Explorer speeding away from it.

  I watched the creature in the rearview mirror, looking like a stranded traveler whose car has broken down in the middle of the freeway. And just before it faded into the night, I saw it drop to all fours and begin to chase.

  9: The Road

  For the remainder of the night, we slept in the Explorer, which I had parked on the top level of the Jonesboro Hospital parking garage, a small medical facility that sat halfway between Sprague and Lake Sloman. At first, the hiding spot seemed counterintuitive, since we were essentially trapped if the White Ones found their way to the hospital and decided to amble up six levels of concrete ramp. But that scenario seemed unlikely; the hospital was isolated from any other business or residence—almost island-like in its placement within the county—and the height of the garage felt like an advantage; if the mutants did come for us, I reasoned, we would spot them coming from a mile away. Of course, being asleep would negate any benefit of such a vantage point, but my mind was mush by the time of the decision, and that was the thinking that guided me.

  But, as it turned out, we were safe there, and the five of us slept through the night more peacefully than we had in days. And by nine the next morning, we were on the road again, headed back to the cabin to gather the rest of our things—Newton included—before heading east to the river.

  Unlike on our way to Sprague, however, where we saw not a single White One along the road, on the way back to Lake Sloman, we saw several, some of which were loping along the border of trees that lined the roadway, others which were scavenging in the various cars that had failed by the roadside. A few of the monsters stopped to watch us as we passed, staring at the Explorer as a lion would a zebra, following the SUV in slow-hopping steps for several paces, as if gauging whether the vehicle exhibited even the slightest hint of vulnerability.

  But the Ford was reliable, and we made it to the cabin unmolested; and when I reached the dirt turnoff that led to the cabin, I paused.

  “Ready?” I asked Charlotte, who nodded confidently, her eyes fixed on mine.

  “Just take it slow.”

  I drove as instructed, taking the narrow lane deliberately, anxiously, as if taking my speed any faster than fifteen miles an hour would somehow attract the creatures. But the road was clear, and soon I could see the cabin in the distance, static and clear like a painting.

  I parked the truck approximately thirty yards from the door, and the five of us waited silently for a good ninety seconds or more, simply staring at the house, watching it as if it had been wired for demolition and the explosion was scheduled to happen at any moment.

  Finally, Charlotte cleared her throat and said, “It looks pretty clear, right?”

  I nodded, but my eyes remained fixed on the idyllic setting of the cabin. “It does.”

  It appeared the White Ones had gone, and from what I could tell at the distance of the truck, there didn’t seem to be any damage to the cabin. Without a word, I pulled the truck ten yards closer and then turned the engine off, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Charlotte whip her head toward me, her eyes expressing something just short of anger.

  “I don’t intend for this to take long,” I said, “we just need to pack what we need, use the bathroom, and grab the cat. But we do need to save our fuel.”

  Gas had become an issue once again, one I had decided not to voice aloud, though I was sure it was already in the back of Charlotte’s mind, and that she had likely sneaked a peek at the gauge at some point over the past few hours. I had kept the car running for an hour or so at the hospital, just to get the cabin warm and allow us to sleep through the night; but now we had just over a quarter tank remaining. That was enough to get us to the river, but likely just enough. That was fine if there was indeed a checkpoint or ferry somewhere close to us, but not if we needed to drive as far as Memphis, for example, or to some other larger city along the river. If that were the case, we were going to have to find another ride.

  Without a signal, Charlotte and I stepped out of the car in unison, and a beat behind us, the kids followed our lead. Charlotte and I walked around to the rear of the Explorer, and as I opened the hatch and began arranging our current supplies to make room for whatever else we were intending to bring, I heard Ryan shout, “Uncle Joel!”

  I turned to Charlotte, who swiveled her head like a startled deer, her eyes wide with surprise and a glint of terror. I slowly lowered the hatch, clearing my view of the trunk, and there was Joel Castillo, my best friend, standing on the porch, a weary grin across his face. Ryan had already begun his sprint toward Joel, and a moment later, he was wrapped in his arms.

  Emerson and Nelson stayed put by the car, staring at their adoptive uncle in what I could only assume was stunned amazement. I walked past them and stopped a couple paces in front, and I too stared at Joel in disbelief, as if he were a ghost who had just invaded my home and was now hovering on the porch.

  “Joel?” I chuckled incredulously. “What...how did you...? I...I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

  He shrugged. “I mean, you don’t return my texts, what choice do I have but to show up unannounced?”

  “Is Lauren here?” Charlotte asked. She was now standing beside me, her question a reference to Joel’s wife.

  Joel nodded, giving a strange grin and a nervous swallow. “She is. How are you Charlotte?”

  Charlotte shook her head, as if confused by the question.

  “Where is your car?” I asked.

  “Yeah, well, that’s kind of the thing. We knew we couldn’t make it to Helena—or even to your cabin for that matter—but we made it to within a couple miles of here, so we slept in the car last night and then humped it here first thing this morning. Only been here about an hour. I figured you guys had already made it across.” Then, as if compelled by some primal urge to speak, he added, “You guys are pretty nicely stocked.”

  I ignored the observation and asked, “Helena? Is there some kind of checkpoint happening there?”

  Joel nodded. “That’s the closest one to here. You haven’t heard?”

  I shook my head. Helena was almost a hundred miles from the cabin, which, based on the estimated miles remaining in the Explorer, was close enough to reach. I sighed, and a thin smile formed on my face as I walked toward the porch. On my way toward the house, I remembered the bag of guns I had dropped during our escape, and I looked to the spot where I’d left it to see that it was gone. It seemed unlikely the Corrupted had
taken it, but I didn’t pursue other possibilities.

  I reached the stairs and ascended them slowly, and when I got to the top, I stared at Joel for several beats before extending my arms and embracing him, squeezing him tightly for several seconds. “Good to see you, buddy.”

  Ryan stood beside us, smiling from ear to ear, and although Joel wasn’t technically an uncle to anyone, my kids—and Ryan especially—liked him far more than they did their actual uncle Lyle. I pulled away and said, “We’re not staying long, just so you know. We had a hell of a night last night. Just came back to grab the cat and a couple of other things, and then we’re heading east. Helena, I guess. I think we have enough gas to get us there.”

  Joel smiled. “I knew you were the man to see. Mind if we tag along?”

  My first thought was of the promise I’d made to Charlotte, not to let anyone inside, and how I had already violated that oath back at the pharmacy. But this was different. Joel and Lauren were our friends, had been for years; we could never deny helping them get to safety, especially when we were headed to the river anyway. Besides, they were the ones who had just pointed out the crossing spot.

  And regardless of any promise, they were already inside.

  “Your text,” I said. “What was that about?”

  Joel kept his eyes on me, unblinking, the smile fixed. “It was about this. I...I wanted to see if we could hide out with you until all this passed. You’re the only guy I know with a cabin in the middle of the woods. Just seemed like a good place to be while the world imploded in on itself.” He paused. “But then we heard about the Safe Regions and, like everyone else, we thought we would give it a go.”

  “So, they’re real then?” Charlotte asked, having now joined me on the porch. Clearly, she was still unconvinced of Jamaal’s story.

  Joel scoffed. “If they’re not, Charlotte, there’s gonna be a lot of disappointed people this side of the Mississippi. And by disappointed, I mean dead.” His eyes dropped, and I could see the fear in his face for the first time.

  I changed the subject. “Did you see any on your way here? Corrupted, I mean? While you were on the road?”

  Joel shook his head. “Not many. And the ones we did see were from a distance. We kept just inside the tree line for as long as we could. Not that that’s any real protection. Just felt like we were sitting ducks in the middle of the road.” He swallowed and met my eyes, his now filled with tears. “We have to get to the bridge, Dave. We have to.”

  “Joel!”

  In the doorway was Lauren; Joel looked to her in shame.

  “Hi, David,” Lauren said. “Charlotte.”

  We nodded.

  “I’m sorry we arrived like this. We had to break a pane in the back-door window to get in. We’ll pay for that obviously. But we...we’re rattled right now. She put her hands to her mouth and entered the first stages of breakdown. Charlotte walked to her and pulled her into her chest, shushing her.

  “I know, Lauren. I know. But we’re going to be fine. We still have time and we have enough gas. We’re going to make it to Helena just fine.”

  Lauren pulled back and gave a tearful smile, nodding as she wiped her nose. Charlotte turned to the kids now. “Em, get Newton and his box. Boys, grab some underwear and a change of clothes. And your toothbrush. And use the bathroom. I don’t know when the next time will be that you get that opportunity.”

  The kids headed off toward their respective stations, while the adults performed their own duties of packing and arming. Charlotte and I quickly decided on one small suitcase for the five of us, not knowing what the rules would be once we met up with whatever authority was overseeing the river crossing. That along with the fact that we had two more passengers now, essentially cutting our storage space by two-thirds. As for the guns, I grabbed the last two weapons from the locker—a shotgun and a second pistol—and stocked them in the back beneath the luggage. And I still had the magnum, which was stored beneath my seat. If we were lucky enough to get as far as the point of inspection from federal authorities—and they denied the allowance of guns to cross into the Safe Region—I would gladly sacrifice them. But until that point was reached, it was better to have them available.

  Within a half-hour of arriving back at the cabin from our nightmare trip to Sprague, we were on the road again, this time with Joel and Lauren Castillo in tow, as well as our cat Newton, who seemed perfectly content, oblivious to the plight of his new world.

  The Explorer was a tight fit with seven people and a cat, and Joel and Lauren were forced to hold their bags atop their laps to make room. But our spirits were relatively buoyant, holding to the hope that the Helena-West Bridge would lead us to salvation.

  We were ten minutes or so into our ninety-minute drive when Joel asked a question that, until that point, I hadn’t fully considered, though somewhere in the recesses of my mind it lay dormant. “Where did they all come from?”

  The question settled over the cabin of the SUV like a thick blanket, and the silence that followed made it clear that no one was ready to risk an answer.

  “What do you mean?” I finally asked. “You know where. They came from Warren and Maripo Counties. And that military lab. We all saw the same video.”

  I looked in the mirror at Joel, who was in the third row with Lauren. He was shaking his head, unconvinced. “There weren’t that many though. That’s my point. Not enough for them to be everywhere like they are now. How many were there in that video? Really? Enough that they’re flooding Northeast Arkansas already? And who knows where else. For Christ’s sake, they’re shutting down the entire interior of the country. I’m telling you, David, there were at most two hundred of those things at the lab, and that’s being generous. It was probably closer to a hundred.”

  I shook my head, not ready to acquiesce to Joel’s piling on of an already extraordinary calamity. “The cameras didn’t capture everything. There was...obviously more.”

  “From where? Where did they all come from? Even if the cameras didn’t capture everything on that video, how many more could there possibly have been inside those labs? Or in the cordon itself? We all saw the same drone footage over those months when the place was locked down. There weren’t thousands of those things walking around in the streets. Hell, we never even saw more than groups of three or four at a time. And now there are enough that after a couple of days they’ve already spread this far west?”

  I looked back to the road ahead, re-focusing on the destination, the Estimated Miles to Empty gauge at the bottom of my sight line taunting me all the while. “They obviously only showed us what they wanted us to see,” I answered meekly.

  “Oh, I’ve no doubt that’s true, but still, how could the streets have been so empty during those shots from the drones? You haven’t answered that.”

  I paused, searching my mind for an explanation, which I couldn’t find. “So, what are you saying, Joel? What exactly are you saying?”

  “Look!” Emerson shouted, her fingertip shooting over my left shoulder to some point in the distance.

  “Oh my God!” Charlotte screamed beside me, obviously seeing the object of Emerson’s exclamation.

  And then I saw it a moment later, just off the edge of the road sixty or so yards in the distance. At the bottom of a shallow embankment was a small Ryder truck that had gone off the pavement and was now nose down in the grass. Atop the truck, standing with their backs to each other, was a young couple, and all around the truck was a circle of White Ones, some back on their haunches in a waiting posture, others on all fours as if ready to pounce.

  I depressed the brake slowly, easing my speed by half, coming to about ten yards of parallel with the scene where I quickly pulled the Explorer over to the opposite shoulder.

  “What?” Joel asked, bemused. “What are you doing, Dave? You can’t stop here, man. Seriously, brother, keep going.”

  The man on the roof of the truck was waving his arms in a desperate plea to flag us down—which he had—while the woman
stayed huddled tight, eyes fixed on something in her arms.

  A baby.

  I stared in disbelief at the trapped family, the scene almost surreal in its madness and desperation. The Corrupted to this point hadn’t glanced in our direction, so fixated were they on the people above.

  “She’s got a baby,” Charlotte announced, snapping her hands to her mouth in a combination of shock and sickness.

  “We have to try,” I said to no one in particular, staring in the mirror at the faces from the backseat.

  Lauren and the kids were staring out their respective windows at the scene, while Joel kept his eyes watching me. I finally caught his stare in the silver of the mirror. “Just keep going, Dave,” he said solemnly. “You know you can just keep going.”

  I felt the pain in my chest at the dilemma that had just sprung from nowhere, and though I knew that anyone looking at the situation from the outside would have believed Joel to be cruel and cowardice, his appeal to continue driving wasn’t an unreasonable one. My family’s lives came first—above even those of helpless babies—and choosing theirs over the troubled strangers on the roadside was neither cruel nor cowardice, and certainly not beyond the pale.

  But we were also in a position where we could at least try to help, if not save the lives of these stranded people. We had guns and a car. We could give them a chance. “I can’t drive by without at least trying something, Joel. She has a baby for Christ’s sake.”

  “I see it, Dave! She has a baby! And I feel really, really bad for her. I do. But they’re not going to make it! You crash out here and you’re done. You said yourself we’ve barely got enough gas for Helena. And I’ve already been out on the road, and we got very lucky to have made it off alive. I can’t get stranded again. I’m sorry, Dave, I just can’t. There’s nothing you can do about those people.” Joel’s eyes were desperate now, pleading with me to comply.

  I held his stare for several seconds, and then I reached for the door handle and said, “I’m going to try.”