Tori rose from the bed and waved away at a cloud of smoke she had just exhaled, flapping a hand until the particles dispersed into the room. She crossed over to the window and stared at the world outside. The strange redness of the Aurora was long since hidden from view by the roiling clouds, and the snowfall was now so heavy that it was almost impossible to perceive the individual flakes. The world outside was white, the powder on the ground easily two feet deep. Right now, it would be possible to walk through the freshly fallen snow, but after a few hours of these temperatures the powder would crystallize and harden. Add to that the weight of the layers with each additional snowflake hurled from the clouds, and soon it would turn to a mulch that sapped the energy from the legs of anyone who walked through it. Even the smallest distances would take the most Herculean effort.
Tori glanced back at her phone, remembered that there was no signal, then turned back to the window. She caught a glimpse of her reflection, her usually bright eyes dark and heavy. Her lids were still puffy from the tears she had shed.
“He’s not worth it,” she reminded herself. “A man who can’t choose the right woman over the wrong woman is no man at all.”
Still, that did little to erase the emotional hurt he had inflicted upon her. She really thought that he would choose her. That they could finally embark on the relationship she knew they both deserved.
Tori pressed a hand against the glass and rested her head against its chill surface. She stared out into the storm and imagined that she could see Karl. Imagined that his bulky frame would arrive from out of the gloom, a silhouetted figure that acted as a beacon of hope. That maybe, just maybe, he would change his mind and return to her, knock on her door and tell her he made a mistake. He chose her. All would be well. He loved her and that was all there was to it. Come morning he would find a way to tell his wife that it was over, he didn’t love her anymore, storm or no storm. It was her he chose. Her.
It had always been her.
A weak smile appeared on Tori’s lips, her heart falling still. She raised her head from the glass and cupped her hands to try and get a better look. It was impossible but… yes… someone was out there now. Someone with a hulking frame and a steady gait appearing before her, making their way towards her house.
Heart leaping with excitement, Tori tore downstairs, her fingers automatically going for the light switch. She was unsurprised to find that the electricity had gone down too, but that didn’t bother her. In that moment, all she wanted to know was if it was him. If Karl hard returned. She could already smell his scent, imagine her fingers sliding through the hairs of his chest. She yanked the curtains back and peered through the glass.
It was him. Karl had returned. She could make out the puffy girth of his thick beard, the sloping frame of his shoulders. It was him; he had come back.
Heart swelling with excitement, Tori twisted the locks on the door and yanked it open. The cold wasted no time in pressing against her, invading her house as the winds rushed inside. Snow skittered across the boards of her floor and numbed her feet, but she didn’t care. All that she cared about was that he had come back. He was here, dear God. It was him.
“Karl!” Her words were half laughter, half tears. “Hurry up, it’s freezing. You’ll let all the heat out.”
Karl staggered towards her, not showing any sign of increasing his speed. In the thick fall of the storm it was impossible to make out his features, but for the first time something struck her. The way that he was walking… Was he, in pain?
“Karl?” She called out again, but the wind snatched her words. She wrapped her gown tightly about her, bare flesh prickling into gooseflesh as she felt the first suggestion that something might be wrong. “Karl, what is it?”
He was only twenty feet away now, each step an effort as he staggered side to side. She called out again and at the sound of her voice, he raised his head allowing her the first look at the fear in that face, in those eyes.
Eyes that weren’t Karl Bowman’s at all. Eyes which belonged to Stanley Miller, another one of the town’s hunters. Along with Karl, a half dozen of these broad-shouldered giants formed one of the many parties that provided the town with fresh meat for purchase in the local butchers.
Aware that so much of her skin was on display, Tori pulled the door closer, ducking out of the way behind it. Only her head poked out as she called out to the man. “Stanley? What’s going on? What are you doing out so late?”
Stanley’s mouth flapped open, but no words came out. He lumbered forward another few steps, and it was then that Tori noticed the red trail of footsteps he left behind. His hand clutched his stomach and, although it looked like he was wearing bright crimson gloves, the daunting realization of what she was looking at struck her like an ice pick to the heart.
“Oh, God. Stanley, what happened to you?”
Another mouth flap. A weak response, “Help.”
Foregoing her better instincts, Tori rushed to his side, the icy snow sending a burning pain through the soles of her feet. She braced herself against the wind, feeling its frosty fingers scratching at the bare flesh of her legs, arms, neck and face. Stanley closed some more of the distance but looked as though he was about to collapse. She caught him on the downfall, hooking his arm around her shoulder and raising him up. Together they staggered their way into the house, the short excursion leaving Tori breathless and exhausted as she closed the door and locked the cold outside.
She guided Stanley to the sofa, her numb feet almost slipping on the slick trail of blood that snaked behind him. He lay down on the couch and held his chest tightly while Tori lit a match and added some kind of illumination to the room.
She lit a handful of candles, then rushed over to her bathroom, looking for her medi-pack. She found it in the lower drawer of her bathroom unit, a bright green thing with a white cross. Though she had only needed to use it on rare occasions in her lifetime she knew that there would be reams of bandages and antiseptic inside. She was no medical expert, by any means, but she found that the distraction of keeping busy and away from the mess she had glimpsed of Stanley’s stomach gave her a chance to breathe and calibrate her thoughts.
A groan of pain from the living room. Tori screwed her eyes shut and counted to five before heading to his side.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. Here, we’ll make this better.” Her words were weak, devoid of the confidence she wished she could bestow, and one proper look at his chest made her realize why.
Under the folds of blood-soaked clothing, his skin had been torn open. The grey bones of his ribcage were on display, cocooning organs which she could just make out pulsing inside their cage. The edges of the hole were shredded, as though an animal had been at his chest, some great polar bear with dagger-like teeth and claws that would peel flesh as easily as the skin of a peach.
Tears clouded Tori’s eyes. Stanley’s breath came in ragged bursts. The metallic scent of his blood filled her nostrils. Finding any excuse to be active, to feel like she was doing something, she unbundled the bandages and started working them around his body, trying her best to cover up the hole and plug the broken faucet. His eyelids flickered as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
“No! Stay with me, Stanley. Talk to me, please. Tell me what did this to you.”
The real question Tori wanted to know was why had the universe played such a cruel trick on her? How had her night started so wonderfully, and ended up like this? What kind of cruel gods would put this upon her?
Stanley gave a weak shake of his head and looked at Tori as if seeing her for the first time. He pawed at her hands, his blood staining her pale flesh. “Forget it, it’s too late.”
“Too late for what? No. We can fix this. All we need to do is plug the hole and find a way to stitch it up. I’m sure there must be something in this pack for that… Something that…”
She fumbled through the medi-pack, but was immediately drawn back to Stanley when he gave a rolling, aching roar and grabbed he
r wrist with a vice-like grip. It was painful, as though each second someone was twisting the tourniquet tighter. Though her feet prickled with the sensation of her body fighting the numbness, his hold cut off the circulation to her frosted fingertips.
“No!” He roared with such ferocity that Tori was momentarily paralyzed. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, an urgency in every single breath he managed. “They’re coming… Dear God… They’re coming.”
“Who’s coming?” Tori managed, her lips trembling. “What are you talking about? What did this to you?”
Stanley gave a derisive exhalation through his nose, his own lips wobbling as gummy strings of saliva stretched like taffy between the gap. He shook his head, losing himself in the pain and the hurt of it all, eyes shimmering with tears as he gave a final half-shrug. “I don’t know…”
Tori’s head twisted towards the window as a sudden belting cry rent over the town. A strange mixture of an animal howl mixed with the banshee call of a creature in pain.
7
Alex Goins
Alex only made it halfway across the town when the snow closed in on unbearable. Though he wrapped himself up in his warmest clothes, they did little to stave off the increasing chill that found its way beneath his skin. He longed for the tepid shelter of his and thought again of the holes in the cracks, wondering if the ghost choir could find its way into any vessel. If he listened carefully enough, would he hear the hollow tubes of his bones turned to flutes and clarinets?
Not that that any of that was possible while the wind roared at him. No matter which way he turned he seemed to be pushing against the flurries, and each step had begun to leech him of his energy. A couple of times he paused around the corner of a sleepy house and caught his breath, though as the snow piled up around him, his urgency to find Cody grew. How reckless could that boy be? To head out in the middle of the night, straight into a blizzard?
Not a blizzard. Not yet, anyway. Maybe Cody didn’t know…
But Alex knew that the official parameters for a blizzard hadn’t yet been met, although they were well on their way. For the snowfall to class as a true blizzard, the winds had to rage at over 35 miles per hour.
An animated gust shoved Alex sideways, causing him to fight to regain balance.
Check.
The visibility had to be reduced to under a quarter of a mile.
Alex squinted ahead, barely able to see five houses ahead before all was masked in snow.
Check.
The storm had to have lasted at least three hours.
Alex glanced at his watch, just about able to see the face between the sleeves of his puffer jacket and the cuff of his. It had been almost an hour since he had noticed the first snowfall from the embracing comfort of his bed.
He gritted his teeth and inhaled sharp. Snow streamed into the open gap between his lips and stung his teeth, spreading its chill to his gums. He ducked down and curled into himself so he could breathe without interruption, then continued his pursuit.
With every step he trod he thought of Cody. Hoped the kid was okay. He couldn’t imagine that Cody would have embarked into the darkness on his own, without a friend, and there was some solace in that. If Cody was with another kid, at least they’d be able to work together to navigate their way home. For all Alex knew, Cody was already back at the cabin, settled into his bed and trying to stay as quiet as possible as he warmed his frozen bones.
Still, something deep inside told Alex that wasn’t the case. The basketball was gone, the tracks leading into the town pointed in this direction. He had lost the footprints a mile or two ago, but there was only one place in town where a game of basketball could be played. He imagined Cody trying to battle through the snow to play on the outdoor court of the school. Maybe his larger friend… Brendan, was it? Maybe Brendan was with him, too. Cody running circles around the kid as he practiced his layups and expelled his pent-up frustration at the cruelty of the world.
“Don’t worry, Kathrin. I’ll find him for you.”
He mumbled the words to no one, and yet the wind ruthlessly tore them away. A bubble of guilt popped in he felt the of the responsibility of his charge. Tom and Kathrin had left Cody to him. He was the boy’s guardian, by choice. And already, he had let them down.
Alex turned right at the end of the street, passing Ludlow’s Hardware Store. In the belly of the storm the window ledges were piled with powder, the door almost blocked by a three-feet drift of snow. In his mind’s eye he could see the jolly old store manager shovelling away at the snow and fighting to keep the shop open come morning. Storms like this were his bread and butter, the items inside the shop the perfect things to repair any damages that had occurred due to the elements. His shovels sold like hot cakes, insulation flew off the shelves, and timber and nails were in fresh demand once a storm had beat its chest and disappeared over the horizon.
Alex braced himself as a fresh gust charged him. He turned away from the store and looked up the street, wishing he knew how much farther he had to walk. He only knew the direction of the high school but had trusted Cody to make his way there every day for class. Alex didn’t mind Cody’s insistence that he wanted to walk alone, knowing that the original intent of Alex’s trip was to research the life and stories of Denridge Hills. Its families, its histories, its fauna, its ecosystem. The more information he could gather on the sleepy town before his scheduled return to modern civilization, the better.
“Just make sure you watch out for them polars,” Ludlow had grinned while handing Alex his change during their third week of residency in the town. “You might think they respect our borders, but night times are the worst. That’s when they come. Harmless enough if you’re inside, but remember they’re built to hunt meat.”
As if triggered by the sudden memory, an animalistic cry broke out over the storm.
Alex stopped in his tracks, trying to glean the direction of the sound. He turned to his right and ducked in the small alley that separated the two nearest houses. Shrouded in darkness and only slightly protected from the storm, he strained his ears and listened. The cry was long, a howling that rang with the keen edge of human triumph, mixed with the raging growls of some kind of predator. In the quiet moments that followed after, Alex wiped his brow, aware that as fleeting as the sound had been, he was sweating.
A minute passed. Might have been two.
With stiff legs he trudged towards the corner of the house and peeked out around the corner and into the street. He could see nothing in either direction, only empty space buffeted by snow.
“That was no polar bear,” he whispered, when another cry rent the quiet. A moment later another joined, then another.
Alex’s heart leaped into his mouth, the edges of his vision blurring as adrenaline focused his sight to what lay ahead of him. He couldn’t understand what possible creature could make such a noise. He’d heard wolves howl, eagles cry, and walrus grunt, but no creature who emitted a sound of that calibre.
And then came a sound that he did recognize. The unmistakeable sound of a human screaming in pain. Its abrupt pulses of noise coming from all directions as the dizzying winds turned the mono howl of pain into a surround sound experience. Alex’s throat constricted as the scream grew in desperation, accompanied by the furious hunger of some kind of creature that jeered and toyed with its food.
Alex ducked his head behind the house and pressed his back against the wall. He shut his eyes and counted to ten, wondering whether now would be the time to showcase bravery. A lonely British writer, given the opportunity to play the part of protagonist and help a fellow human in need. Although he had no weapon to speak of, he pictured himself streaming towards the predators, shouting as loudly as possible, waving his arms in the air and displaying his dominance. That was how you scared off a bear. He had seen that once on National Geographic. Humans who exerted their dominance over creatures and sent them fleeing in panic.
But who was Alex kidding? He wasn’t the hero. That’s why h
e wrote about them. We write about the things we wish to be.
Any possible notion of displaying bravery was stolen as the shrieks of pain vanished into the night. It was abrupt. It was brief. And then he was alone. Just the howling wind’s frigid embrace for company.
Fuck.
Alex shivered, though now it was from more than just the cold. Fear combined with his adrenaline as he plotted his next move, knowing that he had to make a decision, and soon. Another brief minute passed before he teased his head around the corner, finding the coast still clear.
He turned in the other direction, wondering whether it was best to carry onward and try to find Cody, or to head on back home. By pursuing Cody he was committing to a long journey in elements that no non-native to this part of the world should face. Elements he was neither physically nor mentally prepared for.
Yet, if he headed home without Cody and discovered that something had happened in the night, how would he live with himself?
A long whistle blasted, followed by a sudden hollow thunk beside Alex’s face. His blood finally turned to ice as his eyes fixed on the dart which had found its way into the wooden support beams of the house beside him. At least three inches long, with a display of black fathers fanning out from the back, painted with crude symbols which looked vaguely familiar.
Unsure why, he tugged the dart out of the wood and examined the tip. A thick black bitumen-like paste covered the sharpened edge. The dart looked to be hand-crafted. Almost tribal. As Alex turned from the dart and looked in the direction from which it had been sent, he let out a low utterance of surprise.
A figure stood just thirty feet away from him, any definition of its features lost in the reaches of his reduced visibility through the storm. The only things he knew for sure were that the figure had two long arms, two long legs, and that the figure meant to do him harm.
The First Fall Page 7