Into the White
When Winter Comes, Ep. 5
Daniel Willcocks
Devil’s Rock Publishing
Other titles by Daniel Willcocks
The Rot Series (with Luke Kondor)
They Rot (Book 1)
They Remain (Book 2)
They Ruin (coming soon)
Keep My Bones
The Caitlin Chronicles (with Michael Anderle)
(1) Dawn of Chaos
(2) Into the Fire
(3) Hunting the Broken
(4) The City Revolts
(5) Chasing the Cure
Other Works
Twisted: A Collection of Dark Tales
Lazarus: Enter the Deadspace
The Mark of the Damned
Sins of Smoke
Keep up-to-date at
www.danielwillcocks.com
Copyright © 2020 by Devil’s Rock Publishing Ltd.
First published in Great Britain in 2020
All rights reserved.
https://www.devilsrockpublishing.com/
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Contents
1. Cody Trebeck
2. Alex Goins
3. Tori Asplin
4. Cody Trebeck
5. Karl Bowman
6. Tori Asplin
7. Alex Goins
8. Kyle Samson
9. Cody Trebeck
10. Naomi Oslow
11. Alex Goins
12. Kyle Samson
Author Notes
Become a darksider
About the Author
Devil’s Rock Publishing
Other titles by Daniel Willcocks
1
Cody Trebeck
There was no up. There was no down. There was no north, east, south, or west. In this land, there was only white, and white ruled supreme.
The relentless attacks of the storm numbed Cody’s face. He had forgotten what it was like to be out here, in the belly of the beast, having been safely sheltered in the nurturing womb of the school and the tunnels. Now, he was birthed into a mad world, a world dominated by only one colour and an unbending will to end his life and bury him beneath the white.
The white.
It was all about the white.
The slim, meagre rope was his single anchor to the known world, an umbilical cord that acted as his one remaining lifeline in this virgin landscape. He wondered if this was Heaven or Hell, for the stories had told him that Heaven was the white counterpart of the afterlife—clouds and lights of white.
But Heaven wouldn’t batter his body like this. Barrage him with thousands upon thousands of pellets of ice, designed to bruise and tenderise his form, to weaken his will and turn him to mush.
Sight was useless. There were no landmarks, no houses, no trees, no hills, no shadows, no shade, no protection from the white. For the first stretch of exploration, Cody held the rope with one hand, leaning on the rope as a man with a broken foot bears his crutch. Even his footprints were rapidly swallowed up by the storm that increasingly felt sentient and angry with his very presence in its company. A storm created by an unforgiving god, cast to punish him for some crime he didn’t commit.
Cody wept, but the wind stole the tears. If he couldn’t go back to the house with some kind of positive news or solace, they were trapped. On one side of them was a tunnel littered with the remains of the wendigos, their corpses burned and charred, stinking out the underground space. Who know if more were coming? Who knew if, even now, an army of the damned were racing towards Sophie and Brandon, smashing against the unit blocking the hatch as they vied for entry?
And then, on the other side, there was the storm. A blizzard which blocked their escape and granted them no respite, no possible peek at the world around them. He could be just twenty feet away from help, for all he knew, but the storm wouldn’t show him its secrets. Oh, no. The storm wanted Cody’s body. It fed off the pain and misery of the town as it gave the wendigos permission to continue their attack.
Cody relinquished his grip on the rope, walking ahead until it grew taught. It tugged against the back of his jacket and told him that he was safe. As long as the rope was a part of him, he was a part of the house. He was a part of his friends. Of Sophie…
He brought his hand up to block the stinging snow as he strafed to his right, using the rope as an anchor point to the house so he could explore the perimeter. He imagined the reaction he’d elicit from Sophie when he headed back inside empty handed.
“Hey Cody, what did you see out there?”
“Oh, nothing at all. Looks like everything outside is white. Ha!”
“Oh, never mind. I guess we’re just trapped here until the storm blows over. Ha ha ha!”
“Ha!”
“HA!”
No matter which side of the house Cody explored from, no matter which direction he faced—if directions was even a relevant metric anymore—nothing came to view. The wind pulled at his clothing from all angles, even going so far as to jar against the rope and tug against him as he doggedly continued. By the time he estimated himself to be halfway around the house, he knew something was wrong.
The tugging on the rope persisted. It pulled against his back, yanking so hard that he was forced back a couple of steps. He pulled the rope a few times to test it, staring at the point where the thin line of discoloured cord disappeared into the white. By the time he knew that something had gone badly awry, it was too late.
The rope vibrated in his hand before it went slack. The straight, measured line fell limp and folded like a string of wet spaghetti. His heart jarred as he pulled the rope towards him and one frayed end came into sight.
Oh no…
Cody scanned for the meddler, knowing that the wind itself could not have bitten through the rope. That was a trick that he couldn’t allow himself to believe that the wind could be capable of. Not that. Not a storm that lives and breathes and cuts.
His mind filled with a thousand possibilities, though
ts of the wendigos craftily isolating him from the pack, picking them off one-by-one. His throat constricted, his breathing growing shallow as he prepared to run in the direction of the rope, terrified of not being able to make his way back to the house. A single knock off-course and he’d be lost, guessing his way in this Neverland of snow.
He’d taken all of four steps before the thing streaked towards him, knocking into the side of his thigh. It sped by, losing itself in the white once before Cody had a chance to get a proper look. Cody yelped, trying to understand what he had just seen.
But he hadn’t seen anything. Not really. Just felt the force of it.
Heart performing a drum roll in his chest, he set off again, only to be met with the snarling growl of the beast as it leaped at his back, this time knocking him face-first into the powder. Cody bit his lip on the way down, a droplet of blood falling into the snow, the only stain on an otherwise flawless world.
The growls rumbled from somewhere in the distance. Cody scanned for the creature. Ahead, he fancied he could see the faint silhouette of the house. But could he, really? Could he believe it would all be that simple?
Another rumbling growl from behind as the creature caught his leg, dagger-like teeth sinking into the puffy material of his trouser. It pulled at him, dragging him backwards as its head shook side to side, snarling and determiend. Cody turned over his shoulder and could hardly make out what he was seeing. Two dark eyes buried into the white. A black nose turned grey from the battering snow.
Cody kicked out at the creature, emitting a pained howl as it sprinted back into the white, vanishing the moment it turned around. The white of its furry body lost in the white of the storm.
Furry?
Cody pounded an angry fist into the ground, growing tired of each barrier that blocked his escape. The rope trailed behind him, flaccid and useless in a way that he wouldn’t understand for a few more years—if he made it that far. He pushed to his feet, stumbling a little at the pain that spiked his ankle. The teeth had clipped the skin, and something grew warm down there. Still, with a slight test, Cody found that he could walk. The shadow of the house was ahead, a beacon in the mist that called to him. A siren song of sailors lost at sea, and he, the stray captain hunting for land, if only he could cross the final stretch of ocean and find his way there.
A hundred metres or so of running and the house faded from sight. He expected the shadow to grow, for the house to materialise through the storm, but instead it trailed away and vanished. He’d had dreams like this before, dreams of running along an open motorway, racing towards his parent’s car, screaming to warn them of their impending collision with the lorry, the beast swaying haphazardly as it took the on-ramp with too much speed and worked towards its inevitable jack-knife. Arms pumping, feet hitting the tarmac, yet gaining no ground, working the hallucinogenic treadmill of his mind to no avail.
Watching the crash in slow motion.
Breathless and sweating in the folds of his clothes, Cody pulled to a stop. He gasped at the air, trying to suck in oxygen but only succeeding in swallowing pellets of frozen water. He spun, knowing already that he was lost. That whatever that thing was that had been set to waylay him had won. A creature, unlike those he had already encountered, something that appeared like a fuzzy blip in the coming storm of a migraine—and it had succeeded.
It had won.
Cody was the fool for believing he could act the hero. For believing he could save himself and his friends. A kid playing a grown-up game, out of his depth and stuck in his own failings.
There was nothing more for it. Cody picked a direction at random, knowing that there was a 359:1 chance that he was heading off-course, but what else was there to do? Standing still in this blizzard would be suicide. Inaction would lead to death. At least in walking he could hope to keep his engine warm and eventually find something. Anything.
Yeah, right. That’s exactly what the world wants to give you. A goddamn break. That’s why the world stole your parents before their time. That’s why you shipped out thousands of miles from home to live with an uncle who couldn’t care enough to come and find you. That’s why those devils have killed your friends. That’s why Kyle and Amy, and probably now Brandon, are all dead. That’s why you’re out here alone, lost in the heart of the blizzard. Because the world wants to cut you some slack. Because life is kind enough to give you just about enough that you open your heart to the idea of hope, only to have it torn away again. This is it, Cody. This is the world you’re living in, a world that would rather play games with your existence than let you sail a steady sea and find your destiny. When are you going to grow up and learn that life isn’t about thriving? It’s about survival. Get out of this one now, jackass. See if you can do it.
Cody’s thumb traced his lip, the ghost of Sophie’s kiss still with him, though her scent was long gone. He thought of London, of the daily post-school ritual where his parents probed him for information on his day across the dinner table, the smell of roast potatoes and gravy hanging in the air. How his father only raised his voice at football games and his mother hugged him like he was still a six-year-old when she was drunk. Cody wanted nothing more to cry, than to fall onto his knees and submit. He didn’t know what he was fighting for anymore. Life had stolen all meaning, and in its wake, it had left one thing.
The white.
Is this what it all meant? Was this the end that was spoken of in films and fairy tales? Was Cody just now being faced with the reality of death, walking into the white—the light—and that was the eternal walk? The final stretch of life that would bring him to the precipice? The place where time and space bind into a singularity and all that is known collects in the never?
Cody stumbled, back hunched, arms draped like useless appendages. He staggered onwards, the cold finding its way into his crevices, bringing him back to his bedroom and the cracks and gaps that whistled and howled and seeped the cold into his room, finding a bed in the marrow of his bones.
The howling winds…
The howls…
The howl.
A single, hollow note broke the white, striking the air from dead ahead. Cody paused, skin breaking out in gooseflesh as his dry tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. It was back. Those two dark eyes, like the coal peepers of a snowman, the only break in the eternal white of the storm. Eyes ringed with the colour of wedding bands and dripping honey.
The eyes grew larger as the creature approached, its entire body a pristine white that blended with the snow. Cody had no idea how large or small this creature may be, all he knew was that the eyes bore into his, and in their gaze was a plea for help.
Cody remained frozen and stunned, as the creature came closer, stopping just a couple of metres in front of him. It perched on its hinds and cocked its head, an obedient wolf quizzing the intentions of its master, asking for clarification, and yet only one question plagued Cody’s mind.
Was this the same being that had attacked him just a few moments ago?
“Hello?” Cody’s voice was cracked, soft, barely audible.
The wolf emitted a single, pitched bark, its maw showing a row of sharp, stubby teeth. It turned and padded away, once more disappearing as the blacks of its eyes were cast from sight. Cody waited, rooted to the spot, until the wolf looked over its shoulder and barked three more times.
Was the creature telling Cody to follow it? It waited patiently, staring at Cody until he began his walk. A walk that would prove to be near impossible, considering that every time the wolf turned, he was lost from view.
2
Alex Goins
The kid was in bad shape.
Alex’s rudimentary examination revealed little more than they already knew. The boy was fading in and out of consciousness, struggling to get the oxygen he needed to his lungs. A faint sheen of sweat coated his brow, and with every attempt at a breath, the result was a shallow puff and wheeze.
Alex eased him onto the cold floor. The kid offered no resistanc
e, his heavy frame aiding his fall, his head hitting the bare wood with a dull thud. He unzipped his jacket entirely, working to get closer to the flesh so that he may examine what was going on inside. As he chipped away at the layers, Damien’s shadow appeared behind him, the young boy watching his every move with a strange fascination.
“Is he dead?”
Alex shook his head. “No. If he was dead, he wouldn’t be breathing.” He managed to expose the boy’s flesh and leaned down, placing an ear on his chest. “There’s a rhythm there, though it’s weaker than it should be. Understandable, given all they’ve gone through and the nature of his body shape.”
Damien leaned over Alex. “What body shape?”
Alex didn’t want to have to say it. There weren’t many polite ways to voice it. Instead, he ignored the boy’s question, looking around the room to try and work out what he could do to improve his condition. Although he was by no means a medical expert, Alex had taken enough first aid courses and workshops to understand the mechanics of assisting a fallen patient with their breathing. It had been a fundamental part of writing the realism that carried the narrative in his books, understanding the basic functionality of modern medicine so that his characters could work their way out of any scrapes they found themselves in. Knowing when and how to apply a tourniquet, the best ways to treat a third-degree burn, and placing someone in the recovery position were things that had all come in handy with his catalogue of protagonists and side characters.
When Winter Comes | Book 5 | Into The White Page 1