Blood Runs Cold (Stone Cold Fear Book 2)

by K. M. Fawkes

  Some time later, he came to with a start.

  What? How?

  He looked around, half confused and half horrified at what had happened. How could he have just fallen asleep like that? While he’d been dozing, he saw, night had come to an end. He couldn’t see much of the sky through the trees, but what he could see held that particular softness that comes just before sunrise.

  “Marie,” he rasped, and when she didn’t answer, he said it louder.

  “Huh?” Her eyes eased halfway open but closed again right away.

  Pete understood that far too well. He felt especially groggy himself. No, groggy wasn’t the right word. He was euphorically warm… and when his brain finally kicked back in, it told him that the warmth wasn’t good. It wasn’t comforting. It meant hypothermia was setting in. That, or I’m asleep in a hotel, heat blasting, and the end of the world and Mueller were only a dream.

  If only it were that easy.

  He was an idiot to have fallen asleep in the cold like he didn’t know it could kill him. Of course, in this physical state, death didn’t sound so bad. It sounded peaceful. Restful. And like it might give him respite from guilt.

  According to Marie, all his men were dead. The entire unit under his command, wiped out. And if one or two had managed to escape the battle Marie witnessed, they would be dead the moment the remaining convicts got a hold of them.

  Captain Sadler had been an incompetent asshat, but even he hadn’t managed to get the whole unit killed.

  Suddenly a sharp growl came from below, startling Pete out of his cold-induced funk. He’d forgotten about the wolves. How did a person forget about wolves? Well, how did someone fall asleep in a tree? Both questions had the same answer: pure, unmitigated exhaustion.

  Before he could follow that particular thought any further—and start to really wonder what they were going to do next—the growls below him became snarls.

  “Marie,” Pete said loudly.

  She opened her eyes.

  “Stay with me. Get focused. No more sleeping.” He delivered each sentence like an order.

  She shook herself and stretched, then yawned hugely. “We can’t stay here much longer. We won’t make it.” Her eyes closed.

  “You’re exactly right. So keep your god-damned eyes open.”

  “Okay,” she said, forcing her eyes wide. “Sun’s up. I didn’t think morning would ever get here, but here we are. What’s our next move?” She looked around, then squinted at something. “Can you see that?”

  He looked to where she was pointing and squinted as well. “Is that…”

  “It’s a building,” Marie said. “I’m certain of it.”

  He could already hear the excitement in her voice—practically see her starting to bounce up and down with it—and his training kicked in. Don’t say no to a gift—but don’t count on it before you see whether it’s real or not.

  “Don’t get excited yet. It’s farther away than it looks,” he warned. “The scale of the trees and the amount of snow throws off your perception.”

  “Like Vegas,” she said.

  “Exactly like Vegas. You think you can walk to the MGM Grand, but it turns out it’s miles away.”

  “I wonder what will happen to Vegas,” Marie said sadly, then gave herself another shake. “Well, we have to get there, regardless. We don’t have any other options. We certainly can’t stay here.”

  Pete nodded. “The farther away from Mueller, the better.”

  Mueller was the site of his biggest failure. If he never saw it again, it would be too soon.

  And there were also those convicts to worry about. Pete wasn’t sure if they would actually leave the prison, but if they did, he didn’t want to have to deal with them. Not now. Not ever. If he and Marie could get out of their reach, he’d count it as a win.

  Then Marie gestured to the wolves below them. “What do we do about them?”

  Chapter 2

  Pete counted quickly and came up with six wolves. They were bigger than he’d expected, but then he’d never seen real wolves in the wild like this.

  And he guessed they were bound to be bigger out here. Which was going to make his job harder.

  He and Marie could drop to the ground, he knew, yelling and waving their arms. It might be enough to scare the beasts off. Or it would infuriate them, and they’d tear him and Marie apart with extra relish. Though extra was splitting hairs. Death by tooth and claw was death by tooth and claw. Did wolves feel anger, or was he anthropomorphizing? The way they paced beneath the tree, growling and nipping at one another, seemed both furious and antsy. Like they were getting impatient.

  In which case, why the hell hadn’t they moved on to other prey? Why weren’t they out hunting something else?

  Because you’re easier prey, and you’ll feed more of them.

  Terrific. That was exactly what he’d wanted to hear.

  He was furious, with himself and with chance or fate or whatever the hell you wanted to call it, for getting him into this ill-fated situation in the first place. Every man in his unit was dead, and who knew how many of his civilian friends were dead as well?

  He couldn’t imagine what was going on in the cities—and he could hardly stand the thought that he wasn’t there to do anything about it. He’d like to believe people were coming together to help one another to survive, but he’d seen too many post-apocalyptic movies to believe it. The ugly human drive for power and control always seemed to result in violence and looting, rape and murder. At our cores, we’re nothing but characters in Lord of the Flies.

  They would be counting on the military to go in and impose some order. Force people to follow the rules that might protect them. And instead, he was stuck up a damn tree, with wolves below him waiting to eat him the moment he got down.

  Damn it, damn it, damn it. He hadn’t felt like such a failure since his teenage years, and most of that had been caused by the hormone-induced angst coursing through his body. Once he’d become an adult and taken control of his fate, he’d come to feel settled in his own skin. But life was doing a good job of ripping that feeling to shreds.

  “I still have the Glock,” Marie said, pulling Pete from his despondent thoughts, and making him ashamed for giving in to them in the first place.

  How’d I forget about the Glock? he wondered, as Marie began wriggling to work her arm under the parka and into the pocket of the jacket underneath.

  Her shoulder was damned flexible, he’d give her that. When he imagined trying to do the same thing, he winced just thinking about it. But she was right; they needed that gun if they were going to get out of this alive and unwounded.

  “Ha!” she shouted, holding the gun high in victory.

  “Terrific!” he said, hoping she didn’t mind the encouragement. Theresa had always gotten annoyed when he said stuff like that to her. She said it was patronizing. But he couldn’t help it; the habit of leading men had taught him to offer encouragement and praise whenever possible.

  Marie, for her part, didn’t react one way or the other. Always pragmatic, the first thing she did was to check the clip.

  “Two rounds, counting the one in the chamber,” she said, then aimed it at the wolves.

  “I’m a better shot,” Pete said quickly to stop her from firing.

  She lowered the gun.

  Two rounds and six wolves. Will it be enough? And then he realized he was making the thing more complicated than it needed to be.

  He didn’t have to hit them. Not really. One shot would scare them off, if they were lucky. Two shots would have them running for the hills.

  He hoped.

  But he still didn’t want her firing the gun. Too much chance of her hitting something on accident.

  “Do you think you can toss it to me?” he asked.

  There was only eight feet between them, but eight feet might as well have been eight miles if her throw went off course.

  “I feel pretty confident I can hit one,” Marie said.

&
nbsp; He didn’t tell her that they didn’t even have to hit any of them. He just wanted to get the gun out of her hands before she shot herself with it. “I feel completely confident I can hit one,” he responded.

  He wanted to press the point, reiterate his experience, but knew that he could also trigger her stubborn streak if he did that. Hell, she’d probably take a shot out of sheer obstinacy, possibly wasting a precious round in the process.

  Breath held, he watched her, waiting to see which way she would go. He saw the moment she concluded that he was right, and exhaled.

  But now he had to make sure she actually got the gun far enough for him to catch it. Because if her throw was short and the gun fell into the pack of wolves…

  “Take a few practice swings,” he said, wanting to see what technique she was going to use.

  She measured the weight, using underhanded swings, and he nodded in approval—but kept his mouth shut. Any more coaching might get under her skin—or worse, make her nervous enough to drop the piece. Though he didn’t want to do it, he removed his gloves and shoved them in his pocket. His hands felt stiff and unresponsive, so he clenched and opened them a couple of times.

  Better, but not perfect.

  “On three,” Marie said, then began the countdown. At the apex of the third swing, she released the Glock. It sailed toward Pete in a beautiful arc, without even a wobble of rotation, and he snatched it out of the air, hanging onto it tighter than necessary.

  “Shoot the black one,” Marie said. “It’s the alpha. You can tell by the way the others look to it for approval.”

  “Of course you know that,” he replied.

  Reporters, he thought, and mentally shook his head.

  “You’re welcome,” she answered.

  Picking out the alpha was easy enough, even in the dim light. Pete aimed, telling himself that he didn’t actually have to shoot the wolf, but just scare it, and his years of training took over, pushing any hint of nervousness and what if to the side. He released the safety and squeezed the trigger.

  His hand was steady and his aim true, and the bullet struck the alpha between the eyes.

  In the relative quiet of the snow-covered forest, the detonation sounded like it had come from a cannon rather than a handgun. Blood and brains splattered the pristine canvas of white.

  As the wolf collapsed, snow rained from the evergreen branches, knocked loose by the percussive blast. The rest of the pack startled violently and scattered, just as he’d thought they would, racing through the trees to who knew where. Hopefully, far away from him and Marie.

  And now, belatedly, Pete thought about the other things that might happen. That had been a hell of a lot of noise. Enough to set off another avalanche, if they were unlucky.

  Damn it, why hadn’t he thought of that before?

  Marie must have had the same thought because she tipped her head as though she was listening for the unmistakable roar of cubic tons of snow on the move. They waited, both of them tense on their branches, both knowing that an avalanche could kill them. They wouldn’t be able to get down from the trees quickly enough—and even if they did, they’d have nowhere to go.

  But around them, he heard only silence. And more silence.

  Finally, Marie shrugged and cast him a look. “You ready?”

  Pete blew on his hands, put his gloves back on, and began climbing down the tree.

  The task turned out to be harder than he’d expected. He was cold and tired and stiff, and every movement he made was sluggish and sent pain coursing through his body. Judging by Marie’s curses, she was experiencing the same thing.

  It took all his strength to maintain his grip when he finally reached the bottom branch and hung there for a moment. God, he was going to be glad to get out of this tree.

  When he let go, he reminded himself to absorb the shock of landing, but it didn’t help. His rusted-steel limbs didn’t bend easily, and the resulting jolt felt like he’d dropped several feet, rather than the actual foot and a half. His ribs gave a shout, then settled for nonstop grumbling.

  Marie landed with a grunt and another muttered curse and tipped over to lie in the snow. Pete walked—hobbled—over and gave her a hand up. Then he checked their surroundings, making sure the wolf pack hadn’t decided to come back, while Marie crouched down with a moan and stroked the alpha wolf’s fur.

  “It’s a shame,” she said. “He’s so beautiful, and the black ones are rare.”

  Pete didn’t want to look at it. It was a waste of life, and the splatter reminded him too much of what had gone on inside Mueller, and of the men he’d killed to save Marie—and himself. Headshots were final, which was why they were a good choice in a bad situation. But the aftermath wasn’t pretty.

  “I wish we had the energy to drag his carcass with us,” he said. “That fur could come in handy, to say nothing of the meat.”

  “True.” She groaned as she levered her body back into a standing position. “I used to get irate about people who hunted. But I guess I’d better get over it. At least until we reach something that looks like civilization.”

  Unfortunately, the exertion of getting down from the trees had warmed them just enough to properly feel the cold again, and they began to shiver in unison.

  “We’ll warm up once we’re moving,” Pete said, though he didn’t believe it. He was pretty sure he’d never be warm again. Pretty sure his body was going to hurt like this for the rest of his life. Maybe even beyond that. “Let’s stick to the edge of the trees. Just in case we need to climb again.”

  He considered asking Marie whether she knew anything about bears and their exact hibernation patterns in this part of the country but thought better of it. She’d wind up wasting energy, worrying about one more thing. Bad enough he was doing it.

  Instead, he began to compose a long shopping list of the things they would need to survive out here in the wilderness. Snowshoes. Sharp knives. Shelter. Food. More ammo. A hunting rifle would be nice, too. A chef and a bed and breakfast would also be great. In the pre-EMP world, he knew exactly where he’d go to get the things they needed, but now…

  Plus, traveling everywhere on foot was going to kill them, sooner or later. A snowmobile, he added mentally. That would be a fantastic find. Of course, it would have to be old enough to have been manufactured without electronic parts, and it would have to be full of gas. Had they even made snowmobiles before electric parts came along?

  Might as well wish for a flying horse.

  “Are you sure we’re going in the right direction?” Marie asked, teeth chattering.

  “If you look back,” Pete said, through chattering teeth of his own, “you can check our backtrail. It’s relatively straight. And since I started us in the direction of that building, that means we’re still going in the direction of that building. Now the only question is whether we’re going to find help there… or not.”

  Marie turned to look behind them, then faced forward again. “Why isn’t this easier?” she sputtered. “We’re going downhill! And what I wouldn’t give for a pair of sunglasses.”

  He was already getting tired of her chattering, but she was definitely right about the sunglasses. Each time the trees thinned and allowed the sunlight through, Pete’s eyes watered and stung, protesting the brightness. And the snow just might kill him. He was starting to understand the concept of snow-blindness better than he had before. When sunlight reflected off the white surface, it felt like having a spotlight aimed directly at your eyes.

  He’d always made sure he had his sunglasses when he walked outside in the snow before. Now, he couldn’t even remember where he’d lost them.

  “Unfortunately,” he said, “I don’t think any of this is going to get any easier. Yeah, the snow’s stopped, but the clear skies mean colder temps. Cloud cover keeps the earth’s geothermic heat from escaping into the atmosphere. So things are only sort of better.”

  “All things I know but am trying hard not to think about,” she said, trying to smi
le.

  It looked more like a wince, though Pete admired the effort.

  As they trudged onward, he silently sorted through various words to describe their progress. Lumbering. Slogging. Plodding. Stumbling. Words from a thesaurus written in a frozen hell.

  “I’m t-t-t-trying not t-t-to complain,” Marie suddenly said through fiercely chattering teeth. “But this sucks ass.”

  “Complain as much as you want.” He reached out and took her hand. Yesterday, he would never have even considered it. Today, she might very well be the last person he ever saw. It made taking her hand slightly less ridiculous. “If the anger keeps you motivated, use it.”

  He could use something to keep himself motivated, that much was certain. His feet felt like clumps of cement, but cement that was filled with outraged nerve endings. Or aching, petrified wood. They couldn’t possibly be made of flesh and bone anymore, not the way they felt.

  He was worried he had frostbite on at least a couple of his toes and fingers. Another thing that could be a death sentence in this new world where the hospitals were no doubt closed, and antibiotics hard to come by.

  Why couldn’t I have been somewhere tropical? he silently asked the universe. Then he added antibiotics to his growing shopping list.

  “Even the air hurts, you know?” Marie said.

  “It does.”

  It burned the skin on his face and seared his lungs—and increased the need for them to find that damned building. The longer they were out here in the cold, the more danger they were in of actually freezing to death.

  He looked up and squinted, looking desperately for that building. Where the hell was it? He knew they were walking in a straight line—but that wasn’t going to be the only aspect of this particular journey.

  As he went back through his memories, trying to refine them, he realized that the reason they’d been able to see the building they were heading toward at all was because they’d been at a higher elevation. Plus, they’d had the benefit of actually being in trees at the time. And if he looked closely at that snapshot in his memory…