Dead Frost - 02 (14 page)

She
dry-swallowed, felt the soda bubble up in her stomach, and hoped that
she had the strength to keep it down.

What made
everything worse was the fact she couldn't see them. The door was
solid, with not even a keyhole. She could hear them just fine –
oh, boy, could she hear them – but the not knowing where they
were put her somewhere between terrified and out-and-out disturbed.

The
female one – she assumed, since she hadn't seen it –
cried out before there was an almighty crash. She hoped that the
creature had somehow severed its own head, perhaps accidentally
impaled itself on one of the wooden spears mounted on the west wall.
Then she heard it moan again; a false-alarm with no good news to
follow.
How absolutely
typical.

She lowered
herself into the corner, mindful of the mop-bucket at her feet, and
prayed that they couldn't smell her through the thick, wooden door.

Maybe they'll go
away, she thought, and then added “wishful thinking” as
an aside.

They wouldn't
just go away.

They never did.

She suddenly
felt more alone than ever before.

EIGHTEEN

'I think there's
something up ahead,' Kyle said, dropping the chopper down a hundred
feet. If the snow worsened in the next half hour he would have to
say something to the prick in the back; it was something that he
didn't look forward to with relish.

Victor
Lord appeared in the cockpit, or at least his face did. 'What the
hell
is that?'

'Well,'
Kyle said, hoping that sarcasm was not going to be the main reason
for taking a bullet to the back of the head. 'I would say that
used
to be a gas-station.'

'Son,
I don't doubt the fact that you're a good pilot, but keep up with
that smart-ass tongue of yours and I'll
make
sure you fly out of here without a parachute.'

Kyle winced,
expecting to feel the barrel of a gun against the back of his head.
It never came, which he was thankful for.

'Well, I'll be
damned,' Victor said, straining his eyes to see better through the
combination of snow, fog and smoke. 'They're still a-fucking-live
down there.'

He
was
right
.
Lurkers were wandering around, despite the flames licking around
their bodies. There
were
bodies scattered haphazardly across the snow, smoking, burning, the
carcasses of the creatures whose brains had finally succumbed to the
fire engulfing the hosts.

'Looks like our
Jeep went that way,' Victor said, pointing down to the track in the
snow. 'And left one fuck of a mess in its wake.'

Kyle felt something
like pride in that moment; pure, unadulterated admiration for the
group who had caused such wonderful carnage.

'Do
you think we can catch them up?' Victor asked, although it wasn't so
much a question as a
disguised
order.

'I
think that we will eventually,' Kyle said, knowing that he would do
everything in his power to drag the whirly-bird's ass as slowly as
possible towards their target. 'We don't know how long ago this
happened. All we
do
know is that they're heading for Jackson. One way or the other we'll
get to them.' He spoke the words, but knew that they were pointless;
he would make sure that Shane and the others were unharmed.

Even if that meant
bringing the bird down.

'Just keep on
going,' Victor said. 'I want that fucking Jeep before sundown.'

'Captain,
I need to speak with you about this weather,' Kyle said, hoping to
buy a few more moments. 'You
do
know that if it continues like this for much longer, we're gonna have
to set her down. It's too dangerous, and I ain't one for heroics.'

'We
keep going,' Victor said, chomping down on his unlit cigar. 'Until
I
say when.'

'You're
in charge,' Kyle said, returning to the previous altitude. 'But
don't say I didn't tell you so when
she
decides to shut down in mid-air.'

The nerves in the
cockpit were palpable, although Victor didn't speak for almost
another minute. Either he was in deep thought, or he hadn't heard
correctly.

'Keep going,'
Victor finally said. 'And keep your threats to yourself. Nobody
ever heard of a helicopter being brought down by a bit of fucking
snow.'

'Not
just a
bit
,'
Kyle muttered. When Victor asked him to repeat himself, he said,
'You're the boss.'

Victor returned to
the cabin shaking his head. A seed of doubt, no matter how little,
had been planted in the captain's head.

A seed that might
just save the lives of the people they were pursuing.

*

'Is anybody else
hungry?' Marla asked. Her stomach rumbled even as she spoke. 'I was
too busy thinking about weapons to consider food.'

'There
are some snacks in my pack,' Terry said,
jabbing
a thumb in the air. 'You can have anything you like, just don't
touch the barbecue Pringles.'

Marla tutted and
reached for the pack. 'Where the hell did you get Pringles from?'

'A few weeks ago,
when I went out with that soldier, Moon. I wish I'd got more of
them, now.'

She unzipped the
pack and fumbled around inside. Amongst other things, she found a
packet of Lifesavers, a box of milk-duds and several packets of
mints. She wondered whether these had been considered essentials, or
whether Terry had simply grabbed what he could while he had the
chance.

It didn't matter.
Her stomach was cartwheeling inside her; she was just grateful that
at least one of them had the foresight to pack a few things.

She opened a
Reese's Nutrageous bar and bit into it, taking most of it with her
first bite. It tasted good, and gave her a head-rush as she
swallowed that she hadn't anticipated.

She
offered Jared the other half, but he declined silently. She
shrugged. 'Suit yourself.' The other half
tasted
just as good as the first, and she smacked her lips in what could
only be described as an uncouth manner.

She stared out the
back of the Jeep as the snow-blanketed land passed beneath them.
There was something comforting about the snow, and yet she shivered
as she watched it drift to the ground. It was neverending, and there
was no sign of it relenting. She became hypnotized by the
tyre-tracks they left on the road, and found herself drifting off
towards sleep, although not quite.

It would have been
nice, to sleep – perchance to dream.

She wasn't sure how
many hours remained of daylight. Whatever, it wouldn't be enough.
After dark those things seemed to become more prevalent. They were
far from nocturnal, but the darkness seemed to offer them some sort
of sanctuary.

As
if
they
felt safer after sundown.

The
last thing she wanted was to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere
once the night arrived. What if the snow continued to fall this
thickly? What if they beached,
or
skidded off the road? They would be left at the mercy of the night,
and that thought was the kind of thing that prevented her from
closing her eyes.

Jared was humming,
something melancholic. He was, surprisingly, quite tuneful. Sure,
he was never going to win one of those TV talent shows, but then
again, nobody else was either, not anymore.

Apart from Jared's
haunting rendition of something she didn't recognise, everything was
silent. It was nice, peaceful, and she felt every muscle in her body
relax as if she had been put in a trance.

And then,
everything went wrong.

Up front, there
were shouts. Terry screaming something – it all happened so
fast.

She turned to find
Jared, bug-eyed, trying to figure out what was happening; what was
about to happen. They felt the Jeep slip to the side, and then the
other, and then Marla watched out the back as the sky became ground,
and then sky and then ground.

They
were like ragdolls being tossed around inside a spin-dryer. Metal
being torn apart, which was nowhere
near
as comforting as Jared's soulful humming just a few seconds ago, and
then an almighty
thunk!
The right-hand side of the Snatch shrunk to about half its original
size; jagged metal and broken glass now filled the space where there
had been nothing but a moment before.

She
hit the side, then the roof, then Jared – who was crying
something incomprehensible – and that was
about
all she remembered.
End
of the show, goodnight and thank you for coming, don't let the door
hit you on the ass on the way out...

When the spin-cycle
came to an abrupt end, she was already standing alone in the
darkness, surrounded by nothingness, wondering what the fuck had just
happened.

*

Pulling,
tugging, her legs and then then her ass. Hands everywhere, trying to
get at her, trying to...to...lurkers! She kicked out, high and wide,
although something cried out as she made contact with a shoulder, or
a cheek. She screeched, but the pain in her head was too much to
bear.
The hands grabbed at
her, at least four of them, pulling her, trying to drag her forward.
Any second now, she thought, and there would be pain as teeth sunk
into her flesh, and then it would be too late, end of the road for
this poor cow.

She kicked once
more, the pain in her leg – which she would later discover to
be just a mild sprain, nothing more – was not going to prevent
her from doing everything in her power to stay on the right side of
death. She couldn't see properly, but she knew she was still in the
Snatch, or most of her was. Blood filled her eyes, and sweat, and
probably tears. She was burning up, despite the fact that it must
have been below freezing and then some outside the vehicle.

The hands held her
feet down, trying to keep her from kicking out, and then a voice
said, 'Marla, it's okay. Marla, please...'

She
recognised it, the dulcet tones of a man who she trusted. It was
Shane's voice, which meant that it was Shane's hands trying to
restrain her, which meant that it had been Shane's shoulder/arm/head
that she had
connected with
when she had kicked out.

She blinked the
blood away from her eyes and began to breathe.

It
hurt;
fuck
did it hurt. She didn't know how badly injured she was, not then,
but the pain made it quite obvious that her insides were not where
they used to be, probably smeared all over the Jeep like strange,
theatrical décor – the kind you were apt to see in a
French cinema.

'Everything's going
to be okay,' Terry's voice calmly informed her. 'You just need to
breathe.'

Well,
thanks for that useful nugget of gen
,
she thought.
I almost
forgot about that little known survival technique known as
“breathing”.

'Can
you move?' Shane asked. 'If you can move I want you to try to
wriggle forward.'

'I...I think I
can,' Marla replied, and was surprised that she actually could.
Plus, Shane wouldn't have been asking her to try moving if her
innards were scattered all over the Jeep, so that was a bonus, too.

She
fought through the pins and needles and managed to slide a few feet
down, aided by hands that
were
obviously a little nervous about where to touch.
I'm
a girl
, she thought,
not
a fucking Ming vase.

Her
vision was coming back, and a few more blinks would be enough to
allow her to see, albeit through pink-tinted lenses.