The Biting Cold: A Winter's Horror Tale

The Biting Col
d

By Graeme Clark

A Survival Horror Novella set in Midlothian in Scotland during a harsh winter.

A story of love and survival in
an unforgiving climate, and of monsters in the snow.

The Biting Cold

© Graeme Clark Publications 2014. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise without prior permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and situations borne of the
author’s imagination, are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, situations or establishments are entirely coincidental.

[email protected].

Dedication

This novella is dedicated to the hard working, underpaid men and woman of Midlothian Council. Their real horror stories of harsh Scottish winters and my own experience as one of them for fifteen years inspired this wee story.

The dangers they face are very real, and the dedication they have to keep our roads open during our unpredictable winters must only be
admired.

Hats off to them.

The Call

'Will you wake the fuck
up?' Peter stated with a swing of his left arm. The lorry was a six-wheeler and wide enough for three seats but not wide enough for Danny to be completely out of reach. The lorry had been 'home' for the last four hours; Peter hoped it wouldn't be another four.

'What, whe.., wha..?' Danny said
as he jumped straight up in his seat, spilling some of his two litre bottle of juice that had been balanced on the flat console to his right. 'I've been awake.'

'If you're no' sleeping you're on that damn phone of yours,' Peter said pulling over to the kerb-side. 'I need you to check the back door.'

'Check
my
back door?' Danny rubbed at his eyes. 'You're no gettin' near my back door, ye dirty auld bastard.'

Peter had driven the local authority gritters for half his fifty years of service. He had had a multitude of 'second men' to help him when the snow came
, but none could match the cheek of young Danny. Young, dumb and full of cum, someone once said to him.

'Just check OK?
Lift the door up a notch, we're needing forty grams for the rest of the route.'

'Forty grams?' Danny was perplexed. His doleful expression and heavy eye
s seemed to be a little show for Peter, maybe not as daft as he makes out.

'Per square meter,' Peter continued.

'Wish I had a clue what you were on about.' Danny was honest at least.

'Blue
. We need the door at blue OK, fuckin' blue, it's at red just now, need blue.' Peter never had much patience for the younger generation. He liked Danny but his circus did not have the full complement of clowns. The youth of today seemed destined to have everything done for them, an instruction manual had been written in digital but Peter still lived in an analogue world. Life was being mechanised and automated to make life easier, but how difficult was life anyway?

'Why didn't you just say?' Danny said pulling on his florescent yellow jacket, slowly, arm by arm.

'C'mon, I'd like to get home before Santa comes.'

'Nae chance, bad forecast, this will be an all-nighter,' Danny said with a smile. He grabbed the torch and jumped down from the lorry. Danny was right, there had been a forecast of snow, and with severe gales also blo
wing in from the east, there was more than a chance of an all-nighter. Even if the snow stopped, the drifting alone could keep them out all night. He hated this, he just wanted a Christmas when he could see his wife open her presents in the morning rather than at lunch time, just once.

'Check the load as well,
wasn't much coming out back there, it might be jammed, push some salt onto the belt.' Peter could only hear a little mutter of discontent as Danny disappeared into the darkness behind the gritter.

The
two way radio above Peter's head crackled into life.

'Echo Base to Echo six.' Peter wasn't sure he wanted to
answer, it usually meant they needed him to do something not scheduled, and he was serious about wanting to get home before Santa.

'Echo Base to Echo S
ix, come in.'

Peter snatched the microphone from the radio housing, stretching th
e coiled cable almost straight, 'Echo Six.'

'Peter, we have had a call from the police, couple of cars are stuck at the Leadburn junction, they need assist
ance, when do you think you will get there?' The Leadburn Inn was only a few miles up the road; it was part of his route anyway.

Peter depressed the trigger and spoke, 'Just leaving Penicuik now, should be five, ten minutes.'

Danny jumped back into the cab, shook off his damp jacket and removed it, 'Your back door is all clear, needed to poke it a bit with the shovel but all done.' He smiled that infectious grin of his and settled back into the seat.

'OK Peter, traffic
queuing back a bit, when you reach the scene, liaise with the officers and aid them as much as you can,' Echo Base replied.

'Fuckin' liaise?
That prick was on the tools four weeks ago, now he thinks he's management.' Peter depressed the trigger again, 'Roger that, we are at the moment stationary, Danny is verifying that the stern entrance-way is set at the optimal opening for the task in hand to ensure that the salt can be distributed in such a fashion as to optimise coverage of said salt.' The radio clicked into silence, Peter smiled at Danny. There was no reply. 'Tosser,' Peter said. Danny laughed and snorted, releasing a glistening clump of snot; he wiped it with the sleeve of his jacket.

'What's happened?' Danny asked.

'Couple of cars stuck up the hill, police asking for the number one gritter driver to assist.' Peter stuck an index finger into his barrel chest. 'It's ten now, get this done in an hour, travel back to depot, you can clean down and I’ll be home by midnight, sorted.' He didn't expect, but he did hope.

Peter thre
w the lorry into second gear and started up the hill. Although it was more sleet than snow here, he had enough experience to know the second he left civilisation and headed up the slope out of town, it could quickly turn. There was always hope though.

From
Rain to Snow

The fully laden twenty-six tonne lorry took some pulling. It was a long gradual climb but the engine still seemed to labour. The sleet was getting whiter and whiter by the metre and Peter squinted through the driving white that sparkled in the roof lights beam. The yellow beacons flashed in front and at the side of him and he could see the yellow bouncing around the cab, given the banked snow on either side an eerie glowing orange tinge.

'Peter?' Danny said through a mouthful of crisps
.

'Yes
dear.' Peter answered throwing the steering wheel first right then left around the bends.

'Why do we call it gritting when actually we are carrying salt?'

'Because salting sounds stupid.' A simple answer for a simple mind. Danny nodded and carried on munching and swigging juice from his plastic bottle. This on top of all the energy drinks he had drank so far tonight, Danny would be buzzing for days, every hundred metres or so he would launch an empty can out the window with no care where it landed.

'It's starting to lie again,' Peter said. 'Fuck.'

The fields that surrounded them were still white from an earlier fall. The road had mainly stayed black except for the single streak of white that ran the length of the road in the centre where the white road marking should be. Peter had thought he would get that with the scraper later, as a final clean up, but now the glistening black road was beginning to fill up again. The dirty slush that had soaked this road earlier was beginning to turn white. The snow fell faster and faster; the flakes getting bigger and interlocking into what would eventually form one big formidable mass.

'Put the scraper down Danny,' Peter said. 'We'll start here, won't bother with salt just now
, think we might need the weight later.'

Danny did as was told and pushed the small lever on the control box forward. They could see the scraper from the cab when it was raised in travelling, they watched as it slowly descended in silence as the hydraulics were rele
ased. They heard the roar as the rubber blade set down on the asphalt, slicing through the lying snow fall. The rumble was almost deafening as it vibrated through the cab. Peter didn't want to spin out salt just now because he might need the weight behind him later, and pretty pointless to throw salt down on twelve inches of snow anyway. As the road climbed, visibility lessened; the driving snow battered the windscreen and the roof lights just bounced back from the white, directly into Peter's eyes. He turned the wiper blades up a notch and slowed his speed to only twenty miles per hour.

'Did you see that?' Danny asked. His head was out the side window watching the snow shoot off the side of the scraper onto the verge.

'It's only snow Danny, don't get over excited.'

'No, no.' He shook his head and pulled it back in the cab, water dripped from his face and his hair was dabbled with snow. 'Stop the motor, I saw something, in the snow.'

'Can't stop I'll lose momentum,' Peter said. 'It was probably Santa starting his rounds.'

'No,' Danny paused as if what Peter had said was a genuine guess. 'It looked more like one of his elves.' Peter smiled at this but Danny wasn't joking, his face was ashen, and his eyes wide.

Too many energy drinks.

'I'm tellin' you Peter,
there is something in the snow over there.' He pointed to the left of the cab. Peter glimpsed over but tried to keep his focus on the road, he saw nothing. The immediate area around them was only illuminated by the flashing beacons, no street lights this far from the town.

'It was a dark shape, but it was moving, almost running, completely black except its red eyes,' Danny explained.

'We are in the middle of nowhere, probably an animal of some sort.' Peter dismissed what Danny had seen as caffeine and sugar overload. Fields upon fields of animals surrounded them; it would be no surprise if they came across a few, even hit a few brave ones that darted in front of the scraper.

Why would it be anything else?

'Look, there are the lights of the Leadburn, we'll see what the police want and get this shift finished, OK?' Danny simply nodded. Peter was only focused on returning to Mary, poor, sweet love.

As they approached, the light
became brighter and brighter, an orange glow from the street lights around the junction showed Peter a line of cars, about ten were tailed back from the junction. A police car could be seen ahead on the junction; blue flashing lights mixed with the existing orange and yellow glows and gave this whole area an otherworldly feel. From the sky, Peter imagined, with the surrounding in complete black it would have looked almost like a UFO had landed. A policeman stood at the side of the cars and waved Peter onto the opposite side of the road, no cars approached and Peter pulled onto that lane to overtake. 

'Better lift the scraper a bit, don't want to bury those cars,' Peter asked Danny. Peter rolled down his side window and h
eard the crunch of newly fallen snow under the huge wheels as he continued up the wrong side of the road. It made him feel like an emergency service, the rules of the road don't apply.

On reaching the junction the policeman took up a position at Peter's side. He pulled at his waterproof poncho and wiped drips from his glasses so he could see. His mou
stache was speckled with ice and his flat cap ran water into his face. He raised his voice through the increasing winds.

'We want you to go to Pe
ebles and back, the Borders crews can't get anywhere near this road, they're busy on the Moffat road.'

Peter ha
d dreaded this; no way was he getting home now. He glanced at his watch, it was just passed eleven. No chance.

'I'll need to check with base,' Peter said. He grabbed the handset from the radio.

'No need, we've already checked with your control, it's OK.'

'
Well I suppose yes then.' Peter returned the handset to the cradle, turned the volume on the radio up a bit and said to Danny. 'Guess we're going to Peebles then.'

'Unless the elves get us,' Danny said.

To build the momentum needed, Peter reversed a few feet back down the small incline with the gritter on full to give him grip on the new snow. He threw the gear-stick into second, Danny dropped the scraper again, turned the gritter off and Peter punched the accelerator, the huge hulk roared, the wheels spun slightly in their search for grip; the differential was locked and this helped the wheels search in unison. They found the grip quickly and the motor lurched forward. Once started, Peter knew it would be dangerous to stop. He really hoped they wouldn't need to, especially because of the elves.