Blizzard of Souls Page 4

  “Soon, my love, but you have much to do first.”

  “Tell me… Please. I’ll do anything to be with you again.”

  His right hand grew warm and he felt the graceful application of unseen pressure guiding it to the ground in front of him.

  “Use this when the time is right,” the voice whispered.

  “Tina, please… How am I supposed to know when that is?”

  “You’re the shortest, Ray. You’ll know.” The whisper trailed into a wan breeze that circled him like a momentary whirlwind before dissipating.

  “Tina?”

  He waited, knowing deep down that there would be no answer.

  “Don’t leave me!” he shouted, his voice stretching into the fathomless darkness before echoing to mock him from afar.

  He recoiled as something sharp poked his finger, his flesh providing precious little resistance, summoning a swell of blood. Droplets dripping from the wound, he reached back to the floor and carefully traced the outline of the object on the ground.

  “Please don’t leave me,” he moaned. “Not again…”

  Closing his fist around the hilt, he pushed himself back to his feet, and, sobbing, headed back in the direction from which he had come, the blood running from the gash on his index finger down the hilt of the knife and along the razor edge of the blade before slapping to the cavern floor with a faint tap… tap…tap…

  VII

  EVELYN SAT ON THE ROUND ROCK, DANGLING HER BARE FEET INTO THE frigid lake. They were already a shade of red she hadn’t seen before, though her toes were beginning to whiten as the pins and needles faded to numbness. She didn’t know why she couldn’t just pull them out of the water to warm them up. Maybe it was just nice to feel anything other than pain and sadness. The worst part was that the sensation cut through the fog in her brain and laid bare a part of her that she hadn’t realized existed. Hidden in her psyche, somewhere in that normally impregnable trove of repressed thoughts and desires, was a very real part of her that resented her father for what he had done to her. The rational Evelyn knew that his accident had been just that, and not a deliberate ploy to ruin her life. She had loved him as much as any child could love a father, but when she had been forced to abandon her life and education to return to the pheasant ranch she’d worked so hard to escape, that seed of resentment had taken root like a tumor. It was one thing coming to grips with that loathsome realization, but another entirely having to mentally relive dragging his corpse out of the house and to the fire pit, where she’d already incinerated the carcasses of their stock. Screwing the spigot off the gas can to spatter his bloated black body with the remaining drops. Bringing the sky blue flame to his pajamas, watching only long enough to ensure that the fire began to consume him. The smoke from his impromptu pyre rising over the burning barn in the rear view mirror as she sped down the dirt drive and away from the smoldering remains of the dream her parents had shared.

  “I’m so sorry, Daddy,” she mewled, dragging the tears from the corners of her eyes before they could even form.

  She looked out across the lake, the harsh black waves shimmering even in the absence of the sun, to the small island of stone, little more than a line against the eastern horizon. The others were a couple hundred yards to the north on the sandy part of the beach, and while she longed for even the sympathy and companionship of strangers, she craved isolation more. What kind of person was she that she would think such terrible thoughts about her own father? Had that twisted part of her soul actually been happy when he died?

  The tears began to flow again, only this time faster than she could chase them away. Lowering her head, she let it bob uselessly on her limp neck with the shuddering of her shoulders. Droplets quivered on her chin before swelling enough to slip away to splash into the saline shallows.

  “Mormon Tears,” she whispered, shaking her head. It was a sea of lost lives and sorrow, filled by the salty tears—

  Evelyn bolted upright, her brow furrowing.

  It was more than a reservoir of humanity’s amassed suffering, more than the beacon that had drawn all of them to its sandy white bosom.

  It was their salvation.

  “My God,” Evelyn gasped, jumping to her feet. Between the ferocious pain and the numbness, they were barely able to support her, allowing her just enough time to grab back onto her rocky perch before depositing her in the brine. Scrabbling over the rocks, she hit the sand on all fours, crawling until she could take the maddeningly slow progress no more and fought to her feet, stumbling as fast as she could toward the bonfire and the cave where she’d left her backpack. “Tell me they’re still alive. Dear Lord, please let them still be alive.”

  She blew past a small group of people congregating around a camper in the bed of a pickup and another cluster where a man in army fatigues tended to a blonde woman’s foot before ducking into the smoky entrance to the cavern.

  “Hey lady,” the old man by the fire called after her as she headed straight for where she’d set her bag against the wall. “Got any more of them beans?”

  Throwing the strap over her shoulder, she raced past him and outside without sparing an answer, focused on the area down the beach where the smooth sand met with the rocky coast. After fifty yards she finally had to slow to catch her breath, seizing the opportunity to rummage through the precious few belongings she could claim as her own. When she finally found what she was looking for, she yanked it out of the backpack and let it fall to the ground. Peeling away the layers of cellophane, she unfolded the first long green-brown leaf and examined the small ball of roots. They were barely moist, but had yet to lose their elasticity. The leaf itself was beginning to wither, but it was one of the most resilient species on the planet and she held out hope, tucking the package into the breast pocket of her flannel shirt.

  Clambering over the rocks, she knelt in the water and began dragging away the smaller pebbles lining the bed, the water sloshing against her waist raising all of the hackles on her skin. The soft silt beneath clouded the water to the point that she couldn’t see her hands at all, but she knew she didn’t have to dig very deep. Grabbing the bundle from her pocket, she lowered the first leaf of kelp into the water, wiggling it until she had the roots exactly where she wanted them, and then packed the dirt around the stem. She’d only brought a dozen plants with her as a reminder of what might have been, a security blanket amidst the chaos of Armageddon, but she planted each of them meticulously, piling the dirt over the roots and packing it just tight enough to hold them in place while still allowing oxygen to filter through. Finally, she dragged the pebbles back around the plants, using the larger stones to protect them, and pulled her hands out of the water. They were so cold that her digits were all but useless claws that she tucked into her armpits to leech the warmth from her torso, but they had served their purpose. Whatever pain may follow would be worth it.

  She rose on shivering legs and sat on the large rock, tucking her knees to her chest to conserve what little body heat remained. Teeth chattering, she endured the interminable wait as the cloud of stirred sand finally settled once again and the water cleared enough to see the fruits of her labor. Exactly eleven long leaves stood from between the rocks, wavering back and forth as the gentle waves came and went.

  In her past life, this would have been the culmination of her Master’s Thesis, an actual physical test of her hypothesis. Her heart beat faster as the excitement claimed her. She was about to find out if her professional aspirations had been in vain or if it would have been possible to sustain oceanic crops of kelp capable of feeding entire nations and helping to heal the seas of the scars of man’s incessant trespassing. More than that, she knew that these weren’t simple crops that she had transplanted from several hundred miles away. They were more than single long leaves she hoped would continue to grow into mature plants; more than potential salads. This kelp was no longer the biological trash to be combed from the beaches to ready them for the constant deluge of tourists, but a commodi
ty worth its weight in gold…

  Hope.

  VIII

  The Ruins of Denver, Colorado

  DEATH STOOD AT THE EDGE OF THE ROOM WHERE ONCE A WINDOW HAD stretched from floor to ceiling, staring out upon what looked like the entire world from his vantage on the top floor of the skeletal black tower. Thunderheads roiled overhead, the flashes of lightning becoming increasingly infrequent, obscuring the rising sun, if it still even graced the heavens. The world outside was dead, save the mutating feral vegetation. No higher life forms moved out there on the plains, stretching away from the foothills and the Rocky Mountains behind, where once millions had thrived.

  The entire Swarm rested beneath his feet, filling the floors below, clinging to the darkness. Some had shimmied into the air ducts where no sunlight would interrupt their slumber, while others were packed into interior offices and bathrooms, sealed into the ceilings where there was no chance of being accosted by even the attenuated rays of the sun. As they matured, so did their prowess. While their eyesight had grown exponentially more powerful, acclimating to seeing in perfect darkness, bright light now burned their pupils. They were the perfect hunters, and soon he would turn them loose on the dying limb of the evolutionary tree. Scourge the earth and then begin anew. Just as they had so many times before in their different incarnations.

  Death had no way of knowing what the Lord had been thinking when he designed this current dominant species, for His will was unquestioned. He had created humanity in His image, but in doing so had released creatures who thought themselves gods onto a planet unable to support their destructive whims. God could be loving and He could be vengeful, and in crafting miniaturized versions of Himself, He had instilled these traits into each and every one of them. These men could hold a baby bird in one cupped palm, gazing down upon it with genuine compassion, and then pound it with the other fist. It was the dichotomous nature of the Maker Himself. He had given them the gift of divinity unfulfilled and they had used that power to destroy themselves in the name of the God who had bestowed it upon them. Their vengeful side had warred against their goodness and had annihilated it, which only seemed appropriate given in whose likeness they had been cast.

  A snowflake, grayed by the ash in the sky, floated through the opening where once the window had been to gracefully land in his open palm, a pristine crystalline design atop the intricate mesh of black scales, before melting into a small droplet like a single tear to roll down his wrist and into his sleeve of tanned human flesh. More snowflakes materialized in the sky, intensifying with each plume of frozen breath escaping from his reptilian lips. More snow would come and they would travel beneath the cover of the storm. The time was finally at hand.

  The winter was upon them.

  Chapter 2

  I

  Mormon Tears

  RICHARD SAT APART FROM THE OTHERS WITH HIS BACK TO THE FACE OF the outcropping, his legs stretched out onto the sand in front of him, a plate stained with the residue of his beans resting on his lap. From this vantage, he could see all but a couple of people still inside the cave. He studied the demographics of the group as a whole to try to discover the hierarchy. As of now, they were still congregating in small groups like clans. The first step would be to unite them.

  He thought back to what the boy with whom he had been traveling had said. They had still been in the van at that point, filling up at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. He had finished pumping before those braving the darkness inside the store had returned with their armfuls of food, sitting in the driver’s seat, legs dangling, letting a cigarette burn between his fingers. The boy had called out from where he slept in the rear of the van.

  “The war is coming,” he cried. “They’ll come out of the snow and kill us all!”

  At the time, Richard hadn’t thought a thing of it. Granted, the words, the sheer terror in the child’s voice had raised all the gooseflesh on his body, but it was only a child having a nightmare. After everything he’d already survived, Richard would have been more surprised if the boy hadn’t been accosted by his dreams. But now the boy had led them to the “Mormon Tears” of his dreams, to where all of the others were gathering, which lent him a new measure of credibility. So if what this kid was saying was true, then there was still fighting to come. And what was the best way to keep out of combat? To be the leader, of course. President Wallace hadn’t been standing on the bow of the USS Talon when they were preparing to launch the nukes from the submarines in the Persian Gulf. Truman hadn’t been strapped aboard the Enola Gay when she dropped her atomic payload on Hiroshima. FDR hadn’t given the battle cry and led his troops into the trenches behind his wheelchair. No, they had all been thousands of miles from the front lines with a small contingent of highly trained soldiers at their beck and call. The safest person in any war was the man giving the orders to march the tin soldiers to their deaths.

  It was only fitting that he should lead. He was a United States Congressman after all. He would have been in the Oval Office someday anyway. Maybe he would never cross the Presidential Seal now. No matter. Power came from within, breeding respect in the masses. It was an elusive thing besides. There was nothing tangible about power. All he had to do was reach out and grab a handful of empty air and call it such. Cattle existed to be led. That was part of their nature. They stood around uselessly until someone came into their midst to drive them ahead.

  His lot would be to lead them. Whether or not there would ever be a war was inconsequential. If an army rose against them, he would send his soldiers to their deaths with a clear conscience. If not…power did have its benefits after all. Maybe he could begin the world anew as a Pharaoh or a Caesar and let the others toil to build monuments to him. He needed to be practical, though. When food grew scarce, who would eat? When the supply of potable water was nearly exhausted, who would decide their rations? And if the time ever came to die, who would be the last in line?

  It was all in the timing from here. He had to gather them around him soon, but there was no way to force them. They needed someone to rise to the forefront from the start, so he needed to observe them to see if anyone had already done so. That wouldn’t deter him by any stretch of the imagination. It would only require a little more planning. People were easily enough discredited in the eyes of the masses and anyone was susceptible to the wiles of temptation. He was a politician, for God’s sake. Making other people look bad came as naturally to him as passing a bowel movement. So far, however, there didn’t appear to be an alpha in the whole bunch.

  He needed more than just a background in civil service if he were to expect these men and women to raise arms and fight to their deaths for him. There had to be an emotional component, a battle cry to rally them to his side. These cattle needed to believe that he was more than human. After all, nearly all ancient cultures believed their rulers to be descended from divinity. If they were to blindly accept the imposition of his will, then they needed to believe he was nothing shy of the second coming of Christ.

  To his left, a boy who looked like he hadn’t seen a day of sunshine in his life awkwardly flirted with a young girl who should have been well out of his league, but there was obviously chemistry between them. Neither could have been out of their teens, but he could safely eliminate them as a significant threat as none of the others flocked to them.

  To his right there were several groups of people, while others hovered between as though trying to be alone amidst the congregations or gathering their courage to join them. The blonde he had come in with now had her feet bandaged and appeared to be reveling in the attention as the others catered to her, bringing her food and water along with additional layers of clothing. There were two men in full army garb, though neither exuded the aura of authority their uniforms should by all rights have commanded, though both appeared more than adept at treating the woman. Perhaps medics? The only one who looked to be potential competition was the man with the trailer, which seemed to be as good a command post as any. He sat on
the step leading up into the camper with a shotgun on his lap. The others surrounded him, facing him as though he were the focal point. Regardless of whether he turned out to be the direct opposition or not, Richard knew the man would make a prime ally. The longer he waited now, the more power the man with the shotgun would assume either by choice or by gift. Richard needed to find that one special thing to unite them and bring them unquestionably into his service to support him as their leader. And he needed to find it fast…

  The young boy who had led them there appeared from the cave, holding a plate in one hand and his mother’s hand in the other.

  Richard smiled.

  This was going to be too easy. Casting his plate aside, he looked for the best and most centralized location. There was an old white Ford truck parked in the middle of the beach. He strode purposefully toward it, oblivious to the sideways glances of those who noticed him. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? What was the best way to galvanize people?

  Fear.

  Fear of the unknown was an undeniably strong force, but more frightening still was the fear of what was already known. Every one of them had surely seen what those mutated reptilian men could do, and that was more than terrifying enough to get their attention.

  Richard stepped up onto the front driver’s side tire and clambered onto the hood, which bowed beneath his weight with a metallic thumping. Removing the tie from around his head, he hung it from his neck without bothering to tighten it. Licking his palms to smooth back his hair, he cleared his throat.

  “Everyone listen!” he shouted. The din of conversation ceased almost immediately, the remaining voices dying down until Richard could see all of their eyes upon him. “We’re running out of time. The creatures are still coming for us.”