T Connor: Bitter Cold Apocalypse

“A bird and a bear.” The man was using a manual flint-loaded fire-starter to send sparks into the kindling now, and I wished he’d hurry it up. I was freezing—and starting to feel the effects of the wound in my side. “That it?”

“It all started with a deer running in circles like a dog chasing its tail, then knocking itself unconscious by ramming into a tree.”

The man squinted and frowned, but made no further comment. Honestly, I was starting to get annoyed. How many examples did this guy need before he finally started to see what I was seeing? If he’d been out in the woods, chances were good that he’d seen something just as crazy.

If all the animals were acting the same way—and I was convinced that they were—then something had happened out there. I knew it.

“I know it sounds crazy. We thought it was crazy, too. But then… well, did you get a look at the sky?”

The man grunted again. “The sun.”

For a moment, as our burly host hunched down by the fire, I flashed back to the wild bear just before it turned to attack with all its speed and ferocity. This guy reminded me of that bear: large and dangerous and perhaps a little unstable.

I felt my muscles tensing and started to wonder if my body knew something my brain hadn’t figured out yet. Maybe there was danger here, and my brain was just too slow to catch onto it.

“My name’s John, by the way.” I forced a smile, hoping an introduction might defuse some of the tension. Maybe if we could start a conversation, I could convince my instincts to settle down. “This is Angie.”

The man didn’t acknowledge the introductions other than to take a good look at Angie’s sleeping form. Her face carried the look of a child having bad dreams, and she moaned softly every so often. I knew she was probably reaching delirium and that we needed to do something. Soon.

I also didn’t care for the way the big man was staring at her. There might have been a tight grin forming on his hair-covered face, but it was hard to tell.

He got up and lit the lamps, then went to a wall shelf and pulled down a couple of cans, a small can opener, and a sauce pan, took them to the table that appeared to also serve as a kitchen counter, and emptied the cans of what looked like beans into the pan. He set the pan on the stove top.

The fire began to crackle, warmth spreading through the room like the blessing of sunlight in summer, and I felt the exhaustion beginning to wrap itself around me, smothering my efforts to stay alert and aware. I busied myself with checking over Angie’s improvised bandage. Her wound had bled again at some point, but it seemed to have slowed again. The bandage was holding, and I thought the wound was probably starting to scab up in some places, but the skin around the wound was still very red and hot to the touch, despite our cold walk.

Still, there was nothing more I could do for the injury right now. I had to get her to a hospital to get her some real help. I needed to convince this guy to help us—or tell us where we could find help.

I covered her back up with the blanket and brushed my rough fingers along the smooth skin of her forehead. She looked too pale, and her breathing was a bit shallow. If she became feverish overnight, we were going to have some real trouble on our hands.

“She needs water.”

I looked up and found the big man with no name standing three paces away, facing his unwelcome guests. He held a glass of clear liquid in his hand. At the sight of the water, my throat felt suddenly dry.

“Here,” the man said, holding out the glass.

I cringed, wishing I’d been paying enough attention to have seen the man pour the water. I had no way of knowing what was actually in the glass. But we really did need the water, and though my better judgement was counseling caution, I took the glass, resisting the urge to drink first and tipping the cup over Angie’s mouth. I let a few drops fall out to wet her lips, and after a moment she licked her lips and opened her mouth. I poured thin streams of water into her mouth a little at a time, careful not to pour too much. When she’d had a few swallows, I tipped the cup to my own lips and took a sip.

The water was cool and refreshing, rejuvenating me a bit. It didn’t taste of anything other than water. And I’d had enough training in the taste of poisons to think I would know if I came across one. I waited for a moment for the numbing of my tongue or lips, as that would have indicated poison, but nothing happened.

“Thank you.” I handed the glass back to my host.

The man grunted again and returned to the stove. “Nice tags,” he said without turning around.

I lowered my eyes and noticed that my dog tags had slipped out from under my jacket. Dammit. I didn’t know why, but something about the man knowing I had that sort of training bothered me.

I was getting paranoid, I told myself firmly. There was no reason to hide something like that from the guy. Even if he turned out to be dangerous, he’d know I was military now, and would maybe think twice before he pulled anything.

“Uh, thanks.”

“What’s it like bein’ a mindless tool in the hands of a corrupt government?”

It was said casually, in an even voice, but contained an undertone of hostility.

Right. So not friends, then. My muscles, which had already been on high alert, pulled even tighter, and I narrowed my eyes at his back.

“I’m just jerkin’ yer chain,” the man said before I could reply, turning to offer a broken smile through his beard.

“Funny,” I said. “So, do you happen to have a working phone or a radio? Something we can use to call for help?”

Another grunt. “Radio’s been busted for a while. Got a working truck, though. Could maybe help you get where you’re going. Where are you folks headed, anyway?”

I debated how much to tell him. I didn’t love the idea of letting this guy know who we were, but there didn’t seem to be much choice. I desperately needed to get Angie to a hospital, and I didn’t think I was going to be able to do it on foot.

I was running dangerously short of options. A truck would make life a whole lot easier—even if it came with the fine print of having this bear of a man tagging along. But I was going to have to make sure he didn’t try anything stupid.

“We need to get back to Ellis Woods as soon as possible,” I said. “My wife needs a hospital. And there’s someone there waiting for us.”

“Got family there, do ya?”

“Some,” I said. “We have a daughter in town. And connections to some…” I bit my lip, trying to find the right way through this. Would it be better or worse if he knew how important Angie was to the town leadership? Would it make him more likely to help us—or less?

In the end, I decided that it was worth the risk. Make Angie sound important enough and we might improve our chances of this man offering to help. If only because he thought he’d be getting a reward out of the deal.

“The truth is, the mayor is my wife’s uncle,” I said quickly. “And I’m sure he’d be awfully thankful to anyone who helped us out.”

I watched him, wondering if I’d guessed correctly, and saw him perk up—once at the mention of Ellis Woods and then again at the mention of Angie’s connection to the mayor.

Shit. I had a bad feeling that I’d guessed wrong. A bad feeling that I should have kept my mouth shut instead of trying to bribe him with information.

“Ellis Woods, eh? I know the place. Had some run-ins with the mayor over there. We don’t see eye to eye on some things.”

The man grinned while I tried not to let anything show on my face. Angie and her uncle were very close, which meant he was my friend and my family by marriage. If this guy was on the outs with the town leadership, I needed to be very careful how much more I told him.