Gianfranco Mancini’s Reviews > The Cold > Status Update

Seth had seen it in his dreams during his last night at the bunker. He remembered them now. His insides crumpled. His hands shook. He felt the urge to run away, out into the wastes beyond Moresby, and let the snow bury him.

“The more people we find,” said Quinn, “the more we save from the cold.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll try my hardest to get everyone to the army base, but we’ll lose more people before we arrive. I’ve accepted that. Casualties are inevitable.” The pit of Seth’s stomach dipped. He prayed that if he were to die out there in the cold, it’d be a quick, and without too much pain.

An elderly woman died later that day. Her weak heart had failed. She’d gone peacefully, without anyone noticing at first. She was left at the roadside under a hasty covering of snow Quinn and Mack shovelled over her. No one knew her name.

Ruby stood near him, her eyes wide. “It’s beautiful and terrible.” Before the flying thing vanished deeper into the low clouds, a squirming form was glimpsed struggling in its hanging claws. It looked a lot like a person. Ruby looked at Seth then turned away. They were all prey now. Animals to be hunted.

“Christ,” said Seth, wiping his mouth. He noticed Ruby turn away to hide her face. Delia gazed down at her grandson with a trembling smile. “Christ is gone, I think.” The baby boy slept, blissfully oblivious to the world that wanted to consume him.

They walked on. Weir led them to the hospital, which was abandoned except for a few shambling maniacs, driven mad by the terror of the last few days. Weir threatened them with his rifle to keep them away, and they retreated into darkened rooms, all gleaming eyes and cries of distress. A little later, when they ambushed the group with knives and bloodied hammers, Weir was forced to shoot them.

“They don’t belong to this world,” Weir said, looking around with his rifle half-raised. “You reckon they’re aliens?” Andy blinked flecks of snow from his eyes. “They are demons,” Ruby said, wiping her face. Weir shrugged. “They came with the snow. And this is no ordinary snowfall, not in summer.” Seth glanced at the sky. “Summer is dead and gone.” “Do you think the snow will ever stop?” Andy asked. No one answered.

The shapes of buildings began to coalesce from the white fog and soon the group had made it through the car park and out into the street. When Seth looked over his shoulder, the train station had already faded into the falling snow. It was all he could do not to let out a pained whimper at being out in the open, vulnerable to creatures with sharp teeth and deep hunger.

Miles crouched next to where the blood trail ended. He reached out to touch it, but thought better of it at the last moment. He stood and moved away. The three men looked at each other, then again at the blood, before retreating from the edge of the platform. Seth thought again of the terrible thing he’d seen before the train crash, and bit down on his tongue to keep silent.

“I fell asleep, and when I woke up, I saw the snow outside the windows. People were talking about the snow. Then, I’m not sure what happened. I can’t remember.” But the memory was there. The image flooded his system with adrenaline and anxiety. He just couldn’t bring himself to tell them about the thing he’d glimpsed in the snowstorm, moments before the train crashed.