When Winter Comes | Book 5 | Into The White Page 3

  Tori turned back to the window, another wendigo beginning to show its first sign of weakness. I suppose that’s true, she thought. I suppose that’s true.

  4

  Cody Trebeck

  Following the wolf was as impossible as following the trail of a catfish in the depths of a mirky swamp. Occasionally the canine would turn and show those amber-ringed eyes, but for a long stretch of time, Cody merely walked into a sheet of white, hoping for the best.

  And what was it all for? He had no idea. For all he knew, the wolf could have been leading him into the arms of the wendigos, straight through to their den of misery and death. It seemed that every part of the night had been employed by the wendigos to achieve their malicious purpose, so what was one more step into this vacuous hole of pain and destruction?

  The white stretched indefinitely, and soon Cody felt he could go no further. His legs ached from pressing through the snow, the frigid winds ravaged him and turned his exposed skin blue, and if his teeth didn’t stop chattering soon, he was concerned they might just shatter in the frozen bed of his gums.

  After what had been the longest stretch of time without seeing hide nor hair of the wolf, Cody folded his arms across his chest and bellowed into the void. He screamed and cried and shouted his disgust and pain into the elements, venting every last ounce of frustration he held within him. He cursed the wendigos, he cursed the wolf, he cursed Alex and Sophie, his mum and his dad, all of the gods that he didn’t believe in, and still it wasn’t enough. He dropped to his knees, snot already turning to ice as it thickened and attempted to trail from his nose, the skin of his eyelids scratched and raw from pawing his gloves across his face to clear the frozen pellets of ice. His shouting match with the storm was futile. The storm had more breath. The storm had more volume.

  The storm had more life.

  Cody lowered his head, taking huge gasps of air to refill his depleted lungs. He would end things here. Born from the white and lost to the white. Even when he closed his eyes, the white was all he could see. The white and—

  The musty scent of animal filled his nostrils. Something rough and wet traced along his chin. He opened his eyes to find the wolf in front of him, licking eagerly at his face. Their eyes connected, and somewhere deep in the well of those amber-ringed black pits was an intelligence that Cody couldn’t fathom. In that moment he found it laughable that he could have ever been afraid of such a creature.

  The wolf nuzzled the dome of its head against Cody’s chin and pushed upwards, as if trying to encourage Cody to stand. Its thick fur was sodden, and as Cody rose to his feet, he noticed that the wolf was, in fact, no wolf at all. Wolflike in many ways, but a stone’s throw from the breed he had suspected.

  Cody had seen enough of them on the lawns of Greenwich Park to know a husky when he saw one up close. A friendly dog, fiercely loyal to their owner, and filled with bottomless energy. Though he had never seen one quite so white as this.

  The husky barked at Cody’s feet, much of its height lost in the snow. It excitedly reared back on its haunches and ran a tight circle around his legs. Cody laughed, a stark contrast to the infinite frustration that had plagued his entire being just moments before. When it had completed its loop, it nodded its head into the white and barked again.

  “That way?”

  The husky barked in response.

  Cody squinted ahead, only able to see white until the faintest of shapes coalesced in the distance. He narrowed his eyes, shielding them from the snow with one gloved hand. What was out there?

  The husky ran a few metres, then stopped and waited for Cody. When Cody caught up, it took off again, following the same pattern. The faint shape in the distance grew darker with each step, and after a short while Cody understood that there was no foul play at work here, no trick of the mind, no hallucination. Something was dead ahead, and Cody wanted a piece of it.

  He broke into a sprint, terrified that the shape might slip through his fingers like fish through water. Soon enough, the shape took a form that he recognised, something that he had only truly seen first-hand in books and magazines and films.

  An igloo.

  The dog passed Cody and paused by the igloo’s entrance, the outside blocks of ice stained with the remnants of mud and earth from their excavation. It barked three times before digging through the narrow entrance and vanishing inside.

  Cody looked back over his shoulder, ensuring that there was no one following him, no further surprises coming. Satisfied, he crouched and took his first look inside, a steady spill of heat warming his face as he gasped.

  5

  Karl Bowman

  The warm richness of blood coated Karl’s tongue. He lapped at the drink greedily, savouring the flavor, the texture, the viscosity.

  The life.

  He wasn’t sure whose blood it was, and he didn’t really care. All that mattered was that he was alive, and the Masked Ones had shown the true extent of their kindness. They relished him with meat, caressed him with bone, coddled him with flesh.

  Karl didn’t deserve their affection.

  They should have killed him then and there. He knew that. He had let them down, allowed the bitch to escape their grasp and run off into the night. If Karl had only done his job properly, Tori would be in their bellies instead of in their storm, and all would be right in the world. He’d be somewhere off in the night of the mother storm, hunting for his sweet little girl to deliver to his frozen masters. Finding the innocent child so they may do unto her what they will.

  Whatever that may be.

  One of the Masked Ones—the one who bore the bear—ladled the blood one delicious scoopful at a time. It sloshed in clay pot, aged and thick with the remains of previous dinners, adding to the flavours that sparked and blossomed on Karl’s tongue. His arm throbbed, throwing splinters of pain into his system, but the Masked Ones took care of that, too. Although only one arm remained, it would be all that he needed to complete his purpose. They had healed him, taken care of him, proved that he was one of their own and he was valued among the tribe. The blessed Masked Ones with all of their compassion and drive and purpose… How could Karl be in safer hands than these?

  Even the snow didn’t bother him anymore. They had left the storm behind some time ago, the Masked Ones flanking Karl as they stalked away from the location of their conflict with Tori and the mystery woman, leading Karl towards destinations unknown. For a while, all had been white. The houses had vanished, and the storm had cloaked them in its protective bubble. They touched him without physical connection, spurring power into him which removed the aches that plagued his body. He was stunned, stupefied, following blindly in the direction which they took him, because what could be worse than not being in the presence of the masters? What could be worse than their abandonment, and to go back to the life he had once called living?

  Pines had risen like daggers ahead, the fallen lower jaw of some colossal beast. The Masked Ones appeared to float through the snow, leaving only gentle footprints in their wake which the storm greedily lapped up. As they passed through the trees, the snow came to a sudden stop, and walking into the forest was like walking home.

  Karl knew he shouldn’t have been able to see in the darkness that unfurled around them, but as he continued alongside the Masked Ones, the forest opened up ahead of him in shades of black, grey, and white. Columns of wood and bark littered the way ahead, and it seemed impossible that anyone should know their direction in a place such as this but, of course, they did. The Masked Ones were unfaltering as they slipped through the darkness, their white masks floating like dying stars in the void.

  The forest reached out fingertips of delight which caressed Karl as he walked. His naked body warmed in the absence of snow, and the site of the stump of his arm knitted together, encouraged by a presence that he could not see. Rivulets of blood ceased their descent down his body, and the pain that had once racked from the impact of the bullet faded into nothingness.

  Nothingnes
s.

  That was all that was left in this world. When the world shrinks around you, and all you can see is its true components, what else is there? Nothingness…

  …and the Masked Ones.

  Karl’s skin tingled. Pine needles caressed the arches of his feet. Fallen roots snaked away to allow him access through the tangles, and he became suddenly aware of a hot red burning as his penis stiffened with the fervid excitement of what lay ahead.

  A titanic growl, akin to the sound of a steel girder bending under tremendous weight. The aching sigh of a tired machine from somewhere in the gloom. A goofy grin crept onto Karl’s pale cheeks, stained and crusted with the remnants of dry blood as they drew ever closer to a presence that Karl couldn’t even begin to comprehend, but which he felt somewhere deep in the disconnected wiring of his ancestors.

  When the clearing appeared ahead, the Masked Ones slowed their progress, coming to a stop in its centre. Stones were gathered in a circle, leaving traces of ash from a fire that had long-since died. A stretch of cotton canvas that might once have been a tent flapped lazily in the steady breeze, two of its corners pinched beneath the weight of a dozen rocks. What appeared to be a woven basket, shredded, raided, and torn, hung from one handle on the stubby branches of a nearby pine.

  The Masked Ones gathered around Karl, forming a tight circle that, to many, would have been constricting, but to Karl it felt like love. He cried, tears of endless joy salting his lips, as they lay him on a bed of dry pine needles and coaxed his eyes closed with nothing more than their thoughts. They truly were beautiful, made of the raw elements of the earth. Their bracken-thin arms cradled him and eased his descent, the breath that seeped from their masks smelled like familiar history, the darkest corners of an attic left unexplored for generations. With each infinitesimal touch his penis ached, throbbed, twitched, until it was almost painful.

  Was this truly what heaven was like?

  When the blood coated his lips, ecstasy took over, throwing his mind into psychedelic waves of appreciation that could not have been experienced by another human being in history. While the others stood and cast their gaze down at Karl, the bear ladled the blood and fed him the flesh, each mouthful like the first time he had ever tasted sugar and sweets. His hunger sated for mere moments before his aching stomach demanded more, and they provided. Readily, willingly, fattening him up, only for his newfound biology to burn the calories and demand a top-up. Through dazed eyes he glanced at his bearers’ forms and couldn’t understand how they’d worked themselves so thin, so frail, yet held the strength they did. Only when he craned his neck and looked at his own body did he realise that he was not all that different from them.

  His stomach was sunken. The first traces of his ribs were displayed like gentle waves rippling on an ocean. It had been years since he had seen his ribs, his impressive pectorals and six-pack abs doing much of the work in hiding them from view. Now they were there for everyone to see.

  And Karl was thankful. He was one step closer to becoming one of their own, and that was all that he could hope for as something cold and wet slipped down his throat in one easy swallow.

  That mechanic, groaning complaint came again, echoing throughout the hollow, vibrating the marrow of Karl’s bones. He experienced the rumble as one might a thumping bass line of an oversized speaker at a concert, and for the first time since they had escaped the storm, he was afraid.

  Not because the Masked Ones couldn’t protect him from what lay ahead—Karl was certain that his new guardians had his best interests at heart, hadn’t they led him this far?—but because, in that most primal of calls, there came a fluttering sensation of something ancient that Karl couldn’t comprehend. The awakening of a piece of his biology that had otherwise remained hidden since the dawning of time. A defunct segment of genealogy that bristled his hairs and caused his frozen heart to race.

  In that groan there was power, and in power there came fear. The ground softly rumbled beneath his firm bed of pines, and as the Masked Ones tended to his wounds, filled his stomach, and worked their magic, Karl found himself caught in the chasm that spanned between two worlds.

  6

  Tori Asplin

  “Are you ready?” Although there was a slight quiver to Oscar’s voice, there was strength in there, too. Strength that Tori admired, and which reflected that internal resolve his father had once harnessed.

  Naomi gripped the door handle, the bone mask of her late husband secured on her head. The sight of it was disturbing, a stark reminder of what they were setting out to do. They had no idea if this would work at all, but all they could do was try. Something was beyond the barrier of wendigos, and that something had to be stopped.

  Tori gave a curt nod and sighed.

  Oscar adjusted his grip on the rifle—the same rifle Naomi had so recently used to free Tori from Karl and the Masked Ones. He looked absurd, such a young lad holding the weapon of older men. Still, as long as he could point and shoot, that was all that they needed.

  Naomi opened the door.

  Tori expected an icy blast to greet them, but none came. The power of the storm that she had come to expect was muted on this side of the house, and in that muting was a welcome break. She could almost cry, not realising that her thoughts had turned so dark as to believe the storm would never end. That it was all she would know. She had almost died in the arms of the blizzard, but now it was like walking into the first sprinkle of winter. Snowflakes lazily drifted like leaves blown on an autumn wind. The air, while chilly, was fresh, and the density of the oppressing storm was lost. She could breathe out here in the land where footprints faded at a normal rate and you could see beyond the reach of your arm. The snow glittered around them as they took their first tentative steps towards the blockade of creatures.

  Naomi took point, appearing eerily as one of the wendigo’s own as they broke out into the open. There was a strange quiet that put Tori on edge, a feeling that was only magnified as the wendigos simultaneously pivoted their heads to turn in their direction, drawn to the newcomers like moths to a vibrant flame.

  Oscar raised his father’s rifle, bringing the sight to his eyeline. Tori rested a hand on top of the barrel and lowered it for him, terrified that any sudden movement or sign of threat could break this pregnant quiet. “Wait for it,” she soothed. The rifle trembled in his grip.

  Naomi scanned the wendigos for any signs of disruption, then took another step forward. She held up an arm behind her without turning, indicating that the others should stay put. Maintaining equidistant from the blockade, she stalked in one direction, then the other, tracing along the deep groove she created with her feet in the snow. It was then that Tori realised that they weren’t following the group at all, their attention was fixated solely on Naomi.

  Tori watched with fascination as Naomi repeated her pattern, ensuring that her theory was true. The heads swivelled mechanically, unfaltering as they tracked Naomi’s movements. When Naomi made it back to the others, her words were muffled through the mask. “Stay close. Do not turn your back on them.”

  They cast a silent agreement and drew close to Naomi. Oscar’s breath had quickened, and his skin had grown pale. Tori couldn’t blame him. This would be the first time he’d come face to face with the ghastly creatures. An experience she would never wish upon anyone as she remembered the bat-like invasion of the wendigos that broke into her house and shattered her own bubble of reality.

  For the first time since she had been cast from her house, she thought back to her old life. Back to her living as an online celebrity, showered by fans and admirers the world over. How had it come to this? To become so detached from the world she had once known, alone in the fight for her life.

  Not alone. With family.

  But where are your legion of followers now?

  They closed the gap, stopping when they were ten feet away from the centre of the barrier. The wendigos were unblinking, empty in their stares. In their frozen state, Tori’s eyes were drawn
to the imperfections of their bodies—which were many—each wendigo displaying a unique pattern of scars, bruises, and chunks of flesh which had been hollowed from their bodies with bite marks and scratches. While many were in various states of decomposition, a small number appeared freshly inducted into the wendigo family, looking more akin to a regular human than Tori would care to admit. The only things that they all held in common, were the pale white of their skins, the long, thin blackness of their extremities, and the absence of the masks their masters wore.

  Naomi held up a hand again, commanding them in silence like a commander in the throes of a recon mission. She took a steady step closer, closing the gap between her and the creatures. Tori readied her rifle, giving a small nod to Oscar to do the same. They took aim on the two wendigos closest to Naomi as she attempted to walk between them, ready to pull the trigger if necessary.

  God, I hope it isn’t necessary.

  Naomi was within arm’s reach, now. With ease, the wendigos could extend their malnourished arms and grip her throat, scratch her body, draw her toward them. Flashes of a darkened room, a screaming Stanley, the metallic scent of blood as her vision filled with throbbing organs, slick with—

  But they didn’t touch her. They remained still.

  Emboldened by this, Naomi took another step, now standing between the two wendigos, mere feet from both. She turned her gaze between the two, staring into their blank eyes as she made the final step across the threshold.

  She turned her back to the forest, continually looking between the silent pair as she stalked backwards.

  “Mum…?” Oscar trained his sight to the forest’s edge where a single wendigo was working its way towards them. A moment later, another appeared through the trees, then a third.