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Prologue
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Wind Chill Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1Emma Rawlins leaned back and watched a blade longer than her body flash across the screen. A gout of blood the tint of cherry Kool-Aid splashed the wall behind the victim. The final girl’s best friend went down clutching her throat. A chortle shot through Emma’s straw, the bubbling of her root beer dubbing what should have been a death rattle.“Shh!”Emma glanced around, ready to lob a handful of popcorn. The theater was too dark to identify the proper target. She spoke just loud enough to be heard over the score.“Bite me.”Attention back on the screen, the movie finally earned its one and only shudder. There was a close-up of the victim’s eyes. They stared through Emma, vacant . . . pleading. A sudden mist drifted into her mind, distorting the image into one far more familiar. Her fingers clutched the armrest as she leaned forward, whispering an apology she’d never gotten to make.“Mom, I . . . ”The effect only lasted until the camera panned back far enough to show
Wind Chill Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2Emma knew she was screwed before she could even flip the light switch. An exhale nearby destroyed the silence she’d hoped to maintain. The stink of tobacco drifted into her nose and dragged a cough from her lungs.“It’s an hour past your curfew, young lady.”Emma rolled her eyes before flicking the switch. Her father watched her from his seat at the kitchen table, the brown eyes inscrutable behind the lenses of his glasses. Smoke drifted up from the Marlboro smoking in his hand.Emma dug in her jacket pocket for her phone before holding it out.“My cell died. The stupid alarm never went off.”“Try again, kiddo.”Emma fought to maintain eye contact with her father. Her finger pressed on the cell’s POWER button, the nail tapping on the dead screen a moment later.“See?”Her father stood, his thin, six-foot frame dwarfing Emma as he approached her and took the device from her hand. She hoped he didn’t see her gorge rise and fall during the appraisal.Buy it. You don’t
Wind Chill Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3Emma stood outside the movie theater. Instead of the light snow that had settled on her shoulders that night, torrents of rain ate through her jacket and soaked her skin. She ran under the outcropping. To the doors.She shivered as she wrenched at the handle, a gust of cold air freezing the water to her flesh. The doors trembled, but refused to budge.Open, damn it!It was only then she realized how dark it was inside. The area holding the concession stand was pitch black. The ticket booth, empty. She pounded on the glass.“Tara! Are you in there? Let me in!”Emma jumped back when four rows of tiny bulbs flared to life on the lobby wall. She squinted, distance making the image at the center of the lights indistinct while her eyes struggled to adjust. When they did, she backed away until her heels struck the curb, the downpour drenching her.W-what . . . ?Emma stared into her mother’s eye sockets, her open mouth just visible above the bottom border of the poster’s fra
Wind Chill Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4Emma barely found the strength to open her eyes when she came to. Her body felt heavy, as if her insides had been replaced with lead. It took several long minutes before the movement of the car and the texture of the upholstery penetrated the fog in her head. So did the sharp hiss of her father’s breath as he made a hard turn on the road.I . . . wh-where . . . ?Her father took a quick look at her over his shoulder. Some of the intensity in his eyes had faded. But not nearly enough.“Try to lay still. It’s going to be a little while before that sedative finishes working its way out of your system.”Emma tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea and lightheadedness overpowered her before she’d gone up an inch. A grimace twisted her expression.Her father sighed. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”He shifted in his seat. “Then again, I suppose you don’t have much choice right now.”He cleared his throat, and Emma didn’t have to see him wet his lips to know what was coming.
Wind Chill Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5Emma slid past her father’s hand and out of the car. Just trying to bear her own weight made her dizzy, and she had to place a palm atop the car’s roof for support. She looked upon the cabin, the snow-covered trees poking from the ground like the skeletal hands of a giant—anywhere but at her father.I . . . I kept hoping he’d get better. But it’s never going to happen. Ever. He’s lost it. He’s lost . . .Tears welled in her eyes when she tried to reconcile the gentle parent of her youth—the man who read her bedtime stories, built her treehouse, and scared away the monsters under her bed—with someone willing to pump her full of drugs to avoid an argument.Just because it was faster! Faster!Emma wiped at the tears threatening to fall.Jesus Christ . . . who are you?The hand that fell atop Emma’s head, trying to stroke her hair, felt like talons. She and her father pulled away from each other at the same instant. Still unsteady, Emma lost her balance and crashed ass-fir
Wind Chill Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6“Em! Time for dinner!”From atop the bed, Emma looked over her knees to the door. Her will fought what felt to be a nest of rats chewing at her insides, but the growl that bubbled from her guts spoke of larger creatures.“I’m not hungry.”Past the door, her father sighed.“Now, I know that’s not true. We were on the road for—”Emma leaned forward. “How long?”Searching the room, she realized she’d been too absorbed in the insanity of the situation to look for a clock. “Dad?”A tiny vibration trembled through the door as her father either leaned against it or rested his hand against the wood.“It was a long trip, honey.”“How long?”Emma imagined her father fussing with his moustache.“Seventeen hours.”“Seventeen hours?” Emma was off the bed and pacing to the door. Her hand was nearly on the knob before she relented. Images of her friends’ faces, her town, flitted across her mind like photographs. Their presence felt every bit as distant.Jesus . . . I was out f
Wind Chill Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7Emma paced her room.If I can’t figure something out and get away with it, I’ve got four months . . . four fucking months . . .Looking around, she realized she didn’t even have a calendar to mark the days. Instead, the paranoid titles of her father’s books whispered to her about the hours yet to pass. She kicked the bug-out bag to the corner. Frustration staunched the welling tears before they could drip to the floor.No phone, no computer, no movies. Not even a poster, for Christ’s sake!The window rattled behind the metal barrier. Echoes of a high-pitched gust tingled in Emma’s ears, raising the fine hairs on her arms. She rubbed the limbs, trying to subdue the sudden outbreak of gooseflesh until the noise passed.Damn, Dad. I really wish you would’ve at least let me grab my iPod.Shivering, Emma snatched the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around herself like a cloak. She scowled, drawing deeper into it.And it’s fucking freezing on top of it. Location, locatio
Wind Chill Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8“How’d you sleep?”Emma watched her father’s hopeful smile wilt under a well-aimed glare. Clearing his throat, he turned his attention back to the eggs cooking on the stove.Emma took a sip from the cup of coffee waiting for her on the table. Her mouth puckered at the drink’s bitterness, but she ignored the sugar and creamer at her elbow.“That stupid wind kept me up all night.”Her father reached for the bag of bread on the counter and pushed two slices into the toaster. “Winters around here are usually pretty harsh. It should start calming down in a couple months, though.”Emma rubbed her eyes and took a long draught of her coffee.Great.The eggs sizzled while she again took stock of the kitchen. While it had fewer rooms, each part of the cabin appeared larger than its counterpart back home, making her feel even shorter than usual. Every cabinet seemed out of reach.“Where did you find this place, anyway?”Her father scraped the eggs off the skillet with a spatul
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Wind Chill The Last Great Effect
THE LAST GREAT EFFECTClyde Reynolds pushed his foot down on the accelerator so hard his knee began to ache. He gritted his teeth, dodging around traffic and ignoring the profanity aimed his way through open windows. Reggie’s voice again drifted into the car via Bluetooth.“Clyde? You still there, man?”Clyde winced as yet another horn blared behind him. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m here. You just stay with me, okay? Just keep talking.”A sigh blew through the speakers. Tired. Dreamy. Clyde cringed deeper into his seat, feeling as if a precursor to his friend’s death rattle were blowing into the car like a dry Autumn breeze.“I’ve had an awful lot of pills. An awful lot. I’m sorry about all this.”Oh Christ!Clyde held his breath and blew past a red light. His hands throttled the wheel when the sign for Reggie’s street came into view. The car nearly tipped when he spun into the turn.Almost there. Keep him talking.“It’s okay! I’m your friend, remember? It’s been that way for thirty years
Wind Chill The Deconstructionist
THE DECONSTRUCTIONISTAndy Harper drank in the world he’d wrought. The spires of massive skyscrapers pierced the clouds and gouged the ionosphere. Far below, the tangle of glass and steel stretched across the landscape. The streets that had once connected the buildings were no longer necessary. The roads had simply been swallowed up as the structures grew, the bulk of each tower melting into the next until all were united. Vacant, the rows of buildings stood sentry over what few patches of bare space remained below. All was silent until Andy’s mutter of disgust.It’s gone stale? Already?He waved his hand and let it all dissolve. As the structures had been built, they vanished, their outlines shimmering while the molecules composing them lost their solidity and came apart. Dozens of miles of metropolis were reduced to a vacant lot in a matter of seconds. Only a few places that held the essentials of life were allowed to remain behind. Andy sat and rested his narrow chin on his knuck
Wind Chill The Skin Trade
THE SKIN TRADECarl Hanson nursed his whiskey and soda at the hotel bar. He observed the man reflected in the polished wood under his elbows, his free hand unsure whether to smooth the streak of gray hair resting near his temple or hide it. Carl grimaced, sharpening all the little lines in his face he was learning to hate. The smooth, hungry faces of the others he’d met at the conference leered through his memory.Young Turks as far as the eye can see. Probably snickering behind my back as soon as I got off stage. Or just planning how to gun for me. Well, I may be getting a little gray and overweight, but I’m not dead yet, kiddies.Carl downed the rest of his drink. Setting the glass down, his eyebrows raised when the bartender gave him a refill without prompting.The young man looked at Carl over his shoulder while returning the bottle to its spot on the shelf. White teeth flashed a conspiratorial smile in his tan face.“Courtesy of the lady at the end of the bar, sir.”Carl lea
Wind Chill Jump Cuts
JUMP CUTSEllen Harris sleepwalked through town. Reflex lifted her feet with the February drifts, the whiteout in her mind even more complete. Her slow pace through the snow on the ground offered up no sound to wake her from the daily trance while her subconscious gorged on winter scenery, storing the skeleton fingers of white trees for future dreams and nightmares.A truck sped by her, the spraying of snow under its tires breaking the spell chanted by the wind. Ellen wiped the moisture from her face.Was that ten minutes I’ve been walking? She squinted in search of a landmark. Twenty?Ellen hid her face deeper inside the collar of her coat and picked up her pace, desperately trying to return to the dead zone in her head. She strained to find the emptiness, but it was too late. The past coughed the dust from its lungs and whispered to her instead. A different void began to creep inside her, and this one didn’t offer the comfort of oblivion. She glared at the taillights disappearing
Wind Chill Shadowplay
SHADOWPLAYCaleb Hunter rested his elbows on his desk. The small white carton of pork lo mein that rested between them had been empty for almost fifteen minutes. As usual, the remaining portion of his lunch break was spent looking out his office window.He sighed and rubbed his fingers against the streaks of gray encroaching on his temples. Across the street below, children frolicked, screaming while they chased each other and clambered over the playground equipment erected in the park. One young boy sat atop a large rock on the outskirts. His sneakered feet swung back and forth, heels striking the plaque bearing Caleb’s name amongst the donors. Each unheard thud against the metal reminded Caleb of the beat of a younger, healthier heart.How old was I the last time I hung upside down on the monkey bars until I got lightheaded? Or played kickball? Or had any actual fun?The laughter below dredged Brian’s grin from the depths of his memory, a lopsided assortment of gaps and baby teet
Wind Chill Little Red Vest
LITTLE RED VESTKathy Sullivan groaned in tune with her car’s engine.Come on. Oh, come onnnn . . .Her hands tightened around the wheel while she pushed the Lexus to the nearest space on the side of the road. The vehicle barely squeezed in before sputtering its death rattle. Karen’s head banged against the wheel.A year and a half since my last vacation and the car dies on day one. Of course. Why not?She got out and slammed the door behind her. The ivory paint reminded her of the dealer’s bleached teeth.Like brand-new, ma’am. Full package. Very reliable. She banged a fist on the roof. Asshole!Kathy fished for the cell phone in her purse, praying AAA had someone close by.Just stay calm. You can get a cab to get you to the hotel. Big as this city is, there’s got to be a mechanic around who can get that piece of junk running again by the time this little trip is over.Realizing she would need to give the person who answered her call a location, she looked around, but nothing
Wind Chill Bang!
BANG!Richard swayed in time with the piano music seeping up to him through the roof. The vibrations tickled his feet through the soles of handmade Italian shoes, as did the conversations of the diners still inside the restaurant—and their heartbeats. Elongated ears trembled at the sound of the door opening below. He grumbled in tune with his stomach at the sight of the couple walking out arm in arm.Wonderful. Another pair of bloody lovebirds.Richard pulled a silver pocket watch from its place in his vest.There are only four people left inside and dinner service ends in fifteen minutes. His stomach growled even louder than before. If I have to skip another meal, so help me . . .Five minutes passed before fresh footfalls sounded below—the remaining patrons all leaving the same table. He waited while they exited to the sidewalk and said their goodbyes. Two cars roared to life and buzzed down the street. Aching from the cacophony, Richard’s ears still picked up the click of high
Wind Chill The Fear Merchant
THE FEAR MERCHANTThe Jack-o’-lantern on Roy Wallace’s porch was in desperate need of a Botox treatment. A mere week after Halloween, rot was already hard at work on the toothy grin. The corners of its mouth had drooped into a grimace, and the gourd reeked of sweet decay and old smoke. His face twisting into the same mask of displeasure, Roy didn’t know what to blame: the odor or the house across the street.DiStefano . . . how am I supposed to compete with that prick?He considered ending his creation’s torment with a boot through the face as he looked upon the parade of children passing through his neighbor’s door.Damn, they’re still going over there? The line looks even longer than it did an hour ago.Roy hissed out a sigh to match the one blowing through the dead leaves on his doorstep.I haven’t seen those piled up in twenty years.He could almost feel DiStefano rubbing his nose in them.Fucker got his first visual effects Oscar the same year I washed out of FX school. Al
Wind Chill Epilogue
EPILOGUEEmmett Kinley kept his eyes on the road.The lush spring greenery made him want to raise the windows until the car was an airtight box. Even cloistered inside the vehicle, he fancied he caught a whiff of wet grass and lilac. His finger stabbed the button for the windows. The pressure didn’t ease until the cabin appeared in the distance.No choice but to suck it up now. I don’t know why I keep comin’ back here.No sooner had the thought passed his mind than he felt like hitting himself.Because he was your boy, damn it. And he deserves to be remembered.Emmett punched the wheel hard enough to activate the horn.I told him winter was gonna be bad that year. The worst in a century, I said. I told him to pack heavy to cover him and that drinkin’ buddy of his when he insisted on goin’. I told him not to risk traipsin’ outside when it got that damn cold. Why the hell didn’t he listen?He took a deep breath, then tried to snort out the scents he imagined he’d sucked in.I ju
