All Chapters of Wind Chill: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

CHAPTER 11“Dad!”Emma regretted calling out the moment the word left her lips. The thin trees swayed in the rising wind as if in response, the low-hanging branches whipping at her face. Through the boughs, she saw the sun was all but gone, making long shadows of the wood around her. They swam around her feet like black snakes—like the tendrils she’d seen writhing in the movie theater in her dream—waiting to ensnare and infect her. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw one flick toward her ankle.Emma turned and ran, breaking through the twigs and branches her father had been so careful to avoid going in. Scratched and bloodied, she fell into the snow, throwing one backward glance at the spreading darkness before dashing for the cabin.When she reached the shelter, she slammed the door shut behind her, securing every one of the locks before retreating to the center of the room, the rifle raised in her hands. Her own breaths felt like they were strangling her before common

CHAPTER 13Emma took a seat on the floor after another few hours of scouring her father’s personal effects. A mess of open books and printouts littered the floor around her. The clutter of literature and ramblings had yet to shed any additional light on the situation.Emma’s fingers dug into her stomach, the tightness in her gut making her wince.Crap . . . I only had a couple bites to eat all day, didn’t I?She slunk back downstairs and into the kitchen. The room seemed darker than the day before, and each groan of the appliances sent her fingers fumbling for the pistol at her side. Guilt tightened around her heart like a noose when she saw the table still waiting to be set and the empty skillet sitting on the stove range.He was here just this morning, wasn’t he? Cooking for me. Trying to do something nice for me. And where the hell was I when he needed me?Emma rubbed her head, the image of her father working the stove shifting to the one of him hammering the car’s alternator

CHAPTER 15Emma perused the assortment of tools lining the safe room wall with her bug-out bag in hand.Cripes, it feels like I’m shopping in a hardware store.Her fingers brushed the handle of an axe before drawing away and grabbing the hatchet beside it instead. She lifted the sheathed blade free of the pegboard, testing the weight with a practice swing. Satisfied, Emma pulled a roll of duct tape down and secured the handle to the side of the bag.I just hope this’ll do the job. The rifle’s heavy enough on its own. The last thing I need is unnecessary weight.Returning to the spot that had held the blowtorch, Emma propped her rifle against the wall and picked up two of the spare fuel canisters. It took a fair bit of jostling to maneuver the containers to a standing position around the bottles of water, spare magazines, and pressure-sealed meals she’d packed. Just in case. A sigh came out as she zipped the bag and hoisted it onto her shoulders.I guess you finally rubbed off on

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

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