Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II) (17 page)

“We should leave now,” he said.

“Okay. Why?”

“Look behind you.”

Doug complied.

The more aggressive animals had gathered at the mouth of the opening. They crouched on their haunches, hair standing on end, teeth exposed. The wolves howled, the bears stood on their hind legs and bellowed, and the mountain lion let loose with its primal roar. The less hostile creatures huddled behind them like scared aboriginal children seeking the protection of their tribal warriors.

Doug wrapped his arm around the small of Horace’s back and slowly helped him out of the clearing. He never once took his sights off the threatening animals. Thirty pairs of eyes followed their every movement until they were at least a hundred feet away from the necropolis. Only then did they turn away.

“Holy…” muttered Horace under his breath.
His frail body shook.

“Easy now,” Doug ordered. “No sudden movements.”

Horace stroked his beard and frowned. The animals that were watching them had split into their separate groups again. Horace thrust his chin in the direction of the way they entered. Doug nodded in agreement.

A few minutes later and they were outside the strange, isolated community. They followed their own footprints back to the hotel. The sun began to drop beneath the horizon. Horace didn’t speak for quite some time. He appeared to be lost in his thoughts.

Finally, with the resort in sight, Doug broke the silence by asking, “What
was
that?”

Horace scrunched his face and stared at the ground.

“That,” he said, “is extinction.”

*
 
 
*
 
 
*

Horace tossed a log into the fireplace. He watched the flames drape their greedy fingers around its husk. The sap-filled bark crackled and fizzled. He tried to wrap his mind around the events he witnessed up the mountain but he felt distracted, so he pulled the blanket tighter around himself instead. Noises from outside filtered in through the walls. They were the merry cackles of the others, playing a game of twilight volleyball in the snowy rear courtyard. It sounded like home.

But it wasn’t.

“Doc?” said Doug. Horace snapped to attention. He checked his watch. At least an hour had passed since their return and he still couldn’t get warm. He took a sip of brandy, enjoying the burn as it slid down his throat.

“Doc?”
Doug repeated.

“What is it?” he replied without turning around.

“I know you said not to ask, but I
gotta
. What
really
happened back there?”

“I’m not sure,
Douglas
.”

“But you’re a scientist, right? You must have a theory.”

“I might.”

“Then why won’t you tell me?”

Horace glanced in the boy’s direction. “Because I’m not sure I’m right,” he said.

Doug sighed. His shoulders slumped and he seemed disappointed. “Just talk to me, man. Please. I’m confused as hell. None of this makes any sense. At least give me that.”

Horace picked up a poker and jabbed at the glowing logs. The kid was right. If he wanted to gain his trust, he had to be honest with him.
About
everything.

“Look at this,” he said. He held the poker out before him like a sword. “The design of this thing is so simple, and yet it took grace and handiwork to construct.”

“Huh? What’s that got to do with anything?”

He pointed around the room.
“This poker.
That lamp.
That chair. The glass I’m drinking from. We’ve had these items our whole lives. We’ve taken them for granted, as if they’ll always be here. But let’s face facts. I know next to nothing about carpentry or electronics, and even less about metallurgy and glass blowing. We’ve gone from
Harrisburg
to
Bridgewater
to here, and we haven’t seen another living soul. So if we’re the only eight people left in the world,
who
is going to provide the amenities when they run out, seeing as we’re not capable of making them for ourselves?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Doug.

He put down the glass and poker. “Let me put it this way, son. We were lucky. When we arrived at this facility, someone had either the foresight or forgetfulness to leave the heat on. There’s a gas generator downstairs that feeds the furnace, which is in turn fed by reserve oil tanks, which look to have enough fuel to last at least one winter, perhaps even all the way through next fall. What happens, though, when our energy supplies, that very oil and gas, run out?”

“We get more, I guess.”

“That’s good.
In theory.
It would be fantastic if the gas stations and oil companies had a backlog of tankers waiting for us to purge from. But there won’t be. The economic state of the world was in shambles
before
the outbreak, and it just got worse after that. But we, as a society, still used those supplies as if everything were fine. Because of that, I feel our resources will run out much sooner than we’d like to think. What happens then? Do you know how to find and extract fossil fuels? Do you think Dennis or Corky or any of the others do?
Because I sure as hell don’t.”

Doug’s face slackened. “Shit. I never thought of that.”

Horace nodded. “I know. Neither did
I
. Not until now.”

“Okay.
Fine.
But what’s that got to do with the animals? Why’d you call it ‘extinction’?”

“That’s an interesting question. Despite popular beliefs, I think that all living creatures feel emotion. And of all the emotions, to me fear is the strongest. On the other hand, creatures of the wild have an advantage over people because survival in an untamed world is instinctual to them.”

“And?”

“Something’s happened.
A shift.
They’re not acting like animals. They’re operating outside their nature, behaving like frightened
people
. They cannot survive that way.”

“Why not?”

“In any normal circumstance, the starving predators would have devoured the lesser creatures by now. But they’re not. It’s winter, there is very little food, they’re ignoring what food there is, and animals that should be hibernating aren’t.”

“What’s causing it?”

“Fear, I suppose. Those wolves might know there are only five or six deer in that nook. It’s possible they’re aware enough to assume they won’t ever see another. And also, you have to take into account that they’ve probably watched their brethren fall ill from eating diseased meat. That catacomb we found says as much. Just like us, they’ve come up against something they’ve never seen before and it scares them to death. They’ve isolated themselves, sectioned themselves off from nature, and that breeds a community atmosphere that is most definitely not in their best interest. The circle of life is described as a circle for a reason. When a circle is broken, it becomes a line. And a line usually has an end.”

“So this means?”

“Their fear is going to kill them. And the same will happen to us.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to run out of food eventually. As with everything else, canned corn won’t last forever. We’ll be mirrors of what we saw out there. Then, in our isolation, we’ll do the unthinkable. We’ll turn on each other.
 
We’ve become the slaves of reason and technology. We’re not cavemen any longer. Our bodies aren’t built to survive harsh conditions. Evolution takes a long time,
Douglas
, and yet we’re asking ourselves to adapt overnight. It’s not going to happen.”

Doug shivered.

“Sorry if this sounds pessimistic, but you wanted to hear my theory. Would you like me to stop?”

“No. It’s fine. I’m okay.”

“All right then. So as I said, our bodies can’t adapt that quickly. However, with our ability to reason, we could fight the inevitable and survive as a group. We could use our brains to
change
the inevitable. Unfortunately, though, we aren’t communal animals any more. We don’t trust each other. We build walls, like the one that surrounds this resort, to keep others away. Deep down, we’re all separatists. There will always be one individual in any group who possesses his or her own agenda, someone who will put their needs and wants ahead of their compatriots and place everyone at risk.”

“You’re right. That’s pessimistic.”

“Of course it is. However, this is not to say that all I described is
destined
to happen. All I’m saying is that it
will
happen if we change our intrinsic nature.”

“Meaning?”

“We have to get out of this place. We have to try and
live
, not just exist. Otherwise we’ll all be dead in a year.”

“So we have to leave?”

“Yes.
Eventually.
I know this hotel seems like heaven right now, but as I said, it won’t last. Don’t get too attached to it. There is too much we don’t understand. We have to find other people. It cannot be only us. With greater numbers, dissenters can be dealt with. The problem is other survivors are probably doing the same as us. Hiding away, playing it safe when it could end up being the least safe thing we could do. I feel that all of us should come together, seek each other out, and rebuild what we’ve lost, no matter how depraved it might have seemed before. Otherwise our race will cease to exist.”

Doug dropped his head, rose to his feet, and strolled to the window. Horace followed his gaze. The sun had set, and the others were playing kill-the-man-with-the-volleyball in near darkness. They rolled around in the snow and laughed.

“They look so happy,” said Doug. “But I don’t feel that way. I mean,
I’m
the one who’s
gotta
be looking over everyone else’s shoulder. I’m always uncomfortable. Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one who’s paranoid.” He turned and a sad yet oddly relieved smile crossed his lips. “But I’m not, am I?”

“No, son, you’re not.”

Horace picked up the tumbler, took a sip of brandy, and set it back down again. He removed his glasses and used his shirt to wipe them. “I hope you can come to accept me, Douglas,” he said. “I mean you no harm.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Horace coughed. Deep, guttural bursts of internal hatred spewed from his diseased lungs. He tried his best to fight through it while replying, “I am…too…son.”

“Hey Doc,” said Doug while he bit his lip, “what’s wrong with you, anyway?”

When his spasm died down, Horace said, “This is pretty serious, but last year I was
dia
– ”

“
Whassup
, party poopers!” a voice shouted. Hector bounded his way into the room. Snow dropped from the underside of his large stomach. The others, a soaked and grinning motley crew, followed him in.

“All
trabaje
, no
fiesta
, eh?” he said.

Corky ducked underneath the door jam and tossed the soaking volleyball on the chair beside him. He wore a wide grin on his mug and had deep purple splotches under his eyes.
“Hey there, Ho-bag and Scrotum.
Why you guys look so down?”