The Darkest Winter Page 12

  “But there was something weird about it,” he uttered so quietly, it was nearly a whisper.

  My thoughts stilled.

  “Burn marks.” He shook his head. “I’ve been trying to figure it out.”

  Of course he was because what had happened was impossible. And somehow the only descent adult I’d met since I’d woken up after puking my brains out was the son of the man I’d impossibly killed with my bare hands. “This world is unrecognizable now,” I rasped, trying to breathe through the lump in my throat.

  Jackson needed to know it was an accident—it was self-defense, and I had no choice. His father would’ve killed me.

  As a Trooper, Jackson might’ve understood, but as a son? I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. I didn’t want to risk him throwing out the kids; and I wasn’t ready to figure this out on my own. And how did I explain the fire alive inside me without scaring them all.

  Tears burned my eyes and escaped the brim of my lashes. Just as quickly, I tried to wipe them away.

  Jackson cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head because it was true[LP32]. I wasn’t. I was probably losing my mind like the other lunatics running around the city, and it was only a matter of time before I did something to hurt Jackson or the kids.

  I covered my face with my mitted hands and tried to hold back the suffocating misery.

  Thankfully, Jackson wasn’t a man of many words, and he stood up, his boots making the floorboards beneath the carpet creak. I heard the glug-glug-glug of bourbon sloshing into a cup. “In case you need it,” he said, and he retreated up the stairs. When I heard a door shut, I lifted my face.

  A mug full of bourbon sat on the coffee table in front of me, and I cried my eyes out as silently as I could.

  Chapter 19[LP33]

  Jackson

  December 13

  I woke to the sound of the heater clicking on, and the scent of something savory and sweet filled the air. I peeled my eyes open and blinked up at the ceiling. My head a spinning punching bag and felt just as beaten.

  The bed squeaked as I rolled over, grabbing onto my head with a groan. I’d passed out between listening to Elle’s intermittent sniffles and the ticking of the clock on the guest room wall. I peered up at it. It was nearly noon.

  Pushing myself up, I peered down at the half-empty bottle beside the bed. It could’ve been worse; I could’ve down the entire thing and been nonfunctional today, but I had a trip to plan, without Ross.

  I heard a clang downstairs, which meant everyone was still here. I half expected them to be gone when I woke up, but I knew they had nowhere else to go now they knew the Coast Guard was no help.

  Grabbing my discarded boots from the floor, I pulled them on, ignoring the laces. It was too early for that. I climbed to my feet, grabbed the bottle, and opened the door. Whispers filled the air, and footsteps pattered against the tile floor in the kitchen. Another pot clanked, and I inhaled the scent of bacon. My stomach gurgled, and I tried to remember the last time I’d eaten.

  I raided Ross’ bathroom, washed my mouth out, and splashed cold water on my face, before I headed down the stairs. The living room was clean, the blankets folded and gone, the fancy pillows put back where they’d been on the couch. Only my things by the chair were left exactly as they’d been.

  “He’s coming!” someone whispered, as I turned for the kitchen. I stepped inside to find the narrow spaced at full capacity. The two little ones were setting the table, their wide eyes peering up at me. The teenagers were behind the stove, the girl flipping a pancake and the kid draining bacon grease into a mug. The only one missing was Elle.

  “Morning,” the older girl said. She was shy or scared, and I didn’t blame her for either. I hadn’t looked human for a while now.

  “Morning,” I said, standing dumbly in the doorway.

  “I’m Sophie,” she said. “This is Alex, and that’s Thea and Beau. We wanted to make you breakfast as a thank you for letting us stay here.”

  “That’s . . . unnecessary,” I said as just stomach rumbled again. “But thanks.”

  “Wow, that was a big one,” Thea said with a giggle, staring at my stomach. She couldn’t have been more than six or seven. “This is your seat right here.” She pointed to the seat at the head of the table. It was Ross’s spot during family dinners, but it didn’t matter. I pulled the chair out and sat down as Alex brought over a plate of pancakes, Sophie following with a platter of bacon.

  I was about to ask where Elle was, worried she might’ve thrown in the towel after her internal battle last night, when the front door opened and she bustled inside. She held up a frozen can of concentrate orange juice. “Look what I found,” she said, divesting her jacket. She draped it on the back of one chair and handed it to Sophie who was already pulling out a pitcher.

  “Yay!” Thea said.

  “It’s her favorite,” Beau grumbled in explanation. They were definitely siblings, but the others, I didn’t think so.

  “Where’d you find that?” I asked, wondering if she’d walked all the way to the store just for juice.

  Fleetingly, Elle looked a little ashamed, then she shrugged. “I raided the neighbor’s freezer.” They no longer needed it went unsaid.

  She recovered quickly and said with a knowing grin, “I made coffee. You want a cup?”

  “Please.”

  “Black?”

  “Definitely. I need all the help I could get this morning.”

  Thea set an empty glass next to my plate. “Is it because you drink so much?”

  “Thea—” Sophie chided.

  “Yeah, kid. Something like that.”

  “My mommy drank a lot too. I think that’s why—”

  “Thea!” Beau shouted at her, and Thea rolled her eyes and blew out a breath as she climbed into her chair. I had to bite my cheek to hide my amusement.

  Elle set a cup of coffee down in front of me and pulled out a chair for herself beside Thea, cooing as she took a drink from her steaming hot mug.

  Thea watched her, clearly disgusted. “I don’t drink coffee. It smells bad.”

  “Good,” I told her. “It puts hair on your chest.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  I shrugged and lifted the collar of my shirt, pretending to peer down at my chest. “I’d say so.”

  “He’s teasing you,” Beau told her. “You’re so gullible.”

  “Nuh-haw.”

  “Yah-haw—”

  “Beau, Thea . . .” Alex interrupted before they could go another round of back and forth out. “Take a pancake and a piece of bacon and pass them to Jackson.”

  I glanced around at the faces at the table, everyone’s eyes darting around at each other, uncertain what to say or do as we all settled into a close-proximity silence. The worst kind.

  “I hope you like bacon and pancakes,” Elle said. “We didn’t want to wake you to ask.”

  I helped Thea lift the plate of pancakes as her little arms shook and took one before passing it along. “I’ll eat anything,” I told her. “Something my wife always appreciated.”

  The moment I said it, the room grew thick and quiet, the sound of forks and knives clanking louder in the void of chatter.

  Desperate for a distraction, I cut into my pancake. It was the first time in days, excluding my brief talk with Ross at the PD, that I had been around people, and even if it made me feel uncomfortable, I was strangely grateful for it too. “This looks great,” I grumbled.

  “Do you want syrup?” Sophie asked.

  I glanced up at her and shook my head. “No. Thank you.”

  “I like a lot of butter on mine,” Beau said, and he put a small piece on Thea’s and helped her spread it around. I hadn’t realized kids were good buffers, and as difficult as I thought it might be to have them there, I appreciated they were there too.

  “I saw your maps,” Alex said. “You’re heading to Canada.”

  “We heard about a safe place in Hartle
y Bay. Is that where you’re going?” Sophie asked.

  I shook my head. “Not so far south. I’m meeting my friend in Whitehorse.”

  “What’s in Whitehorse?” Elle asked. I could hear the hope in her voice, but it was misplaced. There was nothing there for them. Not like in Hartley Bay if what I’d heard about it on the scanner was true.

  I glanced around the table at expectant faces. “A place far removed from all of this bullshit,” I said, forgetting the youthful ears at the table. “A lodge I’ve been to before, out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I’m leaving in a few days,” I told them. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. Ross won’t need it and he’s not the type that would mind.”

  “Thank you,” Elle said quietly.

  It was quiet while we ate the rest of our breakfast, Thea and Beau bickering back and forth when they grew too restless. I was lost in thoughts of Whitehorse and Ross; Elle and the kids were likely dreading their uncertain future, one I’d already come to terms with.

  I glanced at Elle, staring into her coffee cup. She was still wearing those gloves, which was strange, but it wasn’t my business, just like my quirks were none of hers. She stared so long I wondered if she would blink.

  I imagined she was frantic inside, considering what she would do with four kids in a civilization that had only just begun to crumble. Conveniences would be gone. Safety would be momentary. She couldn’t have been over twenty-five herself.

  While my plate was wiped clean, hers was barely touched.

  “Elle?” Sophie said with a tentative smile.

  Elle stirred from her fog, her eyebrows lifting. “Huh?”

  “Are you okay? Do you want more of anything?”

  Elle’s returned smile was forced and shook her head. “Nope. I’m good. My stomach must’ve shrunk since it’s been a while since I’ve had an actual meal.”

  Everyone seemed to buy that explanation, and it was probably true but I saw the same fear in Elle’s eyes I’d seen last night on the brink of a breakdown.

  Alex got up to get more orange juice for the kids, Sophie grabbing the pot of coffee for us, and my mouth was moving before I could stop myself. “I’m not a role model or a father-figure,” I told her just above a whisper. I had to get the words out before I could say the rest. “I can’t promise you’ll all be safer with me or that it will be an easy journey.” I cleared my throat. “But you can come with me as far as Whitehorse.” Hannah would want that[LP34].

  Elle’s eyes shot to mine.

  “You’ll be on your own after that.”

  Her chin trembled and her eyes filled with tears that twisted my insides. Women crying. The hardest thing to see. I stood up and pushed my chair from the table. “Thanks for breakfast everyone. I’ve got work to do.”

  Elle reached for my arm, her gloved hand resting on mine. “Thank you,” she breathed and wiped a rogue tear from her check as quickly as it fell. “Thank you.”

  PART II

  APRIL[MOU35]

  Chapter 20[MOU36]

  Elle[LP37]

  Thomas came at me, eyes red-rimmed and face sweating in the muted light of the room. The inexplicable hatred in his eyes twisted my insides, and he grabbed at my neck. His fingernails dug into my skin as I gasped and clawed at his hold. He was too strong—I could feel my windpipe crushing in his grasp, the blood draining from my face.

  This was not happening—I would not die, not like this. Not at the hands of a stranger after everything else . . .

  My fear turned to rage, which fueled the burn inside me just beneath my skin.

  A fiery tempest ignited and swirled through me as I willed my body to obey, my arms to lift, and grabbed hold of his neck. I squeezed my eyes shut and screamed. It was a satisfying release, so I clutched his neck harder, feeling his heart beating in the palms of my hands.

  I squeezed and squeezed to prove that I would survive—that I wasn’t weak—and a power both fearsome and intoxicating surged through me. As the struggle left Thomas’ body, I opened my eyes, and I screamed.

  Jackson’s hazel eyes stared lifelessly back at me, his face red and mouth agape. His body fell limply onto mine as I tried frantically to get free.

  His skin was blue, his neck singed with the impression of my fingertips, burnt veins spreading through his jaw and up his face like a toxic leak.

  He was dead. Jackson was dead, and I had killed him.

  No. No. No!

  My [LP38]eyelids flew open. My heart raced and sweat dampened my hairline despite the cool air that filled the room. Inhaling deeply, I sat up and peered around. It was just as foreign as it was comforting. A room that was my temporary home but nothing in it was actually mine. I was safe in a warm bed, in a house that held a history I would never know, but I took comfort in it. My fate could have been much worse, even if it was a dark, churning shadow that loomed around every corner.

  The fire burned low in the fireplace, and the candle on my bedside long since burnt out. I opened the side table drawer to grab another, but all I felt was the soft leather of my calf-skin gloves and the cold handle of my gun.

  Flinging the comforter back, I shoved my sock-covered feet into my slippers, and reached for the robe draped over my bed. Candles and fires were two of the few luxuries we had left[LP39].

  Opening the bedroom door, I peeked down the hall. Shadows flickered at the end from the fireplace in the living room downstairs, and a rush of cold kissed my face.

  After the chaos we’d left behind in Anchorage, we found an off-the-grid safe haven in a northeast borough that was mostly untouched. Slana had been our temporary home for almost four months, and though we had shelter and fire, electric heat was an extravagance we couldn’t afford, not without the rumbling power of a generator. With noise came unwanted attention.

  I made my way down the hallway toward the stairs. I passed the kids’ room and opened the door to peek inside. Thea and Sophie were asleep in one bed, Alex and Beau in the other beside it. Safety in numbers had become a second nature—always walk in pairs and never go outside alone and without a weapon, especially after dark. If I trusted the burn in my core more, I might’ve joined them. Instead, I told them I wanted to enjoy the luxury of my own room while I had it, since we didn’t know what Hartley Bay would bring when we got there.

  The [LP40]floorboards creaked downstairs and shadows flickered on the wall. Jackson was awake.

  Shutting [LP41]the kids’ door, I made my way down, as quiet as possible. I wasn’t sure why he slept downstairs instead of the comfort of a bed, there were beds and rooms aplenty.

  But since the day we’d met him in Anchorage, Jackson had felt separate than us. Maybe he didn’t want to get too attached because we’d be parting ways soon in Whitehorse. Or it could’ve been that deep down he couldn’t trust me, and he was right not to[SF42].

  When I reached the final step, Jackson stood in front of the fire, pulling a thermal shirt over his bare chest and painted arms.

  “What do they mean?” I asked.

  Jackson’s eyes darted to mine.

  “The tattoos[LP43].” They were Haida creatures in black and red, ancient symbols of a heritage I knew little about.

  “Uh, Moon is the protector and guardian of people on earth. It seemed fitting when I became a Trooper.” Jackson tucked his longish hair behind his ears and picked his clothes off the ground.

  “And the others?”

  “Wolf is strength and Sun is peace,” he said briskly. “They were my wife’s idea.”

  “You never talk about her.” I’d wanted to ask him about his life before so many times I’d lost count, but it never seemed like the right time.

  “I know.” He draped his jeans and flannel over the back of the couch. “Did I wake you coming in? I tried to be quiet—”

  “No,” I said. “You didn’t wake me.” His wife was off limits still, which I understood. I didn’t want to talk about my life before, especially with him. But a part of me desperately wante
d to know something that would show me who he might’ve been and who he was now beside the quiet, thoughtful protector that lost himself in a bottle of bourbon on bad days and preferred seclusion the rest[SF44]. He planned and prepped for our approaching departure, but his mind was always somewhere else, and where did he go off to when he was on his own? I’d never followed his trail toward the mountains, but who was I to question him? Sometimes I worried one day he wouldn’t come back, and I was always grateful when he did.[LP45]

  “I was just getting more candles,” I explained, and continued to the hutch on the other side of the room. Sophie and Thea had been gathering them up for me, a kindness I appreciated more than they’d probably ever know. Darkness had always haunted me, now more than ever.

  I slid a few candlesticks in each of my robe pockets to get me through a few more nights.

  “Is it the dreams?” Jackson’s voice was tentative.

  “Is what the dreams?”

  When I looked at him, he nodded to the candles sticking out of my pockets.

  “Among other things,” I admitted. “It’s pretty silly, huh? A grown woman needing a nightlight.”

  “No, not silly.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees at the end of the couch. “We all have our own ways of coping after everything that’s happened.”

  “It’s not just that,” I told him. “Things from my past I haven’t been able to let go of, and faces of—” I stopped myself from admitting the full truth. I was so close, and he was right there. I could say five words that would liberate me forever: your father’s face is one. “I just . . . don’t like the darkness.”

  Jackson’s eyes lingered on me like they sometimes did, but he didn’t press me for an explanation. I could always see the questions in his hazel eyes, the uncertainties behind his permanently furrowed brow riddled with apprehension. It was one of his few expressions I could read. He wanted to ask me more, and sometimes I wish he would because he deserved the truth. But it was a well-rehearsed dance between us, the closest thing to intimacy we shared. He would nudge me with a question I only half answered, and I would nudge him back with another; neither of us dared probe deeper, terrified what would happen next. It was an unspoken understanding, one of many.