Crimson Snow: A Short Story by O'Flynn Meghan

Author:O'Flynn, Meghan [O'Flynn, Meghan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Suspense, Mystery
ISBN: 9780997465167
Goodreads: 34225931
Publisher: Pygmalion Publishing
Published: 2017-02-10T08:00:00+00:00

When Maverick awoke, he wasn’t entirely certain where he was, but he was sure that he was chilled to the bone and that his stomach was trying to eat itself from the inside out. Cramps wracked his belly, and he fought the urge to vomit—not like there was anything in his stomach to bring up.

Hunger could be remedied, but there was no fixing it here. The night before, he’d searched every cupboard in the house but found only a counter full of animal bones and another broken window in the back, now plugged with snow. The window must have been uncovered at some point, because animals had ravaged whatever edible things had remained here. From the looks of it, the scavengers had found something good—the broken windowpanes were stained with blood.

From the upstairs bedroom window, Maverick squinted down at the quiet white street. The lonely timber-and-brick homes on either side were dark, dead-looking, reminding him of a foreign city he’d once scouted after a blitz attack. And there, like here, survivors could not be spared. But he’d be fine. He’d been through worse.

The night before, he’d peered at the distant fires through that same window until his eyes crossed, so he knew that there were people on the far north side of town. He’d find them. And if he couldn’t convince them to let him in…

Desperation made you do things. Things you’d never expect. Those people out there, at least some of them, had food and supplies. And he was a soldier—he knew better than most what these times called for.

He bundled his supplies back into his pack, ignoring the ache in his muscles, the bitter bite of frost that seemed to gnaw through his jacket and into his very flesh. But he could not ignore the cramps that had taken root in his guts, and he doubled over, clutching at his belly. In the backyard, he dug a hole and let his intestines do their worst, the hot liquid rushing from him in a torrent, his thigh muscles shaking with the effort of squatting as he emptied his bowels. When it was over, he cleaned himself with snow, sweating and spent, and tried to muster up the resolve to hike the two or three miles toward the source of the smoke he’d seen the night before. But every step took longer than it should. His muscles quaked. A cold sweat had broken out on his forehead. Fear. Of course he was afraid; he had reason to be. But soldiers didn’t stop. He’d feel better after he’d eaten.

It should have taken him two hours tops, especially with the panic singing in his veins, urging him forward. But by the time he finally arrived on the north side of Crystal Bluff, the sun had already passed the overhead point. Though the snow here came to his knees, even a stranger to the town could locate the road; stone and brick residences ran parallel on either side, their once colorful front doors faded or completely engulfed by white.

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