Whiteout (Book 3): The Numbing by Maxwell Flint

Author:Maxwell, Flint [Maxwell, Flint]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Supernatural Apocalypse
Publisher: Dark Void Press
Published: 2020-05-10T22:00:00+00:00

The outside world was a nightmare despite the budding light behind the pressing black clouds. The haze hung heavily in the air. I could just make out the distant gazebo, its shape, but that was all. The words written on its roof were gone, buried by the falling snow.

Eleanor was over the sloping mound just outside the motel door, and I rushed to catch up with her. As I sank and settled on the frozen layer, the snow reached below my waist.

“Wait!” I called to Ell, who was still trucking ahead. The wind snatched my voice; I doubted she heard me. If she had, I doubted she would’ve slowed down.

I quickened my pace even though moving was nearly impossible already. It was like running through quicksand but worse. No matter how many layers I wore, no matter how zipped up and closed off I was from the elements, the snow found a way to get inside my clothes, and once it touched my skin, I felt the nerves there dying.

I caught up to Eleanor after much struggle . Her head was down against the blowing wind. The flakes didn’t so much as fall now as they pummeled us from the east. It was like constantly getting hit by a stream of throwing darts.

“There!” Ell shouted as we passed the gazebo. She pointed between two snow-covered buildings. One was long and narrow, a sign on its facade a faded green, probably lit up once upon a time. I couldn’t make out the words. The other building was a small cube like the insurance place we’d stayed at before coming to Woodhaven. In the alleyway were two figures. One stood over the other. I recognized the one standing as Mikey.

“Michael!” Ell shouted, trudging through the snow.

I held the can of bug spray and the lighter in my numbed hands, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to flick the wheel and get a flame when the time came.

“Over here!” Mikey called back.

I heard the other figure as we got closer. I couldn’t tell if the person was male or female through the haze yet, but they were moaning low, voice thick with pain.

“I need help!” Mikey said.

The question of the stranger’s gender was answered as I entered the alleyway. It was a man. I caught a decent glimpse of him around Mikey. The man had a long, snow-crusted beard. Judging by the streaks of gray in that beard, he was older. Maybe somewhere in his late-forties to mid-fifties. He sat against the faded brick wall. Garbage can lids were strapped to his feet. Over a puffy green jacket, he wore a tattered peacoat. The hat atop his head had WOODHAVEN POLICE stitched across the front.

A policeman…I thought that was a good sign, but then again, the wraiths couldn’t exactly be arrested, could they? Law and order—along with the logical rules of the universe—had gone out the window as soon as the summer blizzards began.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ell asked.

The man shifted, trying to bring the leg obscured by Mikey’s body upward, and as he moved, he cried out in pain.

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