Chapter 8: The Calm Before the Storm

Dead Boy finds her an hour later on the south end of Twin Peaks, shivering on the side of a scrubgrass hill just above the fogline.

The lone girl looks a bit older than Dead Boy, although it's hard to be sure. She has long, filthy blond hair and is only wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and a pair of sneakers. Dead Boy kneels down to offer help, but her teeth are chattering too violently to respond. She just lays on the cold ground shaking and staring up at Dead Boy imploringly, as helpless as a newborn animal.

It's dark. Down the hill not a hundred steps away, the moonlight illuminates a long row of gabled rooftops barely showing above the fog. The girl's only chance of survival is to get into one of those houses, Dead Boy knows. Preferably an insulated basement room.

He sighs with regret as he takes off his coat and puts it around her shoulders. He doesn't want to stop so early, but he can't just leave her here—it would mean her certain death.

"I can help you, but I have to take you back into the fog. Just for a few minutes," he explains to her. She begins moaning in protest, a faint yet shrill keel that echoes volumes of terror. All he can do to assure her is pat her back awkwardly and repeat, "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

Her skin feels cold as ice. Dead Boy awkwardly helps her into the coat, shyly zipping her up. The girl only gazes back at him with pain in her eyes.

He tries to help her stand, but she's too weak. There's no way she'll be walking down that hill, so Dead Boy hoists her torso over one shoulder and hooks her elbow under his other armpit so that she lays slumped across his upper back in a secure hold. With the red axe swinging from his backpack, he looks very much like a fireman he’d seen in one of the films Market Plaza screened with their old projector ages ago.

Down in the foggy residential street below, he finds most of the buildings have busted out windows and splintered doors. Only one of the houses looks like a good candidate, with boarded-up windows that hint someone may have lived here at some point in recent memory. Cautious that the tenant might still be around, Dead Boy knocks softly, but gets no reply. The door's unlocked, so he lets himself inside.

The house seems empty.

He takes her down to the basement. There's a small laundry room tucked away behind enough doors that it isn't quite as cold as the rest of the house. He switches on his battery-powered flashlight, takes the sleeping bag out of his backpack, and helps her climb inside it, still wearing his jacket. He also gives her a winter hat that he hardly ever wears and then pulls out a small bag of camping supplies.

"I'm going to see if I can get a cook-fire going upstairs," Dead Boy says to his nameless ward. He receives a weak smile in return, which further bolsters his resolve—he can find Jamar tomorrow, but tonight he will not let this girl die.

###

"You ever feel like everybody is just totally out to get you?" Carlita asks.

She and Raz are still sitting on the ground in a nameless Crypts tunnel, their backs resting on the cool wall. The few people who stopped to chat with them shared rumors of unusually high wraith activity topside today, news that has made Carlita anxious for Dead Boy again. Raz has a knack for taking her mind off her troubles, but she decides that she doesn't want to ignore them anymore.

"I guess," Raz answers. "But I dunno. I've been feeling all sorts of weird lately."

"Me too!" Carlita exclaims. "I don't know what it is, but everything is just so frustrating these days. I feel so isolated and … depressed."

Raz watches her seriously for a few moments, his expression equal parts concern and alarm. "When did you start feeling this way?" he asks.

"I dunno, maybe a few months." Carlita suddenly feels ashamed of herself for bringing the subject up and wishes they could go back to laughing and joking around. It’s the end of the world; nobody’s exactly happy about it, she thinks. Last thing you need is to bring your friends down along with you—

"Me too."

Bemusement flickers across Carlita's face. "Huh?"

"I also started feeling differently a few months ago," Raz repeats.

Now it's Carlita's turn to stare at Raz in shock. "Oh, I'm so sorry! You don't act depressed."

"I'm not." Raz shrugs. "Just different. It's like my mind goes somewhere else sometimes. I don't really know how to describe it."

The two remain silent for a couple of minutes, both lost in their own thoughts. Then Carlita turns to Raz in quiet realization: "You know, Garden has been acting way spacey these days, too."

Raz snorts. "Yeah she has. Maybe it's something in the water.”

###

"Here, drink this." Dead Boy holds out a small tin cup filled with a warm, golden infusion. "Some kind of root tea. It's warm."

The girl's hands are still shaky, so Dead Boy holds the cup to her lips. She smiles, but only once she's drunk most of the cup is she able to croak out a raspy, "Thanks."

"What's your name?"

"Katana," she says with a sad sigh, and with that she closes her eyes and falls into an uneasy slumber. Further inquiries will have to wait.

Dead Boy sits there for a long while watching her like a doting parent, then turns off the flashlight and heads back upstairs to see what else he can cook up. He'd gotten a small fire going in the upstairs bathtub earlier, using bits of ripped up wallpaper and wood hacked out of the walls for kindling. He wishes they could have the fire downstairs, but there's no way to vent the smoke down there without opening a window.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Half an hour later, he returns with a small dish of scorched potato, but she's still unconscious. When he touches her hand to rouse her, he realizes that she's also still ice cold. In a panic, he puts his hand in front of her nose and feels a faint wisp of breath blow over his fingers. Dead Boy closes his eyes tight, intense anxiety washing over him. He knows Katana most definitely has hypothermia, and seeing as her shivering has stopped, her condition's growing worse rather than improving.

He considers bringing her upstairs and starting another fire, but it'll be impossible to get the blaze going big enough for any kind of serious warmth without burning the whole house down. And it's turned into a bitterly cold night, with thick fog filling the bathroom through a shattered window, coating the tiles in an icy dew.

But that means…

Dead Boy thinks back to all the hypothermia training Jamar ran through with him and begins to blush furiously at the thought of sharing his own heat with this unfamiliar girl through close body contact. "Cuddlin's the best way to warm someone up out in the field," Jamar had said with a chuckle that somehow managed to belie full seriousness, "Ain't no time for shyness when a life's on the line."

I'll cook up some more hot water first, Dead Boy decides. Maybe that'll be enough.

###

Carlita and Raz sit side by side with their backs to the wall, just watching people pass them by. Raz occasionally points out somebody he knows and tells a funny story about them—being a courier makes him privy to a lot of gossip both topside and down under—but mostly they keep quiet. It isn't an awkward silence like when Del Rey's in the room though, Carlita notes. Raz makes her feel completely comfortable, which impresses her. The only person who usually hangs out with her like this is Garden.

"This is nice," Raz says abruptly. "Just sitting."

"I was thinking the same thing," Carlita replies. She leans against Raz again, more to get comfortable than anything else. He surprises her by putting his arm around her shoulder, squeezing her body gently against his.

They sit like that for a long while, silently soaking in each other's half-embrace, staring outward with vacant eyes. Carlita refuses to move a muscle, secretly terrified that if she does Raz might withdraw his arm and this magical moment would be over.

She remembers a similar incident with Del Rey a couple of summers ago. They were chatting on the rooftop by the greenhouse—Del was a bit more talkative back then—and the evening sun began painting the sky and fog myriad brilliant shades as it dipped toward the horizon. The two of them stood by the railing together, and in the sheer awe and romance of the moment her hand slipped into Del Rey's as they watched the sun slowly set over the NBAZ.

Del Rey tenderly held Carlita's hand without speaking a word until the last purple glimmer dissolved into indigo dusk, and then he simply let go and said he had some stuff to do before bed. And that was that. He just walked away, and he had never tried holding her hand since.

That sunset is one of Carlita's sweetest memories, but also one of her most bitter. She yearns to hold Del's hand again, to let him know that he doesn't have to act so aloof and serious all the time. But there's never been any way to get through to him, and eventually he drifted further and further away from her before running off altogether.

But this new feeling with Raz is different. It seems more present, more intentional. More alive.

"This is nice," Carlita hears herself say, although she's completely unaware of ever having willed her lips to move.

Raz does not reply.

###

Two cups of hot tea later and Katana is still freezing cold. Her head nods woozily as Dead Boy holds her propped up in a seated position, her eyes struggling to stay open.

"What's your name?" Katana whispers. Dead Boy's surprised—this is the first question she's asked him all night.

"Dead—er, Del. My name's Del Rey," he answers, the unaccustomed use of his birth name leaving him feeling flustered.

A pause, then she locks eyes with him. "I'm gonna die, Del Rey," she says flatly.

"No!" Dead Boy shoots back. "I won't let that happen!"

Katana steadies herself against the wall, then weakly pushes Dead Boy's hands away. "You can’t help me," she insists dryly.

Dead Boy drops his eyes as he comes to the conclusion that there really is only one course of action remaining. "Maybe … I can warm you up?" he says. "My body heat. In the sleeping bag together."

"Okay," comes her weak reply, followed by a heavy thump as Katana collapses on the floor.

She's out cold. There's no more time to lose.

Gathering his resolve, Dead Boy unzips Katana out of the sleeping bag and peels his thick coat off her. He regards her lying there in her jeans and tshirt, wondering if he can warm her up through all their clothes. He wishes he could remember more of Jamar’s training session, but it's no use—he decides it'll have to do. Before he can second-guess himself any longer, Dead Boy shucks off his boots in a nervous flurry and quickly slips into the sleeping bag with her.

Katana's entire body's so icy cold that being pressed up against her feels like hugging a large dead fish. He has to hold the entire length of his body tightly against hers in order to zip the single-person sleeping bag up with them both inside it, and then he's cocooned with this freezing cold, barely alive woman. It absolutely does not arouse him in the slightest.

He's somewhat relieved about this. He's also a bit disappointed, and very confused.

They lay like that for a long time. Dead Boy holds Katana chest to chest in his arms, trying desperately to will his own heat into her body. She's so cold and clammy that he soon loses all sensation of which body parts are touching. His right arm's going numb from Katana lying on it, and his own skin is covered in goosebumps. But after what seems an eternity, it feels like she's beginning to warm, ever so slightly, although it's hard to be sure.

"Katana?" he says, "I think it's working! How do you feel?"

She murmurs an unintelligible reply, then repeats: "It's such a pretty song."

###

"Raz?"

Still no reply. Raz’s arm is still slung over Carlita’s shoulder, but it hangs on her more like a dead weight now than the gentle embrace of a few moments before.

Ever so slowly, Carlita turns her head toward Raz until her nose is inches away from his cheek. He doesn't move. As she leans forward to get a better look, Raz’s arm slumps to the ground.

Raz’s head is leaning back against the wall, his eyes half-open and oddly unfocused, as if he's looking at something far off in the distance. His eyelids twitch spasmodically.

Carlita draws back a space and waves her hand in front of his eyes. He doesn't blink or move.

And to think we were having a moment. Carlita’s mind races down its ever-familiar spiral of bitterness again. To think he actually cared…

"Raz! What the hell?" Carlita exclaims. She punches him hard in the arm and this time he does blink as he winces from the sudden pain.

He gives his head a little shake and rubs his hand over his face. "I'm sorry," he says. He sounds upset. "I tried to warn you this happens—"

Suddenly he sits bolt upright and grabs a very confused and startled Carlita by both shoulders, his eyes intensely locked with hers as he proclaims: "It’s a trap! We have to get out of here!"

###

Dead Boy keeps hugging Katana as tightly as he can, determined to save her life. When she starts stirring, he's thrilled that his efforts seem to be paying off.

"Don't waste your energy!" Dead Boy protests, "You should rest longer. Sleep!"

But Katana seems wide awake, her eyes open and gazing blankly into his. Dead Boy's stunned to see that Katana’s pupils are now filmed over with a layer of hoary frost, like cataracts formed of ice.

As Dead Boy stares back in shock and confusion, Katana wriggles her hands up between their two bodies. The sleeping bag is zipped so tightly around them that when her two hands finally snake out below their chins, the added pressure pins Dead Boy's own arms even more tightly behind her in a crushing embrace.

"I’m awake now, Del Rey," she says, her voice hollow and sinister. "And soon, you will be too!" A chill bristles across Dead Boy’s whole body in a wave of sudden helplessness.

And then Katana's hands clench tightly around Dead Boy's throat, squeezing and strangling the life out of him with surprising force. Her nails gouge his skin and rivulets of blood trickle down his neck. He pitches his head back in a desperate struggle for breath, but it's no use—he can't escape the close confines of this sleeping bag, this death shroud wrapped tightly around him and his murderess.

###