Chapter 9: Ignition
Soda runs. He plummets ever forward through the fog, dodging crowds of Frozen and patches of slick ice.
He carefully makes note of each street sign he passes, gritting his teeth in frustration of being sent so far off course. He curses his bad luck. Straight route up Market Street, Dead Boy said. Ha! Market was blocked off by another massive ice wall. When he’d gone around and cut back again, the entire street had been filled with more shattered corpses and ice wraiths that had slithered rapidly toward him as he approached. He’s been fleeing farther and farther north ever since.
He hears the first shots ring out before he's even halfway there. The ricocheting echoes seem to come from all directions at once, but he knows they originate from downtown.
He's too late.
Anger raging in his pounding heart, Soda redoubles his pace to join the battle and defend his home.
###
Katana's fingers tighten around Dead Boy's throat, cutting off his air supply. His head thrown back as far as he could, he kicks and bucks his legs and pitches his body back and forth like a dying worm. He struggles, but he can't breathe.
Katana watches him with an evil smile and sadistic pleasure in her frost-encrusted eyes. This isn't the same girl that Dead Boy saved from freezing to death by the edge of the fog. That girl's gone, replaced by a murderous monster.
Must. Breathe!
Dead Boy suddenly pitches his head forward with all his might. His forehead cracks hard against Katana's face. She cries out but her voice is stopped short by another whomping slam.
The death grip around Dead Boy's throat releases all at once and he gasps for breath. His vision blurs red as blood slicks down his forehead and into his eyes. His ears ring. Then there's a sudden flash of blue, a ripping sound, and their two bodies fall apart. Katana rolls toward the door as Dead Boy scrabbles blindly on the floor against the far wall. He holds his hands out defensively and wipes at the wetness on his face, but before he can see straight, the door opens and Katana's gone.
Dead Boy kicks the door shut again, barricading himself in the small room as he takes stock of his situation. He feebly wipes the blood from his eyes and realizes with surprise that his axe is still on the floor next to the door, along with his backpack, coat and boots. He hurriedly redresses, then kneels weakly on the floor with his trusty axe clutched in his blood-stained hands. Just a few moments to catch my breath, clear my head…
Anger wells up within him, shoving his terror aside. Katana's out there—unarmed, but she still has the advantage. Is she waiting to get the drop on me? Is she on the run?
Unwilling to waste any more time—this tiny basement room has him feeling decidedly trapped—Dead Boy kicks the door open and jumps out into the dark subterranean hallway with his axe at the ready. He swings his body around, brandishing his weapon in all directions as he squints into the shadows. All is quiet, except for the ringing in his ears.
And then … footsteps, upstairs. He can hear the soft padding of bare feet, the creaking of a warped floorboard.
Ready to face his attacker and get some answers, Dead Boy begins to creep up the stairs.
###
Carlita's still trying to make sense of Raz's weird premonition when echoes of gunfire erupt down the tunnels. She's not sure what's going on at first, but then come further gunshots and cries of terror and panic, and she realizes the Crypts are under attack.
She becomes vaguely aware of Raz shouting, "We’ve got to get outta here!" as he drags her to her feet. She lets him clumsily lead her down the tunnel a little ways before insisting they have to go back for her walking stick. As Raz runs to fetch it for her, she watches scores of scared people stream past like roaches fleeing the light. She feels like she's in a dream.
Raz returns with a mortified expression and words so solemn that Carlita instantly snaps back to reality. "Carlita, I left Garden alone on the third floor. If she's still there, she might be trapped."
###
On and on Soda runs, his legs and heart and lungs all pumping in the same desperate rhythm. His chest burns. He doesn't care. He has one bullet left in his gun and a hefty tire iron in his hand, and he'll use them both to defend his home.
He'd had to detour deep into the northern hills to escape the ice wraiths. Every time he tried to turn south, he could see more serpentine shapes looming out of the darkness. He isn't even sure if the things chasing him are wraiths at all anymore. They could be something else entirely.
He hears more gunshots echo in the distance as he struggles up the steep hill. Every breath feels like fire filling his lungs. He’s sure he must be heading straight up Nob Hill by now—way too far north. He turns east again at another crossroads in the grid of empty residential streets, determined to make more headway toward his goal. Eventually, he should be able to cut back down to low-ground and on toward Embarcadero. Maybe.
Another twisting, writhing shape suddenly looms ahead of him out of the gloom. As long as two train cars, a faceless, tentacled terror lays huddled in the street like a coiled snake ready to strike. Ice scrapes on creaking ice as the long length of its crystalline body draws up, contracting and tensing its massive bulk.
Soda looks back in panic and sees more shadows moving, little more than black flickers in the darkness pooling just beyond his vision. They're surrounding him, moving in on their prey.
No. He won't allow it. Steeling his resolve, Soda faces the serpentine shape looming ahead of him. With a bellow of rage and ferocity, he charges directly toward it, the tire iron clutched tightly in one hand. He flows forward, rushing toward his enemy like a raging river cutting through the fog. The monstrosity lashes out with lightning-quick reflexes, but Soda ducks to one side, rolling in the mists like a curl of smoke. And then he's beyond, surging up the street, the fog at his back buoying him to the top of the hill like a snowflake carried away in a cloud.
###
Dead Boy kicks open the door at the top of the stairs, then leaps out onto the main level of the boarded-up house with axe in hand and uncertainty in his eyes. The stairwell leads into a hallway connecting the living room at the front of the house with the kitchen at the back. Katana's nowhere in sight.
He looks down the corridor toward the living room, where the front door would give a quick escape. The thought's very tempting, but … No way am I letting her follow me, hunt me down, he thinks. Maybe I can get away if I lock her in a room or something…
Two other doors in the hallway lead to a bathroom and a linen closet; Dead Boy carefully opens them, but finds nothing. There's also another staircase leading up to two bedrooms and a second bathroom on the top level. Dead Boy wrinkles his nose at the lingering acrid stench still hanging in the air from his wallpaper cookfire.
Deciding to check the entire main level first, he quietly approaches the kitchen. He pauses in the hallway, taking stock of the room before entering. The refrigerator door hangs ajar. Rotten, cracked plywood barely covers the window, letting wisps of cold fog roll inside through the gaps.
Dead Boy dashes into the center of the room with his axe at the ready, swinging his body sharply around to check behind the fridge door—only to be slammed into the refrigerator from behind with a heavy kick to his back. Dead Boy whirls around with a curse on his tongue—he’d cracked his chin hard on a refrigerator shelf, opening a new bloody wound on his face—but the words fall dead when he sees what he's up against.
Katana stands in the middle of the room. From the end of each of her arms extends a long blade forged of wicked blue ice, razor sharp on each cutting edge, wickedly pointy at the tip. Globs of ice engulf her hands, connecting blades to limbs, which she raises in an aggressive fighting stance like a warrior long accustomed to battle. A malicious grin cracks her face under milky, inhuman eyes.
The fight is on.
Katana’s first blow swings toward Dead Boy’s head. He desperately flings his axe up to block it and ice chips off from the collision in a dazzling blue spray. She swings her other blade low. Dead Boy knocks it out of the way with his axe’s long handle.
Dead Boy lunges forward with a clumsy axe swing that knocks a toaster off the kitchen counter. Frozen crumbs spray through the air. He kicks the toaster across the floor, which forces Katana to sidestep and allows him to take the center of the room.
They circle around each other, trading blows and blocks between feints and half-starts. Katana’s assault is vicious and unrelenting. Dead Boy's more cautious and restrained, striking out with the haft of his axe rather than the heavy chopping blade—he’s never been in a fight like this before and he really doesn't want to kill anybody. But … does he have a choice? He can't get a single blow in without opening himself up to two counterattacks. Katana's wearing him down.
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But she eventually starts slowing, too. Seeing his chance to gain the offensive, Dead Boy swings his axe wide and hard, crashing it through a nearby cabinet. The wood splinters and sprays through the air. Katana takes a few steps back. Good! Dead Boy lashes out again, exploding another cabinet that sends broken dishes and ceramic shards flying. Maybe I can get her to run…
Instead, both combatants pause for a moment. They breathe heavily, sizing each other up. Dead Boy’s head spins as he tries to process the situation. Magical swords! She has magical swords!
"Why are you doing this?" Dead Boy roars. "Who are you?!"
“Oh, I'm just like you, Del Rey," Katana cooes ominously, “Don't believe me? You’ll find out soon enough!"
In a sudden flurry of motion, Katana flies forward and slams the flat of her blade across the side of Dead Boy's head. The entire sword explodes in a magnificent spray of ice shards. Stunned, Dead Boy stands there for a moment, just watching in fascination as a new blade rapidly grows out of Katana's right hand, ice crystallizing in a billion fractals and forming into another weapon just as wicked as the last.
Katana laughs, and the very sound of it chills Dead Boy to the bone.
###
"You go on ahead! You're faster on your own!" Carlita insists, pushing Raz's hand off her elbow.
She's been doing her best to hustle as fast as she can, but she has to admit they're making terrible time. They've only just reached the stairs leading up to the Crypts' first sub-level, and there isn't anybody else in sight—everyone else has already either run deeper underground to hide or topside to join the fight. Sounds of the ongoing battle echo down from upstairs.
Raz looks from Carlita, to the waiting stairwell and back again, obviously conflicted.
Carlita gives him another insistent push. “Go find Garden! Make sure she’s safe!”
Reason finally gets the better of him. He nods. "Where will you go, then? Will you be OK?"
"I’ll head somewhere safe. Don't worry, just go!"
It takes Carlita a few more tries to convince him, but Raz finally bolts up the stairs, leaving Carlita to fend for herself. Alone now, so close to a violent conflict, Carlita feels incredibly anxious. At least the gunshots have stopped, she consoles herself. They must have run out of ammo. Raz'll be okay.
She waits a few more seconds, long enough to give Raz a head start, and then begins up the stairs herself. She's scared, of course, but she's more frightened for her friends. Carlita at least has a weapon that she's very accustomed to using—her walking stick—though she hopes she won't have to use it.
###
Soda arrives downtown in a deep fugue. He has no idea how he got here so quickly, only that he was moving so fast, with such forceful direction, that it seemed like he just flowed straight down the hill with his feet barely touching the ground.
He finally slows his relentless race just outside of the 101 Cali building where he began today's fateful journey. He can hear people running all around him in the fog. Glimpses here and there reveal NBAZ fighters and enemy gang members alike—some running down the street between pockets of conflict, some clashing in brawls or knife fights near the entrances to the underground and the skyscrapers. Nobody notices Soda as he seemingly materializes out of the thick fog with a heavy tire iron in one hand and a pistol tucked in his belt.
An ominous chittering sound echoes behind him. As he whirls around, the fog parts briefly to reveal over a hundred massive ice wraiths and other glacial tentacled monstrosities standing stock-still in a line. Soda ducks down low, unable to tear his eyes off the horrors in the fog. They don't move, however, except for a cocked head here and a twitch of a tentacle there. The only constant is the clicking, chattering sounds emanating from the creatures in a long drone.
Did they follow me here? Soda wonders. Are they … laughing?
But the monsters make no move toward him, and make no attempt to intervene in the ongoing human battle. They just stand there, passive watchers that become mere shadows in the fog that thickens again before them like a wall of gray smoke.
Soda shudders, terror nearly getting the best of him. A deepset unease grips his heart as he slowly turns his back on the supernatural horror not twenty paces away. Get it together, Soda, keep it together. Those … things … aren’t hurting anyone. They’re just standing there. So you just do your thing.
Time to be a hero. That’s what you came here for.
With a white-knuckle grip on his tire iron, Soda brashly runs forward into the fray. Outside the building’s main entrance, enemies are trying to force their way into a massive hole that's been ripped through the sheet-metal corridors.
He bellows a war cry—completely inaudible in the din of the battle—as he slams his weapon heavily down on an attacker's back with a loud crack. He jerks the four-pronged tire iron backward and catches another attacker around the neck, pulling him off his feet and clearing an opening to the doorway beyond. Three Embarcadero defenders cheer as they rush forward through the breach to repel the remaining invaders.
###
Dead Boy slowly backs out of the kitchen, holding his axe before him to keep Katana at bay. Blood spills heavily from multiple injuries on his face and neck, although he doesn't think any of them are deep cuts.
Katana advances one step, then another, smiling like a cat toying with its prey. Dead Boy warily retreats the way he came, through the hallway toward the front of the house.
"Stay back!” Dead Boy warns her. "Just back off and let me leave, and we’ll call it a draw, yeah?"
Katana doesn't reply. She just continues her creeping, catlike walk toward him, staring, staring with hoary frosted eyes.
Dead Boy backs through the living room and turns the handle of the front door behind him. Katana makes no attempt to stop him from leaving. He throws open the door and bolts outside.
When he reaches the middle of the street, he whips around to see if Katana's chasing him.
She isn't.
But what he does see makes him scream in abject violent terror so loudly that every Frozen for miles around begins to stir from its slumber.
###
Carlita stands huddled in a dark corner of Embarcadero's first sub-level, watching the conflict around the stairwells slowly die down. She'd originally thought she would be able to get through here without much difficulty, but fear and uncertainty had held her back—just like it always does, she chides herself. At least the Crypts’ fighters are admirably holding their own and now finally seem to be winning.
Eventually, Carlita decides it's safe enough to cross the long, wide room toward the basement entrance of 101 Cali where she lives with Garden. Her friend's probably already safe at home, worrying about her.
She's nearly halfway across the long vaulted-ceiling room when two thick hands suddenly grab her shoulders and jerk her backwards toward a nearby stairwell Crypts exit. Her attacker's surprisingly strong. Though Carlita screams and fights back, it takes him almost no time at all to aggressively drag her up the stairs and out into the freezing cold fog. Her walking stick lays uselessly at the bottom of the stairs behind her.
She flails her fists and tries to squirm free, to no avail. Her attacker drags her deeper and deeper into the fog, where she can see others also fleeing from the failed incursion.
Where is he taking me? What will they do with me?!
She twists to look at her captor. The large, heavyset man has icy gray eyes that look frosted over as if blinded with cataracts. His expression seems almost … inhuman. Horror grips Carlita, an icy pit in her stomach.
In sheer desperation, Carlita bites down hard into the brute's hand. A line of bitter blood wells between her lips. The man releases her with a growl and raises a massive fist the size of a sledgehammer head, ready to belt down a crushing blow. Carlita flings her own hand out and screams.
The next thing Carlita knows, the man's head is encased in a silvery sphere of ice that seemingly appears out of thin air. He grips his neck and madly beats at the ice helm with both hands as he thrashes around, locked in a futile struggle to breathe.
Carlita has no idea what's happening, and she doesn't care to find out. She turns and flees as fast as her legs can carry her, glancing over one shoulder every few yards with fascinated terror. The last thing she sees before she escapes down the stairs is her attacker writhing on the ground, smashing his face against the cracked cement over and over again, before finally going limp.
###
Soda runs into the lobby where he'd met Dead Boy that morning. The room is empty but for the sound of the NBAZ fighters cleaning up the last of the attackers outside. He hears some kind of commotion echoing down the stairwell, so he runs up to investigate—the Crypts are his home, but he has to protect the upper-level farms at all cost.
He leaps up the stairs by twos, no longer winded. Somehow, arriving here has reenergized him.
He reaches the third-floor landing where a heavy mist rolls out of the broken door to the infamous make-out spot. Angry, insistent shouts echo down the stairwell from far above. He can also hear the sound of much closer footfalls running down the stairs toward him.
Soda launches himself up the stairs again. He only makes it to the landing between the third and fourth floors before the figure is upon him.
The man barreling down the stairs is dressed all in black, with a deep hood casting his face in shadow. A loot bag is slung over one shoulder. He brandishes a long knife before him, leveled at Soda's chest as he charges forward.
Soda tries to deftly sidestep and send the man flying into the wall behind him; instead, he trips on his own feet and goes sprawling. As Soda hits the floor, his pistol springs from his belt and clatters down the stairs below. He has just enough time to turn around before the man ferociously jumps on top of him, wrestling the knife toward Soda's throat.
The man’s strength is incredible. Soda pushes and strains, pinned helplessly to the floor. The blade inches nearer to his neck.
As the two struggle, Soda sees his assailant’s face for the first time. The man's eyes are frozen over with a thick layer of verglas, staring blankly back at him from within an expressionless face. Soda cringes in fright and the knife dips closer to his end.
Then the knife jerks and falls limp as a hole explodes in the man's forehead. A spray of blood and brains paints the wall behind. The man slumps forward; Soda pitches heavily to roll the corpse off him.
Twisting around on the floor, Soda looks down the stairs to the third-floor landing, where Dead Boy's younger sister Garden stands holding his own smoking gun with both hands, a dazed expression on her face. Raz the courier stands behind her, the beginnings of a bemused smile playing on his lips.
"Uh, thanks," Soda says.
###
Dead Boy takes a deep breath, then belts out another scream. He can't move—all he can do is just stand there and howl in terror at the horror he sees.
Towering over and behind the house he'd just exited, a gigantic humanoid figure at least thirty feet tall looms out of the gloomy night fog. It seems as though it's made of gigantic ice boulders, with glacial slabs piled on top of one another like some sort of living prehistoric sculpture from the Ice Age. A single smaller boulder caps the giant's shoulders: a featureless, faceless head that seems to be watching Dead Boy intently as he screams.
It's the same monster Dead Boy saw in his vision that afternoon through the Frozen’s eyes, and now it's leaning over the house toward him, one massive hand the size of a small car crushing part of the roof, sending shingles and debris clattering to the driveway.
Dead Boy's scream finally catches in his throat, a breathless fascination washing over him. Tears stream from his wide, terrified eyes. Katana steps out of the doorway, perfectly framed below the monster's watchful, eyeless gaze.
"You can't run," Katana says matter-of-factly. "We will find you."
A dozen or so people step out of the fog on either side of the house and fan out in a long line in the yard to the right and left. Dead Boy can see with horror that all of them have the same frosted eyes as the Frozen, just like Katana, and all carry weapons. They start to advance.
Dead Boy turns and runs for his life into the endless fog.
###
This is the end of A Fog of Frozen Fears, book one of The Apocamist. The chronicles of Carlita, Dead Boy, Garden, Soda and Raz continue in book two, Flight Into Shadow.