Frostbitten: The Complete Series (59 page)

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT
STARTING ANEW

Paige’s daughter, Zelda, truly did sleep like a rock. Somehow, the violent disturbance down the hallway didn’t wake the girl from her peaceful slumber. She slept through the entire battle. While no child should ever have to witness a murder—never mind the murder of their own mother—Zelda’s uninterrupted sleep meant something terrible…

Tanner knew that, when Zelda found her mother, she would undoubtedly assume she was killed by Tanner. She never saw Kane, and Wallace evaporated into thin air. Once again, Tanner was stuck with a familiar circumstance.

Of course, he would never—never ever consider harming a little girl. But Zelda knew his name—his real name. The moment she muttered the name “Tanner” to the cops, every cruiser and ever police helicopter would be searching every corner of the country—maybe even the next country over too.

While Tanner stared blankly into space, considering all of his possible futures, Kane stared out the window, watching as the snow and wind began to die down—the blizzard was finally over. In the distance, a flashing amber light was visible—a snowplough clearing the snow from the streets. It was finally time to leave.

“You ready to go?” Kane asked.

Tanner didn’t respond.

“I’m going to go warm up the car. We’ll leave in ten minutes—okay?” Kane said.

Again, Tanner didn’t reply. Kane put on his coat and flipped up his hood. He ran out to the old Mustang and fired up the engine. It took a few tries, but the old muscle car roared, ready to go. Kane turned the dials, ensuring the heat was cranked, and then he made his way back to the warm house.

Tanner was dead. He cut his wrists in the bathroom.

Kane knew that it was only a matter of time before the police found Paige’s husband and came to the house. Kane knew he had to move quickly. But he couldn’t leave Tanner’s body behind—he couldn’t let Tanner’s legacy be reduced to his mistakes—and the misconceptions and assumptions of the Snowbrooke police. Kane wrapped Tanner’s young body in a blanket and then carried him out to the car. Before taking off, he made sure there were no traces and no evidence that could throw the late Tanner’s legacy into the media flames. He wiped up all of the blood, and wiped down all of the surfaces.

Then, right before he took off, he saw her—Zelda was out of bed, standing over her mother’s dead body. She looked up at Kane with teary eyes. Kane knew no words that could console that girl, or convince her mind either way. Her life was going to be tough—filled with sadness and tears. But that was unfortunately out of Kane’s control.

He turned around and walked away. He got into his old Mustang, and pulled out of the driveway—destined for somewhere else.
Anywhere else.

It was a long drive through those icy mountains. Kane had lots of time to think. Tanner murdered a man, yes. But he also saved a little girl’s life—and he saved Kane. What did that make him? A killer? Or a hero?

Tanner was a martyr.

That long mountain drive was a deeply introspective one, but for the first time in his life, Kane came out with something most incredible: an objective, a purpose.

He was going to hunt down vampires. Even if he could only save one person—one family—one beautiful, kind woman like Paige, it was worth a lifetime of sacrifice. It was worth sacrificing his name and becoming a
killer
. Tanner didn’t die for nothing. He died for Kane, and all of the people Kane would go on to save.

Unfortunately, carrying out that sacrifice, that objective, and that purpose meant killing Brittany.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND NINE
A SELFISH PROPOSAL

Brittany was excited to tell Hanna about the town of Nightfall. The two girls sent text messages back and forth all morning fantasizing about the day they would see it themselves. By noon, Hanna was trying to pull up whatever information she could on the town. She was able to find the newspaper story with James’s photo, which mentioned the little town. With a little more digging, she was delighted to find the old Cottage Country Magazine with a whole six page write-up, and some lovely photos.

Hanna found herself becoming lost in fantasy, imagining herself settling down in the little town with Connor. No one would know her name. It could be a fresh start. She could go anywhere to write her poetry. It sounded like a dream-come-true.

It wouldn’t hurt to escape Snowbrooke’s deadly cold winters. While Hanna sat in that library, a police cruiser rolled down the street, blaring an announcement from a megaphone. They were warning people of an expected blizzard coming in from the northern mountains. Word on the street was that it was going to be much like the blizzard that passed a half a decade ago. They told people to expect extended outages, and to seek a warm place to spend the night. The hospital was proactive in preparing for the whiteout. They called in their entire staff, and they cleared out all of the available rooms.

The librarian came by Hanna’s small corner table and apologized for the noise that hadn’t yet started. The library staff relocated the shelves to accommodate more occupants—the ones who would show up to seek shelter from the oncoming cold.

As the wind began to pick up with the snowstorm approaching, Hanna decided it was time to head home. With her gloved hands stuffed deep into her pockets, she ran home through the quickening winds. As she arrived at her block, the streetlights were already beginning to wane, flickering in time with the sporadic blasts of wind. The town’s only power plant was fighting to remain operational.

Through the door, down the hall and up the stairs, Hanna found herself in her little attic nook, with a pen in one hand and her notebook in the other. Next to her was a pack of matches and a candle, ready for the inevitable blackout.

She looked down at the white Snowbrooke streets, which were quickly rising like a loaf of bread in a warm oven. The snow was thick and plentiful—unrelenting, but still nowhere near its full force.

As the storm progressed, the streetlights became invisible from the creaky house’s attic window.

Hanna’s little radio began to crackle as the power began to fade over at the local radio station. As a song came to its end, the host announced that they were going to be switching over to the weather warning broadcast. “Stay inside!” the host said. “If you have a wood-burning fireplace, make sure it is burning that wood! If you don’t, go to someone who does—your electric heaters will be going out with the rest of the town’s power! Temperatures have already dipped below negative thirty-five degrees—that is
really
cold, people!”

Snowbrooke was trying desperately to learn from the mistakes they had made five years before, when they were caught off guard by a similar snowstorm of similar magnitude. But despite the preparation, warnings, and efforts of the local police, people somehow found themselves unprepared. Stubborn townspeople assumed that
their
power would hold—they assumed the storm wasn’t going to be
that
bad.

They were wrong.

“Hospitals are already at capacity—You—freezing—and the wait for—paramedics are saying it is close—Hour or two!” the host announced, his voice crackling in and out along with the waning power.

Hanna checked her phone for missed messages from Connor. She had none. She clicked on Connor’s name and read through the last chunk of text messages they’d exchanged. She hadn’t heard from him since the morning. With the hospital making news headlines, Hanna began to worry.

She wrote out a quick message. “Hey. Is everything okay over there?” she sent.

A few seconds passed before she received a reply—

“
Message failed to send
.” She hadn’t noticed, but her phone had lost reception. The blanket of snowfall was heavy enough to make the town’s reception fail.

Hanna put her phone back onto the floor and she took a deep breath, trying not to let her anxieties get the best of her. She looked back down at her blank notepad. She put the tip of her pen against the paper.

The town became dark.

All at once, the streetlights of Snowbrooke went dead. Hanna’s radio went silent, and the humming heaters turned off. The town was a black void for a moment before a glow returned to the few homes that were prepared with emergency generators.

Hanna looked back down at her notepad and waited for her usual inspiration. Unusually, the inspiration never came. She was too distracted by her anxiety—the uncertainty of whether or not Connor was okay.

The house groaned as the heat slowly seeped out and the old wooden beams began to contract together.

“Hanna…”

The decrepit groaning mansion seemed to speak as the wind pushed against it.

Hanna looked around. As far as she could tell, she was totally alone.

“Hello?” she said.

The attic was completely black. The town’s streetlights were completely dead and between the dark clouds and the snow, any starlight and moonlight could not produce an ounce of ambient light inside of the dark house.

Hanna felt the floor around herself and retrieved her pack of matches. She removed one from the pack and struck it—providing a glimmer of orange light in the dark room. She grabbed the candle and, using the burning match, she lit it—

The dark attic filled with a faint, flickering orange light. The flickering candlelight cast the room with curious shadows.

Hanna slowly scanned the room. Lingering in the corner was a particularly strange shadow—human in shape, but strangely still. There was something eerie about the shadow—despite being a mere silhouette, it seemed to stare at Hanna, it seemed to watch her carefully with dark, brooding eyes.

“Do you really think it will work?”

Hanna sprung to her feet, the candle in hand.

“Leave me alone,” Hanna said.

“You can’t possibly ignore this gift—That would be such a travesty. Don’t you want to have all the power in the world? You could do anything! If you just learn to properly harness this power, you can leave behind all of your physical barriers. You can become like me.”

“I don’t want to become like you. I never wanted any of this.”

“Oh?” the hoarse voice asked. “I seem to remember you asking for it.”

Hanna was silent, standing still in the groaning house.

“In the foster home—I can still remember you telling me how badly you wanted it. How badly you wanted to have the power.”

“You—you tricked me. I never wanted this.”

“I gave you something beautiful.”

“Take it away. I don’t want it.”

“I can’t take it away. Now that it’s yours, its yours forever. Just learn to embrace it. You’ll love it. I promise.”

“No. I don’t want it. I want it gone. Take it away from me!” Hanna cried.

“I can’t do that.”

“Then you aren’t powerful at all. You can’t do anything. You’re just a liar.”

A strong wind blew the door downstairs open, and swirled violently through the entire dark house, nearly knocking Hanna off of her feet.

“I am not a liar!” the voice roared.

“Yes you are! You’re nothing but a cheap party trick. You aren’t some God, like you seem to think.”

One of the heavy boxes in the attic suddenly lifted from the ground. It floated in the air for a brief moment before being thrust violently into a wall. The box smashed into pieces and the contents went flying in all directions. “I can do anything I want, I can be anywhere I want, and I will exist for all time.”

“Then why don’t you go rid the world of hunger? Or go and stop all of the wars. Fix the hole in the ozone layer—something useful!” Hanna yelled bravely.

“Why would I waste my time solving trivial mortal problems? Humans are cancer, and they don’t deserve my help—our help.”

Hanna laughed. “Bull shit. You don’t do any of those things because you can’t do them. You’re just a monster. Not a god. That’s it.”

“Anything a god can do, I can do,” the voice roared.

“Prove it. Why don’t you create life?”

There was a silence in the room. “I can do better. I can take life away.”

Hanna stood in a tense silence.

“Maybe taking the mortal out of your life will make you finally embrace your immortality,” the hoarse voice laughed.

“What do you mean?” Hanna asked.

“I won’t let my daughter waste her life chasing some useless mortal boy.”

Hanna took a step forward. “If you touch him, I swear to God…”

“Unfortunately, there is no God. There is only me.” Another swift gust blew through the house, sending a cold shiver running up Hanna’s spine.

“Don’t touch him!” Hanna shouted.

Her cry was met with no reply. The ghostly spirit of her father was gone, and Hanna was left cold and alone.

“Don’t do this!” Hanna cried. Still, her cries were unheard through the cold whistle of the arctic blizzard.