Solstice: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse
Read Solstice: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse Online
Authors: Donna Burgess
Tags: #Fantasy, #Horror, #Young Adult
Solstice
First Edition
Published by E-Volve Books
Copyright ©2012 Donna Burgess
Cover illustration copyright © 2012 by Nathalia Suellen
http://lady-symphonia.deviantart.com/
Edited by Red Adept Editing Service
http://redadeptpublishing.com/editing-services/
ISBN: 9781476141343
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Solstice
Table of Contents
Chapter 14
Life is a dreadful thing sometimes. And the most dreadful parts are the ones that refuse to let go. They hang on, claws out like an angry cat, no matter how much you try to shake free. It rends the flesh, leaves scars—some plain for the world to see, others hidden. Often the unseen ones are worse.
December 20
Chapter 1
Stockholm, Sweden
“Melanie? I know you haven’t left yet.” The voice coming from the laptop was much too chipper for that time of morning.
Melanie opened her eyes against the intrusive glare of winter sunshine seeping through the blinds. What time was it? She looked at the clock. 8:11. Kira, her flatmate, was either already up and on with her day, or else she had not returned the previous night. Most likely the latter. Since Kira had landed a steady guy, she spent most of her time at his place. Melanie enjoyed having the place to herself, so it was “Good riddance,” as far as she was concerned. Melanie hopped from the bed, snatched her frumpy robe from the back of the desk chair, and pulled it on as she hurried across the cold floor to the bathroom. She rinsed her face, then patted it dry and drew her hair back into a ponytail. She considered applying a little makeup. She looked positively deathly, and mirrors didn’t lie.
Tomas called again, and she moved to her desk, clicked the touchpad, and maximized the calling screen. Tomas’s grinning face floated into view, and Melanie’s pulse quickened. For a moment, she wished she had used a little makeup or wore a less frumpy robe, or maybe had forgone the video calling, at the very least. She wiped at her eyes again.
“I’m up.” Nervously, she straightened the minor chaos on her desk: the framed photo of her adoptive family—Tomas, his wife Leila, and their five-year-old son Christopher—a stack of textbooks, a figurine of Minnie Mouse, and a Symbicort inhaler.
Tomas leaned toward the screen and squinted. “You’re taking your meds, aren’t you? You look a little tired.”
“You really know how to charm a girl,” she responded, wishing again that she had dabbed a little concealer under her eyes. She picked up her rescue inhaler and shook it at the webcam. “Yes, I’m taking my meds. I’m a grown woman, you know.” She smiled. “Actually, I haven’t needed it much since getting away from Leila.”
Tomas laughed. “I can imagine. Sorry.” He glanced somewhere behind him. “There in a moment,” he shouted, and then turned his attention back to Melanie. “Christopher’s excited over you coming home. So am I.”
Home.
“And Leila?”
“She's not especially excited over anything concerning me, lately.” He paused. “It’s going to be fine. Really. Just like before you went away to university.”
“I suppose.”
Melanie could hear Christopher in the background. “Hi, Melanie!” Then, “Dad, hurry up! Eat with me.” The morning bustle of the household seemed so warm and so far away. But she always felt warm when Tomas was near, despite Leila’s uncompromising presence.
“I need to go, Melanie. I’ll meet you at the rail station tomorrow.”
He signed off before she could say anything else. She sat there a moment, staring at her monitor, wishing she could go back in time, just for the holidays, and huddle near the fire in the presence of people who loved her. Of course, there was Tomas. Good-hearted Tomas who tried so hard to make her feel she belonged. She loved him for many reasons, but that one was high on the list. She wondered if his obligation to her father would ever waver.
Sighing, she straightened the items on her desk once more and then went to take a shower.
***
Trollhättan, Sweden
Tomas pulled on his sneakers and snatched up Bo’s lead. At the rattle of the leash, the German Shepherd trotted to Tomas’s side. “Ready, big guy?”
He needed to get out of the house for a while. Leila had already started up about Melanie coming for the holidays. He couldn’t understand how she could resent the girl, and for what? Simply being born? Living when her parents perished on holiday in the States?
Harold Helstad had first been Tomas’s professor in architecture and design, and then his best friend and mentor for more than half his life. What could he have done? Turn the man’s only child away to strangers? Harold and his wife had been quite along in years when they had the girl. Their other blood relatives were either dead or disassociated.
He stepped out into the frigid morning, careful on the slippery driveway, even as the dog pulled, eager to take off. Breath plumed from his lips like pale smoke.
“Hurry back, Daddy.”
Tomas turned back toward the house. Christopher had opened the front door just enough to press his small face through. He knew Leila’s sour mood affected Christopher, even though she tried to hide it. It had been three weeks since Leila had asked for a divorce. She had been seeing someone else for over a year, and not very discreetly. But Tomas would rather die than leave his son to be raised by another man. A weekend father. The thought sickened him. He was determined not to leave the house. Maybe she would soften, given time.
“Not long, son. Go back in. You don’t want to catch a cold.” He blew a kiss and pretended to catch the one Christopher returned, then waited until his boy was back inside with the door closed. Suddenly, an irrational fear hit him—what if he never saw his son again? Stupid, those thoughts, but he had quickly come to understand it was a common thing among parents, especially ones considering divorce. Perhaps his own parents had sometimes feared the same.
He remained a moment longer, looking at his home. How warm it appeared. One side of the structure was set deeply into a large hill, so the house seemed to be a part of the landscape, rather than an intruder of it. The front faced the sun, what sun there was that time of year when the days were so short. Large windows lined the façade facing the road, reflecting snow and more snow.