Thaw
The first snowstorm proved nothing more than a dusting that flittered on and off throughout the day. Its partner in crime, however, that biting chill of Jack Frost nipping at whatever flesh remained exposed to his frightening maw, clung to the land like a wolf’s jaw around the neck of its prey.
Everyone who had grown to call this little nook of the country, ‘home,’ instinctively knew from that first spell — this winter was going to be a frigid slog.
The second snow came as no surprise when it bore down on them like a wrecking ball. A full-blown blizzard. The accumulation was nothing more than a mere byproduct. This was foremost, a storm. An immense and amorphous mass of charcoal briquettes that hung low in the sky, bogged down by the weight of a massive payload. Howling winds struggled to shoo away the encroaching legion of gunmetal gray that consumed the area until the hefty mass blotted out the entire landscape. As the sun snatched away the day’s final dregs of color behind fading silhouettes of stony outcroppings, curtains of inch-wide flakes roared down from the heavens, and land devolved into a dim shell befitting Dickens’ spectre of future Christmases.
High above, those sheer black crags appeared to erupt through the snowy landscape. It was as if the mighty stones tore themselves from earthly chambers to battle the ancient army of evergreens encircling them. Yet, neither hid those barren, sleeping giants, whose exposed deciduous skeletons flecked the cliff sides enough to conjure thoughts of a macabre wasteland.
People in this part of the country generally have enough common sense to maneuver the winding landscape on the worst of days and to know when the roads are best left uninhabited. Usually, they hardly remained that way long. Typically, there was no shortage of plows in the area. So, the owners of lesser-equipped vehicles remained hyper-vigilant, awaiting the moment that someone granted their safe passage.
This was the problem facing the current residents stranded inside the walls of Detective Mila Sommers’ home. Even though she lived outside The Hills, where the snowfall had been lighter, there remained a significant accumulation clogging the roads of her subdivision. And no member of their mismatched group, Sommers included, is of the well-prepared echelon. Further complicating things is the inescapable truth that there is a stillness consuming Rapid City. Very few people venture out into the snow-laden terrain, and even fewer government employees showed up to work the plows for the city.
This forces speculation amongst themselves whether Bernie’s Uncle Samuel might own one, but traversing the terrain to his home poses an innumerable array of dread. The big two being: first, nothing more than hope told them the journey would be worthwhile; and second, their destination sat atop a hill beyond the smoldering hive they razed during their last foray into the depths of the Black Hills.
The physical and emotional crash that beset each of them after the events of that night had been debilitating. But for none more so than Ghini. The memories of her time in the basement with Queenie continue driving a dagger of melancholy through her. From this, she is still recovering. Sets of eyes, accompany words both dark and gentle that hammer into her waking and unconscious dreams.
Confined to the modest ranch home, they enjoyed a reprieve from the horrors of the last few months, but it has been far from restorative. More like the bell between the late rounds of a boxing match. Sure, punches have stopped flying, but this fight is far from over. The bell will ring like it always does. Legs will flex and bear weight once more, as fighters stride back to center ring.
Built to capture the sunsets over the hills, the home’s West-facing windows now only offer a vantage of the dark, yet beautiful, procession of shadows gorging themselves on the landscape.
This period of confinement has affected each of them differently. And for Ghini, this breeds a sense of detachment from the others. The incident has yet to break her. She continues to keep her friends close, but keeping to herself is easier. Being physically and mentally present with her motley crew of friends, warriors, family, or whatever they are to one another, has not been as difficult as withdrawing from them.
However, she has no plans to reach for that last rung on the grieving ladder until she makes things right.
In the time since their assault on the hive, the group has amassed zero leads regarding the missing schoolchildren — eight pupils from a tiny, all-girls, Lutheran school. All of whom essentially vanished into thin air.
They all know why. That monstrous red-haired pest had likely dealt with any loose ends. That’s not to say Ghini or any of the others have abandoned hope. Only that they cannot trust anyone outside their circle.
Interned, as they have these past few days, it’s become increasingly difficult to watch the story fade from headlines. Despite zero developments and a lackluster public investigation, the group is certain Velvet’s silence and apparent inactivity does not mean she is gone.
They know better now. They had only focused on Queenie. Not once did they consider another creature pulling the strings from the shadows.
After destroying the monsters’ hive, hope compelled them to believe that the coming cold snap would finish off any stragglers. Unfortunately, all of their instincts possess an indefatigable belief that there are survivors.
They have no proof. Yet, no matter how many stones they upturned, any evidence of the Vespids vanished, right alongside those innocent girls.
Ghini knows innocence means nothing to fate. Theirs will be the same as her sweet Jeannie’s.
And that pisses her off.
Following another fitful night of sleep, Ghini rises early to watch the sun crest over the eastern horizon. Eventually, the center of their universe penetrates the winter storm’s grey armor. Little by little, the golden rays slice across the barren landscape, melting snow, and surging temperatures upward.
While the rest of her cohort rise with childlike joy at the sight of sunshine and blue skies, Ghini thinks to herself that this is the day. This is when they finally catch a break.
Unfortunately, she is correct.
“Ghini!” Sommers’ voice exclaims as she runs toward the dining table where Ghini sits poring over their ‘case.’ Her frizzy hair appears like a poorly constructed bird’s nest after a windstorm. “The camera! It caught something!” The look on her face is half-crazed as her bubbling excitement battles her morning grogginess. Ghini warily takes the phone offered to her, as if it might short-circuit and shock her at any moment. Three notifications from the device sit open on Sommers’ phone.
Battery Low
Persons Spotted
Battery Low
Sommers installed the security camera opposite the creatures’ hive on the night of their attack on the Vespid’s home. When it came time to escape, she wanted to know what awaited them outside those walls. However, they neglected to retrieve the device following the chaos of that evening.
Then Ghini remembers. “It doesn’t back up to the cloud?” The words are a question, but her tone suggests a statement seeking affirmation.
To this, Sommers only nods.
“I think we should retrieve it.” Bernie chimes in as he approaches with a steaming mug of coffee. “Plus, I’m feeling confident.” He says, sipping at the scalding liquid. “So, we can two birds this thing and check Samuel’s for a plow. Then there’s no need to worry about storms.”
No one offers pushback to this idea. Whether because of stir-craziness or prudence, it’s difficult to say. Nevertheless, they are going.
It takes over an hour for them to remove the nearly two feet of snow and melt piled atop the driveway. Thankfully, during that stretch, a neighbor’s truck finally plowed their street. While most of them shovel the drive, Bernie makes the pragmatic decision to mount a set of snow tires on Samuel’s truck. A product of this landscape, the young man is well aware that the Black Hills can be treacherous regardless of any looming threat of monsters.
Once piled into the truck, Dak shares his thoughts aloud. “Maybe they came back. Left a clue, like a vehicle or a direction, a face, anything that’d tell us where Velvet might’ve run off.”
Desperate for anything to reignite their fire for the investigation, Ghini knows this thought helps stoke the coals.
As they navigate further into the rocky terrain, the blue skies continue to crack open, bathing untouched snow and green pines in golden streams of unfiltered daylight.
Surprisingly, the trip is uneventful. The roads are neither precarious nor busy, and Sommers quickly retrieves the camera before they head to Samuel’s.
The entire cul-de-sac looks untouched. A ghost town. Until they enter Samuel’s home. There, they find signs of someone taking up residence in the time since Ghini had almost died at the hands of the creatures that had attacked them from above. Inside, the shattered skylights are now covered in plywood, dimming the room with unfamiliar shadows. More concerning, no signs remain of the Vespid corpses that should be rotting on the living room floor. Only the dark stains echo what happened here.
All the same, Sommers, Dak, and Paradiso clear the house of any lurking dangers.
Content that they are alone, the group splits up. Bernie and Dak go to the garage, where they locate an old plow beginning to rust. While those two work on hitching the giant metal mouth to the front of Samuel’s truck, Ghini chauffeurs Mila to Samuel’s den. There they find his laptop and plug in the SD card from the camera.
Once loaded, the detective doesn’t hesitate to analyze the footage. The events of that night fire across the screen from chilly start to fiery finish.
Then days fly across the screen at five times the speed before Ghini catches movement. “Stop! There!” She yells, her finger leaving a greasy fingerprint across the monitor.
Thick drifts of snow lay unmolested until four women trudge through the pristine powder toward the burnt-out buildings. One figure stands out and above the rest. She has a pale complexion and honeycomb eyes the color of crystal blue mountain springs. She appears in charge, pointing and directing the actions of the others.
Her companions disappear for minutes at a time before emerging, each dragging several bodies behind them. The towering woman never once aids them. Like a statue, she watches the subordinates heave the lifeless forms into the back of a vehicle just off-screen. After they seem finished with the houses, the spindly woman directs the others toward several powdery mounds that Ghini mistook for ordinary snow drifts. From their depths, the creatures uncover more cadavers.
“Nine-thirty.” Ghini hears the incredulity in Dak’s voice behind her.
“What did you say, Johnson?” Mila looks back at the man looming over their shoulders.
“The time stamp.” He points a thick finger toward the screen.
Both women swivel in synchronicity, aligning their gazes with the timestamp in the upper corner. It’s today’s date. The Vespids had been right there — only a few hours before.
Ghini’s eyes drift away from the screen and out the room’s lone window. The sky overhead is a painter’s dream palette of azure blue. Yet she must toil beneath dark clouds of what-ifs that rumble with thundering self-contempt.
