Frosted:The Journey West

Prologue

July 25, 2032. That's when I was born. As far as I can remember, everything was bright. Really bright. A light flashing on my face, and I could still feel blood smears on my face. I heard talking, and a lot of cheering. As a child, I wiggled my feet and looked around quietly. My dad always said I didn't do much crying. I learned the "Necessities" in sign language. A computer was shoved into my face, and a needle plugged into my arm. The screen booted up, and began to flash pictures of people, all men, all black hair. Then it stopped. Rustled hair, bushy beard. As a baby I had no idea, but this was me in twenty five years.

I heard multiple beeps and the wurrs of machinery. I heard crying. Someone yell. Someone...going into cardiac arrest. Who? Who was hurt? Was I hurt? Was I dying after being alive for only a couple minutes, seconds?

This sucks.

I can only feel blackness. Or see. How do you feel air? Can you feel air? I wonder.

My mind's drifting again. Need to work on that. Need to focus. To focus on staying alive. It's been 27 years, and I'm already dead? What a failure. Just like Butch said, like Paul had said. I wasn't going to amount to anything, dead at 20-something. Unless I wasn't dead. Maybe I was just hurt, unconscious maybe. No. The way that guy hit me... My corpse is probably being munched on by now. I guess I would feel that then. Maybe just dragging me to being cooked. Maybe I was already gone, just floating chunks in a crazy cannibal's stomachs.

Maybe.

Perhaps I should take this time to reflect on what happen. Remember myself, safeguard that little sliver of sanity I have left. Might as well use this time for something productive. Remember it. Remember them. Remember... her. Oh Wendy oh Wendy...
You nearly stole my heart.

Literally.

If anyone reads this--My mind, I guess--then it's not going to make sense. Not at all.

Screw it.

I've got time, got patience. I've been doing things too fast for fifteen years. It's time to slow down. I can wait, can talk. I've got time, I've got patience.

~5 Years earlier~

I had been running. I was winded, because I had been running for about 15 minutes. Against that thing, running was all I could do.

Maybe I should go back to that morning.

    8:23, January 4th. My alarm was blaring, but I knew I wouldn't need it. Today was special. Today I went outside. After being in this hole for a couple thousand months, I could only hope it was amazing. Sure, I had the weaker job this time-it was my first-but I knew it would be amazing. Me and Pa had to go out and collect some weapons from an old depot. About a mile away. It was quite the jog, but if these weapons and ammunition were real, we would have enough spare parts and ammunition to keep our guns running for an easy decade! We bundled up, because Pa said the cold was bitter outside. We wore big coats, double layer-everything and snowboots. We had eye protection-goggles or gas masks-and at least 2 firearms. Pa had some bolt-action hunting rifle, and I had a glock. Not much, but we would survive.
    We opened our 1 foot deep door, and stepped into the "Deep Freeze" It was called that because it was cold, permanently. The earth had been frozen for at least 30 years. Most of the population died off, or worse "adapted." The adapters became psychotic raiders who killed, raped, and pillaged. The outside was no joke. There was a reason we brought a gun. I would soon find out though, there are worse fates for people out here.
    "Let's go!"  I heard Pa yell. I had grabbed my pack, and put on my safety goggles. They were just glorified motorcycle goggles, honestly. I put on my parka over my bulletproof vest, and Ushanka on my head. We looked like giant fluffmen, wading through miles upon miles of snow, ice, and more ice. We began our walk.
    It was maybe 15 minutes later, when everything went south. Pah yelled, and I drew my glock. "Watch out!" I looked behind me and saw it. A wendigo. 12 feet tall, talons as long as my forearm, and a furry grey coat. Never been killed. I shot it's chest twice, then ran. It was fast. Had to keep running. Pa tripped. I didn't look back. Pa screamed, bloody, and ugly. I kept running. I needed to find somewhere to lay low until that thing left. Pa would want me to hide. Would want me to live.
    I was almost out of stamina, yet my pursuer seemed to never tire. It extended its long arms wide, as if going for a hug. A death hug. Imagine that. Anywho, it was easily two meters behind me. I knew that sooner or later, I would stop. Or wendy would swoop me up and eat me. Whichever came first. This chase doesn't seem to be going in my favor. With only a glock, any attempts of self defense were futile. Shotguns can keep them at bay for a minute, but won't kill them. Stopping power is important against wendigos, and a 9mm definitely isn't offering any. I peered through my goggles and saw my(hopefully) savior.
    The armory. It was two stories high, with a obsolete barbed wire fence around it. I heard a low growl from behind me, and I dived under a convenient hole in the fence. Wendy dived at the fence, only to be stopped by the razor wire. I crawled from under the spot and turned around. The Wendigo was clashing with the fence, occasionally taking off a large section of it.  I needed to move. That fence won't hold out forever, afterall. I ran through the bitter frosted courtyard to the main door. I didn't hesitate. Shot the lock twice, barged open the long frozen door.
     The floor was all but dirt. There was just one hallway, and there was a single door at the end of the hall labeled "Armory." Bingo. I walked towards it, trying not to think about Pa. I raised my gun to the door knob open, and then the entrance bursted open. I turned back and raised my glock. The wind pushed in snowflakes, and in came a monster.