Solstice: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse
Solstice
First Edition
Published by E-Volve Books
Copyright ©2012 Donna Burgess
http://donnaburgess.com
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
December 20
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
December 21
Chapter 3
December 22
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
December 23-26
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
December 27-29
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
December 30
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
December 31
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
January 1
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
January 2
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
January 3
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
January 6-10
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
January 15
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
February 1
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
February 5-11
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
February 12
Chapter 47
February 13
Chapter 48
March 7
Chapter 49
March 15
Chapter 50
March 16
Chapter 51
March 18-May8
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Epilogue
About the Author
More from E-Volve Book
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.
Tomas had designed the structure, and the creation was his pride. It wasn’t completely self-sufficient, but it was energy efficient, with the glass front side providing warmth and the earthen rear side allowing insulation, making even the harshest winters quite cozy. If the apocalypse rained down on them, they would be safe in their little home in the side of the hill. Just like Bilbo Baggins. And like Bilbo, Tomas wasn’t looking for any adventures.
He began to run east toward the village, cautious of the slippery footing and of the dog’s paws on the salted road. Ahead, the little hamlet rose into view, decorated for the Solstice festival and for Christmas, glorious in the morning light. Metallic streamers ran across the roadway, linking building to building and waving in the breeze, reflecting the sunshine like a thousand little daggers to the eyes.
The air smelled of snow—a crisp and wonderful nothing. Tomas pulled the air deep into his lungs and exhaled slowly. His cheeks and chin became numb, but the rest of him was already warming. His mind cleared of Leila’s complaints. He would go to the Solstice Festival that evening, his son perched on his shoulders, and the boy would marvel at the lights and the music. The air would then be filled with saffron buns baking and mulled wine steeping.
They entered the village, plunging into and out of the shadows of the buildings. Like most mornings the past three weeks, Tomas entertained the thought of just taking his son and leaving. He would pack just enough to get them through for a few days and buy more as needed. He would go to Australia where it was warm all the time, and they would play on the beaches and become as brown as Indians. He might be Tom Smith or Walter Thomas. Nobody would know them. Leila could have her precious accountant who made a fraction of Tomas’s income. He would not think of her again. Christopher would be a footballer and—
A man materialized suddenly and rugby tackled Tomas hard, driving him onto the icy pavement.
“These are the end days, my friend,” the man shrieked. He pressed all his weight down onto Tomas’s back, thrusting Tomas’s face into the hard packed snow. “We’re dying!” he cried. “I can feel it. I can feel it.”
After he had shaken the initial surprise of the attack or whatever the hell was happening, Tomas threw the man from him. The guy weighed almost nothing—a scarecrow wrapped in a tattered parka and a moth-eaten scarf that obscured all but his eyes. He smelled of vodka, piss, and cigarettes, making Tomas fight the urge to retch.
“What the hell are you doing?” Tomas rolled over and sat up. He looked around. Bo was nowhere in sight; Tomas gripped a now-empty leash in his gloved fist. The clasp had pulled apart.
“Great! Just great!” He climbed to his feet. He approached the bum, towering over him, fists clenched.
The tattered man cowered. “God Jul.” He then took off, vanishing into the narrow alleyway between the bakery and an accountant's office.
“Yeah, well, Merry Christmas to you, too. Damned idiot.” He turned, then bent over and planted his hands on his knees, catching his breath. The knees of his running pants were shredded. And worse, his nose was pouring blood. Fat droplets dotted the white ground between his feet. He slipped the glove from one hand and touched his face gingerly.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Dejected over Bo, he started back toward home, hoping the dog might be there when he arrived.
***
Stockholm, Sweden
Melanie stepped from the shower, steam rising from her skin like smoke. She toweled off and pulled on her frumpy robe again.
In the bedroom, she flipped on the clock radio and the announcer’s overly jovial voice piped up, “… this type of solar superstorm can cause some changes in the biochemical makeup of humans and possibly animals. Symptoms may include irritability, headaches, dizziness, and anxiety. In fact, with the expected intensity of these predicted storms, hospitals are bracing for more than the usual number of emergency visits tomorrow. Looks like Mr. Sun’s going to throw one heck of a magnetic temper tantrum, people.”
“Great,” she muttered as she stood before the mirror. Could the storms possibly make Leila even more of a bitch than normal? She sighed and tried to ignore Kira’s mess cluttering the vanity counter, but she couldn’t. She hated clutter. She gathered her roommate’s makeup, facial cleanser, moisturizer, contact solution, and toothbrush, and quickly moved everything into a drawer on Kira’s end of the counter.
Vaguely, she remembered how it was before—before her parents burned—and she came to live beneath the shadow of Leila, a woman she had never met, and Tomas, a man she knew of, but did not truly know. Melanie had been an accident that occurred to a couple who should’ve been welcoming a granddaughter into the world, not a daughter. Worse, the accident eventually became the accident of a second couple in the process of having their own family. Before Leila, there was no need for perfection. Of course, Tomas didn’t require perfection. He desired happiness for those around him. That was how he found happiness for himself. Leila, on the other hand, needed more. Melanie had tried so hard to make Leila like her, or at least not dislike her so much.
Melanie had wasted a year at Stockholm University, attempting to follow in her father’s earth science footsteps, but found her heart wasn’t in it. Finally, she immersed herself in psychology. Doctor, heal thyself. Perhaps at the heart of things, hers was a selfish endeavor, but she felt that in helping herself, she might help others in similar situations.
As for Leila, Melanie decided there was no cure for being a complete bitch.
Two hours later, Melanie boarded the tram, shopping bags clutched in one fist, messenger bag over her shoulder, and a latte in her other hand. With no classes to attend, she had decided to do a little shopping. Stockholm was built on water, and the briny odor of fish hung in the air from the boats and restaurants. Fish! She’d be happy to smell anything but fish. Even cow manure would be a welcome change. From time to time, there came a momentary reprieve, a woman’s perfume, the sweet breads fresh from the oven at the little café on the corner, or sausage dogs steaming from the street vendor’s cart. However, stink notwithstanding, the place looked mystical with its old buildings and narrow, winding avenues decorated for the Solstice festival. Slivers of gold and silver danced atop the light poles and from the fringes of the roofs of public buildings. Mechanical Christmas trees twirled in shop windows and Tomte, the Christmas elf, shared space with a U.S.-styled Santa in many store displays. The sweet twang of some American rock song floated up and chased her into the tram, and she thought of Tom’s love of that music—Springsteen, especially.
Merry Christmas, baby. You surely treat me nice…
Despite her distaste for so much of the outside world forcing itself in, she smiled.
She wanted to buy something special for Christopher, but what to get a little boy?
She had considered asking woman in the toyshop with a small child around Christopher’s age. The child was a pretty little thing with a head full of curls and indeterminate gender, but Melanie was afraid of indicating the child was the wrong sex, and she wasn’t in the mood to anger anyone. That would come when she was with Leila. Just her arrival at the door would be enough to arouse Leila’s ire.
Melanie sat down, placed her bags close to her side, and watched the snowy city pass by the window. As a splurge, she’d also gotten a “little silk dress.” She usually never bought anything so frivolous, but she was determined to make Tomas see her as more than a child. She would wear it for New Years.
Who was she kidding? Chances were greater that she would leave the dress in her suitcase and then return it when she got back to campus.
She sipped the overly sweet latte, stinging her tongue, winced and then took another taste. At the festival later that evening, there would be drinking and dancing… and David. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see him. They had only been going out for a month, but things were already becoming too serious as far as she was concerned. He’d already mentioned getting a place together, but she’d scoffed at the idea. Although it had been a gentle scoff, he sulked the better part of the weekend. She had ended up pretending she wanted sex to get him out of his funk.
Kira knew something was up, but said little, unless, of course, she was drunk. Once she was blotto, she teased Melanie endlessly over her “strange fixation.” It was simply Freudian, she insisted. David was blond, broad-shouldered, and handsome, and a little too similar to Tomas. Melanie had ignored her, but beneath the folds of her coat, she tapped her fingers to her sides, six times right and six times left, because she always tapped when she became uncomfortable. David was certainly pretty enough. Unfortunately, he was also an idiot. Idiot or not, being with him was still better than being alone.
Melanie had mentioned David to Tomas because she had nobody else to tell, since Kira was never there anymore. Tomas, playing protector, had insisted he wanted to meet David before their relationship progressed very far, but Melanie wasn’t warm to that notion. Tomas would spot the poor guy’s lacking intellect immediately. And of course, discussing such personal things with Leila was not an option. In the five years she had lived under their roof, she and Leila had remained little more than nodding acquaintances. Maybe Leila sensed her feelings for Tomas, or perhaps she knew Melanie had overheard her secret phone conversation with another man.