Frost

Chapter Two

𝚂𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙴𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝙻𝚈 enjoyed the atmosphere of Avolyn Road—the way the afternoon sun winked on the windowpanes and shone a diffused golden aura among the town walls—how the only sound was crunching, often caused by someone's Wellington boots, and occasionally brought about by a trucker's pitstop in the fall. She adored that: the quietness. She'd often think about this in the morning time, how Frostford kept its silence like how a man kept his pride: with great effort.

  But today was different. She didn't expect there to be so much noise, so much panic. In front of the local shop were five—maybe six—cars spread out among the snow, their white-crested axles looking as though they'd been there for quite some time. There were roughly ten people gathered outside the front entrance, which was locked by the look of it. Locked and secured with a security shutter. Perhaps for too long; people didn't look too happy, nor did they seem all that patient. When Scarlet noticed this she beckoned for her mother to pull over. "What's going on?" she asked.

  Gradually Vanessa pulled up alongside one of the vehicles—a large pickup truck coated with dark paint and proclaiming the words 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙱𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙳! 𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙴! on the bumper. When they got outside, a woman was yelling at the owner to open up or else she was going to starve. It was a voice that was eerily familiar to Scarlet, as though she had heard it in her memories, someplace hazy and prescient.

  She only recognised it when her mother called out, "Rachel!" Of course it was her. The black-haired woman had been dressed in a dowdy grey coat and cargo trousers.

  "Are you crazy?!" Vanessa asked, hurrying towards Rachel as quickly as the snow would allow her. "You're gonna bring the whole town down on your ass if you yell any louder." She approached Rachel, who responded with a half-cynical smile. The type that Scarlet had often seen her wear when saying things like You think you're a hot guy, huh? and Told you I could outdrink you.

  That was funny to think about, that Scarlet's aunt spent more time drinking and smoking than anyone else in her family tree. And as the years went on, Scarlet witnessed the effects wear away at Rachel's skin and, unfortunately, her voice. Oh, the voice was something else altogether. It sounded like a mixture between Betty White and a lung-cancer-advertisement actress, though the question of whether they were acting or not deserved a thoughtful answer, if not by Scarlet, then by someone that paid particular notice to such things. Maybe then the addicts would decide Hey, I think smoking isn't for me. This person doesn't look all too good.

  And Rachel didn't, either. Her skin was more wrinkly than Vanessa's, despite the fact she had been (at least) five years younger. (Scarlet didn't know how much younger exactly, but she liked to think that it made sense. That someone a little bit younger would make much bigger mistakes.)

  "The bastards won't open up!" Rachel said, her smile returning to a rictus, the waxy pallor of her skin reflecting a portion of the sun. She brushed her hands through her hair, one of which had a Marlboro tucked between its fingers. "And now the bastard stopped talking!" She hit the metal shutter with her free hand and winced. CLANG!

  "Stop acting like a damn fool!" Vanessa said, the sound thin and almost concealed by the clamour.

  "Oh, be quiet, Ness! The man inside spoke to us once earlier, hasn't said anything since."

  "What did he say?" Vanessa asked. Not waiting for an answer she said, "Why didn't you pick up earlier?"

  Rachel took a puff from her smoke and coughed. Through it all she managed to offer her sister a confused glance. "Pick up?" She blew a line of smoke into the wind. "Probably because there's no signal out here. Not since the weather started speeding up. Reminds me of when we were kids and we'd go out and make snowmen. You remember that?" She laughed, the laugh turned into a cough, and the cough transformed into full-throated hacking.