Seeker: Demon Killers [Fantasy/Action | Complete]

Chapter 45: Goblins, Ogres, Giants, and Twinkle-Toes

To Carlos's dismay, the food ran out after two days.

"I can't imagine you surviving the human rationing during the Second World War," said Ross, tipping the last can of the thick, half-frozen baked beans upside down and licking the last drip of tomato sauce. She cast the tin aside. It bounced along the ground before tinkling to a halt. She looked much more dishevelled than two days of homelessness ought to effect. Her hair stuck out in odd angles with the ponytail a tangled mess at the nape of her neck. Even her sarcasm sounded half-hearted.

"I can't help it." Even though he'd just had half a can for breakfast, his stomach rumbled again. He groaned, rubbing his abdomen. The muscles churned. Acid bubbled, reminding him of the stark spaces needing to be filled. "I'll go and get some food this time. You can take a rest."

She snorted. "You won't make it."

"I'm pretty sure the nearby supermarkets still have some food, especially if all the humans are gone," he said, defensive. Plus, years of playing zombie apocalypse games taught him where all the good stuff were hidden and what kind of food lasted the longest.

"It's not the supplies I'm worried about."

His stomach dropped. "Demons?"

"Nothing like we'd ever seen before." She grimaced. Zipping up her coat, she jumped to her feet and eased her muscles. "Come on."

It was all Carlos could do to swallow the exclamation of shock when the arctic wind swept through him. The feeling left the skin on his face at once. He clutched his body, shivers tearing through every cell. Tears exploded from his eyes, freezing on his cheeks. For a fleeting moment his ears went deaf; he wasn't sure whether it was from the cold or the blast of wind that just assaulted them. His muscles seized. Pain seared from his knees up to his groin, and he became a statue.

Ross grabbed his elbow and steered him to the side of the bridge where they had a little shelter from the elements.

"Are we in Iceland or s-s-s-something?"

The entire train station had gone, buried beneath at least twenty feet of snow. All the colours of the city were reduced to grey and pale blue. The sun vanished behind thick snow clouds. A dense mist hung in the air. The roofs of cars peeped over the snow, the windows frosted.

"If anything goes wrong, we meet back in the shelter, okay?"

Carlos nodded, teeth chattering. He swore his core temperature had dropped by about ten degrees.

"Don't be heroes or do anything stupid. We're both good escapists; survival is the key at the moment."

She took him up the bank. His shoes sunk with each step. Trainers were never made for anything remotely wet, and soon the snow seeped into his socks, freezing his toes. Sensation left his lower limbs as swiftly as they had left his fingers and face. What he would give for a mug of hot chocolate and a steaming hot bath.

The streets stood empty. A delicate silence hovered in the air, decorated occasionally by the passing wind. Not a lifeform could be seen. Display windows of shops were cracked, the interiors dark. He could make out a half-eaten slice of cake in one of the patisseries. Cold cups of coffees huddled, alone, on the tables outside cafes, their contents glistening and solid.

He wiped with numb fingers the snot running down his nose and followed Ross as she marched on. She kept alert, head darting left and right with every step, her shoulders stiff as if expecting to be pounced on at any moment. He kept his ears out, too, although he wasn't sure what to look out for. The scene could easily come from a post-apocalyptic movie: desolation, emptiness, an eerie silence. All that was missing was—