Round 2 on the January 5th Chapter opener.
5 Miles Outside of what
used to be Moscow, Russia
January 5th 2020
A winding, snow-dusted path; through glistening, ice-dipped conifers. The pristine flakes tumble gently through the mid-morning air, drifting lazily to the ground. This tranquil scene broken by the sounds of heavy boot-clad footfalls. A young woman, mid-thirties, is running as fast as she can down this path. She is dressed in the appropriate clothing for such frigid conditions. Specifically, a billowing long coat of a dark brown shade and rubber coated leather boots. Although, since the event they haven’t been as cold as they used to be. Matter of fact, the former country of Russia is experiencing a record high for this time of year. The woman appears visibly frightened. Her breathing comes in heavy and panicked bursts, releasing little puffs of white mist. She clutches something to her breast within the folds of her coat. As she runs she continuously glances back over her shoulder. The trees rustle in an unseen breeze that doesn't so much as jostle the woman’s hair. Ahead is a small wooden cottage, the woman’s obvious destination. The closer she gets the more determined the look on her face becomes. A face, that if it were not twisted into a blend of terror and determination, would be quite beautiful.
She reaches the door to the cottage, her left hand bolting out to grasp the handle hurriedly, it turns and the door swings open. She leaps through the portal to her apparent salvation. She lands hard on the wooden floorboards, almost knocking the air from her lungs. Realizing the door lay open behind her she scrambles to her feet and slams the door closed, locking it with both the knob and deadbolt. She darts around the room frantically locking every window before collapsing from near definite exhaustion in the center of the floor. Everything is quiet and her breathing relaxes. She tosses her long coat towards a rack designed for such an item that stands dutifully next to the door, and misses. She stands up removing her heavy boots, she takes them to the cookstove and sits them next to it before she starts a fire to dry the boots and warm her chilled soul. The cottage is silent all for her breathing and the crackling of the newborn fire. A silence that is very short lived. The cottage is enveloped in clicking, scratching and smashing sounds. She darts to her coat and grasps it’s still hidden contents close to her chest before screaming.” You’ve already taken my daughter, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME!” She begins sobbing as she pulls the object free form the layers of her long coat to reveal it is a backpack, flower patterned and pink, belonging to her lost daughter. Pulling it as tight to her heart as she can and she felt something squish. The backpack having a large damp spot covering the bottom half of it. The noises increase, boards breaking, windows shattering, all accompanied by angry clicking-hisses. She breathlessly opens the pack, inside is an oblong object. It appears to be made of layers of a gray paper-like material, eerily similar to a wasps nest. The thing is oozing a viscous fluid. The sounds rise from angry clicks to an echoing roar of fury as the childless mother stares in slack-jawed horror at the contents of the backpack. It was then that the house was no longer a barrier to the unseen angry hordes outside it’s walls. As the walls practically explode in a shower of splinters, the woman screams one final time.
Weeks later, a small family follows the quaint path looking for sanctuary from the worst snowstorm on record, they find only a gaping earthen hole where there cottage once stood.
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