Dead Man's Winter: Jacob Reed

Jacob Reed dragged himself through the camp gate, one hand pressed against the torn flesh of his shoulder. Blood froze on his jacket before it could drip. The mutated wolf's teeth had gone deep, and he could already feel the beast virus burning in his veins like fire under ice.

The serum. He just needed the serum. He had traded half a month of food for that one vial yesterday. It was in the metal box under the bed.

He pushed open the door of the shelter room and froze.

Julie was in bed. Nathan was with her. Their clothes were on the floor.

"Julie." His voice came out cracked and weak.

Julie sat up without any hurry, pulling the blanket over herself. Her face showed a flash of annoyance before it smoothed into mild concern. "Jacob, you're back early. Oh, you're bleeding. What happened out there?"

"A mutated wolf bit me." He stumbled toward the bed, toward the metal box. "The serum. Give me the serum. I'm infected."

Julie's eyes flickered to Nathan, and something soft passed over her face when she looked at him, something she had never once given Jacob. "Jacob, listen. Nathan caught a bad cold last night. He had a fever. I was so worried, so I gave him the serum this morning."

The room went silent. Jacob stared at her, waiting for her to laugh, to say it was a joke.

"You gave it to him." His lips were turning gray. "For a cold. Julie, I'm infected with the beast virus. Without the serum I turn into one of those things. I die."

"Don't be so dramatic." She waved a hand, though her tone stayed gentle, the practiced gentleness of someone reciting lines. "Maybe you won't turn. Some people have resistance. You've always been strong, haven't you?"

Nathan leaned back against the headboard, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "Honestly, Jacob, you should thank her. If I got worse, who would protect this camp? You? You can't even handle one wolf."

"That serum was mine." Jacob's whole body shook. "I bled for it. I starved for it."

"And I'm your wife, so what's yours is mine." Julie tilted her head, her voice still sweet, but her eyes were empty of anything for him. "I made a choice. Nathan matters to this camp. To me."

Something inside Jacob snapped. Ten years of marriage, ten years of handing her everything, and she had spent his life like loose change. He lunged forward, his ruined hand reaching for her.

The gunshot swallowed every other sound.

Jacob looked down. A red hole bloomed in his chest. He fell to his knees, then onto his back, and the ceiling swam above him.

Julie stood over him, the handgun trembling in her grip. Fear twisted her face, but not regret. "Why did you make me do that? Why couldn't you just die quietly outside?"

Nathan crouched beside him, and his voice dropped to a whisper only a dying man could hear. "Since you're leaving anyway, you deserve the truth. Cameron is mine. He was always mine. Ten years, Jacob. You raised my son for ten years and never smelled a thing. What a loyal old dog you were."

Cameron. His boy. His reason for enduring all of it.

Not his. Never his.

Jacob's vision burned white with hatred as the darkness took him. If there is a next life, I will bury all of you.

Then he opened his eyes.

Sunlight. A warm ceiling fan. The smell of coffee and toast. Jacob shot upright on the sofa, gasping, hands flying to his chest. No wound. No blood. No cold.

His phone sat on the table. March 1st.

Three months. Three months before the sky turned red and the world froze over. He was back.

"Look at him, sleeping past nine like some retired old man." Arnold's voice boomed from the dining table, thick with contempt. "Julie, I told you when you married him. A man with no ambition is worse than no man at all."

Jacob turned his head slowly. There they sat. Arnold with his newspaper. Celeste picking at her breakfast with a sour mouth. Julie scrolling her phone, freshly dressed, perfume already on. Little Cameron playing with a toy car on the carpet.

All alive. All exactly as he remembered.

"Dad, don't start so early." Julie did not look up from her phone. Her voice carried the flat, dutiful tone of a woman defending a piece of furniture.

"I'll start whenever I want in my own daughter's house." Arnold slapped the newspaper down, his chest puffing out. "Jacob, the Henderson deal. Did you sign it or not? Or did you sleep through that too?"

In his past life, Jacob would have lowered his head and apologized. He would have swallowed it all for the sake of the family, for Cameron.

Not this time.

"No." Jacob stood up, rolling his stiff neck. "And I'm not going to."

Celeste's fork clattered against her plate, her thin brows shooting up. "What did you just say? Did marrying our Julie give you the guts to talk back now? A stray dog we fed for ten years, barking at its owners?"

"Ten years." Jacob's mouth curved into something cold. "Funny you mention ten years, Celeste. I've been thinking about those years all morning."

"Jacob, what's gotten into you?" Julie finally looked up, and she put on the concerned face he knew so well now, the same face she wore standing over his corpse. "You seem off today. Did you have a nightmare? Come eat something."

"I did have a nightmare." He looked straight into her eyes, and she shifted in her seat under that stare. "The worst part is, it was all true."

"Enough riddles." Arnold jabbed a finger at him, his face reddening. "In this family, you do what you're told. Without us, you'd be nothing. You owe this family everything, so sign the Henderson papers today, or—"

"Or what?" Jacob cut him off, his voice quiet and flat, and somehow that quietness silenced the whole table. "Julie, we're getting a divorce. I'll have the papers drawn up this week."

The room froze. Celeste's mouth hung open. Arnold's finger stayed pointed in the air like a broken signpost.

"Divorce?" Julie let out a small laugh of disbelief, then softened her voice, reaching out to touch his arm. "Honey, you're not yourself. Whatever's wrong, we can talk about it. You know I care about you."

The word honey crawled over his skin like insects. Jacob pulled his arm back. Ten years of this act, and I finally see the strings.

"You've lost your mind!" Arnold exploded, standing so fast his chair tipped over. "Divorce my daughter? You? A penniless nobody wants to divorce up?"

Cameron toddled over then, tugging at Jacob's pant leg. "Daddy, up."

Jacob looked down at the boy. His chest ached with something complicated and bitter. He bent, lifted Cameron briefly, and while smoothing the child's messy hair, his fingers closed around a few loose strands. He slipped them into his pocket as he set the boy down.

A DNA test would settle it. He would not rely on the words of a dying moment. He would have proof in black and white.