Chapter 1
Disclaimer: All characters are mine by right, I thought of them first so go find your own.
Have you ever felt alone; utterly and completely isolated from everyone you have ever loved, loathed, or even held an inkling of respect for? Most would say yes without thought, but I know better.
I wish I didn't.
The year was 2090, peacetime was scarce. Everyone was fighting each other for resources: food and water became enough to kill for. Scientists were blaming government for its blatant desecration of the planet, and governments were blaming scientists for lack of warning. Pole reversal. Two simple words that sent entire continents into panic. North became South, floods and droughts were more and more common. Nations that once had plenty became refugee camps. Order became a losing battle: riots and gang wars were over running the streets. And then The Storm came. All previous weather events we knew could be predicted, logic could understand how it would function. The Storm defied logic, defied knowledge, and destroyed my world.
It hit on a Tuesday; the snow was mild at first, growing slowly and increasingly more difficult until even the cleanup crews could not keep up. Mountains of snow banks grew in typically warmer climates. Young and elderly alike became trapped inside their homes. Quickly after the storm started, the temperature began dropping, by midday it was 10 below with increasing wind chills, by evening it was negative 30 and dropping. The Northern hemisphere was under serious snow conditions and the southern hemisphere was dealing with severe droughts, fires, and then uncontrollable rain. No where was safe. Millions died tragic deaths. Many thought I was amongst that original number. How I wish I had, but then again there wouldn't be a tale to tell if I hadn't survived.
The human race is a fascinating tale of evolution, over the ages small adaptations occur in the genetic structure; often in response to some climatic change. Sometimes these changes are useless protein codes, other times adaptations make themselves known in other manners such as physical traits: Height, weight, etc. Most times these adaptations are not even noticed within the population. I doubt anyone would have noticed that several hundred people within the population had begun a genetic mutation against the rapid and catastrophic climate change. My family had always been resilient to the cold, unusually adapted to our surroundings in the frozen tundra in Alaska. Our forefathers lived and died here. They say snow flows in our blood; apparently enough so, to develop the start of a biotic antifreeze.
Its amazing what the ice and cold can do to preserve a body. The brain ceases to function, the heart rate slows, and your body becomes numb. This is what I will endure for what seems like a thousand years. Trapped within my own mind, forgotten by the outside world because I had an adaptation. That small adaptation was the only thing that saved my body from being destroyed centuries ago.
I was caught outside my childhood home when The Storm hit, the weather changed from bone chilling cold to instant frostbite. Many suffered days of starvation and carbon monoxide poisoning, I guess I was lucky to have been knocked unconscious by the sudden temperature drop. It made being imprisoned in snow easier. What little I remember, is from the fear of being trapped.
Eventually, I, like so many others, gave up trying to survive. It was a miracle that they found my body. Archaeologists decades later, unearthed my home. It was the least ravaged of the area, and had a museum with many cultural and historical artifacts. They claimed it was like rediscovering Pompeii, except the bodies they found were mostly intact or pure skeletal remains. Only three bodies were found in pristine condition; myself, my son and a cousin. All three had the same mutation it appears. Multiple tests and scans were done to attempt to see why we were the only ones preserved perfectly. Attempts were made first on my young cousin, a girl around fifteen years of age, to thaw her body and preserve it in a better fashion than a thick block of ice. The only thing I remember is the screams of torture when they placed her body into a thermal heat tank. She died shortly afterwords. The head researcher was in shock, no one thought to check to see if we still lived. For weeks before and after, he stayed after hours and talk to us. He wanted desperately to tell his ideas and attempts to free us, as if we could solve his queries without communication. He committed suicide shortly after Mishka's death.
A year later, they attempted a similar process with my son. My precious little boy, he was three years old, and I thought at the time, long in the arms of death with his grandmother. When the scientists realized the family connection, the cruelty bordered on inhuman. They placed our ice blocks within eyesight of the other. For the first time in years, my little one was within eyesight.
It was better when I thought him dead.
I could see he was trapped within his own mind and close to death when they slaughtered him. That is the only word that can come close to the violence they used on my child. No moral ethics, no safety measures, no kind words to soothe him: just chisels and hammers. They thought to remove a majority of the ice prior to placing him in a heat bath. I have to give them credit, they got rather close to the skin before they killed him. A chisel nicked his jugular vein and the impacts of the hammers breaking the ice broke his sternum. He never stood a chance.
Its funny that I should speak of those who allowed my imprisonment. After The Storm came, those that survived banded together. Old feuds and hatreds were buried in the need for survival. Eventually the world forgot and moved on. Then they remembered distant memories of The Storm. Science again was in a Renaissance. Historians began re-writing literature, histories, and theology. For what seems like eternity I was frozen in this prison of ice: first, in a laboratory where they hoped to release me, then in a museum, in memory of those who fell in The Storm. When people heard how I was still alive within, the protests began against my imprisonment. All attempts to release me previously had failed however. Eventually, people gave up and simply came to voice their problems and simply have me listen. I learned so much during those years. The sound of a voice speaking to me was one of the few ways I didn't loose my sanity even if my brain wasn't functioning properly. Eventually, wars started again and the visits stopped. The human race was dying out, my storm had wiped out many of the academic communities, legislative bodies, and religious leaders. The world was quickly tumbling into chaos. And all I could do was watch. Eventually, they moved me back into the laboratory to attempt a final release, but war once again broke out and the scientists fled leaving me behind.
The laboratory I was enclosed in quickly fell into disrepair, the only thing still working was the generator that continued to pump cold air into my cell to prevent thawing. The rest of the equipment was broken or disassembled by thieves or by the scientists themselves. After all, if they could not publish their work, why should anyone else. Not even those overly curious would come and speak to me anymore. I could feel my mind starting to lose its sanity. Slipping in and out of conscious, I kept my silent watch. Had I been able, I probably would have taken my own life.
Eventually, my lab started crumbling around me. For the first time I could see glimpses of sky. And oh how beautiful it was, like looking at perfection. The sky was a shade of blue I had forgotten even existed. The clouds were light and fluffy, instead of the dark, oppressing, gray black from The Storm years. Its the kind of clouds children would lay on a mountain top and guess what sort of creatures they resembled. One particularly looked similar to a bunny; enough so, that I long to feel anything but the touch of ice against my skin.
It wasn't long after that day, when I received my first visitors in ages. At least, I think it was a long while. However, they were not modern looking in appearance: not completely. They appeared like the creatures of old stories and fables. The ones of wizards and magic. There were four in total: one elderly man with a long beard, a young apprentice of sorts, who looked to be new to his position, and two warriors, both of which reminded me strongly of King Arthur's Court. How odd. But in all my years believing one thing, I found it hard pressed to understand these new strange ways. The young apprentice made quick work of creating a fire and reasonable shelter from the rubble. The elderly man amused the boy with what sounded like stories. From what I could catch of their language, it was an interesting one. More guttural like German but with the rhythm and fluidity found in Gaelic. It reminds me of a memory from long ago. One with a laughing man with kind blue eyes; it makes my heart ache thinking of it.
Within two hours, they had a roaring fire going with what looked like a lovely stew roasting; that's when the warriors returned from what I can only presume was a perimeter search. Not like they needed to do such, they were my first visitors in ages. But caution is a much better use of one's time than being ignorant to one's surroundings.
None of the group appeared to notice my presence, like I was a simple piece of the wall. In my way, I guess I was. They seemed so majestic. Indestructible, but I knew what folly being indestructible could be. Arrogance destroys more than just nations. Any who claim to be indestructible are either too dumb to realize they are asking for trouble or hoping to die quickly. But I'm drifting again. If only they spoke a bit louder I could hear what they were saying. Learn what new world evolved from my old broken one. By the looks of their clothing, it could be a feudal system. The rules and protocols they adhere to seem to fit into the caste system as well. None touch the old man, as if he were too holy for them to even be in the same room or like a leper ostracized from all they know. My bet would be on the former. He has that sense of authority, of power, pure and simple. Funny how things like that remind you of the past; when pretend could be anything you wanted it to be. How I miss those days.
Oh look, the child has caught sight of me. So long as he doesn't try to poke me with a sword all should be well. Then again, death would be a welcome reprieve. The looks on the warriors faces are priceless though. They thought they were all big and bad to be out shown by a young child. Idiots. And here comes the curious committee. Oh Joy. Quick look like I'm frozen in ice... Oh wait that's right. I already am.