Frostpunk: The Last City on Earth
Chapter 14: Old Man Winter
As dawn broke, the industrious hum of activity enveloped New London. Many of its citizens, nestled in the shelter of their newly constructed homes crafted from sturdy wood and steel, were still stirring from their slumber. Though pockets of families lingered beneath the canvas of tents, the collective determination of the community manifested in the tireless work underway. Every effort was dedicated to ensuring every individual found a secure place to call home.
In the upgraded tent nestled beside the beacon, Walter diligently tended to his equipment, gearing up for the journey to Winterhome. He double-checked every item, ensuring they had everything they needed, just in case. Despite this being his third expedition, Walter felt a newfound sense of preparation. His confidence was balanced with caution, a trait that had served him well on his previous journeys.
While Walter diligently inspected his equipment, the muffled sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears. The tent flap rustled open, and in stepped the captain, a long box cradled in his hands. "Good morning, Walter. Up and at 'em early, I see," the captain greeted.
Walter smirked, setting aside his tools and turning to face the captain. "And so are you, captain." He replied with a hint of amusement. His eyes flickered to the mysterious box. "What's in the box?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
The captain approached the table and carefully set the box down. With a deliberate movement, he unlocked it, revealing a rifle, a spare revolver with a holster, several boxes of ammunition, and two blades neatly arranged inside. Walter's eyes widened in surprise at the contents.
"After I gave Jack my revolver, I realized that you guys are poorly armed for the task when you told me about the cave incident. Now I'm not taking any chances. I can't afford to lose my best scout team out there," the captain explained, his voice firm with determination.
The captain gestured to Walter to take one and inspect it for himself. Walter carefully picked up the rifle, feeling its weight and checking its mechanism. He then took the blade from the box, examining its sharp edge. "These were stored inside the dreadnought, they're brand new, never been used before," the captain added, his eyes reflecting the seriousness of the situation.
Walter marveled at the blade's pristine surface, his own reflection mirroring his surprise. "I've never seen this blade before," he remarked, his eyes fixed on its gleaming finish.
"They called it a bowie knife," the captain explained. "Its blade is wider than the grip, designed for stabbing and cutting up close and personal, good for personal defense. It might come in handy out there. There's one for Jack as well."
Walter nodded, appreciating the thoughtfulness behind the captain's gesture. "Thank you, captain." He said, not knowing what else to say.
"You don't have to say much, just take these and be safe. I know Jack is not as capable as you are. He's not a soldier, and neither are you, but it is fortunate that you have a natural skill of shooting a gun. Must be your American blood." The captain jokes.
Walter winced.
"I just got lucky. I'd rather not think back on that cave, but thanks for the gear." Walter said. He picks up one of the new brass cartridges from the box. "Reloading will be much quicker than with my old musket. Although, I don't think I've ever used this rifle before."
"I do, let me show you how to load this thing." The captain offered.
In the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the tent, the captain meticulously demonstrated the process of reloading the new rifle to Walter. With practiced hands, he showed him how to carefully handle the rifle. The metallic click echoed in the quiet space, the sound of readiness and preparation.
Walter observed intently, absorbing the captain's instructions. The captain continued, explaining the importance of proper handling and the significance of each step in the reloading process.
Walter mirrored the captain's movements, his fingers gradually becoming more confident.
"This rifle is more accurate than your regular musket." the captain said, his tone firm but encouraging. "You'll reload faster, but you need a steady hand and a keen eye. It's all about precision. Now, let's move on to your bayonet."
Once the rifle was loaded, the captain moved on to the bayonet. He showed Walter how to attach it securely to the rifle, explaining its purpose.
"Put that on, and now you have a spear," the captain said, his eyes serious. "Just in case something gets too close to you and you can't reach your knife. Never lose your grip on your rifle, thrust and pull."
Walter nodes repeating the motion.
"And that's about it. Just make sure to clean it regularly or else the frost might freeze the mechanisms. Other than that you're ready."
"I understand, captain. I'll take good care of it." Walter said.
"Good," the captain said, clapping a hand on Walter's shoulder. "You're a quick learner. Just remember, this rifle is a symbol of our strength and ingenuity. Treat it with respect, and it will serve you well. I'm going back to work, let me know when you and Jack are ready to head out."
/-/
"So, the captain was worried about us and he wanted us armed to the teeth the next time we went out." Jack said. Checking his gear and strapping on his stuff.
Walter nods, "Yes, after your little stunt yesterday. We can't afford to be reckless, especially when we are heading further away from home. Winterhome is a long walk, at least after the bridge, we don't know what else is beyond it." He grabs his new rifle and slings it over his back, putting the ammo into his pouch.
"I still don't know about this knife. I'm not sure If I can't use this thing." Jack pulls out his bowie knife from its holster. "Isn't my revolver good enough?" he asked.
Walter glanced at Jack's revolver before meeting his eyes. "You barely fired that thing after the captain gave it to you. Look, I'm not forcing you to use your gun or the knife, but it's the best we got. And it's in the captain's interest that we stay alive out there. We have to adapt, Jack, for our safety and the success of this mission."
"I'm not a soldier, not a fighter, Walter."
"We'll practice on the way. I'll show you how to handle it. Better to be skilled and prepared than caught off guard out there." Walter's tone was reassuring, aiming to instill confidence in Jack about the new weapon.
Jack nodded, his resolve firming. "I guess I'll try."
Walter gave him an encouraging nod. "Good. Besides, we'll be a lot safer with these, but remember, you can still use your ice ax if you want. It's a good backup, and sometimes, close combat might be our only choice. Guns make too much noise anyway."
Jack finished packing the last bit of his things into his pack and stood up, meeting Walter's gaze. "I'm all set," he said, his voice resolute.
Walter, always thorough, ran through the checklist with a keen eye. "Got your gloves?" he asked, his brows furrowing slightly.
"Already wearing them," Jack replied, lifting his hands to show his gloved fingers.
"Your snowshoes?" Walter's gaze shifted to Jack's feet.
"Tied and secured," Jack confirmed, his tone steady.
"Food rations?" Walter's eyes met Jack's, searching for assurance.
"Finn packed plenty for us today," Jack said, his voice filled with conviction, indicating the bag of provisions nearby.
Walter's voice turned stern as he emphasized the seriousness of the situation. "Good, keep those rations warm. This trip might take us more than a day. I've packed emergency rations just for us as well. This rifle doesn't come with a scope, I'll have to install one myself when we get back."
Jack noticed Walter's annoyance with the lack of magnification on his rifle, "We can ask the engineers for help, maybe they can come up with something."
Walter looks up and nods, "Yeah, you're right. It could hurt to ask them."
Jack smiles, "Sure, I ask them all the time. They look happy enough to do anything."
Walter smirks, "Maybe because there isn't much to do out here." He walks out of the tent, "Come on, Jack. Let's not keep the captain waiting."
Cheers could be heard as the duo made their way over to the lift. Many were wishing them good luck and patting them on the shoulder, children walking beside them, others were clapping for them as they watched.
Walter's voice was a hushed whisper, barely audible amidst the cheers and claps. "I still hate the attention. We're not heroes."
Jack glanced at Walter, his eyes serious. "We are in their eyes, Walter. Nobody else wants to venture out into the frost like we do." As he waved back at the crowd, his voice held a mixture of humility and determination.
Walter's voice was tinged with uncertainty. "I guess I'm just scared of failing them. What will happen if we do fail?"
Jack placed a comforting hand on Walter's shoulder, his gaze steady and reassuring. "I'm sure everyone will understand. It's not easy being a scout, but we've managed it well so far. We're doing everything we can to keep them safe." His words carried a sense of shared responsibility and determination, trying to alleviate Walter's fears.
"Good luck, boys. And be safe out there," a woman called out, her voice filled with genuine concern and support.
"Make us proud!" echoed a man, his tone a mixture of encouragement and hope.
"Tell Winterhome that we said hello!" shouted another, their words carrying a touch of longing for connection with the outside world.
Walter attempted to steady his nerves, his expression a mix of gratitude and apprehension. Beside him, Jack maintained his infectious smile, his voice unwavering as he replied, "We will, we'll do our best for everyone."
The crowd responded with an even louder cheer, their encouragement washing over the two scouts like a wave of confidence.
"So many of them came to see us off. I didn't think we would gain this much attention," Walter murmured, his voice laced with surprise and a touch of discomfort.
Jack rolled his eyes, his demeanor light-hearted. "There's nothing wrong with accepting praise every now and then, Walter. You need to relax a little," he teased, offering a reassuring pat on Walter's shoulder.
Walter couldn't shake off his underlying worry. He confided in Jack as they walked, his voice low, "I appreciate their faith in us, Jack, but it also means the stakes would be much higher."
"Walter, you really need to relax. I thought you were the level-headed one." Jack joked.
/-/
Navigating the familiar terrain, already explored and marked, Jack and Walter hastened their steps toward the steel bridge, a known landmark in their frigid world. The bridge, a critical point in their travels, beckoned them once more, urging them forward on their daunting mission.
"Hey, Walter, what's that over there? It looks like a building," Jack exclaimed, his finger pointing in the direction of his gaze.
Walter, lacking a scope on his rifle, retrieved his binoculars to examine the distant structure. "It's small, but squarish, might be a building of some kind."
Jack turned to him, a questioning look in his eyes. "Should we check it out? Just in case?" he suggested.
Walter consulted the map, ensuring they weren't veering too far from the path to Winterhome. "I think it should be fine, but we need to get to Winterhome as soon as possible." He stowed his map and unslung his rifle, preparing for their next move.
With a determined nod, Jack tightened his grip on his ax. The two of them proceeded cautiously, closing the distance between themselves and the mysterious structure. Every step they took was laden with anticipation, a blend of excitement and caution in the air.
As they approached the structure, Walter and Jack kept an eye on the distant steel bridge, its silhouette slowly emerging in the waning light.
"This thing is closer to the bridge than I thought. I guess we missed it when we came back during the night," Walter observed, his voice low but determined.
"Yeah, that makes sense. I didn't even notice it myself," Jack replied, his eyes scanning their surroundings as they neared the mysterious building.
Taking cautious steps, Jack and Walter approached the mysterious structure, their senses alert to any potential dangers. As they moved closer, the details of the building became clearer. It was a large, weather-beaten cabin, its wooden planks showing signs of age and neglect. The windows were fogged, making it impossible to see what's inside.
They halted just at the edge of what they considered a safe distance. Walter's hand rested on the hilt of his rifle, while Jack gripped his ice ax tightly, ready for any unexpected encounter.
The wind whispered through the surrounding snow, carrying with it an eerie silence that hung in the air. The structure seemed desolate, yet an inexplicable sense of anxiety settled in both their chests.
"We should approach carefully, keep our guard up," Walter suggested, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the cabin for any signs of movement. Jack nodded in agreement, his muscles tense with anticipation.
Taking deliberate steps, they moved closer, their eyes flicking from window to door, searching for any indication of life within. The snow beneath their boots crunched softly, amplifying the quiet tension of the moment.
The cabin stood there, a silent enigma in the midst of the snow-covered landscape, inviting them to uncover its secrets. Yet, caution held them back, reminding them of the dangers that could lurk within.
Jack and Walter exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between them. They would proceed, but with utmost care and vigilance. Their next moves could determine not only their fate but also the fate of New London.
Walter's gloved hand knocked gently against the cabin door, the sound muted by the surrounding snow. The knock echoed in the stillness of the frozen air, creating a momentary disturbance in the otherwise silent landscape.
For several heartbeats, there was no response. The world held its breath, waiting. Walter nodded at Jack and attempted to turn the doorknob, but it resisted his efforts. The door was securely locked, refusing to yield to their entry.
"It's locked," Walter stated, his voice low. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of lockpicks. Jack gripped Walter's arm, halting his movements. "Maybe we shouldn't break in. Let's just head to the bridge for now. We can check this out later."
Sensing Jack's apprehension, not wanting to jeopardize their safety, Walter nodded. They quickly retreated from the shelter. "You're right. It could be a trap or something dangerous. Go, I'll watch our back. I'll be right behind you," he assured. Jack didn't respond, his pace quickening as they moved away, Walter keeping his rifle trained on the door as they approached the bridge.
"How could I be so stupid? Someone might be hiding in there, just waiting to shoot me if I went through the front door," Walter berated himself, frustration lacing his voice.
"We should report this in, let the others know about that place," Jack suggested, his tone carrying concern.
Walter activated his radio pack and called in, his voice crackling through the device, "New London radio, this is Walter. Are you there?"
"Loud and clear, Walter. What's the problem?" came the voice of the radio officer through the crackling device.
"We just found a shelter not too far from the bridge. It looks deserted, but there might be someone inside. Be cautious if someone other than us comes back home," Walter warned, his words deliberate and cautious.
"Understood, we'll be on the lookout. Anything else?"
"That's all for now. Walter out," he replied, his voice steady despite the lingering unease. "Come on, let's get going. We're burning daylight."
As they approached the bridge once more, a semblance of safety returned after the eerie silence of the shelter. However, their sense of security was short-lived.
On the other side of the bridge, beyond the diligent hum of the working Automaton, stood a lone figure, knelt on the ground at the bridge's end. The mysterious silhouette seemed frozen in time.
"You've got to be kidding me," Walter grumbled, his rifle raised and ready to shoot. "Jack, get behind me." His voice, edged with tension, echoed in the icy stillness of the air.
"He might not be alone," Jack cautioned, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the lone figure ahead. "He could be tricking us."
"We'll see," Walter replied, his grip on his rifle tightening. "If it is a trap, I want you to run back to the city and warn the captain."
"I'm not leaving you behind, Walter," Jack declared, his voice firm. The chill in the air seemed to seep into his words, emphasizing his determination to stand by his friend, no matter the danger.
"Follow my steps and keep an eye out," Walter instructed in a hushed tone. They moved cautiously across the bridge, their boots crunching softly on the snow, closing the gap between them and the mysterious figure.
It became increasingly apparent that the person was alone. The bridge led to an open area, devoid of any lurking shadows. Neither Jack nor Walter could spot anyone else in hiding. Closing in to a few feet away, Walter halted, his hand on his rifle, and called out, "Hey, you there."
Walter's voice echoed across the icy expanse, the frozen air carrying his words to the lone figure. The stranger remained unmoving, as if carved from the cold landscape itself. Jack stayed close behind Walter, his eyes darting around, ever watchful.
Walter approached the man cautiously, his voice edged with concern. "Hey, are you okay?" He inched closer, tentatively nudging the man's shoulder.
In response, the man slumped over, collapsing onto the ground, his body unresponsive, caught by the snow beneath him. The impact seemed to rouse him slightly; he began to stir, weakly attempting to move his arms and legs.
Jack, sensing no immediate danger, rushed over to aid the stranger. "He's dying!" he exclaimed, his voice thick with concern, as he knelt down to lift the man's body.
Walter, assessing the situation, decided to assist. "Give him something warm to drink," he said, his voice firm but compassionate, realizing the stranger's desperate need for warmth. Together, they carefully turned the man over. His face was gaunt and streaked with snow, his clothes hardened and icy.
"Can you hear us?" Walter tried again, his voice gentle. The man's eyelids were closed, his body limp and unresponsive. "He's alive, but barely. It might be hypothermia," Jack noted, taking out a thermal flask of hot water and pouring it into a cup. "It's not much, but it will take the edge off."
Walter carefully removed most of the ice from the stranger's body, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close to his chest, sharing his body heat. Jack offered the warm cup to the stranger, encouraging him to sip slowly. They both knew that they needed to get the man warm quickly to prevent further complications.
"It's going to be okay," Walter whispered, his voice a reassurance not only to the stranger but also to himself and Jack. They were in a race against time, battling the cold to bring a fellow human back from the brink of hypothermia.
After the stranger had sipped the warm water, he managed to speak, his voice a feeble whisper, "H-help me. Winterhome." His words hung in the icy air, a desperate plea for aid. Both Jack and Walter were stunned by the stranger's words. "Did he just say Winterhome? What happened at Winterhome?" Jack's voice trembled with concern.
"I don't know, Jack. But we need to get him back to New London," Walter replied, his mind racing with worry.
"That's going to take us hours to get back. Who knows how many are in danger like him. We should head to Winterhome now," Jack insisted, his urgency palpable.
"We can't go there, not while he is barely conscious. We need to find some shelter," Walter suggested, his brows furrowed in thought.
"Where can we find that?" Jack asked, his eyes scanning the desolate landscape.
They both paused, their gazes flicking back to the shelter they had discovered. In that moment, a shared understanding dawned upon them, and they spoke simultaneously, "The shelter."