ATTENTION 3/23/24
THIS STORY IS DISCONTINUED AND REWRITTEN UNDER THE NEW TITLE "FROZEN FIRE"
Please be sure to check it out on my profile!
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Chapter Six:
Everything Unethical
Sam opened her eyes only to shut them once more, wincing at the sudden brightness. She pinched her fingers over the bridge of her nose in an attempt to alleviate the migraine she'd woken up with. Calming herself with another breath of air, she swung her legs over the side of the strange fuzzy cot she had been sleeping on. Where the hell am I? she thought to herself. She didn't remember the Compound infirmary being this . . . well, bright.
Grogginess was the heavy weight at her temples instigating her confusion. With a hand still cupped at her forehead and protecting her from the bright glare of the lights, Sam attempted to stand. She winced when her toes came into contact with the icy cold floor and fell back onto her arms. Suddenly, she was gasping in pain at the stress her weight placed on her elbow. Pressing the arm to her chest, she lowered the hand from her brow and stared at her hands in confusion.
What happened to me? she thought.
Her ectosuit had been removed leaving her exposed in the thin jumpsuit she wore underneath. Bandages were wrapped around her injured arm and both of her hands. As the hazy cloud of incomprehension began to lift, she could feel more gauze at her ribcage and around her head. It quelled the throbbing beat of pain in a manner that had Sam frowning. She began to finger the material, entranced by the oddity of it. It was nothing like she had ever felt before.
Otherworldly.
Realization slammed into her heart, and her head snapped up.
Ice caressed a room of stone, crystalline and beautiful. The room—no the cave—was completed by a delicate blue masonry. Wrapped within winding columns of ice at the ceiling, a glow of light emanated, enhanced by its reflection in the pillars to create a wondrous cascade of rainbows. Strange monitors flashed along the far side of the wall, out of place in the ice and stone. The room itself was rather small. Looking down, she noticed her "cot" was actually a ledge of ice that protruded from the wall. The softness and warmth was a result of a pile of white fur and woven blankets.
Sam frowned as her confusion deepened. She could recall the faintest wisp of her memories: soft voices that spoke hurriedly. She remembered white fur that had protected her from a frigid coldness. She had been rescued, but by whom? Perhaps the ghost had left her after she collapsed. Or maybe it was chased off by a rogue band of humans who then brought her . . . here. But then how did that explain the ice? It was spring; the ice had melted weeks ago.
Her fingers tightened, forming white-knuckled fists that gripped her blanket. As her muddled mind continued to clear itself, another thought occurred to her: Where is everyone else? She looked around again, as if to reaffirm to herself that the room was still empty. It was. Her stomach flip-flopped with dread. She began backtracking through her memories, recalling the last sighting of her group. She remembered Valerie Grey, screaming with an outstretched hand as she dived recklessly through a throng of ghosts, reaching for Sam but missing . . .
What had happened to Valerie, and everyone else? After the ghosts seized Sam, the fleeting image of her Warrior kin was of their backs as they fired and screamed, disappearing into small specks flocked by a hoard of apparitions. Were they even still alive?
Sam shook her head and bit her lip, hard. Don't think like that, she told herself. Of course they're still alive.
She felt herself begin to shiver the longer she was exposed to the air of the room. Pulling the heavyweight blanket from her cot over her shoulders, she cocooned herself within its bulk. Oddly enough, the blanket was also made out of a strange material Sam couldn't identify. She found herself warmed by it, instantly entrapping her body heat. Gritting her teeth against the cold and the bareness of her feet, she stepped onto the floor.
Wooziness overcame her in the slightest flash of vertigo, but Sam ignored. She began to make her way towards the exit of the room, uncomforted by her lack of weapon. She figured that her rescuers did not to want to harm her, considering her current state. She wondered, though, what had happened to the odd looking ghost from her memory. Did it truly leave her unharmed, or had her saviors rescued her from a certain death at its clutches?
Her thoughts were quelled upon stepping into the hallway. Voices echoed from somewhere unseen, boisterous and demanding. Sam felt her heart to begin to flutter. Her steps were long and slow, her breath hitching with apprehension as she followed them. Finally, she saw where the light began to differentiate itself; rainbows dancing along the floor of another entryway.
Sam choked on her heart and began to slide her back along the wall in an attempt to remain inconspicuous. There was no way to look into the room without exposing herself, so she edged as close to the entrance as she could get with her ears perked.
" . . . What do you mean you brought a human here, Frostbreath?" a voice demanded, resounding unearthly. "It could spell for us our imminent death! Are you mad?"
Another voice chuckled. "Oh come now, Icefang. Let us not be melodramatic," it responded. "She was injured. I couldn't just leave her to her death."
The angry voice again: "Why not? Had it not been injured it would have destroyed you without an ounce of hesitation. And now you bring it here to kill all of us? That thing is a monster!"
"Perhaps we can learn from her!"
"Humans are nothing but murderers, that is all there is to learn!" shouted the voice of a female. "They are horrible creatures."
There was a moment of shuffling—something sharp scraping against the floor and a new voice bellowed, "Enough! There are more pressing matters at hand other than the fate of the human girl. I will see to her, but for now I want nothing more to do with the subject. Understood?"
"Yes, Frostbite," the angry voice—Icefang—agreed.
There were other consenting murmurs, some accentuated by irritated growls. The rest of their conversation, however, was drowned out by the impossible racing of Sam's heart. It was pounding, choking her, while an intense bout of realization stifled her. She was horrified, having reached the conclusion that her rescuers—no, her captors—were not human.
What the hell is going on? Her thoughts raced. She pushed off the wall, intent on her retreat. The need to get away from the predators was encompassing. She needed find a weapon, and figure out how to get away from these monsters before they found her awake. Even though she couldn't understand why she was still alive, she wasn't about to hold her breath and find out.
What she did not take into consideration was the bulk of her blanket. While it had trailed behind her as she walked, it now tangled around her legs in her attempt to flee. She tripped, falling to the floor with a thump that echoed along the walls of the cave. She scrambled back to her feet, but not before hearing the categorical exclamation of: "It's awake!"
What followed were the sounds of scraping—claws, now she realized—as the occupants of the room came barreling out into the hallway.
Cursing herself, Sam tried to run but instead stumbled forward in an awkward haste. One of the beasts behind her was growling, unintelligible shouts ringing in her ears from the others. She yelped as a thick, furry fist yanked the blanket from her shoulders and grabbed her roughly at the back of the neck.
Sam found herself staring into the haunting red eyes of the monster. White fangs glinted under the eerie glow of the light. The beast was roaring, somehow forming words as it screamed, "You see, it came to kill us!" It began shaking her, pain searing within old injures and igniting them like fire. She flailed uselessly, pushing as hard as she could on the hand at her throat. "It's here to learn all our secrets and murder all of us!"
Another beast came from behind it. This one was massive, seizing her assailant by its hackles and throwing it roughly into the wall. Behind it another beast that she recognized from the Wastelands, grappled her offender into a crude headlock. They fought amongst themselves, growling and spitting at each other until the more angry of the two eventually clamed, relegating instead to low growls of protest.
Sam lied sprawled on the floor, her injured arm cradled to her chest as she choked on a mouthful of saliva and blood. Not only had she been choked by a deathlike grip, but the wind had rushed from her lungs when she hit the ground. She was gasping as broken ribs that had yet to heal wailed in protest. Even though she hated herself for her weakness, she couldn't help but feel vulnerable, exposed to this hallway of monsters, and figured it wouldn't be long before they were all fighting for the last sinew of meat from her bones.
The massive one stood with its back to her, separating her from the others. It spoke in a dangerous and commanding voice. "Let me make something clear to you all right now. Nobody touches the human girl. Nobody!" Sam recognized the voice as Frostbite.
The angry one—Icefang—growled from its headlock, teeth bared. "We should kill it now!"
"And where would that get us?" Frostbite challenged. "We're better than that, Icefang. This human is defenseless without the weapon we seized upon her arrival."
Sam couldn't bring herself to look up from the freezing floor. Tears were beading at the corners of her eyes and her head was throbbing. She was surprised, however, when a hand clad in white extended itself into her vision, offering to help her stand. Confused by the presence of a humanoid limb she finally allowed her eyes to drift upwards.
Her heart almost stopped when her gaze locked with the haunting green eyes of Phantom.
What is he doing here? Thoughts and accusations became rapid in their formation. Nothing was making sense!
He was kneeling before her with his expressive eyes full of . . . worry? When she didn't take his hand, he instead reached for her blanket and pulled it snug around her shoulders. "Are you okay?" he whispered.
Despite her anger, Sam found she was too weak to conjure an abrasive front. Tiredness settled in her heart so she merely shook her head, tears slipping from her eyes and descending along her cheeks. What could she do? Injured, weaponless, and surrounded by a hoard of spectral monsters; she was powerless. In all her prowess, the infamous Sam Manson was nothing—could do nothing.
There were six ghosts total, and four of them were the gargantuan, white-furred monsters while the other two exhibited a rather humanlike appearance. Phantom was one of the two, still kneeling beside her. The other was female.
The female ghost was eyeing her with her green eyes blazing. She glared at Sam from underneath a chaotic fall of white bangs, arms crossed over her chest. It struck Sam how much the female resembled Phantom. She and Sam made eye contact, long enough for the ghost's glare to solidify into something akin to fear, her mouth hardening into a hard line, and then she took another step back until she became half-hidden in the entryway.
The hell?
Looking away from the female ghost, Sam realized that all five pairs of ethereal eyes were fixated on her. The seething Icefang had been released from the other one—Frostbreath's?—hold, regarding her in an unabashed loathing. The other ghosts, however, seemed to remain watchful and cautious. Sam felt herself begin to shrink underneath their steady gazes, but she attempted to conceal her fear with a bluff of confidence. She narrowed her eyes and began push herself until she stood before them with her shoulders squared.
She couldn't understand why the majority of them, save for Frostbite and Phantom, quickly took a step away from her. Was she really that terrifying?
The slightest of smiles graced Frostbite's toothy muzzle. "I am truly repentant, human, for the lack of decency expressed by my kin. It was not my intent to see you harmed." The ghost's head bowed. "It will not happen again, I assure you."
Sam gaped at the beast. She was rendered speechless, amazed by the eloquence of a primitive specter's speech. She didn't want to debase herself by conversing with it, but had to instead swallow her pride. Information first, Manson. "Where am I?" she asked. The irony of their conversation was not lost on her. "And . . . why am I still alive?"
At this, Frostbite's smile widened. It—he turned and beckoned to the others behind him. "Frostbreath, please escort Icefang and Elle to the dining hall. I will join you shortly."
Frostbreath nodded. "Yes, brother."
When the others left, Frostbite had come to her side while the other spook, the nameless one, appeared at her other. Nervousness overcame her and she looked between them, unconsciously tightening the cloak of her strange blanket over her shoulders.
Frostbite was the first to speak in the pregnant silence. "I am sure you have questions."
Sam said, "That's a bit of an understatement." Considering you haven't answered any of the ones I've asked so far, she added her head.
Frostbite laughed. "Come, we will speak in the medical sector. You are not yet healed from your injuries. There was not much we could do in your unconscious state." Another wide smile. "It is not every day that we are given the opportunity to treat a human, after all."
Sam could think of nothing else to say, her mouth twisting into a frown. She found herself confused by the ghosts' façade of civility. What was its ulterior motive? Was it trying to lull her into a false sense of security in order to gain secrets of the human rebellion? Mistrust was the sour tart in her mouth, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from scowling. Now was not the time for rash decisions. She needed information first, and then she could begin to plan her escape. Maybe she could even capture a few of them for the Fentons.
But then there was the epic conundrum that was Phantom.
She didn't know what to think. She opted to follow the ghosts as they led her back into the room she woke up in, and all the while finding her eyes drawn to Phantom's back as he walked beside Frostbite. His clothing was that of woven whites and blues, correlating with the furs of the enormous beasts. He had maintained an odd sort of silence, a far cry from the arrogant front he'd displayed back in Amity. He almost seemed . . . nervous by her. But why?
"You must forgive me," Frostbite said as they entered the proclaimed medical sector. He turned to face her now. "Our meeting is a bit extraordinary, and I am unsure in how to proceed. Be it as it may, I am Frostbite, leader of the Far Frozen." The beast's massive bulk of his shoulders squared proudly.
Far Frozen? Sam frowned at the unfamiliarity of the name. She'd already determined Frostbite's name and position through the prior proceedings.
Sam did her best to appear naïve, nodding once. This prompted Frostbite to continue. He gestured to his side where the nameless beast stood and said, "This is Sleetjaw, our leading medical examiner." Sleetjaw bowed his head in acknowledgement to Frostbite's introduction. "He will do well to aide you in a swift recovery."
"I will do my best," Sleetjaw affirmed.
Then, Frostbite gestured to Phantom who seemed to be avoiding her gaze. "I understand you two have already met, but I would like to also include the formal introduction of my son, Daniel. He and his sister, Danielle, are destined to someday succeed me in the leadership of the Far Frozen."
Wait, what?
Daniel? What had happened to his name being "Phantom?" Also, what did the allegation of "son" mean when uttered from the mouth of a ghost? As far as she knew, ghosts couldn't reproduce. And even if they could, how would that explain their differences in species?
Phantom must have sensed her stare. Sam's eyes narrowed as their gazes locked and she found herself wishing more than ever that she had her weapon. There was a dangerous edge to her voice when she again asked, "Where am I?"
A frown drifted along the length of Frostbite's muzzle. "You are in the Far Frozen," he said, sensing the obvious tension.
"Why am I here?" This time she directed her words towards Phantom. She was livid from his silence. What was going on here? She could feel the blinding wall of her fury as it drifted hot and heavy over the atmosphere of the room.
This time Phantom had the good graces to speak. "Look, Sam—"
"Don't call me that!"
Phantom let out a frustrated breath and threw up his hands. "Fine, whatever! You were hurt. Frostbreath and I saved your life!"
"Ghosts aren't capable of saving lives! They only ruin them!"
She regretted the words as soon as she said them. Eyes widening she found herself taking a step back. Phantom was seething now, with a deadly gaze that simmered with fiery green. Sam felt her muscles tense, ready to flee, but was surprised when none of the ghosts initiated an attack. Instead, Frostbite and Sleetjaw were eyeing her as if she were a wounded animal with their deep red eyes full of sympathy.
Sam felt her anger dissipate and then fell to her cot, pulling her knees to her chest. She gritted her teeth as her arm throbbed. She hated herself for showing weakness in front of them, but couldn't find enough reason to care anymore. The bitter taste of failure began scratching at the back of her throat, and she wondered again about her Warrior kin. Were they looking for her? Where they even alive? Tears burned her eyes, and her chest heaved.
Breaking his silence, Sleetjaw began to approach her. "Human girl, I understand this is a confusing time for you," he said, "but I would like to help you. I can sense your pain. Now that you are awake I may be able to heal you." The large bulk of him was hovering over her, tender clawed hands reaching out to her as he kneeled to eye level.
"Don't touch me," Sam said, attempting to sound intimidating but failing. Her body ached and she longed to sleep, but the presence of the spirits surrounding chewed away at her nerves. Their stares were heavy—boring into her. What did they want with her, anyway?
The icy air was biting at her exposed skin and she shuddered. She hated herself for her weakness. "Why are you keeping me alive?" she asked him.
Frostbite was the one to answer. "My brother, Frostbreath, was the one to bring you here," he began. "From what he says, you spared his life when any other human would have destroyed him." His intense gaze was unceasing as he began to approach her. "He sensed in you what is not common in the souls of humans."
Sam's heart leapt, and for once it wasn't fear. "I wanted to destroy him."
"But you didn't. Why?"
Sam shrugged. She was beginning to wonder if this was all a dream, because the current situation was riddled with impossibilities. She shouldn't be sitting here, injured, surrounded by powerful ghosts, weaponless, and be able to maintain an amicable conversation as she stared into the blazing red eyes of an alpha. From what Maddie had told her, alphas were incapable of reason, and known for their extreme aggression. They were the dominant ghost within their hoard, maintaining stringent control over the others. Very few Warriors unfortunate enough to encounter one rarely returned, and never did they return unscathed.
Everything she had ever known about ghosts had been proven wrong within the past ten minutes. It just wasn't possible. She should be dead, her flesh stripped away and her soul eaten. There was no way she should be alive right now, and it was this thought that unnerved her more than anything. Killing her, she could understand. But keeping her alive . . .? She shuddered at the implications.
She took a moment to still her nerves, quelling the desire to reach for something to defend herself with. Instead, she asked, "What are you going to do with me?"
The beast sighed, and bluish ringlets of icy air danced along his muzzle. "We will first help you heal. And then, if you are willing, we intend to learn from you."
Her eyes narrowed in mistrust. "Learn from me?"
"You are very different from the humans we have experienced in the past."
Sam frowned, annoyed by the ambiguity of his response. The irony was not lost on her in its similarity, however, and she found herself shooting an offensive glare at Phantom. "I'm not sure what there is to learn about me. Unless you plan on dissecting me," she deadpanned.
Frostbite let out a roar of laughter that caused her and the other two ghosts to jump from its suddenness. "I assure you our intentions are not so invasive." The great beast smiled again, moving his icy arm in a way so it shimmered under the light. "It is my belief that a mutual understanding between us may be advantageous."
Sam was about to ask why, but the question fell away from her lips and was replaced with the grinding of her teeth. She had meant to shift to a more comfortable position on her cot, but had unintentionally moved her crooked arm in a way that caused it to throb. It was excruciating, and she found herself gasping at the pain.
Sleetjaw jumped into action, grabbing her by the shoulders and holding her steady. The other two ghosts came closer, surrounding her, and she began to protest. She tried to push the beast's hands away from her, but Sleetjaw was too strong. "Be calm, human, the more you fight the more you will hurt." His voice was soft and consoling as his clawed hands continued in their attempt to still her. She shuddered at his chilly touch.
"No, don't!" She hated the desperation that pitched her voice high. "Don't touch me!"
The ghost was unrelenting. "I only intend to help you."
She continued to fight against his hold, twisting her body free, but at the same time reigniting the pain. The ghost's frigid touch terrified her as its bulk pinned her down into the cot. It began unwrapping bandages, exposing her aching and unhealed wounds.
Amidst the flailing of her limbs and the obscenities that hissed through her teeth, a strange, cold feeling began pooling within her chest. Her vision began to swim with darkness, and then her body became filled with a white hot fire that burned her from the insides out.
Suddenly, she was screaming.
XXX
Tucker was in the midst of finishing up his lab work. He was working on the mind-numbing task of applying solder to a wired contraption, attempting in vain to distract himself. Mr. and Mrs. Fenton were at the supercomputer, waiting to initialize the patrol probe when Sam activated it. The whole day had been rather uneventful, despite the undertone of worry that always accompanied a Warrior raid.
He had just been about to apply the last drop of solder when Maddie gasped, followed by the sound of the alarms.
The blaring noise of the Compound's emergency ectoalarms came to life, startling Tucker so he dropped his soldering gun into a mesh of wires. Instead he ran to the Fentons, terrified, with his hands clamped over his ears. The alarm was deafening, bright lights flashing as a computerized voice began reciting a mantra of precautions over the intercom.
"What's going on?" Tucker exclaimed, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose and over worried eyes.
Maddie was moving her hands across the screen, frantic. "We lost our connection with the probe!" she shouted over the alarm. "Something's happened!"
Tucker was horrified. "What do you mean? Is Sam okay?"
Maddie didn't respond. Instead, she continued to flip through tabs of information, error message after error message complaining due to the lack of connectivity. She backtracked, reinstating the information before the connection was terminated. Then she gasped, her hands clamped over her mouth as she looked to her husband in horror. Jack's hands gripped her shoulders, tightening as he saw what she was looking at.
Tucker's heart palpitated, a stabbing sensation that rendered him breathless. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He, too, was shaking his head. Something was horribly wrong. "What is it?" he demanded.
Maddie was shaking. "They were ambushed." Her eyes lingered on the screen of the supercomputer, the words blurred by tears.
Steeling himself, Tucker took shaky steps towards the computer, ignoring the sounds of the emanating alarms. He made it to Jack and Maddie, looking between them for the briefest of moments before he let out a strangled cry of dismay.
While Wasteland ghosts were powerful, these ghosts were average in class, all of them variations of fives and sixes. It was the numbers in which they attacked, however, that was unprecedented. Spooks such as these did not attack as a horde, listless in their formation and rambling. The readings depicted their numbers in hundreds.
"What . . .?" Tucker had to swallow the lump in his throat. "What does that mean?"
"It means something's changed," Jack said. His crystal blue eyes were shadowed by the heavy furrow of his brows.
Maddie nodded in agreement. "This isn't normal." She was swiping tears away from her eyes as if they burned. "This isn't normal . . . I—I would know—I—"
Jack silenced her with a forceful shake to her shoulders. "Madds, stop."
"Oh god, Jack, what if—what if they didn't . . . Sam—"
"Maddie," Jack said again. Tucker could see the telltale iridescent trail of tears at his cheeks, too. Maddie was shuddering in her attempt to contain her sobs as she clutched at her husband's chest.
Tucker didn't know what to do. He stood there, useless, watching as the Fentons fell apart.
"I can't lose another one!" Maddie wailed, her voice cracking and hoarse.
"I know, Madds, I know," Jack murmured into her hair. Then he was rocking her with his face scrunched, the large bulk of his arms nearly concealing her.
Watching them, it struck Tucker how deeply the Fenton duo cared for him and Sam, and it was this sudden influx of information that had him choking and coughing back his own anxiety. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and began staring at the screen of the supercomputer, hoping against hope that the probe would spontaneously reinstate itself and with it the affirmation of Sam's safety.
It never did.
Instead, they waited four hours full of acid tears and bated breath, of white knuckled hands clenched together in hope, before any news regarding the fate of the lost Warriors was acknowledged. Tucker had been sitting in the lab with his hands tweaking the frames of his glasses. He watched as Maddie sat huddled with the framed picture of her deceased children clutched at her chest. Jack had his arm around her, combing a consoling hand through her hair. Jazz, the only remaining Fenton child, had joined them hours ago during the resounding of the alarm, and was now sitting at Tucker's right, fiddling with the long braid of hair draped over her shoulder.
Everyone in the room jumped as the seal of the Resistance began blinking to life from the television embedded in the wall of the lab.
Damon Grey appeared on the screen. He stared into the camera, seemingly meeting the eyes of those watching him. His expression was pained, yet resolute as he began to speak. "As you are all aware," their leader began, "the Compound has been in mandatory lockdown due to a spectral ambush from the upper level. Seven of our Warriors were above ground at the time of the attack." There was an abrupt, painful silence as Grey cleared his throat. "We have a confirmation that there are survivors."
Tucker was suddenly holding his breath. Hoping, praying—anything to confirm Sam's safety. Jazz's fingers intertwined with his and she squeezed, hard.
"Seven of our Warriors ventured into the Wastelands in an attempt to release a patrol probe for scientific analysis, as well as obtain the necessary core energies from ghosts to power our facility." Grey's face darkened as shadows danced over the planes of his ropey white scars. In a grim voice he said, "Unfortunately, only five of our Warriors survived."
Tucker's face was ashen and he felt cold. Please let Sam be okay. Please, he thought.
The camera shifted causing Tucker to blanch. Instead of Grey, they were now granted an image of the tattered survivors. Tucker's ears were ringing and his vision became speckled with white stars. Around him he heard gasping, startled exclamations, sobs—but none of it made sense to him.
He was counting them, over and over. Dale Barbara was clutching a shredded arm, Willie Shoemaker was coughing, a beaten up Dash Baxter was being supported by a pasty Kwan Sharigon, Valerie Grey was crying with patches of hair missing and angry red marks running up the length of her arm . . . but, no, this couldn't make sense. Where was Sam?
Five survivors. Five people on the screen.
"No," Tucker said. Then he screamed. "No!"
Damon Grey's voice began speaking again, but Tucker barely heard him. Survivors were being interviewed, respects for the deceased being paid as the group reflected on the two Warriors who had not made it home. His mind was lost, blank. His body was numb.
Sam wasn't among the survivors. The realization devastated him.
To his left, Maddie began to sob as a framed photo of two black-haired, blue-eyed children fell to the floor and shattered.
XXX
Sam woke with a jolt. A large gasp of air hissed through her teeth as she caught her breath. She started coughing, choking on the large amount of air that was rushing through her chest. Her hands were at her racing heart, a beat that throbbed so roughly it deafened her ears. She pushed herself into a sitting position, and as she did she noticed something odd. The pain that had once before accompanied the expansion of her lungs was nonexistent. Running a hand through her hair she noticed something else.
Her arm.
She looked at it in confusion. The large, swollen bulge that had protruded from the joint of her elbow was gone, as was the fracture of her wrist. Sam flexed her arm, amazed at the complete lack of pain as well as the returned usability. The absence of pain was jarring, and she was surprised by how great she felt. The only telltale sign of past injury was the slightest of aches that throbbed within her bones and muscles.
What . . . the hell?
"Glad to see you're awake."
Sam's eyes snapped upwards, meeting those of pure ectoplasm. He was alone, leaning casually on one of the icy pillars with his arms crossed. She attempted to glare and pulled the blanket from her cot firmly over her chest, even though she was still completely clothed. "What did you do to me?" she demanded.
Phantom's eyes narrowed. "I didn't do anything. Sleetjaw healed you."
"Healed me," she repeated. "Why?"
He sighed, pushing himself from the icy pillar. Walking towards her, he glared down at her with his strange glowing eyes, and said, "Look, I know it's hard for you to accept that us ghosts"—he sneered at the word—"actually want to help you. But these guys, the Yeti, have been very kind to you."
She arched an eyebrow in challenge. "Kind enough to kidnap me?"
"You're kidding right?"
"I remember very vividly when one of your dogs had me at the throat," she snapped. "Did you forget about that?"
Phantom's face darkened. "That was a mistake. Icefang doesn't trust humans, not to mention that they all know who you are, anyway."
Sam frowned at that. She recalled her first encounter with Phantom, replaying his words: "Sam Manson, Warrior extraordinaire," he'd said as he held her weapon. "You've made quite a name for yourself in the ghost zone." She shuddered, pulling the blanket tighter over her shoulders.
Phantom was speaking again. "It won't happen again. Icefang trusts my father, so even though he's scared of you he won't disobey a command." He smiled sheepishly. "Listen, I'm sorry about that. That wasn't exactly how we planned for things to go.
Sam refused to accept a ghost's apology and continued to glare at him. "Where the hell am I, anyway?" She demanded. He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. "And don't you give me the bullshit about being in the Far Frozen. I don't even know what that is."
"The Far Frozen is a part of the alternate realms, separate from the material world you're from. I think you humans call it the Ghost Zone."
Ghost Zone?
Sam felt her face grow pale before her anger and revulsion set in at full force. She lurched from the cot, newly healed muscles rejoicing with strength as she sent a clenched fist hurtling at Phantom's face.
It was pathetic, really, how easily he caught her hand and restrained her. She began struggling, growling in her attempt to free herself from his stronghold of a grasp. The frigid touch of his hands chilled her bare skin almost as much as her exposure to the air of the room.
"Let me go!" she shouted.
Phantom's hands seized her by the shoulders and shoved her to arm's length. "Would you stop that!" he exclaimed.
"Why the hell am I here?" Sam continued to yell. "Do you think I'm going to be some sort of pet? That you can keep me alive and teach me tricks? Well, screw you!"
"Is that really what you think? Didn't you hear anything my father said?" He was aghast. "Sam, they saved your life. You would have died, but Frostbreath had you in his arms when he found me. Sleetjaw healed you. You should be thankful you're alive!"
Sam freed herself from his chilly grasp and snagged the blanket form her cot. Once again cloaked within its warmth, she snapped, "What happened to Amity Park being part of your territory?"
Unrelenting, Phantom scowled at her. "Things changed," he replied evasively, and then stepped away from her with his head turned towards the entryway. After a brief moment of silence his fierce glare returned brighter that before. "Sleetjaw is on his way to check on you. He only wants to help." His eyes narrowed. "Be nice."
Sam sneered back at him and stuck out her tongue, just as the aforementioned bulk of Sleetjaw entered the room. She couldn't contain her curiosity upon seeing him, surprised to see the wide smile that graced the beast's muzzle.
"Human girl!" he exclaimed. "I am glad to see you are feeling better. I trust you slept well?"
Sam glanced at Phantom, whose eyes glimmered with a warning untold from behind the Yeti's back. Sighing heavily, Sam met the ghost's ruby gaze. "I—yes, I feel much better." The words that came next were bitter. "Thank you."
Sleetjaw's fangs glinted as he smiled again. "You are quite welcome." The ghost extended his large clawed hand towards her, curious and questioning. "May I take your hand, human girl? Healing you was not the easiest task, and I would like to make sure everything in your system is as it should be."
Sam's fingers twitched. Initially, she was repulsed by the thought of a ghost touching her, but her curiosity was piqued and beginning to overcome the better part of her judgment. She hesitated, looking over the Yeti's shoulder to glare at Phantom, and then placed her hand in the Yeti's. The feeling of the ghost's hand around hers was strange, cold as it was soft. Her arm shook as she resisted the urge rip it away from his grasp.
She watched in absolute amazement as a faint blue glow began emanating from the ghost's palm. The energy was cold, undulating in the form of thousands of icy ringlets, and tingles began erupting along her arm, traveling up into her chest where her heart leapt once in response. Sam gasped at the sensation, nearly tearing her hand away but somehow compelled to remain still. Just as sudden as it came though, the sensation vanished as the ghost pulled away.
"I am happy to say you are fully healed, human," Sleetjaw said.
Sam didn't know what to say and smiled uncertainly, rubbing the arm where the ghost had touched her. She was saved from the awkward situation, however, when another figure appeared at the entryway.
"Oh hello, Elle," Sleetjaw called in greeting, turning to offer the white-haired ghost a smile of welcome. "Is there something you need?"
The female ghost named Elle remained frozen at the entryway. She stood there, in silent conflict with herself, before she finally shook her head and stepped resolutely into the room. Her glaring green gaze flitted over Sam before turning to Phantom. "Dad wants us to all meet in the dining hall, and he wants you to bring the human." Without looking at Sam, Elle gestured in her direction. She then looked at Sleetjaw. "He wants you to come too. Apparently, it's important."
Phantom nodded once. "I'll meet you guys there, but whether or not she comes isn't my decision."
Sam frowned, annoyed that they were talking about her as if she wasn't even there. She crossed her arms over her chest and drawled under her breath to herself, "I'm right here." All three ghostly sets of eyes unexpectedly fixated on her. She blanched under their sudden gazes. It was then she recalled Maddie once saying that ghosts had elevated hearing, along with other senses. Oops.
Elle's eyes narrowed at her before she turned again towards Phantom. "I'll see you there, Danny."
Phantom nodded once, watching her disappear with Sleetjaw into the icy corridor. Once they were alone again, he faced Sam and sighed. "You've got to be hungry."
Sam snorted. "I'm sure whatever it is that ghosts eat isn't exactly on my list of edible foods." Then her brow knitted in confusion. "Since when do ghosts eat in the first place?" She was once again reflecting upon Maddie's lectures from the Compound, about the physiological eccentrics coupled with anatomical impossibilities. Ghosts didn't—couldn't—eat, as they were not comprised of the essential organs and intestinal tract to do so.
Phantom was glaring at her again, unamused. "Your lack of knowledge is astounding," he snapped. He sidestepped away from her and stalked towards the entryway where a bundle of fabric lied atop a mass of ice protruding from the wall. Seizing it, he returned to her and tossed the bundle into her direction.
Sam caught it, confused. "What is it?"
"Clothes."
Clothes? Sam's eyes narrowed as she straightened the fabric. It was a whitish jacket, long at the sides so when she pulled it over her head it fell below her knees, but fit her arms well. It seemed to be made out of the strange heavyweight material of her blanket, perfectly containing her body heat and warming her up considerably. Old habits rekindled themselves, and before she could stop herself, she asked, "Does this come in black?"
Phantom stared at her, cocking his head to the side as his eyes appraised her. Sam almost slapped herself as she started to blush. "Your boots are under your cot," he said, ignoring her question.
Grateful for a chance to look away from him, she clambered underneath the cot for her combat boots and pulled them over her frozen feet. When she was done, she looked up to see Phantom standing by the entryway, gesturing out into the corridor.
"So, you up for dinner with a bunch of spirits ready to rip you apart?" he said, smiling.
Sam almost had to do a double take at how . . . dorky it was. She frowned at him. "Do I have choice?"
"Of course you do," he stated. "But if you don't come you might starve."
She was tempted to take her chances with starvation. But then, she couldn't deny her curiosity. These ghosts were puzzling, so unlike anything she had ever seen before. They didn't seem to mean her any harm, and although mistrust still danced within her gut, she found herself overcome with an intense bout of excitement. She almost hated herself more than she did for showing weakness, because she shouldn't be feeling this way. Her excitement was somehow stronger now than it was when she took her first tentative steps out into the Wastelands. It was completely unethical.
So what the hell, why not?
For the first time since waking up in the Far Frozen, Sam genuinely smiled. "Lead the way."
A/N: Wow, this chapter was a bear. The struggle was real with this one! Anyway, hope you guys liked it though! I'm sorry it took so long. The real world is such a bitch, haha, not to mention I now have a beta reader for this story! Yay! Big thanks to Fiddlehoffer, for your perseverance with this chapter. It was greatly appreciated!
Also, big shout out to CaptainOzone for allowing me to use the character Sleetjaw. If you haven't already, be sure to check out the amazing story, Shift! I promise you won't regret it!
Lastly, in regards to the question posed by Blazercjj101, I am going to respond here because PMs are disabled on your account. No, I did not base Kwan's surname from Naruto. I've honestly never seen the show, and literally just used what came to mind in a spur of the moment, haha. Sorry if that disappoints you!
Thanks for everything guys! Please don't forget to leave me a review! I love hearing your comments, as well as your suggestions for what you'd like to see in upcoming chapters! I'm not getting much of a response anymore, so I don't even know if anyone's reading this story. While I don't necessarily write for the feedback, I can just as easily write the story and keep it to myself because that's what it's beginning to feel like anyway. I haven't done something wrong, have I?
-Roarri