Stepping out of the warmth, Jack was instantly greeted by the cold. A shiver ran through him as he pulled his coat tighter around his body, feeling the familiar chill sink into his bones. He exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the air, before scanning the area to look for Walter.
"Over here, Jack," Walter's voice cut through the stillness.
Jack spotted him standing alone in the middle of the empty road, rifle in hand. Walter wasn't watching the ground, though—his gaze was fixed on the sky above them. Jack quickly approached him, noticing the unease etched into his friend's face.
"No smoke," Walter muttered, almost to himself. His brow furrowed as he continued, "Something went wrong with their generator. But how?" The disbelief in his voice was clear as he scanned the surroundings, the air unnervingly still, absent of any sign of life or heat.
"The riot that John mentioned back at the cave... could that be the reason?" Jack suggested, his voice uncertain but hoping to make some sense of Winterhome's ghost-like state.
Walter shook his head, disbelief clear in his eyes. "That's impossible, Jack. One riot couldn't have caused all this. What did they even do to end up like this? Did they smash their own generator?" His tone was incredulous, the idea clearly not sitting well with him.
"Maybe it really was a riot, Walter. Anything could've happened," Jack said, his tone carrying a hint of uncertainty. Walter paused, a creeping doubt settling in—maybe Jack was right.
Venturing into the city outskirts, they found mostly ruins—buildings reduced to crumbling husks, scarred by blackened burn marks. Whatever once stood tall had been consumed in the chaos of the riot. Now, the ice and snow reclaimed it all, burying the wreckage in silence. Not a single soul was in sight.
Walter moved with heightened alertness, his eyes scanning for any flicker of movement, his ears straining for even the faintest human sound. Jack stayed close, keeping his own eyes on Walter, careful not to disturb his focus.
It was undeniable now, the city had been ravaged beyond recognition, much to Walter's deepening disbelief. Everywhere he looked, there was nothing but devastation. House after house, building after building, all the same. Reduced to ruins by fire and chaos.
It was as if, in the blink of an eye, everything had vanished, wiped out in an instant.
"I don't understand. How could this happen?" Walter whispered with the same thoughts, the overwhelming sight gnawing at his resolve, each step slowly breaking him. Jack heard Walter's whispered words, but remained silent. What could he possibly say to ease the growing misery in his friend's voice?
As they ventured deeper into the heart of the city, where the towering generator should have stood, a large tarp flapped violently in the wind. The sound of the heavy fabric snapping against the cold air drew their attention, pulling both Jack and Walter attention towards it. Without a word, they exchanged a knowing glance—something underneath that tarp should be checked.
Walter approached first, his movements slow and deliberate. He knelt down, his gloved hand gripping the edge of the tarp. With a cautious lift, the wind caught hold and peeled it back. Almost as if the wind wanted them to see this.
Jack immediately staggered back, his breath catching in his throat, and horror etched across his face. Bodies. There are bodies in that pit. Stacked like discarded firewood, frozen in their final moments.
Walter, however, stood rooted, unmoved by the gruesome sight before him. His expression remained grim, but there was no shock—just a somber acceptance and a silent nod, as if he had anticipated something this grim. The sight only deepened the weight inside his chest.
"They never stood a chance…" Walter murmured, his voice hollow as he continued to stare at the mass of death before him. Hearing a frightened whimper behind him, Walter had forgotten about Jack.
Snapping out of his trance, Walter quickly covered the bodies back with the tarp and turned his attention to Jack, who was visibly shaken. Jack's breaths came in rapid, uneven bursts, his face pale and eyes wide with a mix of fear and disbelief.
Walter reached out, grabbing Jack's trembling hand and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Hey, look at me," Walter said gently, trying to anchor Jack to the present. "I know it looks bad, but you have to stay strong and keep it together. You can't afford to lose it now."
Jack's voice cracked as he spoke, "I've never seen so many dead before... I don't know if I can do this."
Walter's heart ached at Jack's words, he should have told Jack to stay back should the reveal be this horrific. A slight feeling of guilt was present, but Walter did his best to keep his own emotions in check. The only important thing to him was keeping Jack's morale unbroken.
"Jack, listen. I wish there was a better way for me to explain to you, but I can't. I need you to be strong, please. You've come this far, so don't stop now because of this. Don't forget about our people back home, in New London. They are counting on us, don't give up on them. We can't afford our fears to stop us. I'm here, Jack. I'm leaving you behind. We're partners in this, and right now, I need you to keep that hope, please."
Walter's words were firm yet compassionate, hoping they would be enough to pull Jack back from the edge of despair. He could only pray that Jack would find the strength within himself to continue the mission.
As Walter did his best to comfort Jack, a sudden noise behind them made both of them turn sharply. The crunch of boots against the snow was unmistakable.
A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and imposing despite the weariness etched into his face. It was the veteran they had saved, awake and standing in his blue military uniform that showed signs of long wear, and his eyes betraying a depth of pain and resolve.
"It's you. You're okay," Jack said, a tremor of relief in his voice, though he remained visibly shaken.
The figure nodded slowly, his expression softening slightly. "Barely, but thanks to you two," he replied, offering a faint, appreciative smile. "My name is Nathan. I'm a scout for Winterhome."
Walter and Jack stood up, dusting off the snow from their knees. "Tell us what happened here," Walter demanded, his voice edged with impatience and frustration at the situation.
Nathan took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the desolate surroundings. "This city... after the riot, everything fell apart. The generator failed, and with it, so did our chances of survival."
Jack and Walter exchanged glances, absorbing the weight of Nathan's words. "The bodies," Jack said quietly, the shock still lingering in his tone. "What happened to them?"
Nathan's gaze grew somber. "Died from the riot. Mostly due to the sickness. It had led to desperate measures and ultimately, tragedy. We tried to start over, but the generator took a heavy beating. There isn't much time—we must get to the others before it's too late. The generator is this way. I will lead you there." With that, Nathan began to limp away.
Jack and Walter exchanged another look before following him.
/-/
Nathan's pace was slow but steady as he walked, his obvious limp on his left leg betraying the frostbite he must have suffered when Jack and Walter found him.
Walter took up a position in the middle, keeping a vigilant eye on their surroundings, while Jack followed closely behind, his mind racing with unanswered questions about Winterhome. Despite their curiosity, they had little choice but to focus on the pressing matter at hand.
Nathan, breaking the silence despite his urgent mission, asked, "Where are you two from?"
"New London," Jack replied. "It's not too far from here, just beyond that bridge you guys built and a little further north."
Nathan stopped abruptly, turning to face Jack with a look of bewilderment that caught Walter off guard. "You mean that there's another working generator nearby? How come we didn't know about it?" Nathan's voice was filled with frustration and disbelief as he leaned towards Jack in a menacing tone.
Walter stepped in quickly, placing himself between Jack and Nathan. "Hey, watch your tone," he said firmly. "We only found you after discovering your bridge and seeing no one around but one of your automatons still standing. Our people were wondering why you guys haven't come to us. We're as much in the dark as you are."
Nathan's eyes narrowed, but he took a deep breath, his anger giving way to concern, then regret. "If there's a working generator so close, then we would have— it should have been—" He stuttered, shaking his head in denial. "No, this doesn't make any sense."
Walter noticed Nathan's rapid shifts in emotion, realizing that something else was deeply troubling him, causing these sudden bursts of panic. Softening his tone, Walter stepped in to offer some calm and reason. "Nathan, we need to focus on getting to the others and figuring this mess out together. We can't afford to argue right now, focus on the task at hand. We'll worry about the rest for later."
Nathan nodded reluctantly, his anxiety still evident but tempered by the urgency of their mission. "Alright. Let's move. We find the rest of my people and see what we can do about this damn situation."
However, another issue weighed on Walter's mind, one that had nagged at him since their arrival. "Nathan," he started, his tone more cautious, "What's that noise? It's been going on since we got here, and it doesn't sound too far from us."
Nathan's brow furrowed for a moment before his expression relaxed slightly. "It's probably one of our automatons," he replied. "One of the few left running, though I'm surprised you can still hear it. The thing's barely functional."
Walter gave a short nod, though his unease was still evident. "It's just... the noise has been gnawing at me. Ever since we stepped foot in this place, Winterhome didn't exactly make for a good first impression, or a warm welcome."
Nathan looked him in the eye, understanding the concern but brushing it off for now. "We'll deal with it, but the priority is the survivors. That machine is not going anywhere."
Walter exhaled through his nose, conceding the point. "Fair enough. Let's just hope that automaton isn't a sign of more things falling apart."
Nathan nodded, "It already has. This way, we're getting closer."
As they rounded the final corner, the generator came into full view. Jack and Walter slowed their pace, eyes widening in silent disbelief. The once towering machine, once the lifeline of Winterhome, was now a shattered ruin. The top half had collapsed, jagged metal pipes and twisted panels jutted outward like grotesque petals of a steel flower.
Where there should have been heat and life, there was only cold and despair that remained. The air around the generator felt stagnant, heavy with the aftermath of its failure. No warmth radiated from the towering wreckage. Its engine is long dead, buried under layers of ice and snow. Winterhome had been cold for who knows how long.
The buildings nearest to the generator had not escaped unscathed either. Their walls were blackened with char, windows shattered from the force of the explosion, and roofs caved in under the weight of both fire and frost. The smell of ash still lingered faintly in the air, despite the cold having long since snuffed out any remaining flames.
Jack shifted uncomfortably, a gnawing unease twisting in his gut as his eyes scanned the devastation. He could only hope that the survivors had somehow escaped the blast. The sight left him very unsettled, unsure of what they would find ahead.
From the pack slung over Jack's shoulders, Boris poked his head out, his curious eyes staring blankly at the ruined generator. He didn't understand the destruction, but what he did notice was Jack's tension.
With a quiet whimper, Boris nuzzled his head against Jack's neck, offering a small gesture of comfort. Jack couldn't help but manage a faint smile, grateful for the little bear's attempt to ease his nerves, even as the eerie silence pressed in around them.
Walter stood still, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid air as he took in the devastation before them. The sight was horrible, but he knew there was no use in mourning over damages that were already done. His mind raced, analyzing the possible causes as his eyes swept over the twisted remnants of the generator.
Overstress? Faulty construction?
The devastation had left a permanent scar on the very heart of Winterhome, and as Walter took in the wreckage, a troubling thought nagged at him. What if this were to happen in New London? How would they survive?
"There they are," Nathan said, his voice low as he pointed toward the base of the ruined generator. Huddled together in tight clusters, the survivors sat beneath the towering wreck, trying to conserve warmth. There were more of them than Jack and Walter had seen in the cave and the observatory combined—a small beacon of hope amidst the destruction.
As they approached, the group of survivors stirred. Tired, frostbitten faces turned toward them, shivering bodies and dreaded faces, their eyes widening in disbelief as they recognized the familiar figure of Nathan getting closer to them. A murmur spread through the crowd, and soon a few of them stood up, rushing forward.
"Nathan? Is that really you?" one of them called out, their voice cracking with emotion.
Nathan smiled weakly, but his eyes softened as he nodded. "Yes, It's me. I made it back," he replied, his voice rough with exhaustion. One by one, the survivors came forward, some hugging Nathan while others simply patted his back, grateful for his return.
It wasn't long before they noticed Jack and Walter, standing a little distance away. A few gasps of surprise escaped the group.
"Who are they? We thought we were the only ones left out here," a woman whispered, her eyes wide with curiosity.
"They're from New London," Nathan explained, turning to Jack and Walter. "These two saved my life and brought me back home."
There was a moment of stunned silence before a ripple of murmurs spread through the group. A man stepped forward, offering his hand to Jack. "Thank you… for bringing Nathan back to us. We didn't think anyone else was out there."
Jack smiled nervously, still shaken from earlier, but Boris poked his head out of Jack's pack, drawing a few surprised chuckles from the group.
Walter, ever composed, gave a respectful nod. "We're just glad we found you all before things got any more worse."
Frost-covered hands were extended, shaking with cold and exhaustion as they reached out to Jack and Walter. Grateful murmurs filled the air, mixing with the sounds of the bitter wind, as the survivors took turns offering their thanks.
"Thank you… for saving Nathan, and finding us." one said, voice trembling with emotion.
But behind the gratitude, there were more questions, barely contained in the hurried glances exchanged among the group. Their eyes, though thankful, were clouded with uncertainty. They had thought they were alone, stranded with no hope beyond their ruined city.
And one obvious question hovered over all of them.
"Is it true? Are you two from this New London? Another city" a man asked, stepping forward, his breath visible in the cold air. "We thought we were the only ones left."
Another woman, clutching a child wrapped in layers of tattered blankets, added softly, "Is it safe there?" The questions hung in the air, and though their voices were gentle, the weight of desperation was unmistakable.
Walter, sensing their growing anxiety, took a step forward, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "Yes, it's safe. We can take you there, get you warm and fed. There are others in New London, trying to survive, just like you." His voice was firm but compassionate, trying to ease the tension. "We came here to seek contact, but we were unaware of your situation."
"Where is New London? Is it that far? Will we have enough supplies to make it there?" One of them asked.
Nathan approached the group, and for a brief moment, the tension seemed to ease. Hands were shaken, murmurs of gratitude floated in the cold air, but the fragile calm shattered the moment Nathan revealed the truth.
Nathan said, his voice heavy. "It's not that far from here…"
At first, there was a collective silence, a pause as if everyone was struggling to comprehend the weight of those words. Then it came.
"What?" A woman's voice broke the quiet. "That can't be. If that's true…"
A man, clearly exhausted and on edge, stepped forward, his face now twisted in disbelief. "You mean to tell us that there's another city nearby and we never knew? That there could've been- it- I-" He stopped as his mind could no longer hold it together.
"They could've helped us!" another survivor shouted, his voice quivering with rage and sorrow. "We had children! Families! We were dying out here!"
A ripple of panic began to spread rapidly through the crowd, their voices rising, a mix of anger and regret flooding the air. Some broke down, others sobbing into their frost-bitten hands, while others screamed in frustration at the sky, at themselves, at the cruel twist of fate that had kept them suffering in isolation. One older man collapsed to his knees, tears freezing on his cheeks as he whispered, "All this time... we were so close..."
"My children… my wife… I will never see them again." Another collapsed as well, his eyes looked as if he wanted to give up.
Nathan, standing at the center of the chaos with others dressed in the same attire, tried to calm them, raising their hands in a futile attempt to regain control. But the emotions emitting from the survivors were too raw to contain.
Others began cursing at the generator, something about its malfunctioning that had pushed them to the brink of madness and despair. They mourned the lives lost to starvation, cold, and riots, all the while knowing that just beyond their reach, there had been hope.
They were just too late to reach it.
Jack and Walter exchanged glances, both stunned by the sudden outburst. Jack instinctively clutched Boris tighter, the bear mirroring his growing discomfort. Walter's mind raced, trying to process the emotional storm before them. He had seen grief, but this was different—a tangled mix of relief, fury, and regret.
"Those tracks we saw earlier…" Walter murmured, turning to Jack. "Maybe they sent them off on that dreadnought."
"The generator—it was damaged during the riots," Jack added, voice low.
Walter nodded slowly. "They chose who was worthy to leave. But… if they had known about New London…" He paused, the weight of it hitting him.
"They wouldn't have had to separate from their families," Jack finished.
The realization kicked in as Jack and Walter were putting the pieces together. They stood in silence as they watched the others wept for the children and family they sent away on the dreadnought, separated from their families, thinking it was their only hope.
One of them turned to Jack and Walter, anger was clear on her face and demanded, "Why didn't you find us sooner!?"
"We didn't know," Jack finally said, his voice cutting through the noise, though he sounded apologetic. "We had no idea you were here or what you were going through."
But his words barely reached their ears. The damage had already been done. The survivors were caught in a storm of emotions, reeling from the revelation that the suffering they had endured could have been avoided if only they had known.
It was all in vain.
The atmosphere shifted dramatically as anger hung in the air. The survivors exchanged uneasy glances, what came of before was now gone, confusion turning into frustration. Smiles turned into glares and frowns.
A woman at the edge of the group, her voice quaking with emotion, stepped forward. "You say there's another city nearby, yet we've suffered here alone while you... while you just wandered!"
Jack's brow furrowed, his heart racing as he looked from Nathan to the others. "We didn't know you were here. We came as soon as we found out about your bridge. We were wondering why no one from your end tried to reach us either." Jack said calmly.
Another survivor, a man with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, cut in sharply, "That's not enough! We've been fighting for our lives while you were living comfortably in New London! How could you not know?"
"I think you are mistaking something here." Walter took a step forward, taking a protective stance for Jack. One hand keeping Jack away from them, while his other hand was still in the grip of his rifle. He spoke in a placating tone. "Shouting at my partner would not help you. And this is not our fault. We didn't have the information—none of us did. We only found Winterhome thanks to your bridge you built. Had we not found it, we would never have found you all."
But the crowd was restless, emotions bubbling to the surface. A young mother cradling her child spoke, her voice thick with tears, "Do you know what it's like to have to choose who to save? We didn't know if we'd see our families again. And now we hear there was hope all along, and we didn't even know it!"
As they turned their grief and anger towards Jack and Walter, the weight of their situation became palpable. Jack felt a wave of guilt wash over him, though he knew they hadn't been to blame. Jack held Boris close as he glanced at Walter, who stood tense beside him, the lines of worry etched deep on his face. But he looked ready to defend them both should any violence come to them.
"We were out there looking for you," Jack said, his voice steady despite the chaos around him. "We fought to get to you. We want to help. We all want the same thing—to survive, to live."
"Our reasons to live are now far away from us," another voice echoed, cutting through the rising tide of despair. "We thought we were doomed, and now..." The survivor's words trailed off, leaving an emptiness that resonated with all of them.
Jack's heart tightened. He refused to give in. "Then live for them," he urged. "If what you said is true, keep going so one day you'll see them again. There's still hope—we can't lose it."
Walter felt his heart clench as he heard Jack's words. He looked at the faces before him—faces marked by pain and loss. But at least there seems to be less angry faces and more somber looks.
"Jack is right," he said, his tone more earnest. "We can't change the past, but we can figure out what to do next together. The news is hard to take in, but crying about it now won't help anyone. We're here to help, and that's what we'll do. You don't have to like us, or thank us, but we won't just leave you like this."
As the murmurs of despair echoed, a figure stepped forward, drawing the crowd's attention. Clad in dark clothing beneath his heavy coat, the Reverend's collar glinted faintly in the cold light. His deep, resonant voice cut through the tension like a warm flame in the frostbitten air.
"Brothers and sisters," he began, his gaze steady, "in these darkest times, we must find the light within us. Let's not dwell on the shadows but instead draw strength from one another." His presence alone seemed to wrap around the group like a comforting blanket, calming the rising storm of emotions.
Another figure stepped forward, clad in similar military blues like Nathan. A silver eagle adorned his shoulder boards, glinting in the dim light. His posture was rigid, embodying the authority of a seasoned officer. He surveyed the gathered survivors, his expression a mix of gratitude and concern. "We appreciate your help, boys," he began, his voice steady yet firm. "But we need to address the gravity of our situation before we can move forward."
"And you are?" Walter asked, surprised to find another American soldier. He wondered how many other Americans had fled to the North besides Tesla City.
The officer introduced himself with a crisp salute, "Colonel James Redfield, United States Army. Winterhome's acting Captain." His demeanor reflected both authority and the heavy burden of leadership.
"Colonel Redfield and the Reverend took charge right after our previous Captain, a tyrant known for his oppressive methods, died in the riot," Nathan explained. "His iron-fisted rule left many resentful, leading to the upheaval that ultimately took his life. He is a distant memory, not worth remembering for everyone's sake. It's for the best," Nathan insisted.
"Are there other Americans here in Winterhome?" Walter asked, his curiosity peaked. But the Colonel shaked his head, "None, I'm afraid. The only ones here are from the Military." He explained.
After James mentioned the lack of other Americans, the air grew heavy. The Reverend stepped in, his calm voice steadying the moment. "We did everything we could to keep Winterhome standing," the Reverend began, his eyes on the gathered survivors. "But after the riot and the captain's downfall, we barely had enough resources."
The Reverend took a deep breath, his expression heavy with the burden of past decisions. "We had to make choices no one should have to make," he began, voice steady yet sorrowful. "The children, the young—those who had the best chance—were given priority for the dreadnought. But for many of us, those who were older, injured, or weaker... we had to stay behind. It wasn't easy, but we prayed, hoping that somehow, they'd make it to safety."
He paused, glancing at the survivors around him. "Families were torn apart. Mothers and fathers stayed while their children sailed away. We did it because we had no choice—but that doesn't mean it was ever right. We've carried that weight every day since."
"Can we still get them back? Surely they haven't gone that far?" Jack asked, his voice laced with hope.
The Colonel and the Reverend shared a pained look before the colonel answered, "As the Reverend said, they left a few days ago. Wherever they are now, it's likely too far for you to catch up." He paused, his tone softening. "I'm sorry, son. We appreciate your concern."
The Reverend nodded solemnly. "It was the hardest decision of our lives, to decide who would stay and who would go. But we had to give them a chance—just as you gave us one by coming here."
Jack's shoulders slumped as the weight of the truth hit him, tears quietly spilling down his face. He had held it in for too long. His grief wasn't just for those lost but for the ones left behind, separated by fate. Brois did his best to comfort him.
Walter stood rigid, his face an unreadable mask. He didn't cry; instead, his fists clenched tighter, nails biting into his gloves, channeling his frustration and anger into silent defiance.
Walter blinked away the moisture welling in his eyes, refusing to let the tears fall. With a slow, deliberate motion, he slung his rifle over his back. There was no danger here. No fight to win, no enemy to fend off—just the crushing reality of separation and regret. They had pushed so hard, only to find they were too late to prevent what now seemed inevitable. The weight of what could have been sat heavily in the cold air.
They had made it to Winterhome, but neither Jack nor Walter had expected to face such a shattered city. The generator lay silent, the people broken, and the weight of survival pressed heavily on them. Even if they could somehow help, how would they get word back to New London? How would the others react when they heard the news?
Walter clenched his fists, a flicker of hope still lingering. Could they mend even a fraction of what was left?
/-/
A/N: So, in the original lore. The people of Winterhome succumbed to cannibalism to survive. But Jack and Walter made it just in time to stop them from doing so.
The mention of the Dreadnaught leaving and the rest being devastated to be separated caused another roaring issue with the survivors of Winterhome. Where would the rest of their people go? Well, I have a plan for them. But that's for another time.
The broken automaton and people gathering at the generator is based on the trailer as they are considered canon. The numbers I have used are based on my last playthrough of Winterhome.
Now, the main issue of the chapter was addressing the emotions going through the survivors of Winterhome. They have been through a lot and lost a lot more. Now I was sad that I had to write how they shifted their anger towards Jack and Walter, specifically Jack when he is completely innocent in the matter. So much so, that I was so close to forsaking the Winterhome survivors altogether.
Funny how my own writing would make me so angry. But this is needed, sad, but I can't just ignore it. And it helps make the story more impactful.
But anyways, the Colonel is my idea, the Reverend is from a reader. I decided that Winterhome was in command of these two. Which would make a new rewrite of my spin off story about the fall of Winterhome. Maybe it won't be a spin off and it will become a chapter in this story. For now, helping Winterhome is more important.
This is the longest chapter I have written because there were so many factors to address that I can't just leave it until the next chapter. For now the first contact is there, Not sure I did the scene justice with Jack and Walter walking through the devastation as in the game's art pieces.
As much as I had thought that it would have been similar to the cave and observatory event, Winterhome is a more complex situation. And knowing how significant it actually is in writing format, I can't just half-ass it. I had hoped that the delivery would be good.
I'm checking the new frostpunk. And I will say, there is so much potential for me if I am going to make a sequel to this one. With the new macroscale management, and new factions available. There is so much to work with.
But let's focus on this for now.
Thank you all so much for reading