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Heart of Ice

2024 by Zorha

Somewhere in Clear Creek County, CO

January 12, 1888

The despondent steam whistle of CCRR No. 30 screamed through the canyon, its echo muted by a heavy blanket of partially melted snow. Its cyclopean headlight tore a hole through the shroud of a blizzard that descended after mid-day. Despite its intensity, all the crew of CCRR No. 30 saw was the shimmer of a thousand icy flakes swirling within the shaft of light that now bore its way through the encroaching storm.

James Tucker flicked a worried look over to the locomotive's Engineer but the deafening strokes of the eccentric crank drowned out his concern.

“What?!" Arthur leaned away as the Fireman flung another shovel load of coal into the sweltering furnace. The portly Irishman wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his sleeve before checking a pressure gauge. It left a greasy smudge on his forehead. The distinctive Congdon stack of No. 30 continued to billow out gray smoke, consumed by the whiteout conditions around them.

“I said!" James leaned closer to the driver's ear, fighting to be heard over the chuga-chuga-chug of the engine. “We should have reached Idaho Springs by now!"

The Engineer pointedly ignored the Fireman's concerns. James had a knack for being brushed aside, and rarely fought it. Instead Arthur glared over to the stocky Mechanic leaning against one of the cabin's struts.

“We're losing pressure. The damned boiler is leaking again Mr. Álvarez!

“You worry too much mi Amigo." Juan just shook his head. The deep wrinkles of his face crinkled. Wind and sun had stolen the youth from his face. Always in a rush, these greenhorns.

He took his time and reached into an oil splotched shirt pocket hiding just under his wool lined coat before drawing out a half smashed cigar. The mechanic extracted a matchstick from the other shirt pocket before striking the tip against a rusted plate. He shielded the fledgling flame with the cup of his other hand before bringing it up to his lips. The clipped tip of the cigar blazed a bright orange cinder. Juan inhaled deeply before the frigid gale snatched his billowy hot exhale away.

These gringos and their complaints never ended. What were they expecting?

Juan didn't have access to precise Porter-Bell tools. The foundries this far west made due with what they had. The original 0-6-0 engine was just fifteen years old, but the harsh conditions of the Rocky Mountains consumed all. And it wasn't like CCRR had the bankroll to send the old girl back to Pennsylvania for a proper teardown.

Arthur continued to glower back. His fastidiously trimmed white beard bunched. Tensions rose in the exposed, open air cab. When Arthur finally realized he wouldn't get anything further from the Mexican he simply pulled out a shiny and meticulously maintained pocket watch. The blizzard around them swallowed up the soft click of the opening timepiece, as it had for everything else, and the Irishman frowned. He clicked it closed and slid it back into his work vest.

Arthur Morgan didn't want to admit that the lanky lad was right. They should have hit Idaho Springs 10 minutes ago. The Engineer had no reason to doubt his watch. He had every reason however, to doubt this fool's errand the Colorado Central Railroad tasked them with. It was supposed to be a simple haul of fresh mine supports and supplies up to the Morning Star Mine on this unseasonably sunny day. A quick drop off and pick up a load of silver ore, then a mad dash to drop it off up at the smelter at Black Hawk before nightfall.

Risky perhaps, but fortune had not been kind to the CCRR. It had been riding the line between Red and Black now for decades. The planned Newhouse Tunnel linking Idaho Springs and Black Hawk would have cut the journey by several hours.

The CCRR had hired Arthur to bring them back into the Black, and that was exactly what he was going to do …

The three swayed at a slight disjunction in the narrow gauge track. No. 30's drive rod strained at the deepening snow. Shards of ice howled around them despite the mountains on either side largely sheltering them from the worst of the blizzard. Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away on the open plains, hundreds of schoolchildren returning home found themselves lost in the unpredictable snowstorm that turned day into night. Some even froze to death just outside their doorsteps, visibility dropping to near zero.

Inside their bubble of light, steam, and blinding snow the three felt utterly alone. The occasional conifer passed by them on either side of the track. Other times as they crossed a trestle the yawning abyss of nothingness threatened to consume them. Equal parts monotony and terror slowly began to devour what little resolve they had left.

Without warning the track below them rang out with a resounding series of clangs. All three men lurched to one side as the train turned left abruptly. The two cars behind them loaded down with heavy oak supports and miscellaneous machinery banged about in fightful clatter. Unfortunately for young Mr. Tucker, the handle of his shovel wedged itself in the reversing controls. Steam screamed from the imperfect welds in the boiler as the pressure value came wide open. No. 30 pitched upward as the grade of the narrow gauge track went up an unseen incline.

“Damned fool!" The Engineer clawed himself upright. “Get off the controls!"

Arthur pulled James up by the material of his thick winter coat before prying out the shovel from the controls. He quickly shoved the reversing back to the midpoint. The groan of strained welds coming from the boiler in front of them eased, and the runaway locomotive began to lose steam. Given the track's grade, it would only take a quarter mile for No. 30 to come to a complete …

As Juan struggled upright, the thick leather soles of his boots squeaked on the steel plate of No. 30's deck. His brown eyes widened in shock at what they saw illuminated far down the snow covered track.

“BRAKES!!!" The mechanic screamed out.

On trained reflex Arthur threw a lever and engaged the direct steam brakes. Sparks erupted from No. 30's six wheels as they locked in place. They sizzled in the fresh white power blowing back from the cowcatcher. A deafening squeal of metal on metal pierced the air, but despite the upwards incline, No. 30 continued to grind forward.

James leaned out one of the cabin windows. Jagged shards of ice stung the waxy complexion of his exposed cheeks. His jaw slacked as the cone of No. 30's headlight glinted off something at the end of the track. It took his moment for his shocked mind to make out the exposed metal rungs of a stop block appearing out of the swirl of diamonds. Despite the train perceptibly slowing, it was too little, too late.

“Brace yourselves!" Arthur called out, stealing his arms against the inevitable impact. Juan fumbled around for something solid to hold on to. James tried to pull himself back into the cab, but between his usual lack of coordination and numb hands he was simply too slow. No. 30 smashed into the stop block with a terrible crash. There was a tortured sound of twisting metal, and everything went black …

* * * * *

Flakes flew across James' face. His distant hands throbbed. The Fireman's eyes fluttered open, but there was little to see but darkness. Through the ringing in his ears, a constant howl engulfed him. He tried to sit up, but instantly wretched. He turned just in time so that the acrid vomit hit the snowbank he found himself lying in.

* * * * *

Mr … Tucker …

James heard his name din out through the cotton filling his ears. Everything was pain. Everything was frozen. And all he wanted was to sink back into darkness. He distantly felt a firm hand slap his numb cheek.

“I say … Mr. Tucker … Wake up … damned you!"

James opened his bleary green eyes. Through the darkness he thought he saw the face of the Engineer, the curls of his distinctive beard lit up from a makeshift fire. James licked his swollen lips, now covered in a thin film of ice.

“Come Mr. Tucker. To the fire with you."

With much difficulty the Engineer dragged him through the thick snow to the nearby fire. Jame's groaned out as his ribs flared. It took a moment for him to realize Arthur had built the fire by the side of the engine. Despite its tilt and clear derailment, it at least provided some shelter from the icy gale. With much huffing, Arthur sat James upright in the huge hump of impacted snow. The Engineer rubbed the Fireman's hands in a pathetic attempt to prevent frostbite.

“Where's … Juan?" James turned his head from side to side, and instantly regretted it. His vision swam. The fire tilted crazily.

“Still out." Arthur grabbed Jame's head and with both thumbs peered down into his dilated pupil. It contracted as it focused on his face once again. “Well Mr. Tucker, at least you didn't hit your head as he did. Are you injured anywhere else?"

“My ribs …"

“Are they broken?" There was an uncomfortable silence between the two as James assessed himself.

“I can't … tell." The maelstrom around them shrieked as the wind picked up for a moment, then fell.

“Can you breathe?" A barely perceptible smile framed the Irishman's thick lips. His father, who crossed the Atlantic, would have said the lad was between hay and grass. Inexperienced, but earnest.

“It burns. But … yes …"

“Good. I'd say you banged on them quite right." Arthur patted the side James favored, which elicited a wince from the Fireman. “But you'll be in apple pie order soon enough, Mr. Tucker, assuming this damned storm doesn't get us first."

“Where are we?"

“I haven't the foggiest." Arthur fished about his vest pocket and took out his pocket watch. In the dim light of the small fire James saw the Engineer's face sag with small defeat at the massive crack in its glass face. “I don't even know what time it is."

“How bad is Old Thirty?" James' green eyes flickered up to the immobile hunk of black iron settled at an alarming angle above him. Small tendrils of steam leaked from her broken welds, snatched up by the cruel wind. It would take a few hours for the furnace to cool down. At least her boiler didn't explode.

“Not bad, all things considered. She's off the rails, and the cow catcher's mangled. The company will clean our plow for sure over this whole business. But at least we're alive. For now."

A weak groan came from the other side of the fire. They both looked over to the Mechanic, propped up against a small boulder.

“Dios mio …" Juan's shaky hand went up to his brow. In the weak light of the fire it came away slick with dark blood.

“Easy there." Arthur stepped over to keep the Mexican from getting up, his boots crunching in the thick crusty snow. The Mechanic pushed the Engineer to the side, pointing to the Fireman.

“Es culpa del maldito chico!"

Neither quite understood, but both got the gist. Instead of pushing the matter any farther, Juan fished about his winter coat pocket. He pulled out an engraved flask and brought it up to his lips. Arthur let Juan take a few more swigs before taking the flask from him with much consternation. The Engineer pulled out a handkerchief and soaked it in whisky before wiping away the mat of blood from the Mechanic's forehead with a hard wince.

Arthur was no doctor, and while he was certain that the gash needed stitching, the stark white bone of the man's skull didn't appear fractured. Hypothermia would kill them long before a brain bleed became an issue. Arthur let the other two rest while he considered their next moves.

James pulled his coat closer to himself as the wind reversed direction abruptly. It pierced through him, almost blowing out their small, hastily made fire.

He thought about his family in the Old States. Rather than breaking his back in the Pennsylvania foundries, he heard about the riches found in the hills out West. He promised he would bring back bags of gold to his sick Mother. When she died and the claims were already played out, he promised he'd bring back pouches of silver from the Midwest to his sisters. Now, it seemed like he would be the one dying. All for what? He traded the currency of youth for broken dreams. He had no friends, and what family remained lived halfway across the country.

He had always been a nobody, and would likely die a nobody.

The bitter wind reversed direction again. This time the small fire sputtered before blowing out completely. Darkness swallowed them again. The drop in temperature was immediate and unforgiving.

“We can't stay here." Mr. Morgan got to his feet with much effort. “To your feet, both of you."

“And where exactly are we going, viejo?" Juan sneered.

“Where there is a buffer stop there is the end of an intended destination. Somewhere, up there …" He pointed, shivering uncontrollably into the swirling nothingness. “... is something. A structure. Enough shelter to keep us alive until morning."

“And what if you are wrong? What if …" James started.

“Then we all die." The Irishman pointed back to each of them in turn. “Which is guaranteed if we stay here."

Juan and James looked at each, their faces lit up by the dying embers before them. They had no rational choice. They got up to their wobbly feet and followed Arthur up the hillside.

Between the sudden sharp incline and thick snow, the small band had to remain within a few feet of each other in the near whiteout conditions or risk losing sight of each other. They didn't make it far before a small pool of light appeared from out of the ice and snow. It brightened as it came closer, and from out of the storm a cloaked figure emerged.

“Iz there zomeone out here?" A voice, decidedly feminine with a heavy Old World accent, called out. The storm almost drowned out her words, but Arthur shouted back.

“Yes! Oh Lord, we thought we were alone!"

The three stumbled forward in the knee high drifts as the mysterious stranger pulled back their hood. A hooded lantern illuminated the emaciated features of her pale face. Despite her thin features and straight raven black hair, James found her unusual yellow eyes… captivating.

“Ve heard a crash." The woman offered, moving the lamp to inspect the disheveled three. “I came down to zee what the commotion vas."

“Our train derailed. We're lost. Can you help us?" Arthur pleaded. Her yellow eyes darted between them, assessing. James couldn't help but notice her gaze favored Arthur, and an unexpected pang of jealousy ripped through him.

“Ya. Follow me. Ve will have yu." There was an awkward pause, then realizing her words unsettled the three added, “For the night."

She spun, more graceful than expected in the frigid air, and moved towards a wall of fir farther up the mountainside. Her dark cloak rippled in the storm, but James couldn't help but feel something was off. The four forged ahead in silence despite the despondent howl all around them. It was slow going. Arthur struggled pushing his thick body through the drifts. Juan stumbled about; dizzy from his head injury and buffeted by gale force snow. James' lungs burned with pain and exhaustion, trailing behind.

Many times the strange shepherd would turn to make sure that her new flock hadn't lost her. Arthur and Juan followed the bobbing light before them as if mesmerized. James trailed too far behind to see the lantern, instead following the staggering tracks they left behind. And that's when James realized what it was that bothered him so.

There were only two sets of tracks.

He thought about saying something, anything, but before his numb lips could move they passed the rows of Douglas fir obscuring the small encampment from the railine's view. James couldn't get a good sense of how long the log cabins dotting the clearing had stood here with all the snow clinging to their bumpy outer walls. The edges of snow covered tarps flapped in the wind. But James couldn't quite make out if firewood or logging machinery sat under them.

The only thing he could definitely make out was a hazy bonfire at its encampment's center, obfuscated by the winter storm. He squinted at the ghostly white light and shielded his inquisitive gaze with a frostbitten hand. Tall figures, their outlines fuzzy in the bonfire's glow, danced back and forth. It must have been a trick of the light, but their limbs were impossibly thin, gangly even. Their unsettling forms cast long shadows around the clearing, darting about in almost primeval display.

For Ritual or Rite, James could not say.

The woman stopped in front of a few rustic cabins, pointing at each with an outstretched finger. James couldn't help but notice how long and incredibly sharp her nail looked in the soft glow of her lantern.

“Yu two. Each of yu vill take a cabin. I vill tell the others yu vill be taking von of the bunks for the night." Her claw drifted over to James, a pit of ice forming in his stomach. “Yu. The straggler. I vill tend to yu."

There was an edge of contempt to her words, but neither Arthur nor Juan read much into it. They simply nodded in appreciation like dumb cattle and disappeared into the cabins without saying anything. The woman turned to the last cabin at the end of the row and entered, waving James inside with mild impatience.

As soon as the cabin door closed behind them the storm seemed distant now; muted and fangless. James stood there awkwardly as she set the lantern on a crude wooden table and helped him to a rustic bed. Shadows played against the log walls, the simple room dotted with standard frontier trappings. Shards of ice pinged against the cabin's tiny shutters.

James was half surprised to see actual linen for its bedding. With surprising strength the thin woman delicately laid him down before fishing out an additional wool blanket from underneath the crude frame. James' eyes, heavy from cold and exhaustion, closed involuntarily as the heavy blanket pressed down on him …

* * * * *

James wasn't sure how long he had been out. Maybe an hour or more. The once constant howl of the storm died down, and it felt comparatively silent in the cabin now. The pling of ice against the shutters seemed somehow softer. Cloth ripped, and his green eyes fluttered open.

He was naked now, his shame half covered by the wool blanket. His gaze flicked down to the tight bandages wrapping around his shoulder to the right side of his narrow chest. James turned his head to the edge of the bed. His bound ribs ached, but they did not jostle about. The cloaked woman sat beside him. She had applied some type of salve to his hands and was in the process of wrapping his frostbite in makeshift bandages.

“Yu lay still, rest more." Her yellow eyes regarded him with cold apathy. She didn't look more than twenty. Aside from appearing malnourished, not a single blemish marred her porcelain skin.

“Where are we?" James stammered. His head flopped from side to side, groggy. A lingering nightmare faded, but he still could not shake its delirium. She touched his forehead with the back of her hand. He was not feverish. “How long before we reach the Morning Star Mine?"

“Lord Morningstar haz many mines." She remarked almost dismissively. James blinked away the cobwebs of dark dreams. For a moment he wondered if this eccentric Lord was the one who built Castle Eyrie in Idaho Springs with local gold and imported Chinese labor.

“Where are you from? You don't sound French."

“Ve … came from the Old World. From a country dat haz no King or Queen to depoze. Avay from the baying of Nationalist Dogs. Here, ve are all free. Dat iz all yu need to know."

“Can I at least know your name?" She regarded him, letting her long nails drag down the side of his face. The look on her face was hard to read.

“Karoline." Her mild annoyance melded into one of tempered curiosity. A long minute passed wordlessly between them.

James' stomach growled. He felt ashamed at the sudden bodily noise. The last time he ate breakfast was back in Denver. His crew had skipped lunch, hoping to make it to Idaho Springs before the weather turned. Her claws drifted down his lanky frame to feel the empty, quivering stomach. Her emaciated face turned from curiosity to one of commiseration.

“Yu hunger, no?"

“Truth be told, I'm famished."

“Vhat vould you … vant?"

“Anything. I'd eat a whole horse if you offered it."

She smiled, pointed canines dropping from just under her top, thin lip. Karoline got up and went to a cupboard before pulling down an ornate tin. Only then did James realize he could see her bare feet move under the hem of her cloak. His own clothes were draped across the simple table to dry. His own fur lined boots sat underneath, but nowhere did he see any other footwear in the cabin.

When Karoline returned to him she delicately placed a morsel of dried meat in his mouth. James chewed the morsel in contemplation. It had the consistency of beef, yet tasted like bitter pork. He found it odd that the cook chose not to spice it with salt or smoke it with sage. He swallowed, savoring the flesh dropping into the yawning abyss of his stomach.

“Yu like?" Her claws hovered at the opened tin, twitching in anticipation of his next words.

“Yes … Please! More Maam!" Another bite of the savory meat passed his dry lips, and without chewing, James swallowed the piece ravenously. When his green eyes looked up, pleading, one corner of her thin lips curled in a presumptuous smile. She turned the open tin towards him.

All gone.

“Do you have more?" James swallowed empty air. His stomach somehow felt emptier now more than it ever had before.

“Ve do not have much here." Her yellow eyes hardened. “But what ve do have, each of us workz for. For the good of the vhole. It is zimple life here."

“You mean like what they do in Union City?"

“Zomething like dat." Her yellow stare intensified. James could feel himself grow small as he drowned in her gaze. Insignificant. She ran her claws over his thin frame. “Do yu vant to join uz. To be vith, me?"

Somewhere in the far away part of James that still processed logic, he mused about what he could return back to. He was certain that CCRR would blacklist him for negligence on No 30. And while he felt a kinship with Arthur on occasion, it wasn't like they had spent time outside their shifts together. James thought back to his sisters out East, and realized that they had not written to him in some years.

He had no reason to say no, every reason to stay.

Despite his extreme exhaustion, he felt a craving build in his flesh that no whorehouse in Cripple Creek could satisfy. His bandaged hand came up, reaching inside the cloak. He squeezed the small lump of her breast, and absently realized she had been naked under her cloak the whole time.

That didn't make a lot of sense, now that he thought about it, but instead of admonishing James for his brazen move Karoline simply arched her back at his touch. Instead her shoulders rolled with a lusty moan; the cloak sliding off her scrawny body to pool on the floor. Now that he could take full view of her, the bones of her hips and ribs pressed grimly against her snow-touched skin. Karoline's breasts were small and sagged, missing the fullness of fat reserves.

Despite all this, James felt his loins burn for her.

She pulled away his wool blanket and sat astride of him, leaning forward to lock her thin lips with his. While his body throbbed with heat, her body felt clammy against his skin. Her claws scraped gently down his wrapped chest. James devoured her kiss, wanting more. His hunger for this obscene coupling could not be quenched, There was a very very tiny part of him that wondered how they had gotten from point A to point B. An hour ago she was a complete stranger.

“Yes …. “ He panted out. Their tongues danced. He found it hard to breathe. “Yes … I want to be with you. I … give my flesh to you … willingly."

Her flat ass scooted backwards, one of her bony hands reached between them to position his hard member, and in one fluid motion he was inside her. Karoline leaned back, breaking the sultry kiss. She arched her hips back and forth, hard barks escaping her rapacious maw now. Thin lips tightened around her bony jawline, revealing razor sharp teeth. Her thrusts became wild without buildup, and despite the carnal delirium, Jame's bruised ribs exploded in bright hot pain.

Karoline's gaunt formed bucked against Jame's body in desperate need that would never be quenched. Both sets of her claws dug suddenly into his shoulders, small welts of blood pooling up from the wounds there. James screamed, and much like No. 30, this savage coitus came off the rails with little to no warning.

Karoline devoured it all. His seed. His lust. His terror.

And when she had her fill of him, the shambler climbed off and made a glutenous sway to the shutter that faced the bonfire. Karoline opened it, and bitter flakes swept through. On the bed, the emaciated form of the human once known as James Tucker wheezed. His flesh sagged on his bones. Yellowing eyes darted about in sunken orbits, confused.

But the most horrible part came when the shriveled cartilage of his nose sniffed at the savory smell coming from the bonfire. It reeked of broken marrow and burning fat. Karoline smiled back at him, his new Windigo bride beckoning. And the James thing pulled itself up, shambling off the bed and following her through the cabin door to the encampment's clearing. His bandages sloughed off his shrunken withered flesh, whipping back and forth in the blowing remnants of the receding winter storm.

The new addition to the secluded sect did not feel the bite of winter in his naked flesh.

The rest of the village pranced around the dying fire, their own howls replacing the storm's dark calls. Freshly rent flesh sizzled on spits before the open flames. Predatory eyeshine flickered around the feast. Two piles of shredded work attire lay in the blood soaked snowpack. And within the coils of intestines lay two personal effects: A pocket watch and a drinking flask.

Drawn by the delicious scents, the ravenous creature stooped before the still steaming remains. Its claws thrust into the greasy coils of intestines before stuffing them into his maw. Despite being a nobody, James Tucker had become something … special.

The Fireman with a Heart of Ice.

~ FIN ~