Chapter 8 The Gathering Chill

• Year 0, Two Months Before the Freeze
• The days were growing colder in Tayawan. Not a comfortable chill, but a creeping, unnatural sort of cold—the kind that slipped through clothes and hung in the air like an unspoken warning. For a city built under the sun, where humidity was once the enemy, this was no minor shift. It stirred something in Lucy’s bones every time she stepped out of her fortified home. A whisper in the wind, like a prophecy repeating itself.
• No one said it outright. Not yet.
• But she heard it.
• “Have you noticed how cold the mornings are lately?” an elderly vendor muttered one morning as Lucy passed the market, her hood drawn tight.
• “Cold? This is nothing. Remember the dry gusts five years back?” his neighbor replied, brushing it off.
• “Still… doesn’t feel right.”
• Lucy kept walking, her expression unreadable, though inside, her pulse quickened.
• Her university lectures continued, but the classrooms were quieter than ever. Many students had already returned to their provinces. Those who remained clung to routine, though their conversations betrayed uncertainty.
• One afternoon, as she waited for a class to begin, Lucy overheard two students speaking in low voices behind her.
• “Did you see the ice crystals on the metal fence this morning?”
• “You’re imagining it.”
• “No, really. I scraped frost off my bike seat. Frost. In Tayawan.”
• “It’s just the elevation. Cold gust from the Northern Isles.”
• Excuses, always. Lucy didn’t correct them. She just gathered her notes, kept her head down, and went on.
• Finals were drawing closer, but professors had begun hinting at schedule adjustments. A few classes were merged. Some lectures turned into recorded briefings. The head of her department even mentioned a possibility of early closure “due to shifting weather conditions.”
• Lucy understood the coded language. She’d already taken screenshots of her grades, downloaded every lesson she needed. She would not be returning next term. She doubted there’d even be a university left when the Freeze finally came.
• Back at her house, the walls were silent. Outside, there were always sounds—motors, kids shouting, the clatter of delivery carts—but inside, it was a different world. Insulated walls and sound-dampening panels reduced everything to a quiet hum. The reinforced windows kept light in but reflections out, hiding the life she was building within.
• On a folding table near her living room, spools of synthetic thread and thick fabric were spread out beside a heavy-duty sewing machine. Lucy had started practicing how to repair winter gear—jackets, gloves, boots, even thermal socks. She had more than enough stockpiled to last several lifetimes, but experience told her that nothing lasted forever. If something tore, she needed to know how to fix it herself.She worked in short, focused sessions, following step-by-step video guides she downloaded from video platforms—each one voiced in calm narration, showing how to layer seams, attach thermal patches, reinforce weak joints.
• Lately, she’d added entertainment to her growing library of content. Tv dramas from distant empires, animated stories with strange heroes, movies on various genre. She stored thousands of digital books—illustrated epics, manuals on survival and healing, fantasy, history, and strategies—all designed to transport her mind to somewhere beyond the cold.
• These weren’t just distractions. They were preparation of another kind. Anchors to keep her sane when the outside world became unrecognizable.
• Even the machines she kept—her tablets, comm-devices, communication recorders, and old model computing cores—were cataloged and reviewed. She downloaded repair guides for each, stored alongside videos teaching her how to manage basic household repairs: a broken water valve, a stuck thermal vent, even how to dismantle and rewire her compact heater in case it overloaded.
• There could be no weakness in her knowledge. Not if she wanted to survive what was coming.
• Then came the last delivery.
• She’d given Kara the details over a secure drop point—encrypted, fictional invoices, obscure descriptions, fragmented location data. Just enough to give them something to work with, but not enough to raise alarms.
• Kara had messaged first: “This one’s a bit much. You sure you want it routed direct?”
• Lucy’s reply was brief: “Yes. I’ll handle the offload myself.”
• When the truck arrived, it was just after dusk. The sky was bruised purple, and frost clung to the pavement despite the absence of rain. Lucy was already in the driveway, the outer gate open just enough for the heavy cargo vehicle to back in.
• Kara stepped down from the cab, followed by her partner, Elias. His brow was furrowed.
• “You order an ice transport convoy without telling us?” Kara joked as she surveyed the contents.
• The back of the truck was loaded with two boxy, armored vehicles—small in size but built like tanks. Matte grey, sloped roofs, and reinforced tires made for navigating icy terrain. What made them stranger were the modifications: solar conversion ports, hidden power cells, reinforced underside plating, and internal insulation. Military-grade glass and bodywork disguised beneath unassuming matte paint.
• “I didn’t know there was a market for winterproof vehicles around here,” Elias said, pacing around one of them with narrowed eyes. “Where do you even plan on driving this?”
• “Mountain passes,” Lucy said lightly, not breaking her stride as she stepped onto the loading ramp. “I heard they get tricky.”
• Kara raised a brow. “You’re planning on taking weekend trips now?”
• Lucy smiled, disarming. “Something like that.”
• With a mechanical winch and practiced coordination, Lucy unloaded both vehicles herself, backing them into her driveway before sealing the gate shut behind them. Kara and Elias didn’t ask further. But their expressions spoke volumes. They were observant, especially Elias, who lingered near one of the battery ports as if trying to make sense of its structure.
• Inside, Lucy had already cleared space for the new arrivals. The garage floor was reinforced to hold their weight. Solar-powered generators lined the back wall—modest in size, disguised behind storage crates and folded tarps. She’d wired them for the vehicles specifically. These wouldn’t run on fuel. She refused to rely on anything she couldn’t guarantee would last.
• By the time Kara and Elias finished their paperwork, Lucy handed them their payment in sealed envelopes, as always. They hesitated before leaving.
• “You sure you don’t want help setting this up?” Elias asked.
• “No need. I like to work alone.”
• A pause.
• “You’re good at it,” Kara admitted. “Still, this kind of thing… not everyone’s got the money or patience.”
• Lucy gave a half-smile. “I’ve had time to think about what matters.”
• They didn’t argue.
• After they left, Lucy returned inside and shut the world out. She leaned against the door, her breath visible in the indoor chill. Her body was tired, but her mind continued spinning. The delivery had gone smoothly, but the looks on Kara and Elias’s faces told her that time was running short. Sooner or later, people would begin asking real questions.
• Upstairs, she checked her rooftop systems. The water tank was nearing full capacity, standing tall and resolute against the darkening sky.
• Each day now was colder. Not in waves, but in degrees—small, consistent. The early morning frost was no longer a fluke. Radio reports buzzed through her neighbors' homes with quiet concern.
• “...temperatures in the southern ridge show a steady drop of five degrees since last cycle...”
• “...experts believe this is part of an atmospheric anomaly…”
• No one called it what it was. Not yet. But Lucy knew. She’d seen it. Felt it. The Freeze was coming.
• And she was nearly ready.
• In the stillness of her living room, with the lights brightly lit, Lucy pulled her sewing kit close and resumed stitching the torn lining of a thermal glove. Her hands worked automatically now, guided by the hours of practice and the deep, gnawing need for control.
• Outside, cold air touched every metal edge and windowpane. The sky had darkened to slate, and the stars above Tayawan looked sharper than ever—like glass about to shatter.
• She didn’t know what the world would look like when the Freeze came.
• But she knew she would be ready.