Capítulo 7: The night comes
When Shaun first decided to descend the hill, it was around 3 PM. With only three hours until sundown, he figured it was smarter to plan and start fresh the next day. However, by the time he finished inventorying the house and testing his newly acquired skills, it was already 8 PM. Yet, strangely, the sun was still hanging high in the sky.
"Great. Not only am I in some weird apocalypse, but the sun also forgot how to set," Shaun muttered, rubbing his eyes as if that would change the odd reality.
Confused but pragmatic, Shaun moved into the kitchen to assess his supplies. As a guest, the food left by the owners was technically off-limits, but given the circumstances, he figured it was best to let that slide. He rummaged through the cabinets, finding only a few days' worth of instant noodles, two loaves of bread, and a defrosted bag of beans and nuggets, once frozen before the power cut out.
Surveying the kitchen, Shaun's eyes landed on a barbecue set up outside. He made a mental note to check it out. Outside, he found a small stash of charcoal, a lighter, and some lighter fluid—a potential goldmine in this situation. Deciding to conserve the charcoal for emergencies, he opted to use it sparingly, instead gathering dried leaves and branches from the yard to fuel his fire.
Returning to the kitchen, Shaun crafted a makeshift stove by propping an old grill grate over the fire pit. With the basics in place, he set a pot on the grill and dumped the soggy beans inside. As the pot began to warm up, Shaun allowed himself a moment of grim satisfaction. This was far from gourmet, but it would do.
Once the pot began to smoke slightly, he took his first bite. "Bleh," he grimaced, but continued to eat. The taste was awful, but the warmth of the meal brought a strange comfort, a reminder that he could still fend for himself in this mess. As he ate, tears welled up in his eyes, a mix of emotions bubbling to the surface. The beans were terrible, but they evoked memories of better times—barbecues with friends, laughter, and a sense of normalcy that felt a world away now, despite being only hours apart.
"I'll get it back," Shaun whispered, staring into the flames as he spooned another mouthful into his mouth, tears and snot streaming down his face in an oddly comedic display of emotion.
After finishing the meager meal, Shaun noticed it was now midnight. With a full belly and a plan forming in his mind, he set to work. He decided to make the house more livable—fortifying it against the growing cold and any other dangers that might lurk in the night.
As midnight deepened, Shaun noticed a sharp drop in temperature, far beyond what he expected. What had been a cool evening had suddenly plummeted to a bone-chilling cold, the kind that sinks into your bones and refuses to leave. The wind began to howl outside, a mournful wail that seemed to seep through every crack and crevice in the house. The walls groaned in response, the old wood protesting under the strain of the sudden cold. The air inside the house felt thinner, like it was being squeezed of all warmth by the encroaching night. He could see his breath in the air, small puffs of mist that evaporated almost instantly in the freezing atmosphere.
"Dammit, who left the fridge running," Shaun muttered, his voice trembling as much from fear as from the cold.
His first priority was to block the larger holes in the house with furniture—shelves, wardrobes, and anything else that could serve as a barrier. But as he worked, it became clear that there were too many gaps to cover completely. The house itself had been partially destroyed, with sections of it looking as though they had been sheared off by some immense force, leaving gaping wounds in the structure. Every gust of wind sent shivers down his spine, as it found new ways to snake through the smallest of cracks, carrying with it the sharp scent of ice and the promise of a long, unforgiving night.
He started with the room he was using, choosing it because it seemed the most intact. Shaun dragged furniture to cover the window, stacking clothes and blankets in the gaps to insulate the room. The sound of fabric being stuffed into crevices echoed eerily in the otherwise silent house. He even pushed a heavy wardrobe against the largest crack, stuffing it with extra blankets and clothes to create a makeshift insulation layer. When that was done, he turned his attention to the door.
Realizing the door was a weak point, Shaun emptied a cupboard and pushed it in front of the door as an additional barricade. He broke the backboard of the cupboard, creating a small entry point he could use while still keeping the door blocked. He draped clothes over this makeshift entrance, not just to keep the cold out but also to hide his room from prying eyes—whether human or otherwise.
As he worked, the temperature continued to drop. By 2 AM, it had plunged to a brutal 3 degrees Celsius, and Shaun could feel the cold creeping through his makeshift defenses. His fingers were stiff and numb, making it harder to tie knots or push furniture into place. His breath came in ragged gasps, the air so cold that it felt like shards of glass slicing through his lungs. The walls creaked and groaned as the wind outside picked up, battering the house like a relentless beast trying to claw its way in.
Shaun realized he was in real danger. The cold was no longer just uncomfortable—it was life-threatening. Hypothermia could set in within hours if he didn't find a way to stay warm. He needed to generate heat, and fast.
He scoured the house for anything that could help. In a closet, he found an old space heater, but without electricity, it was useless. Shaun cursed under his breath, then turned his attention back to the fire pit. He gathered every scrap of paper, wood, and fabric he could find—anything that could burn. The small fire he had started earlier was now his lifeline.
Shaun managed to coax the fire back to life, feeding it constantly to keep the flames high and strong. The warmth from the fire provided some relief, but it wasn't enough. The cold was relentless, gnawing at him from every direction. The wind outside seemed to grow angrier, howling louder as the night deepened, its icy fingers prying at the makeshift barriers Shaun had built.
Realizing he needed to conserve body heat, Shaun wrapped himself in layers of clothing and blankets, creating a cocoon around himself. He pulled out some of his friends' luggage, rifling through it for more clothes to add to his makeshift insulation. The layers helped, but the cold still found ways to sneak in, like icy fingers brushing against his skin. The frost on the walls had thickened, spreading like a creeping disease, encasing everything in a thin, crystalline layer. Each time Shaun brushed against the walls or furniture, the frost crunched under his touch, a reminder of just how perilous the situation had become.
Shaun knew he couldn't just sit there. He needed to stay active, to keep his blood circulating. He began a routine of push-ups, sit-ups, and jumping jacks, using the physical activity to generate warmth. But the cold was relentless, gnawing at him from every direction. His muscles ached, his joints stiffened, but he pushed on, driven by the fear that if he stopped, the cold would claim him.
As the temperature continued to drop, Shaun switched to charging his "Wrap Trap" skill. The process required intense focus and drained his energy, but the small warmth it generated in his body was enough to keep the cold at bay for a while. He repeated the process over and over, feeling the faint heat spread through his limbs, but it was a fleeting warmth, quickly overtaken by the biting cold.
The cold, however, wasn't just outside—it was invading the very air he breathed. By 4 AM, the temperature had dropped to nearly freezing, and the moisture in the air began to crystallize, forming a thin layer of frost on the walls and furniture. Shaun's breath came in short, painful bursts, his lungs burning with every inhale. The frost on the windows had thickened to the point where he could no longer see out, turning the glass into a solid, opaque sheet of ice.
"If this keeps up, I'll freeze to death before I even have a chance to fight anything," Shaun thought grimly. He had to keep moving, had to stay warm.
In the early hours of the morning, the temperature dipped even lower, nearing the freezing point. Shaun's teeth chattered uncontrollably, and his hands were so cold they felt like they belonged to someone else. His body was shaking violently, a last-ditch effort by his muscles to generate heat.
Despite his exhaustion, Shaun forced himself to continue. He couldn't afford to rest, not yet. He needed to be stronger, faster, and more resilient. The world had changed, and if he didn't change with it, he wouldn't survive. He doubled down on his training, pushing his body to its limits. Every movement was agony, every breath a struggle, but he refused to give in.
By the time the 20th hour of the night rolled around, Shaun was nearing his breaking point. The fire had burned low, and despite his efforts, the cold was winning. His vision blurred, and his thoughts became sluggish, but he knew he couldn't stop. If he fell asleep now, he might not wake up.
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