The Cold Returns: My Countdown to Doomsday
Ice, bone-deep ice.
His last sensations were the dull thud of his back smashing into ice shards as he was shoved into the frozen abyss, and the filthy slush, tasting of rust and dust, flooding his mouth and freezing his breath. The sneers of his fellow humans and the howls of mutated beasts in the distance were the last sounds he heard in that world.
It shouldn’t have ended this way.
Three years of struggling, licking his wounds like a stray dog, had earned him only two choices: sell his dignity for half a synthetic biscuit in some stinking underground shelter, or search endlessly through blizzards for a scrap of fuel. He had trusted people and been betrayed. He had once had a “home” no bigger than a palm, only to see it crushed by even greater violence. He hadn’t died in some grand sacrifice or epic final battle. Like a piece of trash, he had been casually tossed into an abandoned ventilation shaft by people even more despicable than himself, just so they could save a few breaths of oxygen.
His consciousness sank into endless darkness and freezing cold.
Then
A dry, stiflingly hot draft, carrying the fading scent of cheap lemon car air freshener, rushed into his nostrils.
The soft leather seat cradled his back. The air-conditioning vent hissed faintly. Outside the window, the lazy afternoon sunlight seemed almost motionless, filtering through the leaves and casting shifting patches of light across the steering wheel. On the car radio, a female host with a sweet, unruffled voice reported on fluctuations in international oil prices and celebrity gossip.
Gao Han’s eyes flew open.
His pupils contracted sharply, then slowly refocused. Stiffly, inch by inch, he turned to look at the phone lying on the passenger seat.
