The power plant loomed like a slumbering metal giant, its endless corridors stuffed with new machinery and tangled piping. An old door groaned as it swung open, revealing the facility's heart: a vast chamber dominated by towering machines, their cold metal veins snaking across walls and ceilings.

In the silent control room, Scarlett sank into a surprisingly cushy chair, her legs curled beneath it. She idly popped pieces of canned pineapple into her mouth, savouring the rare sweetness.

The control room itself was a wide, white-walled box crammed with dead screens, silent buttons and lifeless switches. Nothing worked—except for a grimly plastic panel embedded in the wall, offering a smudged, hazy view of the machinery below.

Scarlett leaned back, savouring the rare silence that settled over the facility. It didn't last. Across the room, Preston was watching her—wide-eyed, expectant—like a dog waiting for a treat.

"You aren't getting any," Scarlett said flatly.

"Just one piece?" Preston pleaded.

She shot him a warning look, lips curling into a sly smirk. "Keep begging, and I'll tell Greyson you were peeping at me again."

Greyson, James, and Luke had all gone below to check if the dam broke—whatever that was. Scarlett didn't pretend to understand; she knew it sounded like work.

Andrew slouched in the corner, half-asleep, while Henry and Stick had gone back to the SUV to keep watch.

A faint flicker of light deep within the machinery caught Scarlett's eye. She stood and headed toward the narrow metal stairs, following the direction where Greyson had gone earlier.

When she reached the bottom, Greyson, Luke and James were already done there near the base of the turbine.

"The turbine's dead and the intake pipe froze solid," James explained, rubbing his gloved hands together. "No water, no power, no heat. Everything upstream has iced over."

"Good luck breaking that ice," Scarlett said dryly.

"If we get to the powerhouse, we'll have access the generator," James said, glancing toward the maze of pipes and rusted valves.

Scarlett wasn't a science expert, but she understood enough about heat to know the plan might  actually work.

"That's where you were earlier," James added, pointing to the massive white turbine. "It feeds the generator. The ice is blocking the intake pipe—until we clear it, there's no hydro power."

"Breaking ice? Easy," Luke snarled, flexing his noodle arm.

Greyson shot him a hard look. "Focus on the pipe first," he snapped, eyes narrowing.

They followed Greyson's lead until he stopped abruptly before a golden pipe embedded in the floor.

"If we hit this wrong, we'll crack the intake line," James warned. "That would let the reservoir water rush straight in and floor the place."

"We need a way to reach the ice layer without touching the pipe," Greyson said. "The ice is right beneath the floor plates—we break through that, we can clear the blockage."

James frowned. "But if the pipe breaks, we'll lose hydro even after the storm ends."

"Split up. Find something useful," Greyson ordered sharply.

Luke grinned and took off, ignoring the warning. Preston had turned invisible, while Andrew staggered over to look. James seemed uneasy but went to search as Scarlett stood near Greyson, who grabbed some pineapple from the can.

"We don't have to do it this way," Scarlett said. "James might know a better method."

"No, this should work," Greyson remarked, grabbing another piece of pineapple and locking eyes with her.

The air inside the building smelled of burnt metal and dust, the dim light barely cutting through shadows. The ceiling stretched high above them, a cavernous space dominated by the turbine. Every footstep echoed, and the sound of scraping metal punctured the silence.

"And what if it doesn't?" she asked with a smirk.

"It will work," Greyson repeated firmly, switching off the flashlight.

Greyson switched off the flashlight, and sudden darkness swallowed the room. Silence settled, and then Scarlett felt his warm lips press against hers. She knew it was him; he'd been kissing her more often lately. She leaned into him, but the moment shattered with a piercing scream echoing through the darkness.

Greyson flicked the light back on, his voice sharp with irritation. "What?" he demanded, scanning the room with the beam.

"Something hit my arm!" Andrew's voice whimpered.

They turned toward the sound, and Greyson's flashlight landed on Andrew, who had a large pipe resting awkwardly on his shoulder.

"I found this and went to grab it, but it fell," Andrew moaned.

Greyson lifted the pipe with an invisible hand, the flashlight steady in the other hand. "This might work," he muttered.

He raised the large pipe above his head and brought it down with a resounding clang. The sound reverberated through the chamber, but the ice remained intact.

Scarlett watched as he repeated the same motion, only managing to leave a dent in the flooring. In the dim light, she spotted Luke carrying some type of bulky machinery with his noodle arm, his grin wide.

"I found a drill," Luke gloated, his grin stretching wide as he stared down at the cement flooring, clearly pleased with himself.

"That noodle arm will probably misfire," Scarlett snarled.

Luke glared hard at her, his noodle arm twitching with barely controlled menace.

Scarlett hated that he had gained that new arm. Some kid had done something wrong, and the kid nearly died after five minutes of being whipped by Luke's noodle arm.

"Give it to me," Greyson snapped, shoving the drill onto the floor before trying to power it into the ice.

"We'll be here for hours, and I'm not in the mood to freeze to death," Scarlett remarked, her voice dry.

"You do the drilling while I slam the pipe down on the cracked area," Greyson ordered, shoving the drill into Luke's hand.

Luke obeyed, taking the drill as Greyson raised the pipe with invisible force and slammed it down with a deafening clash.

Scarlett felt she had entered a workshop, and she was the buyer. Just staring at this attempt bored her, but she wanted heat. She was sick of wearing this snowsuit, along with seeing her breath when she blew out air.

"Look," Greyson said.

James returned empty-handed, his gaze falling on the hole that Greyson had made. Below, the ice was clearly visible, its surface marred by deep cracks.

"If we reach the main chunk and break it, the flow returns. The generator should kick back on," Greyson said, eyes locked on James.

James rushed to check his computer, but it died. "It's gone!" he panicked.

Scarlett knew the cold would drain battery from her phone, just as it was draining the flashlight's power. Soon, they'd be left in darkness, stranded until someone stumbled upon them.

"We're moving faster than I thought," Greyson said.

"We still have to..." James started, his voice trailing off as he glanced at the hole.

"Do we break the ice?" Greyson asked, his gaze locking on James, waiting for an answer.

"If the ice shatters unevenly, water could punch straight through the floor," James said. "Anyone down here could get swept."

Scarlett stared down at the exposed layer. The ice didn't look like a simple blockage anymore—it was a sheet, spreading underneath the entire turbine room like a frozen lake.

"Okay, we'll do it," Greyson confirmed, turning to her. "Scarlett, Preston, and Andrew get to the high ground."

"What?" Luke snapped. "Why does she get special treatment?"

Greyson glared hard at Luke, but she already knew the answer. He didn't give a shit if Luke got injured or killed during this attempt, especially because of the noodle arm. She knew that Luke could hit her if given the opportunity.

"Because I'm not a dumbass," she said, arching an eyebrow.

She climbed back into the control room and flopped back into one of the comfy spinning chairs. From her vantage point away, she crossed her arms and watched. Being in the control room was a better option, anyway.

The sound of slamming echoed up as they began chipping away at the ice. Scarlett wasn't concerned about getting it started—she knew Greyson would make sure it worked somehow.

Hanna had no idea what she was getting herself into when she agreed to help at the infirmary. Zane had mentioned it casually, as if it were just a place to treat minor complaints—headaches, stomachaches, the usual. She had thought it would be easy.

She couldn't have been more wrong.

It wasn't COVID—but it might as well have been. Some patients coughed up blood, others vomited uncontrollable, and a few were so weak they could barely lift themselves into a sitting up.

Hanna had seen the stories about nurses burning out during the pandemic, but she never imagined she'd find herself in the middle of something like this.

She crouched down in front of a young girl, gently dabbing her forehead with a wet tissue. The young girl's skin was burning hot, yet just a few feet away, another patient trembled under a thin blanket. The contrast was unsettling.

They had some help clearing the vomit buckets, but it didn't seem to make much a difference. Sometimes, Hanna swore the vomit froze the moment they carried it outside.

Emma moved through the room, her hands trembling despite her best efforts. Each healing touch seemed to cost her a piece of herself; her composure frayed with every groan and cough. The faint smile she had worn vanished, replaced by tears streaking her pale cheeks.

"Another one's gone," Emma murmured.

Hanna glanced over as she gently lifted the lifeless child into her arms. Her step were slow as she carried the body upstairs. At the top stood Conner, her brother. He'd been helping when needed, but he mostly lingered, wearing a sour expression. He took the body from her arms and carried it outside to be buried in the snow.

It wasn't just Conner helping, though. A few other boys—Mark and Xander included—pitched in when they could. They brought food, but in small portions. Water had become scarce, but they still had two large bottles they could ration out into small cups.

At the top of the stairs, Hanna peered through a crack in the heavy church door. Snow piled high in thick drifts. It felt like a snow day, except there was nothing but white.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and Zane stepped in. "How many?" he asked.

Hanna sighed, her shoulders heavy with exhaustion. "Six."

She walked back down the stairs to find Emma slumped at the edge of a cot, her head resting on her arms. She looked utterly exhausted—hair tangled, face pale. Emma had been working nonstop for hours, shifting from one patient to the next without break.

"Emma," Hanna said softly. "You need a break."

"I don't have time for breaks," Emma muttered, pushing herself up and wiping her eyes. She sat behind a girl, one hand on her chest, but her head hung low.

Surprisingly, Hanna didn't spiral—she had always been calm under pressure. But the unease lingered, coiling tightly in her chest.

Some of the students from Uden Academy unsettled her. A few were kind, but others whispered like shadows, their voices slick and half-hidden. She hated the thought of relying on strangers, but there was no choice.

"Bucket time," Yara announced, grabbing the vomit buckets and hobbling toward the stairs. The oversized snowsuit made each step a struggle. "Have any if them healed?"

"No," Emma mumbled.

The illness always ended in death. In its final moments, some patients coughed up body pieces of their own bodies.

Could they cure this? Maybe—but how do you stop someone from literally coughing up their insides?

"Make sure everyone wears a scarf. A face mask might help too," Hanna suggested.

Covering the mouth could help prevent inhaling this illness. Breathing it in seemed to be the trigger—it was how the virus spread. Is this what it felt like for nurses during a pandemic?

Hanna glanced up at the stairs. The church above loomed, silent and empty. Shadows swallowed the hallways, broken only by a flickering candle on a long pew. She paused, listening. The quiet pressed on her, almost deafening after the chaos below.

People had started lighting candles in their homes, but in the infirmary, they relied on battery-powered ones. Hanna had always feared someone would knock one over and set the who place on fire.

Hanna turned to go back into the infirmary, where Emma still moving slowly from person to person, healing with a touch of a hand. Whether it was soothing a cough or mending grotesque burns. Not everyone had burns, but one person had them on their tongue—a sight that made Emma vomit.

At first, Hanna had feared she had caught the illness, but she quickly realized it was just Emma's weak stomach.

One of the boys, the one with a bone sticking out of his arm, sometimes helped them figure out medication. Emma told him that he shouldn't because he'd end up completely naked.

"Did any die when I was gone?" Hanna asked.

Emma shook her head, her movements slow and shaky. She took a wobbly step toward another child before collapsing onto the floor with a soft thud.

Hanna spun around to find Emma collapsed on the floor, unconscious. She rushed over, kneeling beside her and pressing a hand to Emma's forehead. It was warm—a fever, yes, but not dangerously high. Moving her could risk catching the virus herself.

When did they come back for the vomit buckets?

Hanna stood, grabbed Emma's hands, and dragged her across the floor, settling her between the two cots. People had said Emma sometimes fell asleep on the floor from exhaustion.

Hearing footsteps, Hanna seized the opportunity. She jumped to her feet, glancing over at Mark.

"I need help!" Hanna called out.

Mark scanned the infirmary, glancing from one patient to another. "I'm not good with meds," he admitted.

Hanna shook her head, pointing at Emma. "Get her out of here. Find a place for her to rest. She needs a break," she ordered.

Mark navigated his way around the coughing and vomiting people, lifting Emma gently into his arms. Hanna grabbed a scarf, wrapping it tightly around Emma's face before bundling her in winter gear.

"Can you manage?" Mark asked, his tone uncertain.

"Hopefully," Hanna replied.

As Mark disappeared with Emma, Hanna's mind wandered to her own dreams. She had always wanted to be a nurse, to help people who need, just like her mother did.

Hanna's fingers skimmed the bottles until she found the cough syrup. She poured a small dose in a cup, hoping it would offer some relief. Life had been a whirlwind, and the weight of it all was finally starting to press down on her.

She and Conner had always been close, homeschooled together and raised by their mother, who worked tirelessly to provide for them. When things got tough, their aunt Cora had stepped in to help, but now, being surrounded by strangers, everything felt out of place.

"Hanna, I need water," someone moaned.

Emma wouldn't be back for at least a day. She had those strange powers Connor had—though she was a healer. Now, with the epidemic spreading, it was just the two of them, struggling to to heal the growing number of people coughing and vomiting.

"Jason, we're stuck in the snow." Jade sighed, arms crossed tightly against the cold as she stared through the windshield, watching the whiteout swallow the road ahead.

Jason slammed his foot on the gas, but the tires only spun uselessly on the ice, spraying snow in frantic arcs behind them. The car rocked violently, then sank deeper into the drift.

"No, we aren't!" he snapped.

"Yeah, we are," Esme deadpanned from the backseat, leaning forward to peer over his shoulder.

He groaned, dropping his forehead against the steering wheel. Outside, the storm was relentless. Snowdrifts towered over the car, and the wipers scraped furiously against frozen glass.

"We can just walk," he muttered, yanking the door open. A gust slammed it shut.

Esme pressed her face to the frosted window, laughter bubbling out. "Let's play in the snow!"

"You trying to get yourself burned?" Jade shot back, her voice dry.

"Alright," Jason said, steeling himself. "I'll burn through the drifts. Jade, once I clear a path, you drive forward."

With a grunt, he yanked the door open again and stepped into the storm. The cold slammed in to his chest like a punch, snow soaking through his pants up to his knees.

His boots sank deep into the crust, every step heavy as if wading like through wet cement.

Jason exhaled through his clenched teeth. A faint blue glow sparked in his palm, flickering before flaring brighter as he forced the power downward.

The snow hissed violently, steam spiralling upward as it liquefied beneath his hands, carving a shallow trench through the drift despite the brutal cold.

His heel caught on something buried beneath the crusted snow—a frozen branch or jagged ice—and he pitched backward. He slammed onto the frozen ground, the impact driving the air from his lungs in a sharp gasp.

The car lurched forward, tires gripping the partially cleared patch at last.

Jade slammed on the gas, the bumper scraping past Jason by inches.

He scrambled to his feet, wincing, yanked open the door and dove back inside the driver's seat, drenched and gasping for air.

He panted, brushing snow from his sleeve. "That was insane out there."

Jade raised an eyebrow. "Crazy doesn't even begin to cover it."

Jason gripped the steering wheel tight as the car slid dangerously close to the edge of the drift.

Esme peeled off her soaked gloves with a frustrated groan. "Who asked for a snowstorm? I like snow, but this? I can't even run through it."

Jason shot her a sideways glance. "Didn't Divina warn us about danger before she disappeared? And Emma said a storm was coming."

Jade's eyes narrowed. "You think Ashley caused this storm?"

Esme piped up, twisting the rearview mirror to catch her own reflection. "Divina said Ashley wants us dead."

"So, Ashley's behind this burning snowstorm? And now we're without electricity. How the hell do we stop it?" Jason groaned at Jade's words.

Jason stared out into the wild storm, his mind racing.

Nature itself couldn't be stopped, but if anyone was behind this chaos, it had to be Ashley.

They hadn't heard from her in months, yet everything about this felt like her signature.

Esme's voice sliced through his thoughts. "Plus, we're running low on food."

Jason barely heard her. His mind unraveled beneath the crushing weight of it all.

This wasn't the chaos they'd faced before. The storm had thrown everything into disarray, and he was slipping.

Esme smirked, folding her arms. "And you've got your little soap opera with Bella."

Jason jaw tightened. "It's not a soap opera."

"Oh, sure," Esme said, rolling her eyes. "You can't even go outside without her hovering, and you call that fun?"

"She's grieving," Jason said quietly.

Esme shook her head. "It's been four months. Time to move on and focus on the bigger picture. We have to stop this storm."

The snowstorm slightly thinned just enough for the hazy outline of Uden Academy to appear ahead.

The eerie silence was unsettling; normally, Greyson would have posted security at the entrance.

Jade exhaled, tightening her scarf. "Okay. Let's find your brother."

Carefully, they trudged across the drifts, each step a struggle slow against the biting wind and the crusted snow underfoot.

At last, they reached the grand double doors. With a shared groan, they pushed them open—the hinges creaking loudly, echoing down the empty hall.

Inside, they found Tumbles crouched on the floor, her knees buried in the wooden boards.

In front of her lay a boy no older than them, sprawled face-down on the wooden floor. A dark, sluggish pool of blood had dried near his lips, stark against his pale skin his face.

Tumbles looked up, panic flashing her eyes. "What do I do?" she asked, trembling hands waving helplessly. "He got sick... and died."

Esme didn't hesitate. "Throw it outside," she said darkly, grabbing the body and hauling it out the door.

"Tumbles, where's Greyson?" Jason asked.

She leaned against the wall for support. "I don't know. I've been watching the sick. He might be in his office."

Tumbles shuffled toward the wide stairs, gripping the railing as she pulled herself up, step by step.

At the top, they stood in the doorway of a grand office.

It was dark and empty.

Esme bounced on her toes, scanning the room. "I don't see him."

Jason frowned. "Where else would he be?"

Tumbles nodded weakly. "Dining hall."

She staggered down the stairs, her legs trembling.

Then they gave out entirely, and she collapsed the moment she hit the floor.

The dining hall was dim, a few half-empty cans scattered across the table.

Tumbles crawled over to Oscar, who was slouched in a chair, staring blankly at the wall.

"Where's Greyson?" she asked.

Oscar didn't look at her, his voice flat. "He went to turn the hydro back on."

Jason stepped forward. "Where?"

Oscar blinked slowly. "Power plant?"

Esme crossed her arms, bouncing on her toes. "Where is it?"

Oscar pressed his lips together. "I don't know. James was the one who knew where it was."

Jason's heart dropped.

Greyson's plan revolved around the power plant. It was the only way to restore electricity, or ruin everything.

And James, the only one who knew how to run it, was gone.

A voice cut through the silence."It's the hydroelectric power plant," a boy said, stepping into view with a slay smirk. "My father worked there as an engineer."

He was a bit taller than Jason, with coarse brown hair, and naturally tanned skin.

Esme stood on her tiptoes, gripping his shoulders. "Show us, Bryce," she whined. "Please!"

Bryce raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his face. "Why?" he asked.

"Don't you want electricity?" Esme demanded.

Bryce shrugged. "Greyson can handle it," he said casually.

Esme flashed a sly grin. "We'll trade you weed," she offered.

Bryce smirked. "I used to deal that stuff remember? I get food."

Everyone wanted food. Simcoe did have food, but a bit more than Uden seemed to have.

Bryce raised three fingers. "Three cans," he added mischievously.

Jason groaned, exasperated. "Fine."

He hadn't planned a deal with someone like Bryce. He didn't know much about the guy, just that he was the one who interrupted their meeting with that girl from Uden.

Bryce smirked, snatching a puffy scarf from the table and wrapping it around his face. "I drive."

"You're going to burn the car!" Esme laughed.

Bryce arched an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. "It was a cool experiment," he shot back. "Emma thought it was funny."

Jason groaned and rubbed his temples, glancing at Tumbles, who was swaying unsteadily on her feet. "Can we go already?"

"Who's keeping an eye on Uden while Greyson's gone?" Esme asked.

"Maverick, mostly. With Finn," Bryce replied. "Henry and Stick went with them. And Andrew Zimmer's with them."

Jason frowned. "Isn't he the one who got humiliated?"

Bryce nodded.

They staggered their way outside.

Esme shoved Bryce toward the passenger side, trying to get in, but the door bounced back and smacked her square in the face.

"Screw you," she muttered, clutching her nose and sliding into the back seat. "Jason, you might need to use that beam power of yours. The back roads are gravel."

Before Jason could settle into his seat, Bryce slammed his foot on the gas, propelling the car straight into a snowdrift. The windshield wipers, frozen solid, were quickly overwhelmed by another thick layer of snow. He skipped to a stop, waiting for Jason to get out.

"Here," Jade said, handing him a snow brush as he staggered out, brushing some of the snow from the windshield.

As Jason brushed the snow from the windshield, he felt his coat sleeve slide up.

A clump of snow slipped from the brush and landed against his exposed wrist.

It didn't melt.

It sizzled.

Pain detonated up his arm as he snow burned straight through his skin.

He screamed.

The snow clattered to the ground as he stumbled backward, clutching his wrist.

Jason dove into the car, slamming the door shut with a gasp, his whole arm shaking.

"Did you see Ashley?" Esme gasped.

Bryce snickered. "Great start to the mission."

Jason peeled off his glove. His wrist was already blistering, skin crisp and red. A third-degree burn just from a touch.

"Looks like we're headed to see Emma," Esme sighed. "Let me see."

"Stripper's bone sticking out was worse," Bryce chuckled at Jade's words.

"Who knew Jade Cooper had a sense of humour?" Bryce asked with a sly grin. "How's that nudist been?"

Esme grinned. "Emma mentioned he tried to help at the infirmary once it healed. Didn't go too well because everyone knows Emma gets embarrassed easily."

Jason clenched his teeth. "Are we there yet?" he asked, glancing at Bryce.

"Does it look like we're in Simcoe?" Bryce shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jason winced, eyes clutching eyes shut as another wave of pain flared up his arm.

It was worse than anything Greyson had ever done to him, like being tossed in the air and slammed to the ground, but on fire.

"We get you healed," Esme said, tossing a few air punches, "then go beat up Lukey and Greyson."

"Luke's makeover was pretty entertaining," Bryce snorted. "Scarlett made him combust like twenty times. Greyson just kept tossing him into walls."

"Told you, Jade, I'm a makeup pro!" Esme beamed.

Jason whimpered, barely holding it together. "I'll use my light to guide us."

But no light came. His brain felt fogged, like trying to spark fire in a rainstorm.

"Are we trying to stop him from turning on the electricity," Jason said flatly, "or just getting information?"

Jason exhaled slowly. "Stop Greyson."

Bryce is a character I'm sure some of you will enjoy. Don't forget to vote and comment!
-Lexi