Frost Apocalypse: Reborn Mind Reader Refuses to Save Everyone

Frost Apocalypse: Reborn Mind Reader Refuses to Save Everyone

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Introduction

My father said an honest man can't run a farm. My brother called me nothing but a burden. My ex-girlfriend dropped her engagement ring into a glass of champagne and handed it back to me. They all thought I was worthless. None of them knew I'd been reborn, and had stockpiled five years' worth of supplies in the cold storage. When the blizzard hit, the walkie-talkie crackled to life. I heard their cries and the unspoken thoughts swirling inside their heads. Really? You're still trying to scheme against me right now?

Chapter 1

醒来时,我的指尖还麻木。

感觉就像有人一根根地在我的指甲下扎冰针。被子由粗棉制成,带有廉价洗衣液的气味。

阳光透过百叶窗的缝隙,在我的手臂上画出平行明亮的线条。

门后挂着我父亲去年圣诞节扔给我的旧外套。枕头上有一块褪色的油渍,是我前一晚修拖拉机时没洗手留下的。

一切都和我记忆中的一模一样。

世界冰封前三个月的早晨。

我盯着天花板看了很久。碎片在我脑海中浮现——仓库的铁门。暴风雪。我的手指都变紫了。然后什么都没有。画面支离破碎,只有冰冷的爆发。我没有试图拼凑它们。还不是时候。但在这些碎片之间,一个问题像冰川的冰沙一样刺入我的脑海:我前世的末世中死了多少人?我记不清了。我只记得寒冷。

我母亲的名字叫伊丽莎白。她在我十五岁那年冬天死于肺炎。她去世三年后,我父亲再婚,娶了凯瑟琳。她是个安静的女人,从不先和我说话,也不会在父亲面前为我辩护。我只在家庭聚餐时见到她,当她递给我饮料时,她的目光总是移开,仿佛完成了一项她不想回忆的任务。

伊丽莎白以前在厨房做玉米面包时会哼着一首老歌。她的声音低得几乎被烤箱的嗡嗡声淹没。她的手粗糙,指关节粗糙,因多年农活而磨损。但每次她把面包送过来,都会先用围裙擦手——然后才拍我的头。每当我在工具棚修拖拉机时,她都会把面包放在工具箱旁边,站在门口片刻,然后一句话也不说就离开了。

那些画面也是碎片。

卧室门被推开了。

贾斯珀端着一杯咖啡走了进来,笑容灿烂得仿佛排练过。他穿着刚买的新深蓝色衬衫,袖口的褶皱依旧锋利,头发用发胶往后梳。咖啡杯是我上个月在镇上买的那个——乳白色,边缘是深棕色。他未经允许就拿走了。

“兄弟,你醒了吗?爸爸今晚让你去书房。他说这很重要。”

他走过来拍了拍我的肩膀。他手掌的热度透过我的衬衫渗透进来。

当我们的肌肤相触的那一刻,一个念头涌上心头。不是声音——一个清晰的念头,就像我自己想出来的:快点结束这事,然后把这个失败者赶出去。昨晚莉拉在我床上说她被他恶心了很久。这件衬衫甚至是他买的——给垃圾兄弟的垃圾衬衫,正合身。

一颗钉子刺穿了我的太阳穴。三十秒后疼痛消退。我盯着他袖口的折痕——我熨过。他从不自己熨衬衫。

“明白了,”我说。

他点点头,转身离开。咖啡杯在他手中冒着热气。他在门口停下,回头看了我一眼,嘴角微微抽动。在我前世,他关门时也带着同样的笑容。然后他说:“兄弟,今天把那台旧拖拉机修好。爸爸说我们要卖现金。”他没等我回应,直接关上了门。

我坐在床边,按了按太阳穴。我现在明白了。我能听到人们的想法。通过皮肤接触。

贾斯珀离开后,我把手按在门把手上。没有任何思绪涌入——只有我自己的思绪。我摸了摸窗玻璃。但还是只有我的。然后我下楼,摸了摸父亲厨房门口常放的咖啡壶——依然只有我。并非所有接触都奏效。一定是活人,皮肤贴着皮肤。我花了一些时间去确定界限。代价是太阳穴三处刺痛。

接下来的一整天,我照常工作。我修拖拉机时,贾斯珀从谷仓走过来问我修好了没。我说几乎。他站了两分钟,没有提供帮助,然后离开了。我在工具棚里清点了零件。更换了谷仓上的两块松动木板。没人发现有什么异常。

我做了阿舍·怀特十年——怀特农场的长子,那个安静诚实的男孩,那个从不拒绝任何事情的“好孩子”。

他们无法判断。我太擅长了。因为“好孩子”的本质是没人真正去看过的人。

晚上七点。我洗掉手上的油,换上干净的衬衫。项圈磨损了,但我想,没关系。这是我最后一次穿它。

书房位于二楼走廊尽头。墙上挂着家庭照片——母亲在最左边抱着我,那是在贾斯珀出生之前。贾斯珀射精后,框架被换成了更大的,我被推到了边缘。每次经过,我都会看到自己的手被画框截断了一半。门半掩着。我敲了两下门。

“进来吧。”

父亲坐在办公桌后面。上面放着一张母亲的照片。黑白相,三十岁时拍的。她的头发盘起,嘴角隐约露出一个酒窝。照片前摊开了一份文件。他的手指按在边缘,指关节因紧张而发白。

“坐下,”他说。

他的语气比平时温和。异常温柔。我坐下了。他没有立刻开口。他拿起母亲的照片,用拇指擦去相框边缘的灰尘,然后放回原位。我胃里的绞痛更紧了——他从未碰过那张照片。它挂在客厅墙角,积满灰尘,没人清理过。

“阿舍,”他终于开口。“你母亲去世前,她说想把农场留给你哥哥。”

我看着他。

“贾斯珀和她一样。敏锐,有野心。你就像我年轻时的样子——诚实。”他停顿了一下。“但诚实人不能经营农场。如今,农场不需要诚实。他们需要智慧。”

他把文件推向我。放弃继承权。信中写着我自愿将农场的所有权利转让给贾斯珀·怀特。他的签名已经在底部,墨水干了好一会儿。他提前签了字。

“签字,我给你过渡基金。拒绝的话,我就把农场抵押给银行。无论如何你都得不到任何东西。”

我看了妈妈的照片。他知道那是我唯一的弱点。他一直都是。

当他让我签字时,他故意摸了摸我的手背。我专注了。他的思绪涌上心头,比贾斯珀的还重,像从地下深处汲取的水:提到她是正确的选择。这个男孩一直听她的话。只要我不提她生病了六个月的事,他永远不会知道我故意没告诉他——如果他知道,今晚他就不会坐在这里了。

我的手紧握在桌子下。我的指甲深深陷入掌心。他以为我来这里是因为我不知道。他以为我还是那个十五岁的男孩,等着最后一次见到他妈妈。

在她临终的六个月里,我一直在覆盖贾斯珀的全部销售指标。贾斯珀正在海边度假,寄来明信片上写着“这里的阳光真棒”。我开车送客户走北方高速公路,每次都打电话回家。父亲总是会回答。他说妈不想见你。他说她让你专注工作。他说你哥哥正在赶来——他每次都这么说。我相信了他六个月。这一切都是谎言。她想见我。她让别人打电话到我租的公寓,但父亲每次都挂断。我没能走到她床边。

在我前世冻死的那天,脑海中最后闪过的画面是母亲的脸。然后是寒冷。

一股更深的寒意顺着脊背爬上来。仓库大门外的画面再次浮现:雪。铁门。贾斯珀的脸从缝隙中出现,然后门砰地关上。手指变成紫色。然后什么都没有。

我的脸依然平静。两秒钟后,我笑了。

“好吧。”

我拿起笔,在签名箱上签了名。字迹依旧整齐,和十年前一样。放下笔后,我伸手去拿桌上母亲的照片。

“我要这张照片。妈妈留给我的。”

父亲的眼睛闪烁了一下。他张口似乎想说些什么,却又闭上了。他把免责书折好,塞进抽屉。抽屉轻轻关上的咔嗒声听起来像是叹息。

我在书房门口停下。“爸爸,你刚才说妈妈想把农场给贾斯珀。”

他抬头看去。

“她确实这么说过。”我推开门离开了。

走廊空无一人。我靠在墙上三秒钟。她说过那些话——对贾斯珀来说是农场,他和我一样——但还有第二部分。那天晚上,她握着我的手,用尽最后的力气说:所以你需要做你自己的事。别把自己困在这里。她的手已经冰冷,干得像旧报纸。她说完后,眼睛睁着,长时间注视着我。她一直在等我点头。我有。

父亲从未知道完整的句子。他出去接了个电话。可能是银行贷款经理在另一端。他过去三十秒都没在她身边。

我把纪念照片深深塞进背包里。我口袋里,工具棚的钥匙卡进了我的手指。那把钥匙不仅能打开工具棚。母亲在最后面隔开了一个小储藏室,只有我知道这个秘密。小时候我发烧时,她会用外套把我裹起来抱着去。她说那是我们的秘密房间。父亲忘了。贾斯珀从未知道。但他们很快就会知道。

明天是家族宴会。贾斯珀的胜利庆祝。

那也是我最后一次扮演“诚实的阿舍”这个角色。

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