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The Cold: Part 4

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 4

After breakfast with Mom, I go upstairs.  It’s only 6:30, but I can’t wait any more.  I turn on my computer and desk lamp.  My desk faces the window, and I look outside at the dark winter morning.  A thin pink ribbon of light stretches behind the mountains.  It will be a beautiful sunrise soon.

Where should I begin?  A journalist finds the best information from many different people, so I decide to look on different social networking sites to see who is writing about the bodies.

There are more social media posts than expected.

On just one site, hundreds of posts appear when I search “dead bodies found outside.”  It seems that on the Internet, people are using the name #icebodies.  I enter #icebodies into the search bar, and thousands of posts appear.

Many posts are not interesting.

@yuki925:  OMG!  This is crazy!  What’s happening?!?!?!

@chessman:  thanks #icebodies for this lockdown!!  no work for a week!!!!!!

I read the posts for one hour.  I begin to see a pattern.  About half of the people are scared of the ice bodies, and about half of the people do not believe the ice bodies.  Many people have strong ideas and opinions.

@kycm71524:  The ice bodies must be prisoners from jail.  The jails did not want to pay for the prisoners, so they killed the prisoners.  Wake up, America!  Our jails are evil. 

@aaa888:  The ice bodies are not real.  The news is boring, so journalists made a fake story.  They want to get famous.

@yestolove:  people are dying because they are sad… their hearts are cold, so their bodies are cold…  we need more kindness!!!

@jimmywilder1980:  I never saw an ice body.  They are NOT real.  Let’s go back to work.

There are so many ideas.  Many stupid ideas, too.  I count the “believe” posts and the “don’t believe” posts.  It takes four hours, but I finish.

There are 3,862 “believe” posts.  Most of the “believe” posts are not interesting.  They only say, “I’m scared!” or “Why did these people die?”  About 25% of the “believe” posts have ideas about why the ice bodies appeared.  Most of the reasons are about disease.  People think that there is a new disease like COVID-19.  Some of the reasons are about the government.  People think that the president wants to kill these people.  Or another country is trying to kill Americans.

There are 433 “don’t believe” posts.  Most of the “don’t believe” posts don’t have a reason.  Some of the “don’t believe” posts say that the ice bodies are fake images from the government, from the news, or from other countries.  Interesting.  The government and other countries are reasons for both “believe” and for “don’t believe” posts.

Finally, there are only 17 posts from people who saw the ice bodies.  I want to send a message to these people.  Their stories are the most important.

@april.may:  Do NOT go near Parker Street today.  There are two ice bodies there.  I called the police, and the police were scared too.  Stay safe.

Parker Street.  That’s the street where I saw the bodies.  Is @april.may the angry woman from that day?  I click on her username and send her a message.

Hello, my name is Ari Brooks.  I am a journalist.  I saw the ice bodies near Parker Street.  I was on the bus that day.  I want to write about the ice bodies for my job.  Could we talk about what you saw?  My phone number is 555-739-2080.  Please call me any time.

I sent a similar message to the other 16 people.  I hope they will reply soon.

It is 3:55.  I have to call Ms. Sato at 4:00.  She wants to talk with me about today’s work.

I realize that I am still in my pajamas.  I put on a white sweater and gray jacket, and I quickly brush my hair.  There is only one minute before the call, so I stay in my fuzzy snowman pajama pants and turn on my video camera.  Ms. Sato joins the video call right at 4:00.

Ms. Sato starts talking about work right away.  She does not have a “small talk” personality.  “So, what stories did you get today?”

I feel embarrassed.  I spent a lot of time reading the social media posts.  I didn’t talk to anyone.  I sent the messages at 3:30, so of course no one replied.

“Well…  I found a lot of interesting opinions on social media.”  I opened my notebook and began to read my data.  “I read 4,312 posts about the ice bodies.  3,862 of these people believe that the ice bodies are real.  433 of these—”

Ms. Sato sighs.  “Of course the ice bodies are real.  We are a news station.  We report real news.  We can’t write an article that says, ‘Maybe the ice bodies are real, but maybe they aren’t.’” 

Part 5>

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The Cold: Part 3

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 3

“I can’t believe it.”  Dad comes into my bedroom.  “Why did you take the job this morning?”

I am confused.  Dad wanted me to get a job.  He often said, “Why can’t you find a job?  You need to try harder and apply to more companies.”  But now he is frowning, and his arms are crossed.  From my desk chair, Dad looks much taller than me, but when I stand up, he is the same height.

“I did what you wanted,” I argue.

Dad sighs.  “Come on, Ari, think.  There is a lockdown now.  Your mom is crying in the bathroom.”

“But journalism is a dangerous job!  The world is a dangerous place!”

Dad’s green eyes look sharply at the floor.  Then, without replying, he walks out of the room.  This is normal for Dad.  Since I was thirteen years old, he has always been thinking of my mistakes.  Everything I do is a mistake to Dad.  And everything I do is dangerous to Mom.

I stop thinking of my parents and look at my computer.  The screen glows blue.  I am waiting for Ms. Sato’s email, but it doesn’t come.  I got the job… right?

Feeling worried, I text my best friends, Carlos and Priya.  I didn’t tell them about my job yet. 

Priya replies immediately.  yes!!!!!!!  i knew you could do it, queen!!!!

Carlos replies right after.  Are you going to write about the bodies?

I start typing I think so, but my boss hasn’t—, when an email appears on my screen.  An email from Ms. Sato.  I thought she was going to send an email only to me, but she sent it to nine other people.  She wrote:

Hello everyone,

As you know, many news companies are contacting us.  They all want to know about the bodies.  Sadly, we do not have a lot of information for them, and it is difficult to leave our houses during the lockdown.  You ten are the only employees who agreed to leave your houses, so you will be very busy.  I attached a PDF to this email.  It has details about your schedule for tomorrow.  Please look at it and let me know if you have any questions.

Also, I want to welcome Ari Brooks to The Observer.

-Emily Sato

I open the PDF.  Each journalist’s name is next to a different location.  A journalist called Tatiana Vasquez will visit the police station.  A journalist called Jimmy Cheng will visit the family of the first person who died.  What interesting place will I go to?  I look for my schedule.

Ari Brooks  /  January 23, 2024  /  Internet

The Internet?!  Ms. Sato just told me that I will need to go outside!  That my job will be dangerous!  Why don’t I get to go to interesting places like the other journalists?

Maybe it is because I am new.  Maybe Ms. Sato doesn’t trust me yet.

When I was in fifth grade, my class performed Alice in Wonderland in front of our families.  I wanted to be Alice, but instead, I was the Queen’s servant.  I was a playing card.  When my teacher told me about my part, I cried until the teacher called my mother.  When Mom came to school, she wiped my tears with her sleeve and said, “There are no small parts—only small actors.  Be the best playing card you can be.”  At the time, I didn’t understand the meaning of “small actors,” but her words helped me.  I decided to practice my part every day.  Mom and I made my costume out of cardboard and painted a big red heart on my face.

On the day of the play, I yelled my only line, “Off with her head!” more loudly than anyone else.  Actually, I was too loud.  Some of the parents laughed.  But Mom smiled and gave me a thumbs-up.  Dad was smiling, too.  And Alex, too…

Now I know about “small actors” and “big actors,” and I will not be a small actor at my job.  Even if I have to search for information on the internet about the bodies, I will work as hard as I can.

I will find better information than anyone.

I wake up at 5:00 a.m., and I can’t fall asleep again.  My work does not start until nine, so I decide to make myself breakfast.  Usually I eat cereal or something easy, but this morning I will make pancakes, eggs, and sausage.  I walk downstairs quietly, stepping on the right side of the stairs because the left side squeaks.

Surprisingly, Mom is already awake.  She sits at the kitchen table, looking at her phone.  She notices me when I turn on the kitchen lights.  Even more surprisingly, her voice is cheerful.  “I woke up early to make you breakfast.  I haven’t started making it, though.  I thought you were going to sleep later.  Are you excited for your first day of work?  What time are you leaving?”

I forgot to tell her that I will work from home today.  Does she know?  Is that why she is happy today?

“I’m actually not going out today.  Ms. Sato wants me to search for information on the Internet.” 

Mom jumps up and claps.

“Don’t get excited.  I’ll probably go out soon.  Our schedules change every day.”  I expect Mom’s smile to disappear.

Mom walks over and gives me a hug.  “I am just happy that you are home today.  Want me to make you lunch?  I’m working from home today, too.”  Is she not upset?

“Sure.  I’ll be pretty busy, though, so is it okay if I eat in my room?  I want to do a good job on this research.”

“Only if you’re okay with this!”  Mom takes out a small box from a kitchen drawer.  I untie the purple ribbon and open it slowly.  Inside is a black pen with a silver clip.

“It’s a recording pen,” Mom says.  “I’m sorry you’re not able to use it today, but I hope you’ll have interviews real soon.”  She grabs my hand.  The dry winter air often makes her hands bleed, and three of her fingers are covered with Band-Aids.  They feel rough against my skin.  “I’m sorry about yesterday.  I still don’t want you to go out until the lockdown is over, but you’re an adult, and I trust you.”

I squeeze her hands back.

“But just be safe.”

Mom’s gift is so kind.  I don’t want to tell her that I already have a recorder.  “This is perfect, thank you.  And I’ll be safe.  I promise.”

Part 4>

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The Cold: Part 2

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 2

When I get home, the house is dark.  Mom and Dad left this evening to stay with my grandmother in Pennsylvania for the weekend.  I usually don’t spend much time with them, but tonight my house feels too quiet.  Too dark.

I lock the door, turn all the lights on, and put a frozen pizza in the oven.

While I wait for the pizza, I remember that Mom sent me a text message two hours ago.  “How was the interview?”  I reply, “same as before,” and throw the phone on the couch.

Really, I’m lucky.  I’m not the two people on the side of the road.

I turn on the TV.  The laughter of children in the theme park commercial makes the house feel less empty.

Suddenly, a red bar appears on the bottom of the screen, with the familiar screeching noise that plays during a bad weather warning.  Words move across the red bar: Lockdown.  Lockdown.  Residents in Clayton, please stay in your homes.  30 bodies were found dead today.  It is not safe to go out.  Please stay in your homes until the lock down ends.  If you see anything suspicious, please call your local police station.  Lockdown.  Lockdown.  The message repeats. 

I turn the TV channel to the news station.  The red bar is still on the screen, so I cannot hear the news reporter.  I turn on the subtitles.  They read: Today, thirty bodies were found dead around Clayton.  Most of these bodies were found outside by roads and in fields, and a few were found in parking lots in the city.  All thirty people were naked.  No one has seen these people being killed, but police ask anyone with information to contact them now.  Police believe that there is a group of killers in our area.  There are no cuts on the bodies, so police do not know how the murderers are killing.  Doctors wonder if there is a new drug or a new disease that affects the brain.  Maybe it causes people to take off their clothes and stay in the cold until they die.  Because we do not know what is causing these deaths, the government has asked everyone to stay in their homes as much as possible.  It is not safe to go out.

I turn the TV off and open my phone.  Mom called five times.  I call her back.

“Ari, are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine.  I guess you saw the news about the bodies?”

“Dad and I are coming home right now,” Mom says.  “We’ll be back around 2 a.m.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer to stay at Grandma’s?” I ask.  “I’m fine, really.  I won’t go out.  There’s enough food at home.”

“We’re coming.  Just don’t go out at all, okay?  I don’t want…”  She stops talking, and we are both quiet.  I know that she is talking about Alex.

“Okay,” I say.  “Be safe coming back.”

I hang up the phone as the timer beeps.  I bring my pizza into the living room and turn on the news channel again.  Here is what they know about the deaths so far:

  1. Thirty people between the ages of 25-80 died.
  2. All thirty people were naked.
  3. All thirty people were found outside.
  4. No one saw the killers.
  5. They did not seem to die because of drugs, guns, or knives.
  6. None of the thirty people knew each other before they died.

On the news, there is a smartphone video of three teenagers lying in their bathing suits in the snow.  Suddenly, they sit up and scream at the camera, and the person holding the camera runs away laughing.

The news reporter repeats that everyone must stay inside and that it is dangerous to make videos like this.

I turn off the TV, and the living room is silent.  The snow shines coldly under the front porch light.

By Sunday evening, fifty-two people were found dead.  Mom and I spent the weekend watching the news.  Dad stayed in the garage to finish building a new bookshelf.

“I hope this is not like coronavirus again,” Mom says while we watch the news Monday morning.  “I can’t do another lockdown.  How will we go to the store and to work?”

“Mom,” I say slowly.  “I saw two of the bodies…”

Mom turns off the TV.  “When?  Where?”

“On my way home from the interview—well, the interview that Mr. Jones didn’t come to.  You know, I don’t think it’s a disease.  Everyone was naked.  And…”  I pause.  “They looked like they were in the cold for a long time.  Maybe they died from the cold.”

“Why didn’t anyone notice them?”

“I don’t know.”

I want to believe that these people died by accident.  Maybe they were making stupid videos for the internet, going out naked in the snow.  Maybe they did take drugs that the doctors couldn’t find.

But fifty-two totally different people…

My phone rings.  It’s the number of The Observer, the newspaper company I was supposed to interview at last Friday.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Ari Brooks?” the familiar soft voice of the receptionist says.  “Emily Sato, our managing editor, wants to speak with you.  May I put her on the phone?”

As soon as I say yes, a strong iron-like voice says, “Ms. Brooks, are you still interested in a journalist position at The Observer?”

I am shocked.  Where is Mr. Jones?  I say, “Yes, but I thought that Mr. Jones—”

“To be honest, we do not know where Mr. Jones is,” Ms. Sato speaks before I can finish talking.  “But as you know, right now we need journalists.”  She sighs.  “Since there is a lockdown now, I can’t invite you to the office, so I will email you a link for a video interview.  Can you interview now?”

I look down at my pajamas.  “I’m not exactly dressed for—”

“It’s okay.  This interview can be casual.”

I quickly run upstairs and put a sweater over my pajamas and tie my hair into a ponytail.  When I open the video chat, Ms. Sato is wearing a gray suit and is sitting in a home office.  A casual interview?  Sure.

“This will be short,” Ms. Sato says.  “One of our journalists, Tom, was one of the fifty-two who were…  who died.  We do not know if Mr. Jones is alive, and we already do not have enough staff.  The whole country wants to know more information about the people who died, but we don’t have much information to tell them.”  Ms. Sato crossed her arms.  “I called five other people who applied for this journalist job, and none of them want it.  They don’t want to leave their houses.”

Great, I think.  I’m Ms. Sato’s sixth choice.

“This journalist position could be dangerous.  You will have to leave the house to learn more about the people who died.  You can make calls and emails from home, but sometimes you will need to go to the place where the bodies were found.”

I think about Mom.  She will be upset if I take this job.

But this is my chance.

“I’ll do it,” I say.

“Great.”  Ms. Sato’s voice sounds happy, but she does not smile.  “I’ll send you the job offer letter with your salary and the job description.  After you sign it, I will send you Tom’s notes before he…”  She does not finish the sentence.

“Thank you,” I say gently.  “And I’m sorry for your loss.”

Mom hears that I finished my video interview and comes into the living room.  Her face is rock hard.  “Please don’t take the job.”  She was probably listening to my interview from the kitchen.

“This was my only job offer,” I argue.  “Besides, the lockdown is just for people who go out for fun.  Most people still go to their jobs.”

“But we don’t know why those people died!  What if you—”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Alex was careful, too.”  Mom’s eyes were red.

Neither of us says anything.  I look down at the floor, and Mom leaves the room.

Part 3>

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The Cold: Part 1

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 1

My heart is beating fast.

I wait alone in a room.  There are newspapers on the wall and a big leather sofa in the corner.

I sit on a small, uncomfortable chair by the door.

Waiting for that door to open.

“Ms. Ari Brooks?” a woman says while she opens the door with her cherry red nails.  “Mr. Jones… did not come to the office today.  Can you come back tomorrow for an interview?”  The receptionist stepped through the door.  She looks annoyed, but she politely smiles.

How can this happen to me again?

“Actually,” says the receptionist, “Many of our staff are not here today.  It’s January, so maybe they are sick or have the flu…”

“I understand,” I say.  “Please ask Mr. Jones to call me when he feels better.”  I try to smile, but I want to cry. 

I leave the newspaper office and get on the bus.  I want to buy a car, but I don’t have any money.  I am 22 years old, but I live with my parents.  I graduated from college with a degree in journalism, but I can’t find a job.

My sadness becomes anger.  Why didn’t Mr. Jones contact me to reschedule the interview?  Even if he is sick, he can still send a short email.

This is not the first time.  My interviewer last week did not come either.

People can be so rude.

The bus ride home is quiet.  The only other person on the bus is an elderly woman with a cowboy hat.  She gets on the bus at one stop and gets off at the next.

This newspaper company was my last interview appointment.  I applied to twenty companies, got rejected by eighteen, and got an interview for two.  Both interviewers had to “reschedule” for an unknown reason.  This one didn’t even come to the interview.

I look out the window of the bus.  In Clayton, there is a small city and a lot of farmland.  Cows stand close to each other in the field beside the highway.  It is hard to count them in the snow, and their black spots look like many watching eyes.

Screech!

The bus stops suddenly, and my black bag flies off the seat.  Many cars behind us honk their horns angrily.  A woman next to us rolls down her window and takes out her cell phone, recording a video of the bus driver and yelling horrible things.

The bus driver, a man with a large belly and a small gray moustache, does not respond to the woman.  He rushes down the bus steps and runs to the side of the road.

The bus driver is tapping something on the ground and shouting.  He calls for help and takes off his jacket, laying it over something I cannot see.

The angry woman from before runs over and begins to make a phone call.  She squats on the ground and covers her eyes while talking to the person on the phone.

I wonder if there was a car accident.  Is there a dead animal or a dead person on the side of the road?  The woman is crying now.  She hands her phone to the bus driver, who continues talking to the person on the phone. 

Thinking it is probably a person who died in some accident, I stand up and walk to the front of the bus to see what happened.

Most people do not want to see a dead body.  I don’t want to see it either.  But if I want to be a successful journalist, I need to get used to seeing terrible things sometimes.  It is our job to tell the world about these terrible things, hoping that the world can learn how to be more careful.

As I get closer to the front of the bus, I see a head of blond hair next to where the bus driver is standing.  A man, in his late forties.  His face is paler than his hair.  He looks like he was in the cold for a long time.  Did no one notice him until now?

I stand up on the bus seat to see more of the accident.  Was he riding a motorcycle?  Was there a helmet or a bike on the side of the road?

From his pale face, a pale neck appears.  Then pale shoulders.  Then a pale chest.  The rest is covered by the bus driver’s jacket.  Two blue-white feet stick straight out from the jacket.

This man died naked.

Sirens cry in the distance.  Soon, two police cars and an ambulance show up.  A police officer interviews the bus driver and the woman with the cell phone.  Another officer takes pictures of the body on a camera.  She calls to the other officer and points to a tree next to the road.

Among the tree roots that stretch out from the tree and disappear into the snow-covered ground, two legs appear from behind the tree.  Like the other body, the legs are naked, and they do not move.  Unlike the other body, both legs are dark purple.

Part 2>