The Winter People (19 page)

Evidently Mike had heard it too for he was
also turning to find its source.  Behind the two men who were still astride
their snowmobile, stood Nick, or at least the shoulders and head of Nick.  The
rest of him was buried in the drift he'd stepped off into.  Nick had missed the
porch by several feet and when he'd climbed off the Polaris, he stepped off
into fluff.

Hayden and Mike burst out into wild
laughter hard enough that Mike almost did a nose dive to land beside Nick.  The
snow on the porch was a couple of feet deep and the porch itself was a good
three feet above the yard.  The area that they were on was relatively smooth,
so Nick was standing in about five feet of snow.  He only looked up at them,
embarrassed.

The laughter ebbed and Hayden climbed off
his Polaris onto the porch and trudged through the heavy snow toward his front
door, shaking his head and laughing to himself beneath his mask.  Mike looked
at Hayden then back at Nick, shrugged then followed the path that Hayden had
just made.  Nick watched them both, exasperated.  And, seeing that he was on
his own, he began to pull himself out of the winter bog by the rear end of the
other machine.

Hayden punched a gloved fist into the
white snow drift next to his front door.  He pulled it out and came away with a
shovel handle.  The snow offered mild resistance against his strength but gave
into it feebly and allowed him to pull the blade free.  Hayden thumped the snow
shovel's head with his fist to knock loose any snow and attacked the drift. 
Within a few moments he had made a pathway which allowed them to open the door
freely.  Mike only stood idly by while Hayden labored, he felt useless.

Nick took a few moments to brush himself
off and followed the trail made by the others, all the while mumbling to
himself and shaking his head.  He came up beside Mike and stomped his feet
several times on the freshly cleared area of the porch.  Whatever resilient
bits of snow still clinging to his pants fell away then and were lost in the
wind. Nick looked up at Mike and could see by his narrowed eyes beneath the
goggles that he was smiling.

He knew that smile too, big and toothy. 
It was Mike's infamous grin.  It was a dopey smile that stretched from ear to
ear and was accentuated by his nearly perfect, ultra-white teeth.  Nick loved
that smile.  He smiled then too and they both chortled.  Mike clapped Nick on
the shoulder and shook his head.  Hayden only cast them a sidelong glance, but
beneath his mask he was smiling as well.

Hayden stuffed the shovel back in the snow
next to the door and opened up the screen door.  The creaks of its protesting
hinges were lost in the howl of the wind. The front door was not locked and
opened easily, assisted in part by the gusts that surrounded the three.  They
came into the house and Hayden pulled the door closed behind them.  Instantly
their goggles fogged up and the room was a darkened blur.

Hayden removed his goggles and allowed his
eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. As he turned toward the coat rack to the
side of the door he quickly scanned the room.  It was comfortable and
familiar.  The air was scented with an interesting blend of lemon furniture
polish and fried bacon.  A brief smile touched his lips as his thoughts drifted
toward Barbara.  She was in the kitchen, he knew, even before the occasional
clank of dishware filtered back to him.

Hayden looked over at the others,
embarrassed, realizing that he'd been standing there entirely too long.  The
big man cleared his throat in that awkward moment then pulled off his coat and
hung it from a wooden peg on a board mounted on the wall.  He then kicked off
his boots and laid his goggles and mask atop them.  Hayden cleared his throat
again.

"I hope you boys are hungry."
his voice boomed in the quiet house, "I radioed Barb from the station and
let her know you were coming.  And I've never known her to cook anything less
than enough to feed an army." he explained.

"I could eat." Mike said matter
of factly.

"Ditto.", Nick added.  He
slipped out of his coat and gear, and Mike followed suit. "Smells like
some tasty eats, that's for sure."

"Chow.", Mike agreed, nodding.

"Sorry boys, it's probably just
jaw-meat and mountain oysters, raw.  Hayden said smiling as he brushed his
unruly hair back with his hands.

"Mmmmm, maybe a little road kill on
the side?" Mike offered, head slightly tilted to one side. "I've seen
some mighty tasty looking fur patches this trip."

Hayden chuckled and Nick nodded in
agreement.  Then Hayden turned and began padding toward the far doorway in his
stocking feet.  Nick and Mike followed in single file, their footfalls soft
muffled thuds on the polished hardwood.  Its slick surface caused them to
exercise caution as they walked.  Barely noticeable above the cantankerous cry
of the wind, Nick noticed that Hayden creaked a little as he walked. It made
Nick smile.

***

The kitchen was warm and homey and the
smell of bacon easily crowded out that of lemons that he'd noticed earlier. 
The room was well lit from overhead fluorescents and the glow made Nick feel
very safe.  The doorway opened on to a large room with a sink/cutting counter
in the center.  Above it, a plethora of copper bottomed pots and pans hung from
the ceiling.  Beyond this island was a gas range and a woman in faded jeans and
red flannel shirt was bent over it.

Her hair was long and red and Nick guessed
that she was about five foot six. Though it was difficult to tell from the
back, she seemed to have a nice figure too.  Her attention appeared to be
focused upon the pan of biscuits before her and she gave no indication that she
even knew they were there.  Nick looked at Mike and raised his eyebrows, then
looked back at the woman he assumed was Mrs. Smith.  Hayden still stood in
front of them, roughly between them and her, so that they were afforded a
fairly good view of the back of his head.

Hayden motioned to the left with a jerk of
his head, "Why don't you have a seat?", as he began to move around
the island.

Nick's gaze followed the cabinets to the
left until they ended on the far wall.  At the end of the room was a large
wooden table with wooden benches below it for seats. Had it not been so fancy,
Nick would have thought it was a picnic table.  On it sat a metal sugar bowl, a
pair of wooden salt and pepper shakers---just like the ones his folks had
gotten in the Redwood Forest, Nick thought---and a creamer shaped like a cow.  It
looked strangely like any one of a dozen roadside dives he'd eaten in and it
made him smile.

Nick walked on over and sat down, with
Mike close behind.  They both glanced up towards Hayden and saw that he'd come
up behind the woman at the stove.  He was kissing her softly on the neck and
gesturing with his hands in front of her.  Nick looked down embarrassed but
Mike continued to stare.  There was something very familiar about what Hayden
was doing with his hands.  Something Mike should know, or had known. He
concentrated on the motions in his mind and completely forgot about Hayden.  He
searched his memories, and finally his eyes opened wide with the expression
that comes with enlightenment.

"Guess who?" Mike mumbled under
his breath, nodding.

"What?"

"Huh? Oh. Guess who?" he
repeated to Nick. "He just asked her--its sign language--she's deaf.” he
explained, motioning to the red haired woman.

Mike dropped back into his recollections,
trying to remember all that he could from the classes he'd taken several years
ago.  Nick looked back over at Hayden, surprised.  Then turned away again
embarrassed again, as the woman turned and kissed Hayden fully on the mouth. 
Hayden and the woman came upon Nick and Mike, who were paying particular
attention to the veins in the wood of the table.

The two of them looked up at Hayden as he
stopped at the edge of the table.  "I'd like you two to meet my wife,
Barbara." he said, presenting her.

Barbara stepped up and extended a hand to
Mike.  He accepted it and smiled.  Upon releasing it he signed his name and a
greeting and told her how pleased he was to meet her, at least that's what he
hoped he'd said.  There was honest pleasure and surprise on her face and she
gestured back excitedly.  Mike's eyes were following the frantic movement
trying to recall what he'd learned.

"You know sign!" she beamed,
"The only other person around here that does is Hayden. This is so
neat!"

Mike replied, "I know little, long
time, rusty."

She nodded and had a very broad smile
across her face.  Barbara then turned to Nick and grabbed his hand as well. 
She noticed the look on his face and felt that he was slightly ashamed that he
couldn't talk to her as well.  In all the years that she'd been deaf, Barbara
had learned to read people's faces quite well.  She may not have been able to
hear everything that was going on, but she could sure see it.

She spoke aloud to Nick, "You must be
Nick.  Hayden mentioned you earlier.  It's a pleasure to meet you."

Nick was taken aback, "But how...l
mean..." he fumbled.  Then he noticed a twinkle in her dark green eyes and
a smile slowly eased onto his face, "It's definitely a pleasure to meet
you Mrs. Smith."

"Please, call me Barbara. Mrs. Smith
makes it sound like I should be out selling pies or fish sticks or something."

"Barbara it is."  Nick glanced
at Hayden and noticed the shit-eating grin he was wearing.  He was obviously
very proud of her, and Nick could see why.

Her skin was light and looked velvety
soft, with rosy patches on her cheeks.  Her dark eyebrows rose in graceful arcs
on her forehead and together with her creamy complexion, made her eyes stand
out like emeralds.  Nick decided that they were her most striking feature,
honest and direct.  The soft round lines of her face did nothing to detract
from them. In truth, all of her features together seemed to be there for the
sole purpose of offsetting those eyes.  Nick found himself drawn to them and
staring compulsively.  After a moment he turned away, embarrassed yet again.

"Well I'd better get this food on, you
all look hungry enough to start chewin' on my table." giving them all a
wink.

She turned and moved to the cabinets to
the right of the sink as the three men followed her progress with their eyes. 
With her back to them she smiled, smugly. As she stretched to reach some plates
on an upper shelf, Hayden sat down next to Mike and across from Nick.  Nick
looked at Hayden.

"I hope I didn't just put my foot in
my mouth?"

"Not at all Nick, and believe me,
she'd have let you known if you had." he said affectionately.

"How is it that she can talk? Like
nothing's wrong, I mean."  After he'd said it he realized that he was
definitely chewing on sneakers now, but it was too late.

Hayden looked uncomfortable and he brought
his eyebrows together in a motion that wrinkled the skin between his eyes, just
above the nose.  He sat there for a moment or two considering his next words,
then spoke softly.

"She's post-linguistically
deaf," he paused, considered a moment then added, "She lost her
hearing when she was nineteen."  The big man bowed his head and picked at
one thumbnail with the other, gave a deep sigh then quickly turned to regard
his wife.

When Hayden turned away, Nick caught the
glimmer of tears welling up in the man's eyes.  Nick glanced over at Mike and
saw him studying Hayden as well.  Obviously he'd seen it too.  Hayden felt
guilty somehow for his wife's deafness, or at the very least, responsible for
it.  Nick couldn't imagine feeling that kind of guilt for someone, and then
living with them every day.  A constant reminder of what you had done, or what
you thought you had done.  Nor could Nick imagine that this gentle and
compassionate man could harm anyone in such a way.  But Hayden felt that he
had.

Roscoe and Ouray balanced themselves
precariously on the makeshift litter that Johnny was towing behind the
snowmobile.  It also carried several bundles, Indian blankets and deerskins
wrapped around things that Johnny needed.  The largest bundle at the far end
was Faywah, his body a nondescript blob beneath the wrappings.  Occasionally
the dogs would glance back at the heap, then turn away quickly or lower their
head.

Johnny
moved slowly across the treacherous terrain with stout determination, headed
for the place his mind had shown him.  The wind was a rancorous escort,
derisive and petulant.  In it Johnny could hear the cries of the
others. 
He
could feel their hunger too, it was all about him.  It slapped at him with the
icy air and took tasty little nips at his soul.  But Johnny forged ahead,
doggedly.

Behind
Johnny, lost in the din of the machine and the wind, Ouray whimpered. But
Johnny had heard him anyway.  The shrill cries of the
others
were a
warning to the dog and they gripped him with fear.  Johnny knew that as well. 
His senses seemed more acute today than they ever had.  He could see and feel
things without really trying, without really wanting to.  Johnny was thankful
in some respects, because of what he had to do.  But he also saw it as a curse.

It
is not always good to see too much of your own future, or the future of ones
that you care about.  As hard as he tried to block it all out, the visions
hammered down his walls of resistance and gained access anyway.  The visions
forced themselves upon him and made him see all that they had to offer, all
that there was.  Cruelly, it was a dissociated mire that Johnny had to sift
through, imagery and symbolism that was left to him to interpret.

In
the last few hours he had seen a myriad of little skits.  Every time he closed
his eyes the pictures would be there.  Some of them were incongruent images and
were easily forgotten, while others were as real as the dream he'd had of Buddy
Simpson, and none the less terrifying.  The majority of them were of people he
knew, and didn't know, yet somehow knew lived in town.  All of them had been
rendered as Buddy had, torn limb from limb.  Johnny was powerless to help any
of them, forced to watch them disintegrate into the wind as he had watched
Buddy.  And only now did he make the connection that he hadn't dreamed about
Buddy.  He had seen the old man's fate as surely as he had seen the towns,
Roscoe's and Ouray's, and his own.

But
somewhere deep inside, he knew that it wasn't too late for everyone.  Yes,
these were visions of things to come, but they might also be of things as they
could
be. That was the one great thing about the future; it was never definite
until it was history. This thought gave Johnny a new hope and determination. 
He gunned the throttle and picked up his pace a bit, anxious to be done with his
task.  He had to get back to town and warn Hayden, convince him of the danger,
help him to fight.  If he could survive what lay ahead that was.

Strangely,
Johnny thought of an old story he had read once as a child, "The Monkey's
Paw".  There was one part in particular that kept finding its way out of
his subconscious, and that was the knock at the door at the end of the story,
the one they were afraid to answer.  Johnny shivered at the image.  Then, he
wondered if he was shivering because he was about to answer the knock at his
door.

***

Sarah's
heart skipped a beat and her breath caught in her throat.  She gripped the
handlebar tightly as her whole body tensed up, watching the scene unfold before
her.  It wasn't in slow motion like she always thought something like this
would happen.  It all happened in an instant and made no sound.  In fact, the
world around her had gone unnaturally silent.  The only thing she heard was the
pounding of her own heart, ringing in her ears.  Then it was over, just like that. 
And the sound of the wind returned.

The
front of Bud's machine lurched into the air, teetered on one ski, and then fell
over on its left side.  The sled behind it also turned onto its side and Clayton
just hung there, bound to the wood.  Bud rolled away easily as it toppled and
cursed his own stupidity.  He had hit a steep ridge in the snow that he'd been
unable to see.

The
truth was, he wasn't expecting it, and the road had been plowed up to this
point. Although it had drifts forming, it had been pretty clear up to now.  Bud
sat up and eyed the ridge; it angled forward and to the left.  This explained
why his machine did what it did.  He began to climb to his knees as he heard
the whine from his niece's machine and turned to see her pull up slowly next to
him.  She started to rise up off her seat before she had even stopped and he
waved her back down.

Bud
stood, brushed the snow from himself, and leaned over close to Sarah so that he
could be heard above the wind. "I'm okay! I just caught a ridge and dumped
it! As soon as I get it turned back over we can get moving again!” he
explained.  Sarah only nodded, not wishing to fight the wind.

Bud
took the few steps back to his Polaris and glanced back at Clayton.  He just
hung there limply, his head sagging to one side, his eyes far away.

Just
sit right back and you 'II hear the tale......

Bud
turned to the front of his machine and he caught a glimpse of something ahead
of it, at the far end of the ridge.  It was a vague shape and a color that he
couldn't quite make out through the blowing patches of snow.  He took several
steps toward it along the small ridge line, straining to make out its
countenance through the driven flurries.  A few steps closer and it finally
registered, it was a snow plow.

Sarah
stood on her machine, straddling the seat, following Bud with her eyes.  She
could make out the lump on the side of the road that he was looking at, but
couldn't discern what it was.  Apparently it was worth investigating because
her uncle was continuing towards it.  Soon, he was a hazy dark spot that faded
in and out depending on how thick the blowing snow was.  Then suddenly, he was
gone altogether.

Panic
raised up in Sarah's throat, her heart raced and she had to swallow hard to
keep both down.  She flew off the snowmobile and took several steps toward him,
then stopped abruptly.  His dark form popped up from out of the white.  He
stumbled a little and fell to the side.  Again he disappeared from Sarah's
sight, only this time he did not return.  Once again she was gripped with panic,
and this time she couldn’t quell it.  Sarah lurched for her uncle.

***

Bud
had never felt anything like it before.  Pain, there was searing pain.  It
started in his chest and continued down his left arm.  Every breath was a
tremendous effort that only made him hurt more.  Suddenly, everything around
him grew dark and he had the sensation of falling.  But he never did land, he
just kept falling.  He could remember only bits and pieces, incoherent things. 
It was so hard; everything was so hard to hold onto.

A
snow plow, he remembered a snow plow on its side.  A behemoth half buried in
the snow, a dinosaur in its death throws.  Then broken windows, and stars. 
Stars on its cab frame, stars on the glass.  Red stars, sharp against the yellow
of the plow.  Red stars splattered all about.  There was also cold, incredible
cold.  He was colder than he had ever been in his entire life.  He was cold and
it was dark, dark, except for the stars.  Then there were no stars and he felt
nothing, nothing at all.

***