The Winter People (29 page)

Gary's
fear ebbed towards puzzlement.  Had it seen him?  No, it mustn't have.  The
other one had looked right at him as well and had done nothing either.  They
must not be able to see well in the dark, Gary surmised.  In fact, they're
practically bat-fucking-blind.  Gary's heart skipped a beat and a smile eased
onto his face.  He knew a weakness.  It wasn't much, but it was something. 
Now, he just had to do something with it.

The
sheriff, he had to get to the sheriff and tell him what had happened, and what
he had found out.  With a purpose and clarity of thought, Gary knelt down and
felt around until he found his bolts.  He pulled one from the bag and loaded
the cross-bow. Then he climbed out of the furnace and retrieved his snow
shoes.  Somehow, he had to make it to the courthouse, he had to get help.  It
never even occurred to him that the sheriff might already be dead, or there
might be no help.

It
wouldn't have mattered anyway; it was the only thing he could do.  So Gary
climbed up the chute to the outside world, dragging along with him one of the
old chairs. As stealthily as he could, he emerged from the hole and into the
storm.  Luck was with him as the alley was clear.  Gary shoved the chair up
beside the fence and scurried up and over the obstacle.  Once over the fence,
he rested on top of the huge drift there and donned his snow shoes.  Then he
headed back the way he had come, trying his best to skirt the town and use
whatever cover he could find.

***

For
the first time in his young life, Mike was unsure of what to do.  It had always
been so easy; you set yourself a goal and do what you needed to obtain it. 
That's how he had always been, that's how it always worked.  But now what the
hell was he supposed to do?  Getting Nick up out of the snow was easy, he did
it almost instinctually.  But what next?  The goal was easy, survive.  It was
the means that escaped him.  There was just no logical way to proceed.  Hell,
there was nothing logical about this at all.

He
always knew that the decisions he made would affect his life, but not like
this. This was an all or none, live or die decision.  Who was he to make those
kinds of choices?  But as he looked down at Sarah, cradling a dazed and
semi-conscious Nick, he knew who he was.  Right or wrong, bad or good, there
was simply no one else.  Sarah was looking to him for help, and Nick needed his
help.  He would just have to do what he could, and that was all he could do. 
To do nothing would be worse than doing something wrong; at least he would have
tried.

Finally,
Mike decided upon a course, right or wrong.  Gently, he placed a hand on
Sarah's shoulder, "Wait right here, I'm gonna check out the rest of the
house and be right back.  Then we're getting out of here."

"Where
are we going to go?” Sarah pleaded.

"I
don't know yet.” he said flatly then turned and left her in the kitchen with
Nick.

The
rest of the house looked pretty much like the entry way except that there
wasn't any blood anywhere else.  Again, Mike thought of Barbara, and his heart
sank.  He could picture it in his mind, all too easily, and he shook his head
to erase it.  It was not a picture he wanted to see.  So he groped on through
the house, trying to focus his mind on something else, like where they were
going to go.

Suddenly,
an answer came to him.  It came to him with the garage door opener he found in
the living room.  It was the door opener to the police station.  At least there
they might be safe.  At least there they might find help.  At least there was
somewhere, and he desperately needed to be somewhere right away.  So he thrust
the remote into his jacket pocket and headed back for the kitchen.

"Do
you think he can ride on a snowmobile?” Mike asked as he rounded the corner.

"Bet
your butt.” Nick replied shakily.  "I'm just a little light headed, that's
all."

"We
knew that.” Mike said, pleasantly startled.  "So what's your real
problem?"

"YOU!”
they said together and smiled.  Sarah only bit her lip nervously.

"What's
your plan?” Nick prompted.

"Well,
I thought we should get somewhere we could hold up and wait for help, maybe
even defend ourselves.  I kind of figured the best place was the courthouse. 
At least there are weapons there, and it’s a pretty formidable building.  And,
I thought that's where Hayden would end up, after this...if he's still...”
Mike's voice trailed off.

"Sounds
like a plan.” Nick agreed.

"Anything
is better than staying here.” Sarah agreed.

By
two o'clock the snow had eased and fell as only a light dust.  The cloud cover
however, had thickened and descended to touch the earth.  Hayden could no
better see now than he could when the blizzard was at its peak.  The world was
a fog shrouded haze and it was impossible to discern where the land ended and
the sky began, or which direction was which.

So
it was with mild surprise that Hayden discovered he'd entered the town of
Donner, a couple of miles to the southeast of Copper Creek.  He'd traveled
roughly in a half circle and was not much closer to home than when he had
started.  There would be no help here either, Donner was a summer town and
closed up entirely in the winter.  Its residents went back to the cities when
the snows fell, back to their businesses or jobs, or just to a warmer climate. 
Back to whatever it was they did for nine months out of the year.

It
was strange, Hayden thought.  He often wondered what kind of people lived
here.  What kind of people could just come up here and live for three, or five,
or even seven months and then just disappear until spring?  He knew that they
were mostly fairly well to do retired folks, and always an occasional touristy
type.  But it all seemed strange.  An entire town simply closed up for the
season.  Its buildings vacant, its streets empty.

Hayden
trembled involuntarily for a moment.  It suddenly felt as though he were in a
town of the dead.  The wind added to the sensation with its morose wail, the
voice of the damned.  It was a searching wind too, wandering the desolate
streets
in search of souls.  It carried with it wisps of snow, feral flakes loosely
held together in little groups, little hunting parties.

The
little hunting parties then tapped lightly upon windows and sideboards.  They
scratched restlessly upon exposed door frames and shudders.  Some would come to
rest upon a drift against a wall and wait, while others would move on and hunt
some more. They stalked the empty streets of Donner, buried deep beneath the
snow.  They seemed as scouts for the
others
that would come later, and
collect what had been found.
They
were coming.

Hayden
trembled again.  He'd been up through Donner many times in the winter, but it
had never given him the creeps the way it just had.  He realized that it was
now a part of the evil he'd felt at Ellis', the evil that was all around him. 
Suddenly, he didn't feel safe here.  Instinctively, Hayden probed his
surroundings with his eyes, searching desperately.  He studied his path in the
snow but could make out little.

Then
he turned his attention on the houses and buildings nearby.  Most were buried
to within two or three feet of their roofs.  Others were buried entirely, white
mounds that resembled impossible ant hills.  The two or three feet of the
exposed buildings were dark brown against the white and looked like the mouths
of uninviting caves.  A few showed windows, frosted and frozen, but there was no
movement anywhere.

It
didn't help, just because he didn't see anything didn't matter.  Hayden knew
that they were coming.  A feeling of futility washed over him for an instant
but he quickly fought it back.  He needed to keep moving, that was all.  But he
was so tired.  Every muscle ached, except for his feet and hands, they were
numb.  He was so tired, and now that he had paused, he felt the cold again.  It
seeped into his clothes and under his face mask.  Then his body began to rack
in tremors.

Hayden
was exhausted and freezing.  He was a bull, he knew, he could hold his own
against a great many things.  But this was too much to ask of any man.  He
couldn't fight it all, not everything he was now up against.  Not all at once. 
The big man's mind was reeling.  For the first time in his life, he was near to
giving up.  Hayden leaned his head over the handlebars and closed his eyes,
trying to think, trying to cope.

The
quietude of his despair was shattered just then by an ear piercing shriek.  The
hair on the nape of his neck stood on end for what he decided would not be the
last time today.  Hayden jerked his head up and shot glances around his
position again.  Nothing. But that shriek gave him his determination back. 
Hayden put all of his weight off the side of the snowmobile and punched the
throttle.

His
legs and arms quivered under the strain and he felt rubbery.  Hayden cursed
himself then for stopping.  That brief pause had allowed his fatigue to
register, allowed the cold to affect him.  The machine felt like a lead sled
and his efforts to handle it were becoming painful.  Hayden relaxed and simply
leaned with it and allowed the crippled machine to make its arc to the right. 
He moved out away from the frozen village toward home.

Hayden
Smith was only one hundred yards from the last building of Donner when his
strength finally faltered.  Halfway across a flat level glade, the mangled ski
dipped.  It caught the snow instantly and spun the back of the snowmobile
around it like the pencil in a compass.  Hayden tried with all of his might to
lift that side of the machine, but its own force prevented him from doing so.

There
was no response from his hands either.  He struggled to send the messages
through to release the throttle, but the only reply was a searing pain that
shot up his arms and drained the strength from them.  So he rode it.  Like a
bronco rider just hanging on until the bell rings, he just stayed with it.  The
alternative, if he could convince his hands to release their death grip, was to
be flung off into the snow.

The
machine had made its second circle around the point of the mangled ski when
Hayden heard a loud clacking.  It was the sound of his track hitting ice. 
Hayden looked down to the inside of the circle he was forming and a realization
came over him.  He wasn't on a glade at all; this nice level patch of ground
was Macy pond.  It was frozen over and covered with about a foot of snow, but
this was the pond.

Hayden
kept staring at the ice, he was exhausted and his thinking was muddled. The
circular motion was having a hypnotic effect on him.  He watched as the track
began chewing up the ice and throwing it out onto the snow.  He watched the
twisted ski dig a hole like a cork screw.  He watched it all and did nothing
but ride his bronco.  His thinking was slow, and his reactions slower still. 
The ice was already beginning to moan before he could force himself to move.

There
was a loud creak and a pop and the ice gave way to his weight just as he tried
to pull the machine straight.  Then suddenly, Hayden felt the seat get light
under him and he was gaping at the sky.  Panic coursed through him as the
machine began to sink. The water was at his crotch before he even felt it, and
then he looked down horrified. With every bit of strength he could muster,
Hayden threw himself from the drowning machine.

His
hands reluctantly gave up their hold, but not before pulling Hayden below the
surface of the frigid water.  The snowmobile disappeared into the blackness
beneath him and sucked at him momentarily to join it.  Hayden fought it, arched
his back violently and threw his head up out of the water, sucking in large
amounts of air and some of the pond. He thrashed about wildly for a moment
until he was able to get his bearings.

His
clothes were as anchors in their sodden condition and he struggled to keep his
head above the surface.  The edge of the ice was only a few feet away but it
looked like an ocean's expanse.  Hayden reached for it, strained for it.  He
kicked and pawed toward it, every stroke a tremendous effort.  Finally, one
gloved hand reached the lip and he pulled himself to it.

But
that was the last of Hayden's strength.  He had no more to give, no more to
use.  He clung tenaciously to the jagged ice, but couldn't pull himself up onto
it.  There was a throbbing in his elbows and on up his arms, it was all he
could do to hold on, and he knew that it would not be for too much longer. 
Already his world was getting fuzzy.  He found it increasingly difficult to
concentrate on a single thought.

The
cold didn't even matter any more, he couldn't feel it.  He was just tired.  He
actually found himself wanting to let go and slip into the abyss.  It would be
so nice, so easy to just let go.  He was tired of struggling and sleep would be
so welcome.

The
darkness, the darkness was all around him now.  It was in him too, he was a
part of it.  It was there to help him sleep, to comfort him.  He could feel its
song, the sweet song of an incredible rest.  So Hayden relaxed.  He relaxed and
let the darkness come in.

Somewhere
off in the fuzzy distance he heard a growl and a roar, but he wouldn't let it
intrude on his darkness.  The darkness was sweet and in it he saw her.  He saw
Barbara.  She was a Barbara of nineteen and she was reaching out to him.  Her
arms were opened wide to receive him.  Her skin was soft and white and
unblemished, her bosom full and firm.  She stood before him, invitingly.

Her
hair was long and flowing gently about her head, carried in the currents of
crystal clear water.  She spoke his name and called him to be with her, and
Hayden wished to be with her.  He wished to be with the woman he fell in love
with all those years ago.  He longed to be with her, and talk to her, and
somehow, he knew she would be able to listen.  So Hayden reached for her.

But
as he reached for her, her features turned skeletal.  Her face twisted in a
death grin, a Grim-Reaper's smile, the flesh falling from it.  Hayden gasped in
horror.  He tried to scream but there was no sound.  He tried to move but
couldn't.  He could only watch the bony hands jut towards him, grasp for him.

He
finally managed to pull away from the Barbara-thing's grasp but couldn't turn
his head.  He stared at it in terror, a ghoulish longing etched into the
skull.  Its eyes were huge round balls that peered into Hayden's soul, their
green pupils a stark contrast to the white that surrounded them.  The
Barbara-thing's hair looked like the flame on a grotesque candle, waving
frantically in a maniacal breeze.  Hayden couldn't bring his eyes away from the
horrific creature.

He
backed away from it and it stopped, arms still outstretched.  Then it spoke to
him.  It was a gravelly voice, harsh and not feminine at all.  It was the voice
of hundreds, and there was agony in it, and pain.  Hayden could feel the
loathing in the voice(s), could feel the sick desire, the pain.  Despite the
absence of lips, it enunciated clearly.

"Come
to me Hayden.  We need you.” it pleaded.

"No.",
Hayden muttered, shaking his head but never leaving its gaze.

Suddenly,
the voice(s) grew harsh and bitter, "Then see what's waiting for you! We
hope you like it, it's the only way you'll ever see Barbara again!” it
croaked.  And as Hayden shook his head the Barbara-thing began to decay.  Its
eyes fell out and left empty black craters with rotting nerve endings wiggling
in the sockets.  Its flowing red hair turned grey and dropped away in chunks.

Hayden
screamed, and screamed again.  But there was no sound except that of a distant
snarl.  Then he felt something on his back, a pressure, a hand.  Then all at
once, his world went completely dark and he felt nothing.

***

By
the time they had reached the courthouse, Mike's anxiety was at a peak.  They
had been far too lucky for too long, something bad had to be coming.  He looked
around expectantly and found nothing, except that the snow had nearly stopped
falling.  Maybe things were going to get better, he hoped.  But somehow he
didn't think so.  Somehow, he knew they would get worse before they got better,
much worse.

So
he sighed and looked around for the big bay doors.  He knew that they were here
somewhere, he just couldn't see them.  Then he realized that he was looking too
high, he should have been looking down.  The doors were right in front of them,
all four feet of them.  The drift they'd climbed up this morning had all but
covered the huge doors. Damn near sealed them.  He thought a moment, and then
decided that this might not be such a bad thing.

Mike
reached into his pocket and pulled out the remote, aimed it and punched the
button.  There was a long groan and a clank and the door jerked once then fell
silent.  He pushed it again and the door popped down about two inches.  Then
Mike pressed the button again.  Grooooaaaaan!  POP!  Grooooaaaan again and the
door jerkily began to rise.  It was ever so slow and protested wildly, but
eventually it opened.

The
fluorescent light from the bay cast a surreal glow out the tiny opening and
Mike sighed heavily.  He peered in the opening and it looked just as it had
this morning. Suddenly, he felt a whole lot better.  The next problem was how
to get the snowmobiles in; he didn't think it would be wise to leave them out. 
He thought and thought and the only way seemed to be the direct approach.

So
he climbed off his machine and immediately sank about four feet in the soft
snow.  He waded over as close to the opening as he dared, and began to kick and
throw and push snow into the opening.  In a few minutes, he had made about a
six foot hole down into the doorway, and a small pile down in the bay.  Satisfied,
he fought his way back to his snowmobile and pulled himself up onto it.  He
gave a look back to Sarah and Nick, shrugged, and throttled his machine down
the fresh rut.