Krampus: The Yule Lord (14 page)

Isabel was silent.

“Fuck, and we gotta get some gas. Have to be running on fumes at this point. Any of you got any cash?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “But it’s back in the cave.”

“What? You mean the cave we just left?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, about how much good do you think that’s gonna do us?”

More silence.

Krampus thought the man showed a lot of backbone, especially in the face of all that was going on, thought he might make a good Belsnickel. And he would need as many as he could sustain, because there’d be no telling what creatures Santa might send after them next.
I will have to claim him.
His eyes closed. He took in a deep breath.
But not now. It would be too much now. Later . . . perhaps when I am stronger.
His eyes shut and he drifted away into dreams of soaring through the clouds.

J
ESSE HEADED UP
a gravel road; it was an old mining road and he felt pretty sure no one would be out this way. If he could find some shelter, it’d be a good place to hole up until dark, until they could get some gas and maybe by then he’d have figured out a way to escape this group of freaks.

Isabel rolled down her window, leaned out looking skyward. “Them birds is still following us.”

Jesse hit the brakes, slid to a stop on the gray gravel.

“Whatcha doing?” Isabel asked.

“Taking care of something.” Jesse unclipped his seat belt, hopped out of the truck, and headed across the road toward a clearing.

“Hey,” Isabel called. “We can’t stop here.” She popped open her door and came after him. “We gotta keep moving.”

Jesse shielded his eyes with his hand and searched for the birds, spotted both of them circling above in the cool early-morning light.

The Belsnickels slid out of the camper, looked from Jesse to Isabel.

“We need to get him back in the truck,” Isabel said.

Makwa walked over and grabbed Jesse by the arm, gave him a tug back toward the pickup.

Jesse locked eyes with the big Shawnee. “I ain’t running off.” Jesse jerked his arm free and walked to the rear of the pickup. He stared at his father’s truck, at the streaks of blood and clumps of fur stuck to the twisted aluminum of the shattered camper shell. The tailgate was gone altogether and the rear bumper all but dragged on the road.

Jesse set a knee on the truck bed and leaned in. The Krampus creature lay wrapped in the blanket near the cab, cradling his velvet sack. He was looking out the side window, up into the sky, his eyes far away and a half-smile on his face, like a drunk in a whorehouse. Jesse noticed his guitar, the big crack along the body and the missing frets.
“Damn,”
he whispered. His mother and father had given it to him for his twelfth birthday, and despite everything else that had happened, seeing it cracked like that still hit him hard.
Just one more thing to feel bad about . . . that’s all.
Jesse pushed it aside, rolled the sleeping bag over to get at his father’s hunting rifle. He grabbed it and the tackle box, slid them out.

Vernon caught the barrel, keeping it pointed at the dirt. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Let go.”

“I’m not about to.”

“Then we’ll just sit here until them wolves come. Until that Santa fella tracks us down.”

“Let him have it.”

They both turned and found Krampus leaning against the side of the camper, staring up at the circling birds. Jesse noticed that the Krampus creature looked a touch better, closer now to a fresh cadaver, one that had only been in the ground say a week or so as opposed to a couple of months.

“Krampus, no,” Vernon said. “That’s a rifle . . . a gun. Do you know what—”

“I know what a rifle is,” Krampus said in a voice deep and full of gravel.

“Well, then why in Hell would you let him have one? He’ll just shoot us all!”

Krampus continued to stare up at the ravens, an odd, sad look in his eyes. “It must be done.”

“What? No, that’s a very bad idea. You can’t trust a man like—”

“Give him the gun. That is a command.”

Vernon made a face as though he’d sat on a tack, but relinquished hold on the rifle.

Jesse propped the rifle on his knee, flipped open the tackle box, and dug about until he found a carton of rounds. He pressed fifteen rounds into the magazine, cocked the lever, seating a bullet in the chamber, then crossed the road into the clearing.

He spotted the ravens, guessed they were about two hundred feet overhead, knew it would be an easy shot with them being so large, at least with this rifle. You handle a gun long enough and it becomes an extension of yourself, and Jesse had spent half his life with the old Henry .22. He’d once shot a bumblebee right out of the air with it. He seated the rifle against his shoulder, sighted one of the ravens, led the aim to compensate for distance, and fired. The gun kicked like a pat from an old friend, and a blast of feathers flittered away. It was a clean kill and the raven dropped from the sky. The remaining raven let out a piercing cry and began to flap furiously away, but Jesse already had a bead on it. He pulled the trigger twice in quick succession, the first shot missed but the second one caught the big bird in the wing, sending it spiraling earthward in a rain of feathers.

Jesse cocked another round into the chamber, turned, and leveled the gun on Krampus. “Get away from my truck. All of you.”

The Belsnickels froze, all their eyes locked on Jesse. But Krampus didn’t give him so much as a glance, only watched the big birds plummet earthward. One raven landed in the clearing, the other about fifty yards up the road. “Makwa, bring me the birds.”

Makwa kept staring at Jesse, clenching and unclenching his powerful hands. Jesse could see the big Shawnee intended to tear him apart.

“Makwa?”

The Shawnee stiffened.

“It is a command.”

Makwa gave Jesse one last look, one that promised a terrible death, then sprinted away up the road.

Jesse jabbed the gun at Krampus. “Get your stupid sack and get out of my truck. I’m not gonna say it twice.”

The four remaining Belsnickels began to spread out, to encircle Jesse. Jesse raised the gun to his shoulder. “One more step and I will blow his head off. Go on, goddammit. I dare you.”

“Leave him be,” Krampus said calmly, his tone almost bored, even distracted, still looking at the birds. “Back away, that is a command.”

The Belsnickels stopped, took a step back, and just stood there exchanging confused looks.

“Now get out of my truck,” Jesse repeated.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to say it twice?”

“Well, I sure as heck ain’t gonna say it three times,” Jesse growled. “That’s for certain.”

Krampus turned his face to Jesse and smiled. “We need your help.”

“Don’t care.”

“From what I have heard you seem to have a lot of enemies.”

“That don’t concern you.”

“Perhaps you need our help?” Krampus said. “Perhaps there are ways we can help each other.”

“Don’t think so.”

“You have seen my Belsnickels at play. You know what they are capable of. What if they were to be at your command? If there is blood that needs to be spilt, they are very capable.”

Jesse started to shake his head, then stopped, looked at the devil creatures, the Belsnickels, at their deadly fingernails, their terrifying orange eyes, thought about the way they’d attacked his truck, how quick and strong they were, how easily they’d taken out Chet and killed Lynyrd.
Stealthy night creatures . . . they could cut the General’s boys down before they even knew they were there.
He knew that after the way things went down last night, the General would’ve already served his death warrant. He’d heard Chet screaming that it was a setup, no doubt that’s how they’d all see it, and no amount of explaining on his part would ever change that. He also knew that the General would put a price on his head, offer a reward to anyone who’d report his whereabouts, would enlist every resource to track him down. But most of all, the General had made it clear that if Jesse ever crossed him, he’d hurt Abigail, would put her in a box. Jesse felt sure they’d probably already nabbed her, most likely taken her over to the compound. He couldn’t help thinking about how scared she must be.

“Some bad folks is after my daughter,” Jesse said. “I need to make sure she’s safe.”

Krampus nodded. “I understand.”

“There’s more to it than that. It’s complicated. Need to make sure they won’t ever hurt her again.”

“Dead men cannot hurt anyone.” And Krampus smiled.

Jesse thought about how good his odds would be if he showed up at the General’s compound alone—his old hunting rifle against a dozen or more heavily armed men, men with automatic weapons.

“Punishing the wicked is something I’m very good at. We can cut them down . . . make them disappear.” Krampus pointed into the camper, at the velvet sack.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I am the sack’s master. I can command it to open to any place I wish . . . of this world or of others. We can send your friends to the bottom of the ocean, into the realm of the dead if you so prefer.” Krampus’s smile turned sinister.

Jesse tried to get his mind around this. He’d not considered what would happen if you put something back into the sack, of where it might end up. He found the thought disturbing, but if it were true, if any of what this creature promised were true, it would sure simplify things, might even keep him out of prison. Only how did one go about trusting a devil? He gave Krampus a hard look.

“How can you trust me?”

Jesse was startled by how easily Krampus read him.

“You have already saved my life once. Why would I not help you?”

Jesse realized it all came down to risk. The odds of him successfully saving his daughter on his own against the odds that this creature, this devil, would truly come through for him.
Maybe this is an opportunity. Maybe it’s at least worth a shot.

Makwa returned, holding both birds by the neck. He gave Jesse a dark look. One of the ravens still lived and Krampus reached for it. Jesse had known the birds were large, much bigger than any raven he’d ever seen, but seeing it up close he was amazed. They were at least as large as a vulture or eagle. The bird struggled in Krampus’s grasp, cawed, and tried to bite and peck him.

“Huginn,” Krampus cooed softly to the bird. “Huginn, be brave.” Krampus leaned his head and whispered softly, soothingly into its ear. The bird began to calm. Krampus cradled it, gently stroking its black feathers. The bird’s breathing slowed and its eyes fell shut. Krampus kissed the top of its head. “It grieves me so to see you thus. You and your brother have both served Odin well.”

He stroked the raven’s beak, its head. It fluffed its feathers and leaned against his chest, and then Krampus slipped his fingers around its neck and gave a quick, hard twist. Jesse heard a snap and the bird fell still. Krampus hugged the bird and Jesse could see the heartbreak upon his face.

“So few of the ancient ones still live,” Krampus said, almost to himself. “And now we have two less.” His lips began to tremble. “This deed shall rest on your hands, Santa Claus. One more murder to add to your list, one more death to be avenged.” Krampus kissed the top of the raven’s head once more, then bit into the bird’s skull.

“Oh, Jesus,” Jesse said and took a step back.

Krampus chewed loudly, grinding the bones between his teeth. He swallowed and looked skyward. “Thank you, Odin. Thank you for this great gift . . . for this bounty of your blood in my time of need.” He wiped his lips and took another bite, then another and another, as the raven’s blood spilled down his chin and chest.

Jesse glanced about to see if the Belsnickels were as appalled as he was, but they acted as though nothing unusual was going on. Krampus ate not just the meat and guts of the bird, but also the beak, bones, and talons. He slipped off the tailgate, dropped to the ground, and picked up the other bird, sitting upon his haunches, gnawing and chewing until he’d consumed every feather.

The first rays of morning sun broke over the mountain, glistening off the snow. Krampus set back his head and basked in the sunlight. He let out a long, deep groan and Jesse noticed the change—the creature’s skin gaining pigment right before his eyes, darkening from an almost lucent gray toward black. His flesh and bones appeared to be gaining substance.

Krampus grabbed hold of the bumper and pulled himself up onto unsteady feet, bracing himself against the truck. It was apparent that he was still far from health, but he was a much more formidable beast than the creature that’d been huddled in the blanket. He looked at Jesse, at the gun as though for the first time. “What were we discussing?”

“How you could help me get rid of some trash.”

Krampus smiled, wiped his hand down his face, through his chin hairs, looked at the blood smeared across his fingers, offered the hand to Jesse. “There is no stronger pact than one sealed with blood.”

Jesse stared at the blood. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need a place to hide away. A place where I can heal, can prepare. A face that is not pitch, eyes that do not glow to fetch us a few needed items. That is all.”

“And for that you’ll help me get my daughter? Will kill them men that took her?”

Krampus’s eyes gleamed. “It has been long since I was terrible. I miss it dearly. It will be a great treat to see the fear in their eyes, to hear them beg for their lives, to feast on their blood and death cries.”

“Feast on their death cries,” Jesse said as though tasting the word. “I like the sound of that.” He leaned the rifle against the truck, walked over, and took Krampus’s extended hand.

Jesse was making a pact with the devil and he didn’t mind one bit.

D
ILLARD’S CELL PHONE
buzzed across the dashboard of his Suburban. He shoved his coffee into the cup holder, snatched up the phone, looked at the name of the incoming call, and contemplated not answering. It was the General, again, third time in the past hour. It buzzed again, again, then again. Dillard grimaced and flipped his phone open.