The Winter People (15 page)

"Clayton! 
What the hell happened?!" he yelled at him, taking a furtive step.  But Clayton
did not respond.  He only stood there, expressionless, eyes darting.  Bud ran
up to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, giving him a shake.  "Clayton?"

Clayton only
barely turned his head to regard Bud, but there was no recognition in his
eyes.  He was jittery and breathed in quick, shallow breaths.  Bud looked
closer at him and saw that his underwear was covered with soot and torn in
several places, mostly the elbows and the knees.  Most of the blood on him was
not his own, but he was bleeding from several superficial wounds.  Bud led him
to the bedroom and covered him with blankets, then returned to the garage for
Sarah.

As Bud crossed the
yard to the garage, he noticed that it seemed more distant, less distinct.  He
stopped and looked around himself, expectantly.  The wind lashed out at him and
caused him to lean into it.  Its cry was pitiless and hard and Bud could feel
its cold sting through his snow suit.  "Damn.", he muttered to
himself.  It had become a full force blizzard and visibility was quickly dropping
to zero.  They wouldn't be going anywhere for a while.

***

The pain in his
feet and lower legs ebbed as numbness crept into them.  For the last half hour
Tom had used the pain as a crutch to keep him moving, fighting off the
weariness that tried to overwhelm him.  The burning in his lungs and the sting
of the cold on his hands and face had also helped to keep him alert, but it was
the white hot pain in his feet that did the most.  Very soon, Tom knew that he
would no longer be able to go on.  He could barely move, his vision was blurry,
and all he wanted to do was sleep.  All the signs were there, Tom Willis was
freezing to death.

But, he forced
another step, then another.  Each step brought with it less and less sensation
of the ground, and finally he faltered.  Tom stumbled forward and fell face
first into the snow.  His arms still sluggishly stuck at his sides, he merely
rolled over onto his back to clear his face from the snow.  He closed his eyes
slowly and it felt good, too good.  He felt that he would not open them again,
but that was okay, it felt good.

A tremor coursed
through him then and forced his eyes open.  They fluttered for a moment and he
closed them again.  Then, he opened them up again and strained to see.  He
stretched his neck and forced his eyes to focus as best they could.  It was
there.  It was a dark form in the fog, fuzzy straight lines and angles, the
pitch of a roof.  Tom had made it to Lloyd's.

From a place that
Tom never knew he had, he reached down and found the strength to pull himself
up.  He forced a step, then another.  Soon, he was moving as regularly as
before, but he felt nothing.  Every part of his body was numb except for the
tiny buzzing in his brain.  It was that buzz that he focused on, that buzz that
was his driving force.  Everything else was far away and in a different place. 
The only thing real to Tom, the only thing he could feel, was that buzz.  So he
followed it blindly, trustingly.

Tom was dazed and
unaware of his surroundings.  He was going purely on instinct.  It had taken
over and was directing his actions.  His body merely went along for the ride. 
He climbed the steps to the porch and moved to the front door, not really
knowing what he was doing.  His thoughts were as hazy as his vision and he moved
because the buzz told him to.  Doing things he wasn't really aware of.

Caught in
mid-snore, Hayden gagged once then coughed.  He opened his eyes wide and
blinked several times.  He swallowed hard and smacked his lips in distaste at
the pasty film in his mouth.  He was cotton-mouthed and his neck ached.  It was
a dull ache at the base of his brain that pumped forth to his temples and ended
up just above each eye.  He let his feet drop heavily off the desk to the
floor, which made the pounding in his head even worse.  He let out a moan.

He rubbed his eyes
with his fingers then continued around to massage his temples.  Finally, his
world was coming into focus.  He'd slept in his chair again and he knew that
he'd be paying the price all day.  Before him on the desk blotter was the
bottle they'd killed off last night, laying on its side like a dead soldier. 
Hayden glanced past it to the clock on his desk.  It was nearly 7:30am.

He looked around
the room and saw Nick stretched out on the couch near the door, and Mike was
balanced precariously on two chairs against the far wall.  Hayden decided to
let them sleep a while longer, there were a few things he needed to do.  He
reached into his top right-hand drawer and after fumbling around in its clutter
for a moment, came away with a bottle of aspirin.  Hayden preferred things neat
and in order, but this was the one bastion of disarray that he allowed
himself.  It was appropriately called his "junk drawer".

He tipped his head
back and tossed down four of the little pills, swallowing them dry.  Hayden
recapped the bottle and tossed it back into the drawer then stood up.  His body
ached all over and his neck was getting very stiff, very fast.  He placed his
hands on his hips and stretched, first to the left, then to the right, then
back.  Bones and joints creaked and popped and with a satisfied sigh, he turned
and walked to the outer office.

***

Nick and Mike
finally stirred, then woke to the strong but pleasant smell of hot coffee. 
Nick fared by far the better of the three by sleeping on the couch, at least he
wasn't stiff anywhere.  But he still felt like he'd eaten a bowl of sand, and some
tap dancer was doin' soft shoe in his head.  He yawned, stretched, and swung
his feet over the side of the couch to a sitting position.  It was only then
that he saw Hayden standing there before him with a platter.

Mike too was
having some difficulty in motivation this morning, and even mumbled a few
cursory remarks to emphasize his position.  He nearly fell out of the chair as
he stretched his aching muscles, "Shit! Oh man."  He grabbed his head
and let his feet find the floor.  "What hit me?" he moaned.

Hayden chuckled
then walked over to the desk and set down the platter.  It contained a pot and
three cups.  He reached into the
drawer
and retrieved the aspirin again,
setting it next to the platter.  He then poured two cups of coffee and picked
up the third and sipped at it, its aroma filling his nostrils and clearing his
head even more.  His hair was damp on top where it was longer and curled
slightly with the moisture.  His shirt was tucked in, though still wrinkled.

"There's a
shower in the other room if you boys are inclined.” he said between sips.  Nick
and Mike had made it to the desk and picked up the other two cups.  Nick just
held his cup between his two hands and sniffed deeply of its vapor.  Mike took
several long sips, slurping them to ease the heat.

"That'd be
great!” Nick said with arched eyebrows, and then finally took a sip of the
coffee.  "And thanks for the coffee.” he added.  He turned and walked
slowly to the door, feeling each step.  Hayden watched with mild amusement, and
turned to regard Mike.  He was still slurping heavily at the coffee, his eyes
dull and red.

Mike saw Hayden's
gaze, "Not much of a morning person.” he stated in a gravely voice washed
away with more coffee.  "Not much of a drinking person either.” he added
as an after thought.

Hayden sat back
down in his chair with his elbows propped on the armrests, and rested his head
on the interlocked fingers of his hands.  Mike sat back down and drank from the
cup as if it were the golden chalice, refilling it once already from the big
metal pot.  Hayden stared at him but looked past him.  He was worried.

Hayden had tried
to call his wife but the phones were out.  No big deal he had told himself, the
storm could easily have done that.  So he went to use the radio and contact her
through their base station.  That worked fine.  But then when he tried to raise
the Ranger Station, he got only static.

***

Bud had been
working at a fevered pitch for the last hour.  With Sarah's help they had
managed to board up all the windows in the station and reconstruct a door of
sorts.  Clayton only lay on the bed beneath the blankets and rocked back and
forth, saying nothing.  He was lost in his own world, tormented by his own
demons, and the demons in the storm.  Clayton was oblivious to the activity
around him and had coalesced with his own subconscious.

Clayton now only
lived in his mind, trapped in its maze of nerve tissue and neurons.  He was forced
to deal with what he had done and what he had seen.  There, he would relive it
over and over again, for no one to see but himself.  Like a continual airing of
a bad rerun that he was forced to sit through time and again.

Just sit right
back and you'll hear the tale, the tale of a fateful trip......
 
Clayton
woke by the time Johnny had turned off onto Silver from Route 14.  He needed to
piss in a bad way.  He threw back the covers and made a dash for the bathroom,
the cold of the hardwood penetrating his thick socks.

He leaned back
as his urine found the bowl, but not before hitting the seat and the floor, and
looked out through the opened door at Ted.  Ted had whimpered.  "What a
fucking faggot!" Clayton thought, "Ole blanket butt's gone
too."  He finished his chore, didn't bother washing his hands, and padded
into the kitchen.  Jesus, he had a bitch of a hangover.

"God
damned Injun!  Could a thought enough of us to put on some coffee." he
said aloud, disgusted.  He didn't venture any further in but turned and walked
back to the bedroom, his portly belly jiggling against his tight long
underwear.  At the door he surveyed the room again.  Their three beds were on
the far wall, with Ted's at the far end.  Immediately to his right was a small
table with a phone on it, then the bathroom.

Clayton went
into the bathroom and filled Ted's toothbrush cup with cold water and made his
way to Ted's bedside.  In one swift stroke he jerked back the covers and dowsed
the man across the face and chest.  Ted sat bolt upright, eyes wide, and sucked
in a huge gasp of air and some of the used liquid.  He coughed several times
then spit.

"Sonofa
bitch!" he muttered, which sounded more like saunava beeitch.
 
"What
the hell are you doing?" he managed, though not very forcefully.  Clayton
was standing above him with a yellowed toothy grin, chortling.  The dripping
cup was still held aloft in one hand, the blankets in the other.

"Time to
wake your sweet ass up Miss Frazier.", he replied, chuckling again, a look
of mock hurt on his face at Ted's tone.

"Jesus! 
That was cold Clayton."  His tone was contemptuous but had lost any
potency it might have held.

"Don't go
cryin' on me sweet cakes.  Just get up and fix the breakfast, I need some
coffee."  Clayton's tone was totally serious, his look deadpan.

Ted looked at
him a moment then rolled his eyes and rolled out of bed.  He grabbed his robe
from the floor where Clayton's disturbance had left it, and thumped heavily
into the kitchen mumbling under his breath.  Clayton watched him leave. 
Smiling, he lay back down on his own bed and stretched out with his arms folded
behind his head.  He thought to himself contentedly, "That little fuck
knows who the daddy is in this house."

About fifteen
minutes later Ted called Clayton to eat.  The aroma had already drifted back to
the bedroom and Clayton had been waiting impatiently the whole time.  He was up
and out to the table in a flash, his appetite ravenous.  He wolfed down the
pancakes drowned in syrup, following each bite with a piece of bacon.  He
washed it all down with black coffee.  Ted sat down and began to eat as well,
though far less gluttonous.

Ted was truly
amazed at Clayton.  Never a word of thanks or a kind gesture, and Clayton was
the laziest slob he'd ever known.  Clayton belched hard and Ted looked up from
his plate at him, disgusted.  As with every morning with him, Ted would have to
cook and do the dishes, then be forced to listen to some lurid tale of Clayton's
sexual prowess.  Ted often wondered how Johnny managed to handle him.

Clayton patted
his round full stomach, "Hey Teddy bear, did you see old man Boscoe's
niece the other day?"  It was purely rhetorical for he fully intended to
continue no matter what Ted's reply.  "What a looker she is.  I'd like to
dip my wick in some of that puntang!  I'll bet that bitch ain't never had a
good dickin'.  Not one like she'd get from me anyway!"  Ted was ignoring Clayton
after the first few words but it didn't bother Clayton any, he just leaned back
in his chair and talked for his own amusement.

"Yeah, I'd
make her scream." he continued.  "Bang her head on the wall and
spread them legs 'til she split!  That bitch would be beggin' for mercy, but
I'd just pound her all the harder."  Clayton was staring glassy eyed at
the ceiling, picturing the scene in his mind.  Below the table his long
underwear raised up like a tent to his raging hard-on.  He let one hand slip
off his belly and slide down to rest on it, feel its warmth.

Ted was
thoroughly repulsed and simply pushed away from the table to clear his place.  Clayton
looked at him amused, "What's the matter Teddy----don't ya like women?  Or
do you prefer takin' it up the old poop shoot?"  Ted had finally had
enough and was about to retort when there was a thunderous screech of wind that
pelted the station.  It made Ted's ears ring and Clayton's dick went limp.

It was a
mournful cry, a wail of agony and rancor.  So many feelings mixed up in one
sound, it was the voice of thousands.  It made the hair stand on Ted's neck and
Clayton broke out in tremors.  "What the hell was that?!" Clayton had
managed in surprise, his voice trembling.  He stood and walked around the table
to stand beside Ted.

Ted only looked
at him dumbly.  Then the shriek hit again, closer, louder.  Ted very nearly
pissed his pants.  His eyes were wide and terror settled in his throat.  He had
never heard anything like it before, and never would again.  The door thumped
hard once just then and Ted dropped his plate.  Clayton jumped, startled.  Both
men stared at the door.

It thumped
again and they saw it vibrate on its hinges.  Both men were frozen, riveted on
the door.  The breath had caught in Ted's throat and he had to remind himself
to breathe.  A split second later the door burst inward, its hinges and latch
ripping out of the door frame.  It hit solidly on the floor in front of them
with a loud THWACK!