The Winter People (17 page)

His tongue poked
out slightly between clenched teeth, Gary worked on the cross-bow intently.  He
bolted the bow to the front of the stock, making sure that the notch in the bow
lined up with the groove in the top of the stock.  Next, he took the cable and
looped it through a hole in one end of the bow and secured it with a cable
tie.  Then he ran it through the hole in the opposite end, pulled it as tight
as he could then secured that with a cable tie as well.  He cut off the excess
cable and tossed it under his bed.

Gary turned the
weapon over in his hands, admiring it.  Then he looked past it at the pile of
bolts on the blanket, and nodded.  On his knees on the floor, he propped the
butt of the cross-bow against his chest and pulled on the cable with both
hands.  Straining as hard as he could, he could only pull back about half way.

Determined, he
stood and slipped the stock between his legs and stood on a portion of the bow
on either side.  Gary bent down and grabbed the cable with both hands and
pulled back with all his might.  He pulled it up past the release and eased it
down onto the catch.  Very gently, he began to release his pressure against the
cable then noticed his feet.

"Please oh
please oh please..." he eked out as he released the last of his pressure. 
Then he removed his hands and the cable sat there.  He grabbed the butt and
moved his feet quickly away from the bow, and still the cable sat there.  Gary
picked it up gingerly and shook it from side to side, and still the cable sat
there.  Then he dropped it onto the blanket on the floor, and nothing happened.

Warily, he picked
it up, held it away from him and pulled the trigger.  It was hard and required
some force, but it began to move.  Finally, he pulled the trigger enough to
release the cable, and it snapped away with a jerk and a crack that made him
jump.  A smile eased onto Gary's face and he nodded slowly.  It worked.

Johnny's blocky
frame filled the frosted window.  He rubbed it again with his sleeve so that he
could see out.  He was despondent, his eyes outlined in red from crying.  But
they were also hard eyes, hardened by what had happened and by what he now
knew.  The snow was beginning to lessen and by this afternoon he figured it
would stop entirely.  Yet the wind had remained, and he knew would do so until
they
had been satiated.

He turned his back
on the window and closed his eyes.  The field stretched out before him, becoming
foot hills, and then the mountain.  He strained harder and could make out the
stand of aspens on the ridge by itself, where only the ghosts walked.  It was
here he had to go and take Faywah's body.  Here his grandfather would be at
peace.

***

Bud Boscoe had
never considered himself an irrational man or someone prone to being easily
frightened.  But Bud Boscoe was scared.  Something terrible had happened here. 
Something terrible was going to happen again.  He could feel it.  All Bud knew
was that they had to get out of this place, and soon.  He would much rather
take his chances on the blinding snowstorm at fifty below than to fight
whatever hell-born creature had done what had been done to the ranger station,
be it human or not.

And somewhere in
the pit of Bud's gut, he suspected that it wasn't very human.  He knew it was
irrational, but he just couldn't believe that a man, or group of men, could
have done this.  Bud also didn't believe that Clayton could be so terrified of
some psycho.  There was something very unnatural about the whole scene they had
stumbled on to, something evil.  And Bud felt that whatever it was, it was also
cunning and incredibly strong.

The front door of
the station had been pushed in by a large blow and not shattered as if chopped
by an axe or other tool.  The rooms had been demolished, heavy furniture torn
apart as if it were balsa wood.  The radio was scrap, their only link to the
outside, or help.  And now Bud remembered the tires on both the trucks,
shredded and useless.  Whatever had done this was well aware of their
weaknesses.  Bud was suddenly all the more determined that they should leave
there as quickly as possible.

He surveyed the
wreckage of the rooms.  The half of the dining table that was left was fairly
solid and would make a relatively nice sled he decided.  He laid it top side
down on the floor, pretty much covering the pool of dried blood that stained
the hardwood.  Behind him was a blackened trail that led to the doorway,
bedaubed and diffuse, to disappear in the snow beyond. He ignored it and worked
intensely on the sled he was fashioning.

Bud sifted through
the remnants of the radio and came away with a side piece of its shell.  He
attached it to one end of the table on its new bottom, with nails that he'd retrieved
from the kitchen utility drawer.  The eight or so inches of the stiff metal
that protruded from the end of the wood, he bent upward in a slight arc,
forming a plow of sorts.  The whole thing resembled a mutant toboggan, which
was his intention.

Next, he attached
a rope from his snowmobile to the fractured leg braces that stood ragged and
angular from the sled's horizontal surface.  He firmly attached three sets of
rope in all.  One at the back of his creation, one set near the middle and the
last at the front of it, forming the tow rope.  He tied and then anchored
everything with nails.  Sarah only monitored him from a distance.  The surface
he chose to work on nauseated her.

Finally satisfied
with the transmutation Bud slowly stood and took several deep breaths, exhaling
heavy sighs.  Sarah watched him, concerned.  He looked very tired today and she
still remembered the way she had come out and found him at the cabin.  He had
said it was nothing but she sensed otherwise.  She had let it go back then but
now she was regretting her decision.  Sarah wished they were still in the
warmth of the cabin, ignorant of all of this.

Bud looked up then
and caught her staring at him.  He gave her a smile, "I'm okay hun, I just
needed a break.  Why don't you pour us some of that hot chocolate you brought,
and I'll finish this up?"

"Are you sure
you're okay?"  Sarah's concern was deep.  She couldn't stand losing her
uncle as she had lost her father.

"Yeah, but I
sure could use a cup of that stuff . . . with a shot of schnapps if you don't
mind?"  He winked at her then and gave a disarming smile that Sarah had
always found charming.  It had lightened her heart to see that smile and she
returned it with one of her own.

"Coming right
up!” she said, more enthusiastically than she felt.  Then she turned and headed
for the kitchen to find two cups.  She returned to find that her uncle had
already carried, or dragged, Clayton out of the bedroom and laid him atop
several blankets he had spread out on the makeshift sled.

"You should
have called me!  I would have helped you with that!” she scolded.

"I may be
old, but I'm not dead.” Bud replied, cocking his head to look up at her.

"Not
yet." Sarah thought to herself, and then blurted out, "Oh!  You're just
a stubborn, pig-headed . . .” clenching her teeth she took a quick hard
breath.  Shaking her head she handed him a cup of the aromatic liquid. 
"Here!"

Bud took it from
her and gave her that smile again.  "Thanks.", He replied.  They both
stood there a moment and said nothing, sipping from their cups.  Sarah wasn't
really angry with her uncle, just worried.  She resigned herself to the fact
that he was going to do as he damned well pleased, no matter how much everyone
else protested.  In fact, she couldn't imagine him any other way.  It made her
smile to think about him and how much like her dad he really was.

Bud walked over
and sat his empty cup down upon the hearth and moved quickly back to the sled
and the catatonic man lying on it.  He wrapped the blankets around Clayton and tied
him to the sled with the lengths of rope he had attached earlier.  When he was
through, Clayton looked like a little papoose strapped to his mother's back. 
Sarah smiled at the image in spite of the situation.  Testing the rope one
final time, Bud was satisfied with their strength and turned to Sarah.

"Well Sarah,
are you ready?"  He stood between Sarah and the sled with his hands on his
hips and his legs slightly apart.  The typical Superman pose from the comics
she thought.  And in a way, he was her hero.  He was the Superman between her
and Clayton, between her and the storm, between her and whatever waited beyond
the door.  At that moment, Sarah loved and needed her uncle more than she ever
had.

"Yeah Uncle
Bud, just let me gather up our stuff."  She turned, grabbed Bud's cup from
the mantle and disappeared into the kitchen.  A few moments later she
reappeared with her back pack, "Ready."  She tried to sound
enthusiastic but her voice reeked of trepidation.  They both bundled up in
their snow gear and each grabbed a rope of the sled.  Clayton only twitched
nervously, his eyes darting rapidly from side to side.

The two of them
towed the heavy load across the hardwood floor, followed by grunts and creaks
and reluctant scraping of wood on wood.  At the doorway, they paused while Bud
removed the barricade they had blocked the door with then continued.  The wind
whipped in the opening and assaulted them instantly.  In response to this, Clayton
let out a whimper lost in the wail of the current.

The sled itself
would not fit through the opening horizontally so Bud and Sarah had to turn it
up on one side.  The table top itself was heavy enough, but with Clayton's
added weight it was nearly impossible to maneuver it.  After a considerable
struggle the two managed to balance it on one side.  Clayton was firmly
attached with the ropes an didn't budge, he just hung there on his side like so
much beef, his eyes never stopping with their continual search.

They pulled it
through the doorway and let it fall with a soft thud into the fluff piled up
against the portal.  Snow blew out around the sled's base and was whisked away
by gusts of frigid air.  On the snow the sled moved more easily but the deep
powder stifled Bud and Sarah's progress so that it was about the same as
inside.  They pulled Clayton over to Bud's snowmobile and Bud attached the rope
to the railing around the back of his machine.

Almost as an after
thought, Bud reached into the back of his snowmobile and retrieved the two
flare guns.  He handed one to Sarah and she took it without protest or query. 
She quickly stuffed it into her coat pocket and moved over to her snowmobile. 
Bud pocketed his flare gun as well and climbed onto his Polaris.  He looked at
Sarah and nodded, she nodded back and they started their machines.

They wind picked
up then, Bud could feel its force increase.  Suddenly, the wind was all around
him in shrieks of wild anger.  It seemed incredibly loud for a moment,
incredibly close.  It seemed to Bud that it had just passed in one ear and out
the other.  He glanced at Sarah and saw her holding her gloved hands over her
own ears.  At that moment he became very afraid.  He gunned his engine and felt
the machine lurch forward, protesting slightly about the additional weight.

The wind yelled at
them again, closer still.  Bud knew they would be leaving not a moment too
soon.  He turned once again to look at Sarah.  Her eyes were wild things, even
from behind her goggles, and he knew that she felt it also.  Bud looked back at
Clayton and saw him trembling and shaking uncontrollably beneath the blankets,
and somehow, Bud didn't think it was because of the cold.  With that last
glance they began to move forward, and even the deafening roar of the two
machines couldn't drown out the cries of the wind entirely.

Just sit right
back and you'll hear the tale, the tale of a fateful trip......

***

Hayden poured the
last of the coffee into his cup, grounds and all.  He slurped a deep swallow to
ease its heat then continued.  "So as soon as Mike gets done we can go
over to my place.  I think I can sweet talk Barb into fixing us some
breakfast." he smiled at that just then, but Nick had missed it.  He sat
across from Hayden in one of the chairs Mike had been sleeping on, now
repositioned in front of the huge oak desk.  Nick sat there nodding
acknowledgement but wasn't really paying attention.

His mind was
elsewhere.  His thoughts were torn between Sarah and Debbie, and Taylor and
Mo.  He was concerned about his sister, missed Debbie, and was just plain
scared about the rest.  Nick had always had an active imagination and it was
running overtime right now.  He was in fact, having a difficult time convincing
himself that he was just being silly.  There was nothing silly about it.  What
had happened was
not
a bear.  Nor anything else natural as far as Nick
was concerned.

He couldn't
explain his feelings but they were there and that's all Nick needed.  Call it
intuition, a premonition, or what ever you wanted.  The fact was that he knew
deep down inside that he was about to have a nightmare like no other he'd had
before.  It was going to be a nightmare with the sickening horror of reality,
the stench of terrible actuality to it.  Slight tremors passed quickly through
him and he could feel tiny bumps rise on his arms beneath his flannel shirt. 
Just as quickly, the wave subsided and he regained control of himself.

"What then,
Hayden?  After we eat?  I need to let my sister and uncle know what's
happened." Nick placed his empty cup on the tray then leaned back in his chair.

"I know
Nick.  They're probably worried sick by now.  But there's little we can
do.", he glanced at his watch, "It doesn't look like Johnny's going
to make it this morning, so after we get some hot food in us, I'll drive you
two back out and get a hold of the state boys."

"Back out
where?" Mike visibly startled them both as he came through the door, his
hair wet and combed flat against his head.  He was smiling and had a lightness
to his step.

Hayden thought amused,
"You're definitely a long, hot shower person."  Mike walked over to
the two and pulled up the other chair beside Nick.  He leaned over the desk to
peer into the empty pot and exaggerated a scowl.

"Thanks a lot
you two." he grumbled half heartedly then stretched out into the chair
next to Nick.

"Back out to
Bud's place." Hayden continued, "We need to let 'em know what's going
on, and that you two are okay.  And, I'd feel a lot better if we got them into
town until this thing is over."  He added, "I know there's not much
to do here but watch the paint peel, but I think we need to stay close until
this storm lets up.  The road out will be shut down until the plow gets
through, and even after it gets through, I wouldn't advise traveling in
this."

Both men nodded in
agreement with Hayden.  Much as Nick liked his car, he didn't think it would
get far in this weather either.  Just then the wind shrieked loudly outside the
window and caused the three men to jump and turn simultaneously.  The window
was a frosted white blur as cold as death.  The three of them just stood there
a moment in breathless anticipation, expecting more.  But nothing more came and
they all exhaled heavy sighs, almost in unison.  It was an eerie wind, at least
that much they all agreed upon.

Yet, Hayden was
much more worried about the situation than he was letting on.  Somehow, the
bear
story didn't sit quite right.  He had a churning feeling in his stomach that
something far worse than a
bear
was at play here.  He knew his gut
instinct was irrational, but he had always paid it heed before.  Hayden was
scared and he didn't know why, and this was what probably unsettled him the
most.

Something had
happened to Johnny.  He was sure of it.  It just wasn't like him not to show up
like this.  And one way or another, Hayden knew that he would have to pay a
visit to the Kaostiwas.  Not that Johnny could tell him anything that would
help.  Hell, he probably knew less than Hayden.  But, he had said that he would
be here this morning and he wasn't.  Hayden was worried.

Mike studied
Hayden.  He had seen that look before, on his father.  Most recently when he
was going in for what he had told the family was just a physical.  It turned
out that his father had suffered a mild heart attack.  He was worried about it
all along, worried to death.  He didn't want to upset the family so he'd said
nothing.  Mike's father had worn a mask to hide his concerns from them.  It was
the same mask that Hayden was wearing now.