The Winter People (18 page)

He cast a glance
at Nick and saw that he was studying Hayden as well.  Nick had seen the mask
also, Mike was sure of it.  Something had them all on edge, something more than
the simple explanation he'd eagerly accepted last night.  It was something evil
and it had settled in around them, nestled up to them like an affectionate
cat.  Suddenly, Mike knew that it was going to get worse before it got better,
for them all.

"Well, let's
get going!” Hayden's booming voice broke the uneasy silence.  "Bundle up
good; it looks like a bitch out there boys!"  He was already moving toward
the outer office where they'd hung there coats the night before.  Behind him,
Hayden could hear their motion to follow him.  The three of them bundled up and
headed for the door.

As Hayden pulled
on it, an enormous gust caught it and forced it inward, followed by feral flakes
of snow.  The cold was numbing and bit right through their clothes.  There was
a five foot drift in front of the door and what little Hayden could see beyond
it did not look good.  The immediate area was an alien landscape, reshaped and
changed by the snow and driving winds.  In the few places that he could
distinguish depth and reality, Hayden could see drifts of ten or fifteen feet. 
He forced the door shut against the onslaught of snow and wind, using his body
weight and strength to finally shut the portal.

Hayden turned to
Nick and Mike, "I think the Suburban's out of the question!", he had
to half-yell above the yelps of the wind, "Can you guys ride a snow
mobile?!"

"Yeah!"

"Uh
huh!"

"Good!" 
Hayden pushed past them, "We've got a couple here."  There was
urgency in his step and both men noticed it.  It may have just been all things
combined, but Nick didn't think so.  He'd seen the way Hayden was looking
earlier, trying to hide his concern.  Nick and Mike gave each other a
questioning glance then hurried along behind Hayden.

They followed him
past the dispatcher's station, a far corner of the front room with a radio set,
chair, and phone, and into the hallway beyond.  Hayden looked back over his
shoulder, "The storm.  She may not be in at all.” he stated flatly,
noticing their questioning looks as they passed the empty chair.  The radio
cracked and popped as if to acknowledge Hayden, and then let out with a soft,
high pitched whine.  The three of them passed it and continued down the long
dark hallway.

It was painted pastel
green and reminded Nick of the VA Hospital in Albuquerque.  Or any other aging
government office, he suspected.  Only every third light was illuminated, to
conserve energy and electric bills, Nick surmised.  This, combined with the dark
of the storm about them, made the hallway feel like a crypt.  It didn't bother
Nick at all to be hurrying down this corridor.

They went through
two sets of double doors and emerged in a large garage.  The bang of the heavy
wooden doors closing echoed through the near empty room.  Three large bay doors
stood before them and rattled indiscriminately with the wind.  The air was much
cooler in here and Nick could see his breath, hanging heavy about his head. 
Although it was brighter than the hallway, it did not abate the feeling that
they were in a tomb.  Nick looked around the room.

There was very
little in it.  A cluttered workbench with a four drawer chest of tools on top
of it stood along the far wall to the right.  The top of the red box was
hanging open and tools were scattered about the bench.  Next to this was an
acetylene torch with its two cylinders of gas on a rolling dolly and the hoses
draped haphazardly around them.  From there the wall continued unbroken to a
small access door in the corner near the first bay door.

In the center bay
sat two Polaris snowmobiles, the rest of the room was empty.  Hayden headed
straight for them, his footsteps heavy thuds on the concrete floor.  Every
noise was amplified in the vacant space, exaggerated to some degree.  Even so,
it was all nearly drowned out by the raging storm outside.  It hammered the
doors and screeched all about the outside walls in malcontent bursts of fury.

Hayden ignored it
and began to pull the front of the first Polaris' skis around to face the
door.  They grated reluctantly against the concrete floor in protest, but
Hayden muscled it around anyway.  Nick and Mike followed his lead and began to
tug on the other machine.  Mike was amazed that it was taking the two of them
where Hayden had managed by himself.  Although not without some difficulty,
Mike consoled himself.  'He's a real bull", Mike thought.

Hayden wiped a
line of perspiration from his forehead with the back of a gloved hand.  His
breathing was heavy but not labored.  Nick and Mike were beginning to sweat as
well.  Hayden then looked down at the gas gauges of both machines, and
satisfied, let out a sigh.  He adjusted the choke on the machine he had just
manhandled then yanked on its starter rope.

Nick did the same
to the Polaris he and Mike had assumed possession of.  After about three pulls
both machines coughed to life and began to idle high.  Their exhaust quickly
began to fill the large room and it made Nick gag.  He coughed twice and could
feel the fumes begin to burn his eyes and nostrils.  The smoke from the two
exhaust pipes was thick and blue and hung around them, giving everything a
surreal, hazy glow.

Mike took a quick
step to the bay door and pulled hard against the rope next to it.  It rose
against his force, though reluctantly at first.  He had to raise the door
nearly seven feet to clear the drift that had formed against it.  He let it
slide open about eight inches above the top of the drift and could feel frigid
air assault him through the crack.  It carried with it particles of snow that
hit the floor and melted, leaving only tiny damp spots to mark their existence.

The acrid clouds
quickly dissipated and the temperature in the room dropped as well.  Hayden was
satisfied and looked over at Nick and Mike, "You two wait here, I'll be
right back!" he barked above the din outside.  He didn't wait for any
reply but turned instead and bounded off through the double doors they had just
come through, his echoing footfalls fading quickly.

Nick and Mike just
stood their waiting, not really wanting to raise their voices above the
combination of the wind and two-stroke's whine.  In a few moments Hayden
returned carrying a bundle in his right hand and something else draped over his
left.  As he neared them, Nick could make out three pairs of goggles in the one
hand, and a revolver and holster draped over the other.

Hayden extended
his right hand and offered the other two its contents.  Nick and Mike took the
goggles and donned them.  Hayden sat his down on the seat of the nearest snowmobile
and strapped on his revolver.  Nick and Mike watched him intently.  Hayden
noticed them and stated flatly, "Just in case."  He then donned his
goggles as well.  Then all three of them pulled their masks back up, resembling
mutant insect bank robbers from the old west.

Hayden walked over
to the wall of snow before them and raked into it with his gloved hands.  The
white fluff fell into the garage and burst upon the floor around his feet.  The
others joined him and before long had a channel cleared into the drift.  The
rubble from it formed a rough ramp of sorts in the bay.  The wind took
advantage of the gaping hole and forced its presence on them, stinging the
exposed portions of their faces.

Hayden straddled
the first Polaris, gunned the engine, and moved it jerkily out the hole.  It
climbed the steep incline of the drift and topped it, its engine screaming even
above the wind.  Nick took the second machine up and out as well, leaving Mike
to struggle with it on foot.  He turned to regard the door then looked at the
other two.  Hayden pulled a box from his pocket, aimed it at the door, and
pushed the button.  The huge door began to slowly lower and finally close. 
Mike turned to him and shrugged.  Hayden smiled under his mask and motioned
Mike to get on behind him.

***

Bud had never felt
a sense of urgency more than he did right now.  It was a real thing that ran
its icy fingers up his spine and caused the hairs on the back of his neck to
stand on end.  Along with it was the unmistakable feeling that they were being
watched, pursued.  He'd had the sensations before, but never to the point of
near panic.  Yet that was what he was feeling now.  His heart was racing and he
was sweating despite the cold.

All around them
the wind had reached a fevered pitch.  It seemed a sentient being, intent on
forcibly removing them from their snowmobiles.  Its howl was distant and close
at the same time, carrying with it mixed emotions in its sound.  Particles of
snow and ice traveled with it, a stinging accompaniment to the wind-song.  It
buffeted them constantly as they moved slowly down the recently plowed roadway,
doing a mocking dance upon them.

Bud couldn't be
sure how long ago the plow had passed this way, but he knew it couldn't have
been too long because the road was still fairly passable.  Visibility had
steadily been getting better but it was still only about thirty feet so he
didn't dare go any faster.  He didn't dare.  As much as he wanted to press his
thumb all the way in on the throttle, kick up a snow rooster tail behind his
machine and sprint into town, he knew that he couldn't.  And it was so
difficult to fight the urge, the need.

But he was
straining as it was, straining to see the road before him.  He was straining so
hard that his eyes ached, a dull pain that started in the center of each eye
and fanned outward in an ever increasing spiral that included his cheeks,
brows, and temples.  Now his chest ached as well, a sharp pain in contrast to
the one in his head.  Bud attributed it to the huge volumes of icy air he was
taking in.  Though his neoprene mask warmed it considerably, it was still
cold.  The outside of his mask around the nose and mouth was caked with ice
exemplifying the fact.

Suddenly, Bud's
thoughts turned to Sarah.  If it was this tough on him, what was she going
through?  He turned his head and looked back over his shoulder, his concern for
her outweighing the need to keep both eyes on the road.  Sarah was little more
than a dark shape around a headlight in the haze.  Visibility was worse than
Bud had realized, or it had suddenly gotten worse.

He glanced to his
left, then to his right, trying to find a landmark.  But all he saw was a wall
of snow and fog, clouds that had come down to rest upon the earth.  Finally Bud
decided that they must have entered the flats of the valley they were in, about
two miles from the ranger station, and ten or twelve from town.  At the rate
they were moving, it seemed like a hundred.  And with no natural breaks for the
wind, it would slow them down even more.

A terrible sinking
feeling came over him then and he began to lose hope.  They were too far away
and it was too late.  Whatever had been watching them, he felt was now terribly
close.  They were going to die out here and he was to blame.  He'd failed.  He'd
failed his niece.  He'd failed his brother.  He'd failed Clayton, and he'd
failed himself.  Bud Boscoe was doing something he'd never done before, he was
giving up.

***

The sky was dark
and brooding and hung so low that Nick felt he could reach up and touch it. 
But the thought of doing that scared him somehow.  The snow had been lessening
since they had left the station, but the day was still incredibly dark and
sinister because of the clouds pressing in on them.  Out here in the open, on
the snowmobile, Nick felt completely exposed.

It was like
needing to have your back in the corner when you sat in a large open room, too
vulnerable.  Only this was much worse.  This was an alien landscape where Nick
could gain no purchase on reality.  The town blew by him on the wind,
unrecognizable as a town at all.  It was frosted in ill-formed shapes of whites
and grays.  Hazy shadows of things that were.  It was a dead place out of a
dream.  A dead place.

Nick concentrated
his gaze upon Mike's back and followed Hayden down what he assumed to be the
street.   He decided not to let his attention wander too much to his
surroundings, he felt more comfortable that way.  More secure.  Before long
they began to slow and eventually stopped.  Nick looked up past Hayden and saw
that they were in front of a large A-frame house nestled between two others of
similar design.

He couldn't see one, but Nick imagined a
white picket fence around the chalet-looking home and a squared hedge between
it and the neighbors on either side.  All along the fence would be colorful and
fragrant flower beds spilling over into an incredibly green full lawn.  The
whitewashed house would stand out pleasantly but not overwhelmingly against the
grass.  There would also be cool and welcome shade cast across the porch swing
from the huge old tree that stood between the driveway and front walk, in front
of the living room window.

Nick could easily see Hayden sitting on
that swing in a gentle breeze, sipping on a beer.  He'd be rocking gently back
and forth, with speckles of light broken through the leaves of the oak tree
splashed haphazardly across his face.  His wife would be beside him and
together they would sigh and breathe deeply smelling the fresh cut grass and
wild flowers.  Together they would sit and watch the world go by, just watch contentedly.

Nick could imagine all he wanted, but what
he really saw was a dead place, just like the town.  A tomb encased and
distorted by snow.  He used to love the winter, with its pristine touch on
reality, and the cleanliness of its cold.  But now its association was with
death.  It was a heartless killer and was killing this town even now, twisting
its surface into grotesque shapes of mummified humanity.  It was encasing it in
white shrouds that would eventually suffocate it.  This town was going to die,
Nick could feel it.

***

Hayden paused only briefly at the curb in
front of his house, surveyed the area, then gave the machine beneath him a
little throttle.  It moved ahead slowly and easily traversed the hill of snow
that was his fence in the summer months.  Behind him he could hear the whine of
the other machine as it followed.  Hayden pulled the Polaris to a stop
somewhere on the porch near a mound he knew to be his swing, and killed the
engine. The other Polaris fell silent as well, somewhere off to his right and
slightly behind him.

The stilled engines allowed the wind to
assault them anew.  It lashed out at them and ridiculed them with its forlorn
cry.  It had become a force against them once more. Barely noticeable on the
snowmobiles, there was no doubt of its presence once they had stopped.  Yet,
above that wail that reverberated through the porch, Hayden heard a muffled cry
of alarm.