The Winter People (5 page)

"Well, it
looks like they climbed out and somebody helped them.  We didn't pass anyone
though.  Th-they surely wouldn't have gone back the other way?" Mike
offered.  He seemed so calm that Nick just looked at him as if it were the
first time he had heard English.  He was numb.  He raised his arm to point at
the tuft of hair and skin hanging on the fragment of windshield but he could
not feel himself do it.

"Oh shit
Nick, one of them is hurt!  They must have gone into town to find a
doctor!"  Mike still didn't get it, or didn't want to get it.  Nick felt a
surge of anger rise up in him.  Not really anger at Mike, but anger at the
absurdity of the situation, the helplessness of it, and the implications. 

"Damn it! 
They didn't walk away!  That's someone's hair and scalp there!" Nick was
still pointing at it, "That's someone's blood scattered across the
snow!"  He looked at Mike in disbelief, "Somebody dragged them out of
there, and not too gently either!  Can't you see that?!"  Nick realized
that he had been yelling.  "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to snap at you.  But…just
look at this."

Mike was stoic,
apparently trying to absorb what Nick was saying and still maintain control. 
"Get real man!  Why would someone want to do that, out here in the middle
of nowhere?  In the middle of the fucking night?  That doesn't make any
sense!"

"I don't
know.  But that's how it looks to me.  You got a better explanation?"

"No.  But
let's not jump to any conclusions.  Let's go back to the Ranger Station and see
if it's been reported, or who we contact, or whatever."  Mike walked past
Nick towards the car, his expression unchanged.

Nick stood there
for a moment longer, trembling.  As he turned toward his car he noticed the
ravenous cry of the wind.  His stomach churned and his skin broke out in
gooseflesh.  He peered off into the darkness to either side of the road.  He
had a very bad feeling in his gut about everything here.  But even that did not
explain why he was suddenly so afraid.

Nick ran back to
the car and started the engine.  Driving carefully so as not to fall off the
road and get stuck, he turned the car around and headed back the way they had
come.  He headed back to the Ranger Station.

The telephone's
ring startled Hayden awake.  It was not a deep sleep, nor was it a restful one;
Hayden was having a nightmare about Ellis.  The wind howled outside his bedroom
and thumped against the window trying to gain entrance.  Hayden ignored it and
reached for the phone.  He didn't have to search for it or fumble around in the
dark as so many people do.  Through many years of his job and simply having it
in the same position for so long he knew exactly where it was.  Hayden liked
things neat and in order.

He picked it up on
the second ring and beside him his wife barely stirred.  She too was used to
late phone calls and ignored them most of the time.  Besides, she had always
been a much heavier sleeper than Hayden.  He didn't bother turning on the
light, he just glanced at the LED readout of his alarm clock.  The green glow
indicated that it was 12:30 in the morning.  He had only been asleep for about
two hours.  He cleared his throat and answered.

"Hello?"
His voice was soft and deep.  Though barely above a whisper, it commanded
authority and didn't sound the least bit groggy.

"Hayden? 
This is Johnny."  Hayden recognized his voice immediately.  Although he
sounded more like a teenager whose voice hadn't quite finished changing yet,
Johnny Kaostiwa was nearly forty-seven.  He'd been a Park Ranger here for over
fifteen years, and fishing buddies with Hayden for the last ten.

Johnny was a
likeable enough man who didn't talk very much about himself.  Hayden knew that
he was half Ute Indian and lived with his grandfather, his only living
relative.  His round, flat face had a long scar that started over the right
eyebrow.  It clipped the far right corner of his lid, and then continued down
his cheek to finish up in the center of his lower jaw bone.  This, along with
his not too debilitating limp, he had received in the first gulf war.  All
compliments of an RPG thank you very much.  Hayden also knew that he wouldn't
have bothered him unless it was important.

"Yeah Johnny,
what is it?"

"Didn't mean
to wake you Hayden, but I think we got a problem out here on Route 14, About
four miles south of us out here at the Station."  Johnny paused and Hayden
could hear some voices in the background.  He noticed some excitement in all of
them, including Johnny's.  His years of experience had taught him to hear the
whole story and then ask questions.  He kept silent and let Johnny continue.

"It seems
some kids are stayin' out at Bud's place for a couple of weeks on a ski trip. 
Anyway, two of 'em fell behind comin' home from Steamboat tonight.  When. .
." he paused and there were more voices in the background, "Nick
Boscoe and Mike Gallegos, their friends, returned to look for them.  They found
the other guy's Jeep turned over on the road and there wasn't anyone
around."  Johnny paused expecting Hayden to ask him something.  When there
was no reply, he continued.

"The
windshield had been broken out and there was blood out into the road." 
Johnny paused and there were more background voices.  He was obviously getting
his facts straight from this Nick and Mike as he relayed it.

"Just
great," Hayden thought, "skiers.  They don't know the roads and they come
up here and flip a Jeep…Probably drunk too."

"Hayden? 
Hayden?"

"Yeah Johnny,
I'm here.  Go ahead."

"Anyway, we
checked the hospital over in Steamboat, and even called all the doctors
around.  Nobody's seen 'em."

This time Hayden
couldn't wait, "What do you mean nobody's seen them?"

“Just that
Hayden.  It hasn't been reported to anyone around here except me, and now you. 
I checked the authorities in Steamboat, Craig, and Hayden.  I even woke up ol'
Doc Willis.  They're just gone!  And if they tried to walk anywhere, well, it's
damn near fifty below out there as it is, and with the wind chill. . ." 
Johnny waited for what he had said to sink in.  He wanted to make sure that
Hayden was ready before he told him the last of it.

There was a long
pause on the other end and Hayden was about to ask Johnny a few things but he
got this feeling in his gut that there was more.  He kept his composure and
prompted Johnny to continue, "Go on."

"Nick said
that it looked to him like someone pulled them out of the Jeep.  The driver
side door had been ripped off and was no where around.  There was a tuft of
hair stuck in the window frame and a trail of blood went out from there into
the middle of the road then just stopped."  Johnny was very somber as he
relayed this last item; he obviously felt that it was something more than an
accident.

Hayden sat there
silent for a moment, taking it all in.  No, it didn't sound good at all.  His
stomach had suddenly turned sour and he had a very bad feeling about this.  If
you could have seen his face in the darkness, set in it along with the wrinkles
below his cheeks, there was a scowl.  A look that would have told you he knew
it was going to be a bad one.  Johnny had pretty much answered his questions
without him having to ask any.  Hayden decided that if there were anything
else, he could wait until he saw them face to face.

Damn, he didn't
want to go out in this cold, "All right Johnny, I'll be right there, then
we can go out to the wreck.  Tell those two to stay put until I get there! 
I'll want to talk to them."

"One more
thing Hayden, there's a blizzard movin' in.  It'll probably be here in a few
hours.  Anything you gotta do out there, you'd better do it quick.  Bye
Hayden."

"Yeah, bye
Johnny."  That was just great, Hayden thought.  He now knew this was going
to be a bad one.  This had already been their coldest winter in decades.  They
had been hit with blizzard after blizzard and were already buried under seven
feet of snow.  A warm day would be anything above zero, and at night, it was
forty below.  Twice already this winter it had hit minus sixty.

Hayden remembered
the blizzard of '78, although he was just a kid then.  It had reached sixty
below one night down in the flats around Delta and Grand Junction.  The next
morning when they went to drop hay off the sled to the cattle, they had found
them all frozen to death.  Standing there with their eyes opened and glazed
over, staring stupidly off at nothing.  Hayden had never seen anything like
it.  He shivered at the brief memory.

He recalled other
times when it had snowed this hard up here.  There would always be an avalanche
in the pass and they would be cut off for weeks at a time.  But he had never
remembered it ever being this cold, and never for this long.  Even the blizzard
of '78 seemed warm by comparison.

There was a double
click followed by a warbling monotone buzz to his right.  He looked down
stupidly and realized that he still had the receiver in his hand.  He sat it
back in the saddle and turned on the small bedside lamp.  The glow of the sixty
watt bulb exploded on his retinas and caused him to squint in pain.  Slowly,
his eyes adjusted to the light and he looked over at his wife.

She was still
sleeping.  Used to him he guessed.  She pulled the covers up tighter around her
face so that all he could see was the back of her head, one eye, and the side
of her nose.  Beneath the blankets the rest of her was a nondescript blob
except for her buttocks which he could make out clearly, protruding toward him
in a nice round arch.  How nice it would be he thought to climb back under the
covers and snuggle up to her warmth.  Forget the outside or what he had to do. 
Just start caressing her body, gently wake her up, and make love to her.

Hayden sighed and
swung his feet over the side of the bed.  His Hanes briefs were pulled askew
and he righted them.  As he stood up from the bed, the bones and joints of his
legs and feet creaked and popped.  Each step he took towards the bathroom was
announced by the same noises, though slightly muffled in the carpet upon which
he walked.  He reached the bathroom quickly as it was a part of their bedroom
and closed the door before he turned on the light.  He knew the light was much
brighter in here and might just wake up Barbara.

Hayden looked at
himself in the mirror, his once jet black hair was now paled with flecks of
grey.  Although it was predominately at the temples, which Barbara said made
him look distinguished, he felt that it made him look old.  In truth he only
looked to be thirty nine or forty, but he had recently begun to
feel
old.  His arms were still stout and well defined, and his chest still blocky
and hard.  As he stood there staring at himself, he couldn't explain why he
felt this way.

He rubbed a hand
across his chin and felt the stubble that had always plagued him.  No matter
how often he shaved, Hayden always had a five 'o clock shadow.  He raised one
bush of an eyebrow, sighed, and shook his head.  He then turned to find his
clothes hanging on the back of the door and quickly dressed, remembering why he
was up.  He shut off the light and left to the living room to finish dressing,
his progress followed by the
snap, crackle, pop
of his joints.

***

Hayden plodded
slowly towards the Ranger Station, his snow chains thumping and hammering at
the fender wells and the pavement.  Out the windows of the Suburban he could
see the clouds being tossed about by the wind, shapeless forms that seemed
foreign and surreal against the backdrop.  The sky had been crystal clear when
he had gone to bed, now he could see the storm moving in.  In the distance was
darkness.

A void without
light or stars or even the mountains that he knew were there.  It was simply a
dark nothing with no depth or edges.  It was a wall that was moving towards
him, enveloping everything in its path, and devoured the land with its
progress.  This was the first time Hayden had seen a storm front with form. 
This truly was a front, a visible wall that stretched across the heavens to the
north.  It looked unnatural and somewhere deep inside him a primitive voice
said, "Be afraid."

Hayden pulled into
the driveway of the station and his headlights flashed across the back of a
dark colored Subaru, black, he thought.  It had New Mexico tags and he assumed
that it belonged to one of the two Johnny had mentioned.  He drove up to it and
parked beside it, the Ranger vehicles were no where in sight.  Probably in the
garage so that they could start them in the morning, he thought.  Hayden left
his vehicle running and honked the horn twice.

Three forms, dark
against the light from within, emerged from the building which served as office
and part-time home to the Forest Rangers.  The first two were fairly tall, the
third considerably shorter by nearly a foot.  They were bundled and they walked
quickly with their heads down.  It made Hayden think of mourners that were late
for a funeral.  A bad comparison he decided.  The two taller figures crossed
his headlights and started for the passenger door while the shorter made his
way to Hayden's window.  He knew that this was Johnny from his size and the
limp.

Hayden rolled down
his window and motioned for the other two to climb on in.  All he could make
out of Johnny beneath the fur lined parka was his large brown eyes and the scar
that partially closed the right one.  "Howdy John!" he yelled above
the wind, the cold air causing his throat to ache as he sucked it in.

"Hayden,"
Johnny shouted, "This is Nick and Mike, the guys I told you about,"
motioning to them with a tip of his head.  "I figured it would be easier
if they showed you the Jeep.  I gotta stay here, but I'll see you when you get
back."

"Don't wait
up for us John.  I can talk to you tomorrow in town.  Your shift's ending then,
isn't it?"

"Yeah, I go
back in the morning."

"I'll see
that these two get home.  Good night John."

"G'night
Hayden, I'll look for you tomorrow."  Johnny didn't wait for a reply; he
turned and quickly ran a hobble skip run to the door.

Hayden understood,
this cold was hell and probably didn't do much for Johnny's leg either.  He
rolled his window back up and turned to regard the two young men who had
climbed into the front seat with him.  They were taking off neoprene ski masks
that attached in the back with Velcro, but left their toboggans on.  When
Johnny had said kids, he was expecting eighteen or so, but these guys were in
their mid to late twenties.  Hayden's surprise was visible.

"Which one of
you belongs to that WRX?" he finally said.

"That's
mine.  I'm Nick Boscoe and this. . ."

"Must be Mike
Gallegos," Hayden finished.  He looked deep into Nick's eyes, then
Mike's.  He bored into them with his eyes, hoping to dredge up their
conviction, their truth.  After a moment's hesitation, an awkward moment of
silence, he was convinced of their sincerity.  "I'm Sheriff Hayden Smith,"
he continued, "Johnny tells me that you're staying out at Bud's
place."  He turned to face the windshield and began to back out, guided by
the rear view mirror.  Never looking back, he fully expected them to tell their
story to him as he drove.

Mike looked at
Nick and raised his eyebrows, then gave Hayden a side long glance. 
"Jesus!" he thought, this guy's a rock.  And he did look like one. 
His face was chiseled and hard, angular with a square jaw.  Although it had
softened with the few wrinkles that graced it, they did little to detract from
the Iron-man image he projected.  Mike's first impression was that this guy was
a real Jar-Head.  He had the typical cut and blocky build.  At least from what
Mike could tell from under his bulky parka.

His eyebrows were
bushy peaks above each eye that angled sharply downward to the bridge of his
nose.  His nose looked somewhat Indian with a bulbous, rather than sharp end. 
His cheeks sat high, with what his mother had called laugh lines, below them,
framing them.  His eyes were an icy blue and Mike had felt them bore into him a
moment ago.  Mike felt that in that brief instant, the Sheriff knew everything
there was to know about him, even when he stole the candy bar from the grocery
store when he was ten.

Mike looked back
to Nick and it was obvious by the calculating look on his face that he had
judged the man pretty much the same.  He decided that he would let Nick do the
talking.  The thought of being drilled again by those eyes did not appeal to
Mike.  It was a long moment before Nick did speak though; he seemed unusually
preoccupied with his face mask.  Trying to collect his thoughts, Mike figured. 
Finally he was ready, just as they pulled out onto Route 14.

Nick had seen that
look before.  In one instant he had been surveyed, judged, and sentenced.  He
only wished he'd known what the verdict was.  For some reason, he liked this
man.  He couldn't really explain it.  He had just met the man and hadn't even
spoken ten words to him.  Nick finally decided that it was the air he
generated.  It was in the way he conducted himself and scrutinized others.  It
reminded Nick of his own father.  He had the same general build and features,
the same haircut, same demeanor.

It was strange,
Nick thought.  Some people you can meet once and instantly dislike them.  Even
hate them.  For no real reason you can give either.  There's just something
about them that rubs you the wrong way.  Like that Ranger Mead guy back in the
station.  Nick didn't like him at all, and he didn't think Johnny and the other
Ranger did either.  Then, other people, you are immediately drawn to with no
explanation, instant like.  Like that Johnny fellow, or like Sheriff Hayden
Smith.  Nick decided that he liked the man, and after what he realized was much
too long of a pause, he began to speak.

"Well,
Sheriff. . ."

"Call me
Hayden.  Never did like being called Sheriff."  Hayden's eyes never left
the road.  His voice was deep and commanding, fitting his figure perfectly.

"Okay. 
Hayden.  We all came up to go skiing for a couple of weeks.  My Uncle Bud has
this cabin up here."

"Yeah, I know
him.  He's a good man.  We've gone fishing a time or two . . . Who’s we?"

"Mike
here," he said, motioning to him, "my sister Sarah, Marty, and
Taylor."  Hayden only nodded.  "Marty.  Martin Mayher and Taylor
Verner are the two guys that are missing."  Nick cleared his throat,
fighting down the lump that had climbed up in it.  "My Uncle met us up
here a couple of days ago and we've been skiing over in Steamboat every day, then
we'd drive back at night.  It's only about a ninety minute drive or so,"
he stated rather matter of factly.

"It's been
colder than hell since we've been here though!" Mike added.

"Yeah, it's
been one of those winters, colder than usual.  Go on," Hayden prodded.

"Anyway,
tonight we hung around for dinner and stuff and got a late start back.  My car
moves a lot better than Marty's Jeep and I left him a ways back.  When we got
to the cabin and he didn't show, we decided to go look for him.  He sort of has
a reputation with us for finding snow banks."  Nick caught on the last
thing he said.  The present tense seemed wrong to him. He felt as if he should
have said, "he had."  The fear was rising up in him again that
something terrible had happened to his friends.  He had to fight it down, pull
it out of his throat and push it back into the far reaches of his mind.

Hayden cast Nick a
glance, "Take your time Nick."  His voice was soft yet still
commanding.  It was reassuring and compelled genuine regard.  "We don't
know anything is seriously wrong yet.  Give me a chance to check it out."

"You haven't
seen the Jeep!"  Right away Nick knew he shouldn’t have yelled.  He
touched his left forefinger to his forehead then made a gesture with the opened
palm up and a shrug of his shoulders, "I'm sorry.  This whole thing has me
stressed out, that's all.  I've just got this gut feeling that something bad
has happened."

"No need to
apologize.  I'd be the same way if it were my friends."  Hayden never lost
composure.  His tone never changed except to convey some feeling of
understanding.  "Go on with your story, Nick."  He afforded a quick
glance at Mike, noting that he didn't appear to want to add anything.

Nick sighed
heavily, and then continued, "So we went back to look for them and found
them," he caught himself again, "and found their Jeep, four miles
from the Ranger Station.  We couldn't have been separated for more than forty
five minutes.  It must have happened really fast!  We found the Jeep turned on
its side with the windshield busted in.  Not out, but in.  So they couldn't
have been thrown!" expecting that this would be his first thought, like
Mike's.

"The driver
side door was ripped off its hinges.  I mean torn off!” emphasizing this. 
"There was no sign of it anywhere, like it had been thrown away, out of
sight.  The worse thing was the tuft of hair and part of the scalp attached to
it, stuck in the window frame.  …And then the trail of blood across the hood
and out into the middle of the road, then nothing.  The trail of blood had run
down the hood towards the ground so it had to have been put there after the
Jeep was on its side.  Somebody dragged them out of there!" he concluded.