Snowblind (12 page)

She lies before me, the sacrificial sheep, her white fleece flecked with blood. She is the gift of winter; I will hoard her flesh for the feast to come. I will bury her in the white womb of the mother like a stillborn child, like an infant that never sees the light. I will seal her from the light as God seals the stars. I will clothe her in ice, knit her bones and sinews to the cold.

The wolf is calling. I hear him through the trees. His cry is a blade in the throat of God. It is the cry of hunger, the cry of unholy life. The teeth of the young wolves are broken by the sound. The strong wolf perishes for lack of prey, and the whelps of the bitch are scattered. I will save them from the sword of their mouth. I will redeem them from famine and death.

I am the brother of jackals.

I know no quiet in my belly; in my greed I let nothing escape. There is nothing left after I have eaten. To fill my belly to the full, God will send his fierce anger into me, and rain it upon me as my food. My prey will flee from an iron weapon; my spear will strike him through. It will draw forth and come out of his body. The flittering point will come out of his gall. Terrors will come upon him. Utter darkness will be his fate. The fire of my belly will devour him, and all that is left be consumed.

*  *  *

Jake opened his eyes. Black ashes swirled before him, as if stirred from the earth by the howling of the wolf. The animal's cry drew the pilot back from the brink. His languid eyes rose from the cold cinders to the darkness around him, where the shadowy creatures circled in wait.

The batteries were dying in the boombox. A jaunty Christmas carol had slowed to a funeral dirge: "... don't... you... cry... I'll be back... again... someday..." Jake began to drift off with the fading sound. He watched a steady seep of blood darken the snow around his outstretched leg. His foot was numb, no longer a part of his body; he had given it up. His fingers were going now, too, their icy tips bloodless and brittle. Soon his hands would be frozen, like his nose and ears. He was watching himself die a piece at a time, while the shadowy wolves, the walking specters of death, eyed him hungrily from the dark.

Again, the silver leader of the pack howled — a piercing, harrowing wail that caught on the wind and soared across the lake. Silence descended with the falling snow; the big wolf lowered its sulfurous eyes and leered at its prey.

Jake sucked cold air into his quivery lungs, stared back defiantly at the animal. I am alive
,
he told himself.
I am alive
.

A throaty, spine-chilling, human yowl bellowed up from somewhere out on the ice. The gray wolf and his circling pack whirled in startled confusion, their keen ears alert.

Jake sat up slowly, peering into the dark. "Holy Mother of God," he whispered.

Another yowl — louder, closer — roared out of the night. The creature was approaching.

The wolves yelped and whined. Then, suddenly bounding off toward the call, they disappeared into the dark.

Jake sat staring after them, listening to the wind. The lake grew silent. Then, all at once, the wolves were barking in frenzied excitement, their yelps and yaps ringing out wildly into the night. Out of this cacophony rose the unearthly yowl, thunderous and horrifying, sending shivers of terror through Jake's trembling flesh.

Then... silence. Jake, heart pounding, squinted into the inky blackness. He reached for the empty vodka bottle, took it by the neck like a club, and readied himself.

The silken pack came pouring out of the night, leaping through the snow, eyes flared, long white teeth flashing like scythes. Jake screamed as they fell upon him, tearing at his limbs, ripping through his clothes, sinking sharp fangs deep into his flesh. He flailed wildly, smashed the bottle on a furry skull, slashed the broken glass across the titted belly of a female, jabbed it into the open snarling maw of another. The big lead wolf clamped Jake's wrist in its powerful jaws, tearing off — in one bite — the hand with its bottle. A smaller wolf gnawed at his genitals, while another hooked its fangs into the back of his neck. Jake heard the muffled crunch of his own vertebra, his senses swiftly fading as sharp spasms of pain shot down his back to the base of his spine.

His head fell back limply into the snow. The animals, eagerly gorging themselves, suddenly scattered. Jake lay gazing giddily up into the black bowl of the sky. The sky filled with the face of death, the round skull of the moon. The skull opened its jaws and fell on his throat.

Utter darkness consumed him.

"Kris! Where are you?"

Josh's call was lost in the wind. The endless tundra stretched out before him like a great swirling desert of snow. His blistering face ruddy and raw, his red-banded hair hoary with frost, Josh hauled each leg from the thigh-deep powder, trudging ahead one ponderous step at a time. He knew she was here — the receiver he held had beeped steadily louder as he'd moved out into the great plain of ice. He paused again, squinting ahead into the driving snow.

"Kris!" he shouted. "Kris!"

He heard her voice whisper through the gale.
I thought you promised to watch out for me?

His heart clutched in his chest. He
had
to find her before it was...

The red parka suddenly materialized out of the white squall.

"KRIS!"

Josh madly clawed his way forward, digging frantically through the high dry powder. She lay half-buried in the plush bed of snow, her legs splayed out, her body twisted. Josh dropped to his knees, out of breath, shaking with excitement. Her hands were bare, white with cold. He pulled back the red hood that covered her face.

Josh recoiled in horror. Her face had frozen into a death mask — gelid eyes wide, open mouth locked in a final scream—

Josh woke with a jolt in the airport lounge. The screaming vision of Kris lingered. He rubbed his eyes, sat up in his seat, tried to regain his bearings.

A baby was wailing in the aisle across from him, unappeased by its exhausted mother. The woman handed the howler off to her red-eyed husband and headed toward the smokers’ lounge.

The crowds had thinned in the terminal. It was three o'clock in the morning. Josh yawned, stretched, and walked to the window. Snowplows moved noiselessly up and down the runways, their spotlights illuminating the heavily-falling snow.

Josh stared into the dark. She's out there, he thought. She's out there with
him
.

He turned his back to the window. The baby continued to wail. He looked over the stranded travelers slumped in the chairs around him. Many were sleeping, spread out like corpses on the floor, covered with coats and make-shift blankets. Those who couldn't sleep sat gazing groggily into space. Airport zombies. All of them were doing what they'd been told they had to do:  Wait.

Josh couldn't wait. Kris's life was in danger. He had to do something and he had to do it now.

But
what
? The runways were closed. They wouldn't let him take his plane up. He was a prisoner of the blizzard like everyone else.

But he wasn't like everyone else. He wasn't afraid to go up. He'd flown in storms before, storms far worse than this one. It was little more than an hour to Caribou Mountain — not enough time for the ice to build up. He could make it. And with the receiver, he could find her. There were plenty of frozen rivers to drop down on. He'd done it a million times with the C.A.P.—

Josh's eyes suddenly lit up.

The Civil Air Patrol!
Of course!

Before he knew it he was racing down the long corridor toward the entrance to the terminal. The airport roads were clear, he could drive to the C.A.P. hangar. Leo, Verne, Monty — the guys were sure to be there. They were always there. They
lived
there.

All he had to do was talk them into flying blind.

Kris lay awake on the floor of the cabin. The heat from the stove felt like a warm hand on the side of her face. The moist logs hissed, and the wind — though it had calmed some during the night — still gusted, rattling the wood shutters, battering the door, knocking drifts from the roof that landed with a thud. With every rattle, every creak of the door, every howl of the wind, a spark of fear shot through Kris, leaving her tense and alert, unable to sleep. She had been awake for hours.

Erin lay beside her, fetal in her silky down bag. Kris listened for her breathing, and wondered if she were awake. For hours after she had returned, Erin had shaken with terror, utterly unable to fall asleep, crying and moaning long into the night. Finally, overtaken with exhaustion, she had drifted into a vague, fitful sleep, tortured with frightening dreams and imaginings. Kris had heard her mumbling as she tossed and turned, and once she had awoken screaming. Kris had tried to comfort her, holding and caressing her, until finally — in the last hour — she had stopped sobbing and fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Erin's mother was dead. Murdered. Kris still couldn't make herself believe it. How could it be possible?

She wondered if Erin had made a mistake. Perhaps it had been someone else she'd found in the car. Maybe Mrs. Parks had found the same thing, and gone to get Ranger Tom. Maybe she was at the ranger station right now.

But she would have told them. She wouldn't have left without saying something.

No, it had to be her. She'd been killed, attacked while sitting in the Jeep, listening to the radio. Someone had smashed through the glass and cut her throat. Her head had fallen onto the floor of the back seat, and her body... What had happened to her body? Erin said the door was locked. There was blood on the glass.

The body must have been hauled out through the window.

This was the work of a madman. He was crazy, and he was out there somewhere. Out there now.

The door shook. Kris sucked in her breath with a start. Then the shutters clattered as the wind whistled past.

Kris sighed. Then she heard something else.

A faint, growling sound, far off. She slowly sat up in her sleeping bag, turning toward the sound. The whining growl grew louder. Kris's heart pounded. The noise cut through the wind, straining and grinding.

Erin bolted upright, fully awake. "What is it?!"

"It's all right... I think it's..." Kris listened hard. "I think it's a truck — or a snowplow."

The heavy engine noise broke through the wind in waves. Clearly it was moving closer.

Erin spoke with sudden excitement. "Sounds like it's out on the road, near the fork!"

"I'm not sure..." said Kris.

"That's where it's coming from. Down the road."

Kris heard Erin slipping out of her nylon bag. "Erin... What are you doing?"

"I'm going out there."

Kris heard the skis rattle. "No..." she said.

"They can help us. I've got to get out there."

"No... don't leave..."

"What do you mean?" Erin asked emphatically. "My mother was killed. We've got to get help."

"We don't know who it is," said Kris.

Erin was pulling on her cross-country ski boots. "It's a snowplow, I'm sure of it. I've got to stop them before they pass by."

Listening to the sound, Kris realized Erin was right. The engine seemed to be straining uphill, and the grinding noise was the scrape of the plow on the gravel road. It did seem to be passing by out near the fork.

"I'll go with you!" said Kris. She groped over the floor for her backpack and ski boots.

"You're not dressed," said Erin. "It'll be too late."

"Erin, please, don't go. Let's wait for them to come for us. Please!"

"You'll be all right. I'll come back for you."

"No, Erin, please—"

"I have to hurry!" shouted Erin. "I'm going to miss it! Where's my coat?"

"Erin..."

"I'm taking your jacket. Just wait here."

Kris felt a blast of cold air as the door swung open.

"Erin — please come back!"

Erin snapped her heels into her ski bindings. "I'll be back, Kris."

The door slammed shut.

The cabin was suddenly silent. Kris stood for a moment with her hands up on the door. She reached across the bulging timbers, found the heavy bolt, and locked it shut.

Then she slid down to her knees and began to cry.

The storm still brooded over the forest, but the snowfall had lightened, and the wind had settled into erratic flurries. A faint fleshy glow of morning light bled through the clouds; Erin could just make out the tall black columns of trees on the other side of the road. The snowplow could be heard just beyond them, on the switchback where the road split. It seemed to be heading away, up the other fork. If she cut through the trees she might be able to reach it in time.

She grabbed her poles with her bare hands, and slid forward to the edge of the porch. She stopped there a moment, searching the murky darkness around the cabin. Her footprints had disappeared; the snow had smoothed to a velvety sheen. She could see no trace of her mother's murder, yet she sensed the presence of death, hanging like an odor in the bleak morning air.

Erin pushed herself off the porch and glided down the slope to the road, her skis tracing deep tracks in the crystalline powder. She hurried, warily, past the huge drift of the Jeep. The hole in the window had nearly closed up again — it stared back at her like a dark eye leering under a heavy brow of snow. She turned off the road to cut through the trees to the switchback.

The sound of the plow was getting further away. Erin raced through the snow-laden fir trees, dodging branches, ducking under limbs, weaving around trunks. The dawn light quickly faded beneath the towering spruce, the thick woods growing darker with every stride. Soon she was immersed in blackness.

Jagged branches slapped her face and tore at her cheeks — she couldn't see them. Her skis whispered beneath her in the dark.  She plowed into a trunk, fell crashing through limbs, snow dumping down upon her. She picked herself up, shook off the snow and moved on, heading for the sound of the plow. But the sound seemed to be all around her now, scattered through the woods on the tattering wind. It sounded much farther away than she had thought. She could see no light now through the trees. Her heart raced, and the fear returned, the fear she had felt when she had held her mother's bloody head in her hands.

"Please, God, please..."

Erin was lost. She stopped moving, stood still in the dark. She tried to calm her breathing, and to control her shaking body. She couldn't — her body seemed to be under the power of something larger than her will, something deep inside her, something primal and chaotic.

She wanted to scream.

Instead she whimpered, a tiny cry caught in her throat. A moment passed. Erin stared into the dark around her, straining to hear the sound of the plow on the road. She pulled off her hood and listened.

She heard nothing but the wind.

"Oh, God, please..."

She turned, listened, holding her breath.

The plow was gone.

"No... no..."

For a long moment, she stood holding her body perfectly still. The wind whispered in her ear. On the whisper came another sound.

A man breathing.

Erin froze. Slowly, she turned her head toward the sound. The breath was ragged, nasal, animal-like. It came from behind her.

It was
him.

Erin's surging pulse pounded in her ears. Her body began to shake again. Her breath grew short and rapid.

She tightened her grip on her poles. Slowly, quietly, she turned her skis away from the sound. Then she took off, crashing through the trees.

Five strides and she fell on her face in the snow.

She had tripped on a log. Her ski had come off. She pulled herself up, her bare hands groping frantically in the dark for the ski. She felt around the fallen log, and with a sickening shudder, realized that the log was not a log at all.

The naked, frozen, female body lay half-buried in the snow. Her breasts had been bitten off, her gut had been torn open and disemboweled. Erin's ski was caught in a twisting loop of the frozen entrails.

A choked cry gurgled in her throat. She vomited into her mouth. Her mind seemed to drift off, detach itself from her body.

She stood up, dizzily, slipped her shaking foot into the ski. The binding clicked.

She heard the killer breathing behind her.

Slowly, she drew the ski back, freed it from the intestinal loop. She stepped over her mother's corpse and pushed off through the snow.

Brushing through laden limbs, invisible branches whipped her face. Whimpering with fear, she pressed through the trees, gliding recklessly forward in the dark. She waved off branches, barreled into a tree trunk. She fell. Tears and blood trickled down her cheeks.

She knew he was following her. She could hear him crackling through the trees. Quickly she rose to her feet and raced on, her pulse pounding madly.