The Winter People (11 page)

Johnny screamed
and wailed out a warning to no avail.  His cries were lost in the frenzy of
shrieks riding on the wind.  Wild calls that blended with the gusts of the
storm that raged about him.  Johnny's cries seemed to meld with them also, all
of them forming the mournful cry that danced with the snow and traveled to places
unknown.  He was among them, he could feel it.  He could feel their rancor and
sick desire pulsing through him as surely as if it were his own.  He could
understand them too, sick things with warped and hateful minds.

They talked too. 
They talked in the wind.  There were many more of them too, throughout the dark
place he now visited.  Hundreds, he thought.  And they were hungry, a burning
hunger that could not be satiated by flesh alone.  Theirs was a diseased
appetite, a hell born desire driven by malevolence and contempt.  And they
reveled in their perversion as a man might revel in orgasm.  It was the hunt,
and to Johnny it was maddening.

He screamed again
and the wind only laughed at him.  The others were all around him and danced in
glee at his anguish.  They were unseen ghosts, phantasms that appeared like
whispers barely heard.  Dark forms with no true shape that tormented and toyed
with Johnny.  They not only allowed Johnny, they forced him to watch the scene
before him.  The scene his warnings were directed at.

Johnny was on the
roadway that ran into town and before him he could see a snow plow, its yellow
light flashing rhythmically on its top.  He was clad only in his long underwear
and socks but was not cold.  He felt no sensations except urgency and fear. 
His jet black hair was speckled with grey and remained neatly combed in the
short, barber cut that he wore.  The wind that raged around him avoided him.

Suddenly, his
stocky build was at the windshield of the plow and he stared into the terrified
face of an old man.  Buddy Simpson, his mind told him.  It was Buddy Simpson. 
He was staring at Buddy but Buddy's eyes were wild and etched with fear,
staring out the cab past Johnny.  Johnny's square jaw tightened and he tried to
cry out again.  But no one could hear him.

Around them the
storm raged and the wind buffeted the vehicle.  Johnny could feel none of this,
he could only watch.  He stood there spread eagle against the windshield,
staring at an old man that was about to die.  Johnny winced as his eardrums
rang out to the screeches of the others.  Their calls were wild and
insufferably loud.  He could see the old man wincing too, lifting his hands
from the wheel to cover his ears.

Suddenly, the
glass all about the Buddy burst inward upon him, covering him with its
shrapnel.  He clenched his eyes shut a moment too late and he let out a blood
chilling cry of surprise and pain.  He opened his eyes and blinked several
times, each time causing more and more specks of red to show on their whites. 
His eyes began to bleed profusely and run down his wrinkled cheeks like tainted
tears.

The cheeks
themselves began to flow tiny red spots, as did his forehead.  Buddy was
blinded, his arms flailing wildly for purchase.  His scream was drowned out by
the wind coursing through the window frames of the cab.  He found the wheel and
turned it uncertain, confused.  In his panic he floored the accelerator instead
of the brake or clutch.  The yellow beast's engine growled in anger and thrust
forward.

The left side of
the plow hit soft shoulder, then deep snow, then nothing.  The lumbering
machine felt uneven and began to tip.  Its engine winding out to maximum RPM it
dumped onto the left side.  Suddenly, Buddy felt weightless.  Part of the
window frame clipped his left shoulder as he was thrown from the cab, sending
torrents of pain down his arm and back.

He hit head first
in the snow and sank several feet.  The snow packed around his blood soaked
eyes and in his open mouth, muffling another scream.  The old plow's motor
coughed and died behind him.  Its rear wheels spinning with a hum, they slowed
and stopped with a "CLUNK!" as the gears caught.  Buddy tried to
stand and find the cab of the plow but couldn't.

His arms and hands
were outstretched searching for its metallic surface.  The snow on his face had
melted and mixed with the blood there to drip off his chin and run down his
neck.  The snow around him was splattered with the red stuff.  He turned toward
the last sound of the truck he had heard and reached out to it, but the deep
snow held him and he fell forward.

Johnny tried with
all of his might to reach the man but couldn't.  When the truck had tipped he
simply rolled with it and ended up standing atop the deep snow.  He watched as
Buddy struggled to stand and move to the cab of the plow, blood free flowing
from the cuts on his face and eyes.  Then Johnny saw the forms descend upon
him.  No real things, just shadows.

The shadows
assaulted Buddy and he screamed again.  His final scream caught and gurgled in
his throat as a whisk of a shadow took his head off.  It disappeared into the
storm, all the while brandishing a look of terror and surprise.  The mouth open
in an eternal scream and the eyes rimmed with blood, never seeing his
assailants.

Johnny watched in
horror as the still standing body of Buddy Simpson came apart.  A fountain of
blood shot from the neck and was carried away by the wind.  His left arm, still
outstretched, was jerked away from the shoulder in a sickening pop of torn
cartilage.  The right arm joined it and Johnny wanted to vomit.  But he could
not, he could only watch.  The arms circled the body several times then
disappeared to follow the head.

There was an
incredible ripping sound followed by more popping and a huge
SNAP!
 
Johnny's eyes widened and he tried to look away but couldn't.  He watched as
Buddy's legs separated like a wishbone, splitting the body right up the
middle.  Blood and internal organs flew out in a profuse of red that showered
the plow's hulk and Johnny too.  He gagged and looked down at his arms but they
were clean, yet the snow around him had been speckled red.

He looked up and
saw the rest of what was once Buddy Simpson twirl around as if in a tornado
then vanish into the storm.  All around him, Johnny could hear the delighted
laughter of the others, carried in the wind.  The grisly scene ended and the
dark place lost its hold of Johnny.  It all faded away and Johnny found himself
walking home.  For some reason he could not explain, there was urgency for him
to get home.

He awoke suddenly,
in the grip of overwhelming panic, and sucked in a quick hard breath.  His
sheets were wet and his heart was racing wildly.  He allowed himself to calm
down and familiarize himself with his surroundings again.  Beside him he could
hear Clayton's obnoxious snoring, and further down, Tom was whimpering. 
"I'll bet it ain't a nightmare like the one I just had," he thought
to himself.

Only it didn't
quite feel like a nightmare to Johnny.  It was way too real.  He brushed it off
as best he could though; it was something that he didn't really want to
remember.  But he could not get back to sleep either.  That was something else
he didn't want to do just then.  Johnny rolled over and looked at his clock,
4:30am.  Boy was he glad he was off today.

Johnny decided to
get up and head on in to town.  He needed to go home.  As quietly as he could,
he dressed and crept out into the main room.  He jotted down a few notes for
Tom and left them on the table.  Out of curiosity, he peeked into the kitchen. 
The light from the night-light by the sink was just enough to show four glasses
standing rinsed out in the strainer.  He turned and headed for the door, and
home, and the company of his grandfather.

"I'll be home
by sun up," he thought absently, "I can't wait to see Faywah and the
boys." That thought made him feel safe and warm.  But somewhere in the
back of his mind was an underlying thought, a thought that was trying to work
its way up to the surface.  That it would be a long time before he ever felt
safe and warm again.

***

Gary Radner stood
at his bedroom window looking sleepily out at the day.  His red hair was flat
on one side and stood straight up on the other, "pillow head," his
mother called it.  Gary rubbed one eye and smacked his lips several times,
trying to clear the sleep out of both.  With his other hand he reached down and
pulled his jockey shorts out of the crack they'd crept up into.  Then he yawned
once, long and loud.

Normally he would
have been exuberant waking up to a day like this.  No school.  But today, for
some reason, there just didn't seem to be much to cheer about.  The scene
beyond his window cast an unnatural gloom on his "day off".  At that
thought, a single tremor coursed through him and bumps rose on his long thin
legs.

Behind him he
heard his mother clanking around in the kitchen, making breakfast for him
before she went to work.  Even on a day like today she would have to go in to
that lousy diner, Gary thought.  That Ray was such a cheap asshole.  He made
his mom work all the time.  Gary didn't care for Ray Campenos, the guy who
owned the "Diner".  It always seemed to him that Ray was putting the
moves on his mom, and his innuendo pissed Gary off.

Gary supposed that
it pissed his mom off as well, but she needed the job and so she put up with
it.  Gary often wondered how things would have been if his folks were still
together.  At the very least he thought that they would be able to live in
Steamboat, instead of this distant cousin of something that resembled a
society.  There were not a lot of social opportunities in Copper Creek,
especially for a bored fifteen year old.

He pushed back his
dark red hair with both hands then turned around and started searching his
bedroom floor for his jeans.  He dug them out of a pile of clothes in the
corner and pulled them on, then walked over to a dresser on the far wall.  The
second drawer down was opened and he reached into it and pulled out a black
T-shirt.  On its front was an image of Moe from the Three Stooges with a red
circle around it and a line through him.  Beneath it was a caption that read,
"Just Say Moe."  Gary slipped it over his head and plopped himself
down on the unmade twin bed across from the dresser.

On the floor
beside the bed was a pair of well worn black Keds high-tops, with balls of
socks stuffed in the mouths.  Gary donned both and stumbled to the bathroom
across the hall.  Reflected in the mirror was a gangly kid with a slight acne
problem, freckles, and a slight overbite.  Gary sighed at his appearance then
turned the water on at the sink.  He didn't wait for it to get warm, but
rather, splashed the cold water on his face to remove the rest of the sleep
from his eyes…..and to wake him up a little more.

Gary dried his
face, pinched a couple of obnoxious looking zits then brushed his teeth.  His
favorite Denver Broncos ball cap was on the sink from the night before and he
used it to hold down his wild hair.  Lastly, he drained the old lizard then was
ready to face the day, such as it was.  Gary wandered out to breakfast.

***

Mardell was going
to be late.  She'd had the toughest time getting up this morning and she really
didn't want to go to work today.  It was a terrible day outside and she knew
that the Diner would be dead.  That meant all the more time for Ray to harass
her.  She loathed the man.  But she needed the job, at least for now.  She was
trying to save enough money to get her and Gary to Denver, which wasn't easy on
what she was making.  But, she'd managed somehow and come spring, they would
leave this one horse town.

Mardell was a trim
woman of thirty-five with a pleasant, if not totally pretty, face.  Her hair
was a deep red and she wore it in an unflattering shoulder length style.  Her
eyes were an icy blue and she wore a little too much makeup.  But her smile was
what lit up her face.  She could have had a hard face with all she'd been
through.  She could easily have been used up.  But Mardell was a survivor and
adversity made her stronger.  It gave her determination and conviction.  It
made her see past today and hope for tomorrow.

She and Gary could
start a new life in Denver.  She knew that he wasn't happy here, hell, neither
was she.  But, for a boy it was tougher.  Gary needed things.  He needed more
than Copper Creek had to offer, or the school in Craig had to give.  But
Mardell knew that she needed things too.  She needed more than Copper Creek had
to offer as well.  And, she wasn't getting any younger.

Mardell stirred
the pan of Malt-O-Meal and, its consistency appropriate, pulled it from the
stove.  She set it on the table, wisps of steam rising from it enticingly.  She
was just about to call Gary when she heard the toilet flush and the seat drop
back down with a THWACK!  That was one thing Gary had over most men she mused,
he always put the seat down.

Gary shuffled up
the hall to the kitchen and plopped down at the table.  It was an ugly little
thing with a chrome frame and a fake green marble top.  The chairs were chrome
as well, with rounded backs and round seats covered in a vinyl that matched the
table.  The whole kitchen was like circa early putrid, Gary thought.  A bunch
of fifties rejects that came with the place.

As he scooped a
helping of the gritty cereal, his mom was just putting on her coat.  "Do
ya have to go in today?  Couldn't you just call in sick or something?"

"I'd love to
honey, believe me.  But you know we . . ."

". . . Need
the money," he finished for her.  "But it's so nasty today.  How can
he expect you to come out in a blizzard?" Gary pleaded.

"Some people
will show up there no matter what, and I am the only waitress.  Besides, it's
only a half a block away, right at the end of the street.  Surly your poor old
frail mother can make it that far?" she kidded.  "The phones are out
anyway.  I already tried to call and say I was going to be late," she
added.

"That
sucks," he observed.  "So now I really am stranded here.  I can't
even talk to the, like, two friends I've got," he said, irritated.

Mardell looked at
him understandingly, "Why don't you come down to the diner for lunch, on
me?"

Gary knew the
invitation was for her as much as him.  "Old Ray won't mind?" he
asked, incredulously.

"He's not
that bad," she defended.

"He's an
asshole."

"True,"
she agreed, "but an asshole with free food."

"Point
taken.  I'll see ya at noon," he conceded.