The Winter People (27 page)

But
before he could have time to think any further, the hair on the nape of his
neck stood up on end and he was overcome with a terrible sense of dread.  He
had the feeling that he was being watched, that he wasn't alone anymore.  His
heart tried to inch its way up in his throat and Dave swallowed hard to keep it
down.

The
icy draft that had been catching Dave on the right rear side suddenly grew warm
and it made him start to tremble.  He turned to face it and saw the form
looming over him.

Suddenly,
Dave wasn't bored anymore.

***

Syrhal
picked at his teeth with one razored nail, the bone fragment lodged there
irritated him.  He sucked on it, probed it with his long pointed tongue, and
then picked at it some more.  "This is not satisfying,” he thought,
"this is not satisfying at all."  It was much too quick he decided,
no time for fear.  Their flesh was sweet, yes, the meat was good.  But, there
was more to the hunger than food, much more.

He
finally spit the chunk of bone out onto the floor, and then looked around the
hidey hole.  The two in this hole called "Diner" had tasted good, but
they did not satiate him. The hunger was difficult to control, and the blood
cries of the prey infuriated and frenzied him.  Try as he might, he could never
seem to make it last, and that frustrated him and made him hate them even more.

Syrhal
had not felt hatred like this in a long, long time.  Absentmindedly, he
gingerly ran a finger over a long scar nearly lost in the fur of his left
shoulder and breast. He thought back momentarily to their first feeding many
seasons ago, after the arrival. He thought back to the puny man-thing that had
killed many of his brethren and nearly killed Syrhal himself.  It caused his
hatred to grow even more and it felt good.

There
was so much hatred in fact that his flesh could not contain it.  His enmity
swelled up inside him and burst forth.  Syrhal became wild then and tore into
the room.  He smashed and tore and threw and slashed.  He was a white blur in
the destruction, set out against the red splattered around the room from his
feeding.  The light, the light above hurt his eyes so he smashed it too.  With
one sweeping blow from his huge hand, the fluorescent bulbs popped and
scattered their remains upon Syrhal and the other debris in the diner.

He
screamed as he rendered, ululating his agony.  He cried out to his brethren,
joined in their song in the wind.  All the while, the burning was there,
twisting his insides into painful knots.  He'd fed on the fat thing, and the
burning remained.  Then he'd ravaged the life out of the skinny female thing,
and still, the burning was there.

Then,
Syrhal knew what he must do.  He would find others and make it last with them. 
He would ease the pain of the hunger, and exact his rancor.  A wicked grin
inched its way onto his twisted face and his eyes narrowed.  Syrhal slipped
quietly out the door and was lost immediately in the storm.  His figure became
a ghost, and then disappeared entirely, the dark edges of his smile the last
thing visible.

After
all, it was the feeding time.

***

Barbara
Smith had fallen into a fitful sleep.  After Nick and Mike left, she had
cleaned the kitchen then settled down in her favorite recliner to read.  She
was snug and warm, bundled in a quilt that her grandmother had made, and had
dozed off almost immediately.  Just as quickly, she began to dream.

The
dream was familiar to her though she had never had it before.  There were
underlying feelings and emotions of something she couldn't quite grasp, but
still they were familiar.  As with all things familiar, there was a certain
amount of comfort, so she let herself move towards the dream.  She allowed it
to take off and lost herself in it.

She
stood in a void of white with neither dimension nor sensation.  Before her a
shape materialized from the white as if coming out of a mist, it was Hayden. 
Barbara heard him speak her name and he extended a gloved hand out to her.  In
the misty altered reality she took it and found herself sitting behind him. 
There was a wind on her face and it felt brisk and clean, and somewhere near
she heard a muffled buzz.

Every
sound was sweet and she tried to focus on them in the dream but its progression
wouldn't allow it.  So she simply cherished the sound for the moment and went
on.  Again, Hayden's voice rang out, soft and beautiful.  He turned and looked
at her and his face was full of life, his cheeks red.  She studied him in this
dreamy aura and saw a Hayden of many years ago.

Though
his features were as they were this morning, there was youth in his eyes, his
expressions.  Even though she knew how old she was, Barbara was also young at
the same time.  They were in two times at the same time.  She was Mrs. Smith
and little Barbara O'Neal, all at once.  She was who she was, living a moment
from the past, and who she is, dreaming it today.  It was a moment she only now
realized was happening.

Hayden
was taking her out on her father's new Snow-Cat.  It was a crisp winter evening
and the full moon in the clear December sky shone off the snow and illuminated
the world in an eerie false day.  The brisk wind tossed her hair around and
kissed lightly at her cheeks.  In front of her, her arms stretched around the
young man that had caught her fancy so many months ago.  She squeezed him tight
just then.

But
then Barbara remembered that moment all together and panic rose up in her. She
screamed but her cries were lost in the roar of the engine and wail of the wind
whipping past them.  They rode on in the night, flying as fast as the machine
could carry them.  Barbara tried to just let go and fall off but her arms were
leaden and she didn't have the strength to move them.  She tried to get
Hayden's attention but she couldn't move at all, and when she opened her mouth
only a little squeak came out.

The
trees flew by in a rush but she recognized the surroundings and the panic
inside her grew.  Then the trees disappeared and there was only the white
void.  Only it wasn't the white void, they were on the lake.  Hayden had taken
her out onto the lake as he had done all those years ago, racing toward its
center.  They were soaring across the ice, lightly blanketed with snow.  And
with each yard they moved, Barbara's panic grew.

Then
there was no sound but the creaking and moaning of the ice.  It was so loud it
pounded painfully at Barbara's temples.  But still she could not move.  She
could only stare at Hayden's back, she could only sit there and let it happen
all over again.

There
was a thunderous crash as the surface gave way and the back of the Snow-Cat
dipped into the icy water.  Suddenly, Barbara was standing off to the side
watching the scene as a spectator.  It happened just as it had all those years
ago except that she wasn't on the machine, it was only Hayden.  She didn't sink
in the water, Hayden didn't save her, and she wasn't deaf.

But
Hayden was still struggling with the Snow-Cat, the skis still catching the edge
of the ice.  The motor roared and the track kicked up water behind him.  But
every time he made a little progress, the hole opened up a little more and
Hayden would lose whatever ground he had managed.  Then the seat was under
water and Barbara saw terror on Hayden's face.

Finally,
Hayden let the machine go and lunged for the edge of the ice.  The headlight
disappeared beneath the black surface as Hayden clawed at the ice.  Every time
he tried to pull himself out, the ice would break and he would fall back into
the water.  But Barbara couldn't help, she could only watch.  She could only
see him struggle; see the expression on his face.  Then his face changed.

He
was no longer the Hayden of yesterday and today, he was only the Hayden of
today.  Barbara felt it in herself as well, she was no longer in the past, and
she was no longer in two different times.  With that realization, her hearing
was gone.  She could only watch the scene in silence, watch her husband die.

Hayden
struggled in the arctic water, his clothes soaked and tugging on him, pulling
him downward.  His skin was ghostly white and his eyes opened wide in fear. 
The intense cold was numbing him and his movements became sluggish, slow.  He
was near to exhaustion, near to giving up when the ice finally held his weight.

The big man
pulled himself half out of the water and rested his torso on the glacial
surface, panting heavily.  Barbara's fear eased and she tried to go to him, but
still she could not move.  So she only stared at him, sprawled on the ice,
hanging half way into the icy waters of Steamboat Lake.

Suddenly,
a huge white hand tipped with long razored nails thrust up out of the water;
followed by another, and another.  They clawed at Hayden, grabbed him around
the arms and waist.  Then another hand erupted from the lake and sank its nails
deep into Hayden's back.  He arched in pain, his mouth open in a silent scream.

Then
all the hands yanked him under the surface and he was gone.

***

Barbara
awoke, startled and confused.  She jerked her head upright and blinked several
times.  Her body racked with tremors and she felt very cold, a cold that seeped
deep into her bones and froze the blood there.  She pulled the old quilt up
tight and stared off at the wall, puzzled.  She vaguely remembered a dream, but
its contents escaped her.

She
concentrated on it but that only made her head ache.  Finally, she shook it off
with a shrug.  But, she couldn't seem to shake the feeling of anxiety that had
come over her.  She was nervous and she hadn't the faintest idea why.  She
decided to ignore it and go back to her book.  "It was nothing.” her mind said.

But, she may
well have changed her mind if she could have heard the death song of the wind,
rattling through the eaves.....or the pounding at the front door.

Hayden
stumbled weakly from the home of Ellis Campbell, the taste of bile still fresh
on his tongue.  He pulled a handful of snow from the large drift next to him
and thrust it into his mouth, then spit several times.  The cold powder removed
some of the taste and cleared his head a little.  He leaned against the porch
railing with one hand and then wiped his mouth with the back of the other.

After
sucking in a couple of deep breaths of the frigid air, followed by a hard
swallow, Hayden pulled his face mask up.  He then pushed off of the railing and
moved toward his snowmobile.  His previous path was now only an indentation
that sucked at him with every step.   He was still somewhat shaky and found it
increasingly difficult to move around in the deep snow. The cold was finding
its way into his joints and extremities and his feet and hands were beginning
to ache.

But
Hayden was determined now, determined and scared.  In fact, he was more scared
now than he had ever been.  Something bad was happening to Copper Creek,
something evil.  He'd felt it before but had ignored it, rationalized it.  But
he couldn't ignore what he had just seen.  He couldn't ignore what he was
feeling all around him.  There was evil in this place, as real and tangible as
the snowmobile he now sat upon.

The moment that
Hayden let go and accepted that thought, it became all the more present.  The
evil was so thick he could reach out into the wind and touch it, feel it. 
Then, he realized that the wind was a part of it, and so were the snow, and the
clouds.  He was enveloped in it.  It filled his lungs and made him want to gag,
and he could smell it now.  The air was rotten with it, hatred and death.

Hayden suddenly became anxious to leave
and go back to town.  He reached for the key and found that it was already in
the "on" position.  A brief moment of panic swept over him but he
remained calm and reached for the start button with his thumb.  Nothing.  He
pushed it again and still nothing.  "Damn.", he muttered, and the
panic tried to rise up in him again but he fought it back.

He
reached down to the pull rope and yanked on it.  The machine caught a few times
then fell silent.  He pulled again and gave it some throttle this time, but
still it wouldn't start.  He held the throttle down and tugged on the rope
again, then again, and again.  A cough, a sputter, but still it wouldn't
start.  Then Hayden smelled gas.  "Damn.", he said again.

Hayden
released the throttle and jerked at the cord several times more until he had to
stop and rest.  He was panting heavily and the bitter-cold air hurt his lungs. 
Suddenly, Hayden was startled by a blast of wailing wind that echoed painfully
in his ears.  His hair stood up on end all over and he could feel it crawling
beneath his clothes.  He jerked his head around several times but found
nothing, except that his panic was back and this time he couldn't quite make it
go away.

The
wind howled again, closer, and Hayden knew that something was coming.  He
grabbed the cord and began yanking on it for all he was worth.  He pulled, and
thumbed the throttle.  He played with the choke, and pulled some more.  He gave
it a final mighty tug and the engine sputtered, then caught.  He gunned the
throttle to keep it running and looked around expectantly.  Nothing.

He
searched the trees and the side of the building.  Nothing.  He stared through
the huge icicles that connected the eaves of the cabin to the frozen ground,
their heavy crystalline forms distorting whatever lay beyond them.  Nothing. 
Yet, peering through the bars of ice, Hayden did see something.  For an
instant, he was transported to an alien world, a frozen place that reeked of
depravity, prehistoric in its savagery.  A place that belonged with the evil
around him.

A
shrill cry intruded upon the scene and startled Hayden, hammering at his
eardrums.  The icicles exploded into the storm and Hayden flinched away from
their debris.  He jerked his head around again, wild eyed.  Again, nothing. 
Hayden breathed a heavy sigh but did not relax.  He eased the machine toward
the back of the cabin and the trail that led to a clearing.  Being in the trees
made him nervous and although it was somewhat out of his way, he much preferred
the open ground.

By squinting
and concentrating, Hayden could see the clearing through the trees. But he saw
something else too.  There was something moving through the trees ahead of
him.  Shadows.  There were white shadows in the trees, showing up momentarily
as they passed in front of an aspen or pine.  Hayden's blood ran cold and he
began to tremble.  He stopped the machine and looked around him.  There were
shadows to the left and the right, and shadows creeping along the wall of
Ellis' cabin behind him.  They were like ghosts in an enormous cemetery.

They
were specters that floated between graves and danced across the land,
apparitions that melded with the landscape and lost themselves in the ice and
snow.  They were graceful and swift, not bound by earthly restraints.  Hayden
watched them with awe, until his terror kicked him in the temple.  He jammed
the throttle and shot forward.  The wind screeched angrily all around him and
pounded painfully on his eardrums, but he ignored it.

Hayden
jumped a drift, brought his machine up on one ski and missed a tree, then
entirely ran over a smaller one.  Branches smacked at his windshield and legs
as he flew through the trees.  He rode faster than he dared; adjusting his
course to miss what he could, and avoid the shadows.  The shadows that were
closing in on him.

The
clearing was very near; he could almost feel the promise of its safety.  Still
he flew, driven by terror.  Hayden was nearly there when a shadow stepped out
in front of him.  It was a mammoth before him, a mountain.  It stood there,
grinning, arms outstretched to welcome him.  Hayden's heart stopped just then,
there was nowhere else to go.  Trees bordered either side and just beyond it
was the clearing.

Hayden
did the only thing he could think of, the only thing his terror would allow. He
pushed the throttle as far as it would go, hung himself low on the seat, and
headed straight for it.  He was nearly upon it when the snowmobile shot into
the air and nearly bucked Hayden off.  He glanced back and saw a fallen log
across the path, exposed where his track had hit it.

Hayden
was jolted and nearly dislodged again as he hit the thing and glanced off its
chest.  The world had gone silent except for the high pitched whine of the
two-stroke set free, and a painful cry somewhere below.  Then Hayden could hear
nothing but his own heart, and a distant prayer in the back of his mind.  He
saw only a blur of white, and then his world went upside down.  Or rather,
Hayden did.  The snowmobile rolled over in mid air and landed on its side out
in the clearing, then continued to roll, finally resting upright.

Hayden's
grip never faltered and the engine had revved high during the entire crash. 
When he came to rest, the spinning track dug into the soft powder and kicked it
up violently.  Hayden was hanging off the side of the snowmobile, a death grip
on the handlebars all that tied him to it.  The machine lurched forward in
jerky motions as it tried to dig itself out of the hole it had made, dragging
Hayden along with it.

His
weight off the one side caused the machine to lean and turn to the right.
Finally, it found purchase and shot out into the snow field, moving in a huge
arc to the right.  Behind him, Hayden could actually hear the heavy breathing
of the thing he had hit, chasing him.  After about fifty yards he heard nothing
but the wind and took the chance to stop and climb fully on his snowmobile.

As
Hayden hoisted a leg over the snow covered seat, he noticed the ski.  The left
ski was twisted outward and up the side of the motor cover.  Just above the top
of the ski ran four deep gouges in the fiberglass body, stopping at the front
of the track.  Hayden paused for only an instant in disbelief.  Had he landed
any other way than the way he had, he would have gone nowhere.

Hayden
shook his head then quickly raked the packed snow from the instruments. Behind
him he heard a screech that chilled his blood and caused his panic to return. 
It was a deafening roar that caused the muscles in his neck to tense up from
the pain in his ears, and it was incredibly close.  It was nearly upon him, its
evil preceding it like a noxious odor.

The
big man leaned to the right and hit the throttle, his hands trembling inside
his gloves.  The machine moved out jerkily, the twisted ski catching
occasionally on the snow.  He shot across the field in an "S"
pattern, trying to maintain a straight path.  The snowmobile fought him the
entire way and he felt himself tiring quickly.  Between the cold and the
manhandling he had to do, not even his immense fear could carry him much
further.  But, he was sure they were still chasing him.

Although
he had managed to distance himself somewhat, the course he was forced to follow
was not nearly as quick as he'd hoped.  He had risked a peek back a time or two
and had seen nothing, but that did little to ease him.  Hayden could feel them
behind him, could feel each powerful step they took, pounding in his chest. 
Yes, they were after him, he could smell them.  Their rancor tainted the very
air he breathed.

He
gagged uncontrollably for a moment then caught his breath and held it.  After
an instant he released it in a cleansing sigh.  He would ignore them he
decided.  He would ignore them and concentrate on getting home.  Concentrate on
reaching Copper Creek. He would ignore what pursued him; ignore his terror and
the cold.  Ignore the burning pain seeping into his hands and feet.  So Hayden
pushed on, fighting the machine, the cold, the pain, and the fear.

***