The Winter People (30 page)

It
was a wild ride and a quick drop that got his adrenaline to pumping for a moment,
then it was over.  Not too bad, he decided.  He pulled his machine out of the
way and killed it, then motioned for Sarah to follow.  She looked back at Nick doubtfully,
sighed, and then eased them down into the trench.  They landed with a soft thud
and a jerk, and it was over.  Sarah was surprised.

She
moved the machine at Mike's gesture then killed its engine as well.  Behind
her, Mike was already scraping snow out of the way so the big door could be
lowered. Nick was helping as best he could, but he still wasn't at his best. 
She wondered then what had happened to him; they never had a chance to ask him
before.  They would find out soon enough she decided and began to help them. 
Before long, the door grumbled downward slowly and sealed the opening.  For the
first time all day, she felt safe.  Well, safer anyway.

Nearly
exhausted, the three of them plopped down on the seats of the snowmobiles. 
Sarah sat beside Nick on one, and Mike took the other.  Each of them removed
hats and goggles and gloves, and unzipped their jackets.  Not a word was said
for a moment or two, and then Sarah finally broke the silence.

"Are
you okay Nick?” she asked, concerned.

"Yeah,
still just a little shaky.  I'll be okay.” he replied and gave her a weak
smile. Dried blood was smeared under his nose and around his mouth, and one ear
was rimmed in it.

"You
sure?” Mike asked, reaching over and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah."

"Well,
then what happened?  Was it the same as before?"

"Before
what?” Sarah asked.

"This
morning at Hayden's house.” Mike answered, "Nick got a nose bleed and
passed out."  As an afterthought, "It was right before he sensed that
you were in trouble."

"Really?"

"Yeah,"
Nick continued, "I got one of those feelings like we get, you know?" 
Sarah only nodded and let him continue.  "I knew something was wrong and
you needed me.  Well, in the middle of it, there were these...voices.  They
were from somewhere outside and they were, teasing me, tormenting me.  Then I
got this killer pain in my head and I blacked out.  I guess my nose started
bleeding too?"  Sarah only stared at him nodding slowly.

Nick
went on, "Well this time, after I saw the house, I just sort of snapped. 
I thought I heard Barbara calling out to me for help, she just kept saying how
cold she was. Then the voices came again.  They were stronger this time though,
harsher.  It's not that they really said anything, it was just...” he struggled
to find the words but couldn't, "just like I was thinking their thoughts. 
I could feel what they felt, for an instant.  Then my head felt like it was
going to pop and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the kitchen."

"What
was it like, their thoughts?” Mike asked curiously.

Nick
thought a moment, and then said flatly, "Insanity."

Mike
only nodded, but Sarah looked sympathetically at her brother.  She was trying
so hard to understand, but just couldn't.  She guessed she never would either;
it was something you would have to go through.  As much as she loved her
brother, she would be just as happy if this was something they never shared.

"Well.",
Mike broke the silence, "What do you say we check this place out?" 
He stood and offered a hand to both Nick and Sarah.

Taking
his hand, "Yeah, the sooner the better. I guess?” Nick let Mike pull him
up.  Sarah took the help up without comment, feeling not quite as safe as she
had a few moments ago.  Nick walked around the two to the back of the
snowmobile they'd gotten from Hayden this morning and opened the back
compartment.  He rifled around for a moment and pulled out a flare gun and six
flares.

"Ahhh!”
he said with approval. "After what Sarah told us, this ought to light a
fire under some of those things."

Mike
nodded, "How many flares are there?"

"Only
six."

Sarah
offered, "There might be some more in my snowmobile."

Nick
looked there and found four more.  "Well, if the sheriff's got a flare
gun, he might just have more flares somewhere.  He might even have another
gun."  Mike and Sarah nodded.

"Sounds
like a place to start Nick, let's head up front.", Mike turned and started
walking through the big double doors that led down the long hallway to the
front area.

Sarah
followed Mike, and Nick brought up the rear.  He paused only briefly to make
sure that the flare gun was loaded as he pushed through the doors.  In the
garage, the big bay doors thumped with a gust and Nick jumped, but didn't look
back.  Instead, he hurried up to walk beside Sarah. She was as appreciative of
the company as he was, although neither one spoke.  Just knowing that the other
was there, felt safe somehow, and that feeling had been in short supply lately.

The
front office was as they had left it this morning.  It was still and empty and
silent.  It was an eerie feeling, like going back to your old high school and
walking down its empty halls, Mike thought.  But, as they began searching for
weapons, another feeling came to him.  It was like being in the house and going
through the belongings of someone who had died.  He trembled at that thought,
but forgot all about it when he heard the distant sound of glass breaking
somewhere upstairs.

***

Johnny
strained against the rope that bound him to his snowmobile.  He stretched as
far as he could, sprawled out on top of the ice, and finally got a hand on
Hayden’s back.   Johnny called out to him but Hayden remained a lifeless form,
a limp rag in Johnny’s clutch.  The big man’s weight caused the rope to dig
into Johnny’s middle, and beneath his snow suit there was blood.

Johnny
turned Hayden and hooked a hand under each arm.  He pulled with all of his
might.  The pain around his middle was nearly unbearable and his kidneys ached
from the pressure.  The rope burned into Johnny’s sides and left its prints on
his skin, even through the layers of clothing he was wearing.  But it was just
the leverage he needed to pull Hayden up onto the ice.

The
motionless lump that was Hayden Smith lay flatly on its back next to the gaping
hole in the ice.  His legs hung limply over the side and dangled in the frigid
slushy water of Macy pond.  Beside him, the exhausted Indian fought to catch
his breath, perched on all fours.  Johnny stared down at Hayden, his skin was
ashen and his lips a pale blue.  But there was the unmistakable fog of life as
Hayden exhaled.

Johnny
breathed easier, but only for a moment.  Already, Hayden’s parka was beginning
to freeze.  It crinkled and crunched as Johnny sat him up and locked his arms
around Hayden’s chest from behind.   Johnny dragged Hayden to his snowmobile, a
sharp pain shooting down his bum leg with every step.  Twice he had nearly
tumbled over backwards when the rope caught under his feet.

The
Indian was near to his physical limits by the time he reached the litter where
Roscoe’s whimpers seeped out from beneath the blankets and skins.  But time was
short and Johnny couldn’t afford the luxury of rest.  He had to get Hayden
warm, and quick.  Roscoe needed attention as well, and all of them were at the
mercy of the elements.  But it was the Ha’a’jo Den’e that were foremost in
Johnny’s mind, for they were coming.

Johnny
could taste the air growing sour around them.  With every step that brought the
Ha’a’jo Den’e, the Winter People, closer, the air became more rancid.  The wind
picked up its intensity as well, petulantly slapping them in intermittent gusts
of angry yelps.  Johnny knew that they would be swarming over this place in a
matter of minutes, just as they were even now swarming over the streets of
Copper Creek.  He trembled momentarily then set to work.

Johnny
hoisted Hayden onto the litter and beneath the blankets Roscoe whined with the
motion.  Johnny ignored his dog and worked at the zipper of Hayden’s parka to
no avail.  It was frozen up.  He then pulled his knife from its sheath and slit
the garment open easily, and proceeded to cut through the soaked clothing
beneath until Hayden’s wet long johns were all that separated him from the
atmosphere.

Next,
Johnny tried to remove Hayden’s boots but they were blocks of ice on his feet. 
The heavy leather was rock hard and Johnny didn’t want to take the time to saw
through it.  So he jerked the pant legs of the snowsuit up out of the boots and
slit them up the side, exposing the cotton underwear beneath.  He tossed the
useless rags aside and lifted the skins and blankets from around Roscoe.

The
dog looked up dolefully and attempted a half-hearted lick at Johnny’s face,
then let his head drop back down.  Johnny stuffed Hayden up around the dog in a
semi-fetal position, his stomach against the dog’s back.  He then covered them
both in the skins and blankets, and bound them to the litter with the rope from
his waist.  Roscoe whimpered a few more times then became as silent as Hayden.

Johnny
climbed onto the snowmobile, wincing from the sting of his clothes rubbing
against the rope burns on his sides.  He fired up the machine and eased it off
the pond then headed for town.  Behind him the dead town spoke out.  The
further he got from it, the clearer its message to him became.  It called out
to him.  It implored him.  It begged and pleaded.

“We
are here Johnny.” It said.  “Come back to us…help us.” It murmured.  Johnny
tried to ignore it but it wouldn’t let him.  “Only you Johnny, you’re the one. 
We need you Johnny; we need you to end it for us.” It pleaded.

“No!”
Johnny thought, “Leave me alone!”

“It’s
so cold Johnny.  You can’t believe how cold it is.  Please Johnny.”

“No.”

“Johnny?”
and then it was silent.

Johnny
swallowed hard but did not look back.  He was suddenly very cold, and very
afraid.  It did not seem as the voices of the Winter People at all.  It was
familiar somehow and that was what scared him.  The town spoke out with the
voices of many, voices he knew.  Souls.  But Johnny refused to use his eyes and
see.  He refused to look into the town, look into his own heart.  There would
be horror there, horror and pain.  There would be things he would never
forget.  Things he could do nothing to help.

He
cursed his
gift
then.  He cursed it for what it had done to him, for
what it had made him.  He cursed it for the things it made him see, made him
deal with.  It was unfair, he pouted to himself, and it was cruel.  To open
your mind up to things that you would otherwise be blissfully ignorant about,
then leave you unable to change any of it.  It was no
gift
at all, he
decided.

There
was something in Donner, something there for him.  It wanted him.  It needed
him.  It called out to him.  But it was also their place now, he realized that
too.  That was why he hadn’t been able to see anything before.  Why he hadn’t
felt anything.  Only now were they allowing it to draw him back, he was sure.  But
he was sure of something else too, he would be back this way again.

***

Although
the snow had lessened, visibility was still poor.  Tom had been struggling
since he lost sight of the cabin and had almost given himself up as hopelessly
lost several times, but had pushed on anyway.  His snow blindness, compounded
by the day, had made everything look like a great white soup.  So it was with
alarm and relief when he very nearly rode the Ski-Doo off the steep bank into
the icy waters of Copper Creek.

The
creek was frozen over, but Tom still didn’t think it would take his weight
being thrown onto it from ten or fifteen feet.  Fortunately, he had managed to
lean and pull the machine to the right just in time.  In fact, a few inches of
his track actually sat out in space.

Tom
sighed heavily letting his racing heart calm down just a bit.  He swallowed
once and shook his head in disbelief.  After the moment of panic subsided, he
eased the Ski-Doo forward and continued on along the creek bank.  He would be
able to follow it on in to town, he thought.  And surely there would be a place
to cross somewhere.

So
Tom headed upstream following the meanderings of the frozen creek.  After a
short while he came to a gentle slope that led down to the creek on either
side.  He’d found a crossing.  Whether it was natural or man made he couldn’t
say, but it was a crossing.  The contour of the land drew him down to it easily
and soon he found himself at the creek’s edge.

The
path seemed to be several feet above the creek and Tom decided that this was a
bridge.  Slowly, cautiously, he eased out onto the path.  His trip across was
uneventful and Tom shrugged.  He climbed up the other side and at the top of
the little knoll was a small cluster of buildings surrounded by a tall fence topped
with barbed wire.  A small sign on the fence read, “Sewage Treatment Plant”.

Tom
looked back down towards the creek.  He couldn’t see the outlet pipe but he
knew it dumped in there somewhere.  For a moment he wrinkled his nose in
distaste at man.  It was a brief objection though; there was something more
significant about this than self-righteous indignation.

He
was on the far outskirts of town.  He had made it.  Then he corrected himself. 
He wasn’t there yet.  The sheriff’s office was on the far side of town and he
had a long way to go.  Probably the greatest distance of all, the last few
yards before the touchdown.  Tom swallowed and headed up along the creek and
around the outskirts of town.  Somehow, it seemed the wiser thing to do.

***

Huddled
together in an almost comical manner, Mike, Sarah, and Nick inched their way up
the great staircase.  Hayden had told them that this had been a hotel once and
it didn’t seem like they had gone to any great lengths to remodel it.  In fact,
the only place that seemed out of place now was the converted Sheriff’s
office.  When they had stepped through the door that led to the rest of the
building, each of them had taken a double take.  It was like stepping into
another time.

They
had stepped into the marbled lobby from what had probably been the kitchen or
dining room.  It was a large open entry way that allowed you to see the three
floors above.  A huge polished wooden staircase funneled into one corner and
led to the walkway that circled the next floor.  Two more staircases led up to
the next floor, and the next, each at opposite ends of the great expanse of the
opened entry way.

Beside
the dark curved shapes of the main stair stood an elevator, it too was from
another time.  Open on all sides, its walls were made of molded wrought iron,
twisted in decorative curls and loops.  It had a brass dial above it that
indicated the floors, and a hand like that of a clock that pointed to the two,
which was where it sat.