The Winter People (34 page)

            He could hear the cry
of the wind too.  It was a living thing that cast delight at his torment.  It
pelted him with tiny bits of snow that stung even through his clothes.  It
pushed at him with invisible hands, and tried to take the very breath from his
mouth.  Then Gary noticed something strange.  The wind was getting closer.  It
was louder, and it was angrier, and it was getting closer.

            Fear catapulted Gary
through the snow.  He pulled himself along with the backpacks, throwing them
out before him and then pulling the rest of his body up to them.  He struggled
and fought and kicked his way to the door.  Gary slid down the little ramp they
had made for the snowmobiles and banged on the metal door with his feet.  He
kicked it as hard as he could and did not stop until the door began to rise.

            As soon as the door had
cleared enough of the snow, Gary slid down the ramp into the garage.  “Close
the door!” he screamed above angry shrieks that followed him.

            “Where’s Nick?” Sarah
asked, her finger poised over the down button.

            “He’ll be here in a
minute, but something’s after me!  Close the door!” Gary replied.

            Even as the door began
to lower Gary scrambled away from it, expecting something to grab after him. 
But nothing happened.  Gary stopped near Sarah and looked back, but there was
nothing there.  He listened intently, but all he heard was the wind.  His panic
ebbed and heart slowed, and he took a long, deep breath.  He looked up to Sarah
and she was looking down at him with tears welling in her eyes.

            “Where’s Nick?” she
asked again.

            “We had to separate.” Gary
explained, “He should be along any minute.”

            Sarah paused for a long
moment and stared off at nothing, then said, “No, he won’t.”

***

Nick stood
cataleptic, waiting for a sign.  He searched the mist created by the low lying
clouds and blowing snow for movement.  He stared until there was a dull ache
behind his eyes.  The dull ache grew into a rhythmic throbbing at his temples,
but still there was no motion.

Drifting snow
eddied and curled, giving a strange semblance of life to inanimate objects. 
Soon, there were no inanimate objects, only the blowing snow.  Drifts reached
up to the roof tops, melding with them to form large rolling hills.  Trees
became spires, inhospitable crags from another time and place.  Suddenly the
land was foreign to him, it was alien.  From somewhere deep inside a small
terrified voice told Nick that this was their world and he was an unwelcome
intruder.

Terror struck cold
in Nick’s heart.  It pierced it like an icicle that’s dropped from an eave and
buried itself deep in the soft snow below.  He wanted to scream but the wind
pulled the very sound from his mouth.  He tried to think but his brain was in
turmoil, a tiny vessel caught in a storm.  All he could do was run.  Without
thinking, and for all he was worth, he ran.

The world flashed
by him in a dizzying swirl of white.  The soft crust of snow gave way to his
weight on several occasions, forcing him to sink to his knees or groin and
topple over forward.  Just as quickly though, Nick would pull himself up and
continue on.  He would struggle out of the mire of hoarfrost and scramble
forward.

Before long his
extremities were numb and his lungs burned from the cold air he forced into
them.  His goggles had fogged over and the world was a fuzzy white.  Each
breath came harder and shorter than the previous one, each step a little
closer.  No longer did he hold his hands out before him, reaching for the
unknown.  They now hung lifelessly at his side.

Nick was to the
point of exhaustion when he saw the glow.  It was strange and unearthly and
emanated from the surface before him.  Nick fell towards it, his strength
depleted.  He sank several feet in the luminescent snow and the glow became
brighter.  It enveloped him but there was no warmth in it.  It was as cold and
harsh as the rest of this world.  A wave of despair swept over him.

However, Nick was
not afforded the luxury of despair.  He was catapulted from it by the deafening
cry of the
others
.  So loud and close was the cry that the pain in his
ears caused them to bleed once more.  Nick jerked his head around to look over
his shoulder and felt a warm moist breeze dance across his cheek.  It caused
his goggles to completely fog over and the breath to catch in his throat.

In that brief
second, as the world had gone preternaturally silent, Nick knew that he was
about to die.  Suddenly, that silence was shattered by a creak, moan and pop. 
Nick felt the snow give way beneath him and he tumbled downward, rolling
backward into the light.  He was facing upward and caught the blurred glimpse of
a huge gnarled hand following him downward.  It stretched out towards his chest
in a grasping motion, its long nails catching only his parka, leaving long
gashes in the Gortex.

The hand closed on
nothing and up above, in the other world, there was a hateful cry.  Behind him,
Nick heard the tinkle of glass on concrete and then the muffled thud of his own
body striking it.  It forced the air from him and rocked his head back
painfully, cracking it loudly on the floor.  But nothing had sounded quite so
sweet to Nick; he was in his world again.

The cold light
from the fluorescents in the ceiling bathed Nick as he lay on the floor of the
gas station across the street from the Diner.  He reveled in the comfort of
things known to him and sucked in several deep breaths to regain control of
himself.  Above him he could hear the frustrated wails of the
others
and
it made him smile slightly.

Nick tried to
stand just then and fell back to the floor, his legs useless rubber things.  He
struggled to all fours and the world swam around his head in disjointed
images.  Oil additives danced with souvenir key rings of “Colorful Colorado”,
and bright pennants promising the lowest prices around on Goodyear snow tires
floated by.  Suddenly, Nick’s head racked with pain.

He managed to get
to his knees and sat back on his heels, swaying unsteadily from side to side. 
Nick pulled the glove from his right hand and slipped it under the hood of his
parka.  He felt the back of his head and felt the lump already forming there. 
Then he felt something warm and sticky on his fingers.

Nick pushed back
his hood and shoved the goggles up on top of his head.  He jerked his face mask
down around his neck and took several deep breaths.  Each breath cleared his
head a little more, but caused a wave of nausea to pass over him with each
one.  After a moment or two he stood cautiously, bracing himself against the
glass counter.

Nick saw his
reflection then in the glass and let out a disbelieving laugh.  His eyes were
wide orbs set deep in their sockets, his face ashen.  There was blood smeared
around his mouth where it had run down from his nose and more blood was drying
in his ears and on his neck.  His hair sat flat against his forehead and stuck
erratically on the sides in twisted mattes.  To Nick, he looked like some drug
crazed vampire after a wild night on the town.

As Nick stared at
himself in the glass he caught a movement of white behind him.  Whirling in
fear, Nick saw it again.  Soft clumps of snow were falling through the opening
in the top of the window that he had made, and beyond that was the sound of the
others
.  They were coming.  Nick jerked his head from side to side and
surveyed the room.  A door to the left, a mountain of snow behind it he
surmised, and a door to the right that led into the garage.

In an instant,
Nick launched himself away from the counter and bounded toward the garage
door.  Within moments he was through it and did another quick survey.  To his
right was a large rolling tool chest nearly as tall as he was.  He stumbled to
it and gave it a pull but it didn’t move.  He braced himself and pulled with
all that he had and managed to move it only a foot before his strength gave out
and he began to feel weak kneed again.

A thousand
thoughts raced through Nick’s mind, none of them very good.  He rubbed his
chin, contemplating, and surveyed the garage a second time.  There wasn’t much
there that would be of any great help, he thought.  There was a work bench with
an odd tool or car part on it, an old Buick up on the lift above the floor
drain, an arc welder, and an acetylene torch.

Behind him, Nick
heard a tinkle of glass and the soft thud of snow on the tile floor.  He turned
and peered through the window of the door that connected the two rooms and saw
a snowman forming out of the mound on the floor.  In that moment several other
blobs of snow issued forth through the hole he himself had come through only
minutes ago.  They plopped onto the tile and also began to rise.

Panic swelled up
in Nick’s chest, they would be on him in an instant.  The instinct for survival
took over his actions and gave him a renewed strength.  He lunged towards the
torch and quickly threw the coils of its hoses off of the tanks.  After
checking the tank valves, he adjusted the gas flow at the nozzle and ignited it
with a striker from the tank rack.

A yellow flame
burst out spewing black soot before it that drifted lazily downward like soiled
snowflakes.  Nick tried to adjust the flame, intensify it, and it blew out with
loud pop.  As the torch winked out, the glass in the door window exploded into
the garage, followed by a gnarled hand.  Nick fumbled with the striker plate
and almost dropped everything in his panic.   After a quivering eternity he
managed to wrap his thumb and forefinger around the control knob.  He reduced
the oxygen flow a little and reignited the torch.  The flame was a blinding
blue and hissed with intensity.

He thrust it at
the door just as the rest of the arm came through the ruined opening.  There
was a squeal of pain and surprise from the other room and the arm retreated in
a blur of fire.  The pungent scent of burning hair filled Nick’s nostrils and a
moment later there was a brilliant flash in the other room, then chilled
silence.  Nick strained to hear but the only sound was the hiss of the torch. 
Another moment passed, then two, and then a death cry shattered the quiet.

It filled his
veins with ice water and somewhere beneath his clothing his leg had grown warm
and wet.  Nick tried to swallow but couldn’t.  They wanted him.  Not just to
kill something, anything, they wanted him.  Beyond hatred or contempt, beyond
the pain, the ferocity, Nick heard vengeance.  He heard it and it frightened
him more than he thought anything could.

It was not a
threat.  It wasn’t even a strong desire or a wish.  It was simple fact.  They
were going to have him.  Whatever it took, however long it took, he would be
theirs.  And when he was, God have pity on him.  Nick’s mouth turned to sand
and he had to remind himself to breath.

Then suddenly the
door rattled on its hinges, startling Nick and causing him to hold the torch
out before him.  Something hit it again and this time it was accompanied by
several grunts and snarls.  They’re going to get tired of this and charge me,
Nick thought, waltz right in here and rip me a new asshole.

Wham!  The door
rattled again and it made Nick tense up all over.  Uncertain, he scanned the
garage again and his eyes focused on the floor drain.  His stare was
calculating, his look determined.  A thin ray of hope had presented itself to
Nick and he was reaching out for it.  A two square foot iron grate covered the
drain.  It was too small for them to fit through, but just large enough for
him.

Wham!  The
doorframe began to splinter.

The problem was
getting to it.  As soon as he gave up his vantage point they would be upon him,
he was sure.  He needed two things, a diversion, and a crowbar.  Nick searched
the workbench again and there was a crowbar sitting right on top.  Then his
eyes were drawn down, drawn by something red and low and sitting beneath the
bench.  A gas can.

Nick had little
choice.  He had to move soon while he still held some advantage.  He only
prayed that the can had some gas in it.   Cautiously he moved forward, holding
the torch toward the door as he did so.  He crossed to the bench, his eyes
never leaving the door, and kicked the can.  To Nick’s surprise it was full.  
He reached down, fumbled for the cap, and removed it.  Nick pushed the can with
his foot to the far end of the tool chest, near the door.

Wham!  Wham!  The
door burst inward and landed flatly on the concrete floor.  Nick kicked the can
just then, dowsing the fallen door.  The reddish liquid ran into the doorway
and the strangely attractive fumes attacked his nostrils.  Nick kicked it again
and sent it into the other room with a metallic thud.

In one motion,
Nick tossed the torch into the puddle and jumped for the crowbar.  There was a
loud “Whoof!” behind him as the gasoline caught and the air became thin as the
flames sucked hungrily at it.  Then the can exploded in a roar and Nick saw his
shadow darken on the far wall.  He felt a brief push on his back as the force
from the blast sent him forward toward the drain.  Mixed in with it all were
the cries.

The tall man fell
to his knees and stabbed at the grate with the crowbar.  The bar clanked dully
on the grate as his hands trembled and his eyes wouldn’t quite come into
focus.  Nick noticed then that his shadow was becoming less pronounced and
behind him the ululation intensified.  The heat of the fire and his own fear
caused him to sweat; stinging his eyes and making his hands slip inside his
gloves.

Nick threw the
gloves off and attacked the grate again.  The bar crashed to the concrete with
all of Nick’s weight behind it, his knuckles testing the strength of the
concrete.  Nick let out a brief scream and uttered some obscenities to
himself.  He pulled up one hand into a tight fist and turned it to look at his
knuckles.  The ragged flesh was just turning from white to red as the blood
began to free flow.