Games Creatures Play

by Charlaine Harris

  • • •

  Long Neck made his third score of the day against the outsiders, and the outsiders hadn’t even been within range of the far scoring tree branches. He paused, took a look around. The three outsiders had taken off their upper garments, and their bodies were flabby indeed. Only one of them had any markings at all, and it was the one with the yellow hair, who talked a lot and seemed to be their leader. He had interesting tattoos around his upper arms that looked like thorn bushes, and he wished the outsider knew Long Neck’s language, for he would love to know how and where he had gotten such markings.

  But there was no time today, on this playing field, to learn any language. There was just time to play the holy game, the game of righteousness, the game against the outsiders.

  One of the outsiders was talking to the woman, who had a loud, screechy voice. Deer Run came up to him and shook his head. “Look at that skinny woman. Hear that voice. Do you think she belongs to all three of them?”

  “If so,” Long Neck said, “they are the three unluckiest men we have ever met.”

  Deer Run laughed and quickly tossed his stick from one strong hand to the other. “Those poor men. They certainly have no skill with the game, and they certainly have no luck.”

  Long Neck said, “Yet they play.”

  “Yes, cousin, but for how long?”

  “For long enough,” he said. “For long enough.”

  • • •

  Cal came over, breathing hard, bent over at the waist. “Heather, please, will you help us out? Will you? Those guys are smoking us out there.”

  She said, “That’s not the way I used to play lacrosse. There should be twelve people to a team, with eye gear and mouth guards. This . . . this is just made-up crap.”

  Her boyfriend, Tony, joined Cal, eyes once again pleading. “Heather? Please?”

  “Tony . . .”

  “Honey, please. A favor. Will you do me this favor? Please?”

  Emotions rolled around inside her, and she saw that the lead Indian in the group was looking over at her, like he was daring her or something.

  Heather didn’t like the guy’s look.

  She got up from the rock and held out her hands. “Oh, for shit’s sake, give it to me. Anything to get us out of here quicker.”

  She took the stick from Tony—and it was warm and moist from his play—and she trotted out to the field. The three Native Americans looked surprised and then her competitive nature kicked in, and she took advantage of their surprise and managed to quickly scoop the handmade ball away and started racing to the far goalposts.

  Despite her earlier unease, she turned back and laughed, and said, “I was the best center in my high school league, guys! See if you can catch me!”

  The men behind her whooped and called out in whatever language they were using, and Cal and Steve tried to keep up with her running, yelling encouragement as she raced to the two saplings at the other end of the field that marked a goal. She looked back one more time. The Native Americans were trying to catch up, but they were tired as well and there was no way they could reach her in time.

  She held up the stick, made it to the saplings, tossed the ball past both branches, and turned around, jumping and holding up the stick. “How’s that, suckas!” she called out. “Guess you should have spared someone for a goalkeeper against a girl!”

  Cal and Steve laughed, and one of the Native Americans raced by to get the ball. Heather, laughing now at the fierce looks she was getting from the other players, started going back to the field when somebody slammed into her, throwing her to the ground.

  • • •

  Long Neck stood still over the woman, breathing hard, his hip aching a bit from where he had struck the arrogant woman. Deer Run came over to him, the two of them standing over the woman. Her face was red and she was crying tears, and she shouted something in her foul language, got up, and threw the stick to the ground. One of her flabby men picked up the stick.

  Deer Run said, “You treated her rightfully . . . for no woman has ever played the long game.”

  Long Neck replied, passing his stick from one hand to another. “Perhaps.”

  “What do you mean, brother?”

  “She played well. Better than the males who are with her.”

  Deer Run laughed. “You’re speaking nonsense, brother. Come, we’ve got to get playing again.”

  The woman looked back at Long Neck again, yelled something, and Long Neck—despite his admiration of her play—narrowed his eyes as she walked away: the woman who had scored against them, the woman who had bested them, even for a moment.

  Then the game resumed.

  • • •

  Heather got into her pack and took out a light blue L.L.Bean jacket. She shivered some more, her hip aching. If this had been a real game, a ref would have been all over that tall asshole like white on rice. The mist up by the trail was thicker, wider. The sun was setting some but she couldn’t remember a time when she was so cold. Her cell phone was dead and she was tired, achy, and hungry. The air felt thick, strange, unmoving. Shadows from the trees seemed to be at odd angles. There were the six Native Americans out there, three playing, three resting, and the old man was nowhere around.

  She rubbed at her face, her eyes. Her eyes seemed blurry.

  What was that?

  What was that?

  Her chest was the coldest part of her body. For the briefest moment, as one of the Indians spun around and held up his homemade lacrosse stick in triumph, Heather was sure . . . Heather was certain . . .

  God, I must be losing it.

  God, help me, please.

  For during that briefest moment, with his arms held high . . .

  Heather was certain that she could see the mountain range through his arms.

  Like he was transparent. Or translucent. Or something like that.

  She could see right through him.

  “That’s it!” she called out, her voice shaky, almost squeaking in fear. “You guys can play to sundown, but I’m getting the hell out of here!”

  Heather leaned forward, grabbed her knapsack, and was suddenly dizzy and nauseated.

  • • •

  Long Neck stopped again. They had scored four times against the outsiders, and he could tell they were getting winded, were getting tired. But the game wasn’t over yet; no, it still had to be played, until they were finally defeated, and he called out to Fleet Foot, and then he turned and saw one of the outsiders go to the woman.

  He seemed to be talking to her.

  She was walking away.

  Her companion shrugged and went over to the pile of clothes and sacks, and it looked like he was going to follow her.

  Unacceptable!

  • • •

  Even with the cold and the dizziness and the ache in her hip, Heather smiled when Tony finally came to his senses and came over to her. He was breathing hard, sweaty, hair and beard matted. “Hey, you leaving?”

  “You better believe it,” she said. “I’ve been patient long enough. You can keep on running around like an idiot, but I’m going home. Are you coming?”

  Tony looked back at Cal and Steve, trying hard to move the small ball toward the other end of the field. Cal yelled out something to Tony, and he turned back. “Shit, I don’t know. Cal wants to play at least until we score, but man, I’m getting beat. Cal claims he was a star lacrosse player in high school and he said these guys are the best he’s ever seen. Hate to abandon him like this.”

  She shouldered her pack. “I don’t care. I’m going. You make up your own mind. I scored and they treated me like crap. I’ve had enough.”

  Tony took out a handkerchief and wiped his face and the back of his neck. “Hell, my legs feel like they’re gonna fall off . . . all this running around and we still got a fair amount of hiking to get through before
it gets dark.” He picked up his shirt, his pack. “Yeah, hon, I’m coming along.” He slipped his shirt on, grabbed his pack, and yelled at the others: “Hey! Guys! Me and Heather are heading out!”

  Steve stopped, breathing hard, and Cal yelled out something that Heather couldn’t quite understand. Neither could Tony, and he said, “Whatever, pal! I’m tired, Heather’s tired, and we’re going back! You should, too.”

  The three Native Americans clustered around Cal and Steve also yelled something, but their words still made no sense. “Christ,” Tony said. “We’ve been playing for nearly an hour and they still haven’t stopped their reenacting.”

  Heather waited. Waited. And she was thrilled to see Tony get dressed and pick up his gear, and she grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s get going.”

  “Babe . . .”

  “Tony!” The sharpness of her tone surprised her. “Let’s get going! Now! They can figure out later what they’re doing. Okay?”

  Her man seemed to hesitate for just a moment, and then she could have kissed him right there for what he said and did next. “Yeah, forget them. Sorry we dicked around so much here. Let’s head out; those two can finish the game if they want.”

  Heather squeezed his hand, and the two of them started walking away.

  Stopping when they both heard a scream of terror behind them.

  • • •

  Long Neck watched one of the outsiders break away from the game and go over to the woman. Even at this distance, he could tell the woman was speaking with a sharp tongue to the outsider. Were they mates? Brother and sister? Cousins?

  No matter.

  The game would end when he and his brothers and cousins said it would end.

  No sooner.

  Long Neck ran over to one of the outsiders and slammed his fist against the back of the man’s neck. He yelped and fell into the short grass, and Long Neck grabbed an arm and pulled him to his feet. The outsider was sweaty, panting, and Long Neck twisted an arm behind the outsider’s back, making him scream in pain.

  Long Neck took his knife and placed it against the struggling outsider’s throat.

  “Outsiders!” he yelled out. “Listen and pay heed to me, Long Neck, the greatest little war player the Abenaki has ever seen!”

  • • •

  Heather stopped, mouth open in shock. One of the Native Americans had grabbed Steve and had a knife to his throat.

  A knife to his throat!

  “Tony, do you see that? Do you?”

  “Christ, yeah,” he said, voice shaky. He stepped forward a few steps, called out, “Hey! Guy! What the hell is going on? What’s the problem?”

  The Native American with the knife kept on yelling.

  “Hey! Speak English, okay? I don’t understand what you’re saying!”

  Heather went forward, tugging at Tony’s arm. “Come on, Tony, come on.”

  He whirled on her. “We can’t leave Steve behind! We just can’t!”

  “But what can we do? Look! The other Indians are coming over. We’ve got to go! Now!”

  • • •

  After Long Neck finished warning the outsider and his woman, he waited.

  Waited.

  His brothers and cousins were trotting over, were surrounding the other outsider.

  Waited.

  “Well?” he called out.

  The outsider took the woman’s hand and started backing away.

  Long Neck waited no more.

  They had been warned.

  • • •

  Heather backed away with Tony, holding his hand, and—

  A gurgling and strangled scream, as the Native American moved his hand with one quick flash, slitting Steve’s throat. Blood spurted and gushed down the front of Steve’s shirt, and the Indian—blood streaming down his wrist—held up his hand in triumph, the knife pointing in the air. He shouted something and the other Indians whooped in reply.

  Heather screamed and started running, and Tony ran with her, holding her hand tight. A distant voice yelled out, “Guys, don’t leave me here! Christ, please, don’t leave me here!”

  She said, gasping, “Is that Cal? Is that Cal?”

  “Don’t look back! Don’t look back!”

  But she did look back. Cal was crying, was holding up his arms, as some of the Native Americans clustered around him, yelling, laughing, slashing at him with their knives.

  • • •

  Long Neck yelled out, “Leave the outsider alive! He still has to play the game!”

  His brothers and cousins stopped, as the outsider cowered on his knees, his hands over his head, his bare chest and arms slashed and streaked with blood.

  “Deer Run! With me! After those two.”

  With his brother at his side, Long Neck started running across the wide playing field, as the chubby outsider and his woman ran ahead of them.

  • • •

  All that existed in her world was running, running, running. She didn’t want to think of Steve with the blood spurting from his throat or Cal crying as the other Indians struck at him with their knives. Tony stopped saying anything, and she looked ahead, at the grove of pines, the place where the trail had emerged, and the thick bank of mist that hovered above it.

  “Drop . . . your . . . pack . . .” Tony gasped as he suddenly let go of her hand. “Do it . . . but keep running . . .”

  Running with the bouncing pack on her back and trying to slip out of it was awkward as hell, but she managed to do it, the pack thumping to the ground. She managed not to break stride and she glanced back to see—

  Tony, stopped, bent over, breathing hard.

  The two Indians still racing out there, coming closer.

  “Tony!” she screamed. “C’mon! Don’t stop!”

  He raised his head. Spit was running down his chin. His face was so very pale.

  “I . . . can’t do it . . . so tired . . . you . . . keep running . . . do it . . .”

  “Tony!”

  He stood up, took a deep breath. “Heather! Get your ass moving!”

  Tony started tugging at something on his pack. He looked up again. “Move!”

  The Indians were so close she could see their skin glisten, the color of the paint on their skin, even their damn eyelashes, as their running legs moved in a blur.

  Tony’s voice softened. “Heather. Should have listened to you back there. Should have. Now. Please. Go.”

  Crying, she turned and started running, ignoring the ache in her hip. Up ahead were the pine trees, their trunks so wide and thick, so full of hiding places.

  She spared one more glance before ducking into the trees.

  Her Tony, standing there. His walking stick, which had been strapped to his knapsack, was now in his hands.

  “You want a fight, assholes?” he shouted out. “Then come and get it!”

  The Indians descended upon him, whooping and crying, and Tony held his walking stick with both hands and flailed at them.

  Heather whirled around and made it to the trees.

  • • •

  Long Knife stood, breathing hard, his hands and arms sticky with the blood of the second outsider. This one had been brave, had put up a fight for his woman, but it had been a weak fight. The outsider was on the ground, his legs having collapsed underneath him after he and Deer Run had sliced at the muscles and tendons, and he was rasping and shaking.

  “Deer Run,” he said, deciding to give the younger one the honor. “Finish him.”

  His younger brother smiled with delight, blood drying on his hands and arms as well. “Thank you, brother.”

  A swipe of his hand and knife to the throat, coughing and gurgling and choking as the outsider put his hands to his throat, a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Deer Run got up and kicked at the outsider’s hands. Not a cruel act, but one
of mercy. The quicker he bled out, the sooner he would go to his resting place. The outsider’s voice rattled, wheezed, and then he was dead.

  Deer Run said, “What now?”

  Long Neck looked to the woods, where the woman had just disappeared into the first line of trees.

  “We follow the woman.”

  “But the mist . . .”

  “We follow the woman. She humiliated us back there, by scoring. It will not stand.”

  Deer Run nodded. “As you say, brother.”

  • • •

  Heather kept running, kept moving. There! There was the damn trail! Her mouth was dry, her lungs burned, and she was certain that she was about to throw up at any second. She got on the trail, kept her pace, her mind racing, rewinding what had happened those past few moments.

  The Native Americans playing their lacrosse game.

  The old man scaring the shit out of her.

  Tony coming over, deciding to leave . . .

  The tall Indian going crazy, grabbing Steve, yelling at them.

  Like no one was supposed to leave.

  What the hell was going on here?

  The trail rose at a gradual pace, trees and low brush on both sides, the branches whipping at her face and hands as she ran up the slope.

  A sudden pain stabbed at her side, and she grabbed her ribs.

  Just a stitch. That’s all. Just a stitch.

  She stopped, panting, breathing, bending over at her waist to try to ease the pain.

  Heather looked up. The trail was still there, like a clear path, heading up to freedom.

  There.

  What was that?

  Voices, shouting behind her.

  They were close, they were on the chase, and she was the prey.

  Another look at the trail.

  Wide, inviting, and too goddamn obvious.

  She quickly moved off the trail, into the undergrowth, and started moving as quick and as quiet as she could.

  • • •

  Long Neck ran up the trail, knife in hand, breathing steady but deep. The outsider woman wasn’t that far ahead of them, and he was certain he and his brother Deer Run would catch her, soon enough. Bring her back to the field if possible, cut her down if not, but in any event, the game would end only when he, Long Neck, said it would end, with the other players on the ground before them.