Silent Night

by L T Vargus

  He turned his head just in time to see Walsh skid into the opening at the other end of the alley out of the corner of his eye, his gun pointed Loshak’s way. The agent could just make out a twitch in the man’s shoulder as though to fire again, but then Walsh’s feet jerked, slithering out from under him.

  He fell. Hard. Landed on his ass, loose powder billowing up all around him like glittering smoke. He bounced. Neck and shoulders throttled a little by the hard ground. Then he slid the rest of the way down. Fully onto his back, seeming to disappear from Loshak’s field of vision as though falling into a trapdoor in the asphalt.

  The agent turned his attention forward just in time avoid hip-checking a bollard at the end of the alley, juking around the little cement post. He exited the alley and ran out into the open of the street.

  Wind screamed cold in his face. Swirled around his skull. The chill sucked into his chest with every breath.

  But this was his chance. Fresh adrenaline coursed through him, icy cold in his veins, electricity surging in his eyes, glugging in his neck, tingling in the wet inside his cheeks.

  He lost his footing in the slushy stuff near the center of the road, but he fought and kept his balance. Kept going.

  He squinted again to see through the snow. Trying to get a read on the buildings across the street. Trying to figure out his path forward.

  In a pure footrace, Walsh had the upper hand. He was younger. Faster. Better endurance. Plus, he had a gun. Loshak needed to be clever and he needed to stay out of the open.

  He saw it then. A gap between two brick buildings only about shoulder-width wide.

  Chapter 69

  Loshak darted into the narrow opening, the wind cutting off as he crossed the threshold. He took a big breath. Still cold, but the lack of wind was better than nothing.

  Anyway, this little gap should buy him some more time. That was the important thing. Walsh would probably check the way to the left and right first, having to rule out the most obvious means of escape before he looked deeper. With luck, he wouldn’t even find the odd little alley. Loshak had almost overlooked it himself.

  Grids of brick stared back at him, their dark red hue vaguely discernible now, with most of the falling snow cut off. Funny how that worked. His visibility was largely restored, but it did him no good here anyway. Just gave him a real nice view of some brick walls.

  The little bit of snow on the ground here seemed stiffer than the stuff out on the streets. Packed tighter. It grabbed at his ankles with every step. Clutching at him.

  The shadows deepened as he pressed deeper into this little brick cavern. The dark growing thicker and thicker. A little menacing. But he could see the light at the end. He kept his eyes trained on the opening, the glimmer there. And he trudged for it.

  He realized about three-quarters of the way to the end that his whole body shook now. Thrumming with the cold. Tremors in his arms and legs. Shivering overtaking his jaw, fingers, wrists.

  He needed to get out of the cold. Needed to call the police. Needed to… Needed to keep going.

  He picked up speed as he exited the tunnel of bricks, crashing out into the open of another city street. Needed to find a business. That’s what. A liquor store. Something. Anything.

  The chill of the wind shocked him again, even though he braced himself for it. The bitterness of it stung despite the fact that he was already half numb. It was absolutely frigid.

  He turned to face the buildings on this side of the street. Brick and concrete structures. No bright lights that he could see. Nothing promising. Keep moving.

  He shuffled out over the street. Another gust of wind wrapped cold around his torso and squeezed, made his breath hitch and go still for a second.

  As he stepped up onto the sidewalk on the other side of the street, he saw it emerge through the wall of falling snow. The glowing lights staring out from behind a big plate glass window. It looked like a diner.

  Chapter 70

  Loshak rushed for the big plate glass window, the lights inside so bright. The yellow glow reflected up from all the snow, magnified.

  Tears flushed his eyes as he drew up to the glass, smeared his vision. He squinted, blinked some of the water away. Tried to make out the details among the wet blur, mostly failing at it. All that light had to be good, though, didn’t it?

  He felt along the glass, his bound wrists turning his arm into one flopping appendage before him like a strange elephant’s trunk snuffling along the smooth surface. He found his way to a seam then. Metal. The door.

  His hands snapped to the blocky steel of the handle. Tried it.

  The door gave perhaps a sixteenth of inch before it pulled back.

  Locked. No.

  He pounded the glass with the heel of his hand. Someone had to be in there. Had to. Why all the lights?

  He beat with both hands now. Laced his fingers and battered as though chopping with an ax, downward strokes. Pain jolted through his hands and wrists with every impact. It felt like the outside edges of palms were splitting, the dried skin there cracking, the meat of him flaking open. Cleaving. Opening up red. All the way down to the bones.

  He got ahold of himself. Stopped pounding on the door. Held still apart from the heave of his chest. Listened.

  No one responded to his knocks. A little breath came out of him then, a shuddering heave. Almost a whimper.

  Finally, he brought his hands to his eyes. Cleared the water from them. Saw clearly at last.

  The diner was empty. Desolate. Yellow light gleamed off the glossy wood veneer of the counter beyond the stools. Closer, the chairs rested seat down on the tabletops to keep the floor clear for mopping.

  A little sign sat in the bottom right-hand corner of the big front window. Taped there on the inside. The black lettering stood out stark against the white. Bold. A magic marker scrawl shaded over and over itself to thicken the letters, to pump up its legibility.

  “Closed for blizzard. Regular hours resume on Monday. Stay safe.”

  Chapter 71

  Walsh peeled himself off the ground. First propping himself up onto his elbows. Then sitting upright.

  He felt the snow slide down his collar as his torso got vertical. Cold runnels trailing inside his shirt, smearing icy fingers along his spine.

  He shook his head. The faintest touch woozy. A little out of breath.

  The fall had jostled him pretty good, but he was fine. Ready to get after this piece of shit. Finish him.

  He climbed to his feet finally. Checked to make sure the gun was still snugged in his grip, which it was. No fumble, at least.

  Snow caked the rest of his backside as well. Plastered there from the impact of his fall. He could feel the strange weight of it pulling his clothes funny and making his joints feel stiff and bulky.

  He brushed some of it off, a cursory job at best, and then he got moving. Giving chase.

  The FBI man had disappeared. Retreated through the mouth at the other end of the alley, moving pretty goddamn good for an old guy. But he couldn’t have gotten far.

  Walsh picked up speed. Tore through the alley. He felt light now. Cold, yes, but not tired. Just getting started.

  His mind circled back to the other factor: cold. The cold had finally gotten to him. Penetrated his coat and the layers beneath. Saturated his limbs and was now working on his core.

  Within a few seconds, the wet seeped through his clothes everywhere at once. Melting snow, at least in the places his body heat could get to it. Soggy in his hair. Wet and clingy on the backs of his legs. Slushy in his shoe. Turning to rivulets that coursed down his back.

  The cold and wet only pissed him off more. Made him grit his teeth. He ran harder.

  The white space at the end of the alley grew bigger until it overtook the vague outlines of the brick walls beside him. He rocketed into the open air there.

  The wind gusted harder out away from the buildings. Sent snow tumbling along the ground like dust clouds.

  He gazed left, then righ
t. Nothing.

  Shit. He stopped in the middle of the street. Listened to his heart thunder in his chest as he let his eyes scan slowly from left to right.

  There. A little disturbance in the snow just in front of a slender little alley. He puffed out a laugh at that, steam coiling out of his nostrils.

  He ran for it. Sped up as he passed into the narrow gap, rough brick scraping at his right shoulder now and again. Something clenched in his gut as he hit the darkest section in the middle of the tunnel, some claustrophobia making him a touch woozy, almost nauseous.

  But he powered through it, came flying out the other side. Saw it.

  The agent’s silhouette jerked against a bright rectangular glow across the street. His shadow looked wet, cold, shoulders hunched. Defeated. He turned to his left and took off.

  Walsh raised the gun and fired.

  Chapter 72

  Three gunshots cracked behind Loshak in rapid succession. Spiky sounds. Closer than before.

  Something about the way the snow and cold affected the sound made them come off like impossibly loud clicks. Clipped syllables. Percussive. Metal on metal.

  He turned in time to see the muzzle flash of the third fire. A little puff of flame emerging from the wall of falling snow, lighting up Walsh’s chin and mouth for just a second before casting him in shadow once more, tucked back in the snow.

  The dark silhouette seemed broader than before. Menacing.

  The big plate glass window snapped and popped behind Loshak. Brittle and shrill. The bullets had punched a hole in the window the size of a fist. Shards of glass plucking at each other, scraping, scratching, grinding at each other. Tumbling.

  He saw the white lines creasing the window out of the corner of his eye, the light inside glinting funny on the broken places like lens flare on a camera.

  And then he was gone. Running. Faster than before. Faster than he’d ever run so far as he could remember.

  Adrenaline. It must be. Well, close-range gunfire will do that to you, some detached part of his drugged-out brain thought. If that doesn’t put a little pep in your step, nothing will.

  He rocketed down the sidewalk. Wheeled around a corner to the right, still accelerating.

  He found new strength in his legs, fresh life in his lungs. Even the cold in his hands and feet seemed to die back somehow, whether he was warmer or fully numb to it, he didn’t know.

  He ran. Bounding forward. Bouncing upward from the balls of his feet. Snow gliding along below.

  He felt light. Strong. In control.

  And he was pulling away. Had to be, the way he was ripping along. Even a young buck like Walsh couldn’t keep up with this, not now that the fight or flight instinct had kicked in. Loshak could probably lift a Buick off a trapped child right now if need be.

  And then he went down.

  The toe of his right foot caught the curb, the concrete bump fully hidden in a slanted drift of snow. The stub of the toe itself sent a pain signal roaring up the nerves of his leg, electric current sizzling hard through the meat of his calf, through the mess of connective tissue in his knee.

  A little thud rang out from where his shoe struck the cement, muffled by the white powder. The force rolled his ankle to the right. Something snapped there.

  And then gravity took hold, the momentum shoving him forward. Lifted him off his feet. Launched him.

  Weightless. Floating.

  The snow crusted ground zoomed at him — concrete layered with white.

  He tried to brace for the landing, but his bound hands waggled uselessly before him, unable to spread out to absorb the impact.

  He hit. Elbows then chin. Skidding, face first.

  Cold and dark pressed in on him. The snow blocking out all light. Wet crystals smothering him.

  Submerged.

  He popped up. Snow flinging everywhere as he pushed himself up onto his knees. Struggled toward his feet.

  And then the pain hit.

  His ankle. Searing pain. Bright. Strangely hot against the chill overtaking his flesh.

  His mind flashed back to the moment he tripped, something snapping deep in the joint. Nothing to be done now but to try to keep going.

  Please don’t let it be broken.

  Please don’t let it be broken.

  He got himself upright, snow falling from his jacket and pants in thick clumps, frigid wet seeping in around his waist and collar to chill him further, but he ignored these things. Focused on the pain in his ankle.

  He hopped on his good foot, the other held up like a flamingo’s leg. Time to find out how bad it was.

  He sucked in a few deep breaths, air and spit hissing between his teeth. Braced himself for the pain to come.

  He lowered the flamingo leg. Put a little weight on the gimpy ankle. Slowly let himself stand on it.

  Another jolt of pain shot up the length of his leg. Made him clench his teeth. A flash of red blotted out his vision for a second. But the ankle held.

  Not broken. Good.

  He didn’t dare look over his shoulder to see if Walsh had closed on him. He had to keep moving. Had to.

  So he hobbled on.

  Chapter 73

  Loshak waited for another gunshot. Shoulders hunched, body braced for the deafening roar, for the incoming bullet. At the very least, he was sure he’d hear the encroaching footsteps. Walsh’s feet punching at the snow, crunching and squeaking and pounding, louder and louder as he drew up on the agent. Any second now.

  Nothing came.

  So Loshak kept going, running the best he could. He tried the door of an apartment building out of desperation, know it would be locked like all the others, and it was. He hurried on, searching for lights. Somewhere had to be open. A business announcing itself as a beacon in this maelstrom. None of the buildings showed even a glimmer, though.

  Instead he saw only the brilliant white contrasted by the sense of shadow beyond them. The white which splayed on every surface, and that which tumbled downward even still. The flecks of it fell thicker and denser than even before, which had seemed impossible until he saw it for himself.

  Keep going. It’s all you can do, so do it.

  His limp made him run funny. The rhythm of each leg twitched out of time with the other, one fast and one slow. It gave a jerky, loping effect to the sound of his feet battering at the snow.

  Every step increased the ache radiating out from the bum ankle. Sharp stabs spreading up his leg from that focal point. Spearing. Piercing. Splitting.

  A woozy feeling came over him, made his head feel heavy on his neck. His muscles felt rubbery, thighs going a little dead. Nothing like that bounce he’d had before the fall.

  It occurred to him that his latest jolt of adrenaline was fading now. Leaving him. He felt drained. Slowing down. His breathing growing more and more labored.

  He couldn’t go like this forever. Needed to be strategic. If he couldn’t find a way to call it in, he needed to set himself up somewhere to rest, catch his breath.

  He crossed another street, seeing no signs of life on the next block either. He veered into a parking lot of some kind, weaving out among all the blanketed cars. Maybe it was a used car lot, though the snow made it hard to tell.

  Moving through the rows of stationary vehicles, though, he eventually got close enough to see the building through the veil of snow. Cinder blocks painted white. Glass panels cut into the concrete with signs offering “0% Financing!” and “Up to $1500 Cash Back!” A large awning protecting a bed of gravel from the snow. A used car lot, indeed.

  He zigzagged and doubled-back a few times. Wanted to leave confusing prints in this maze of pathways running between the cars. If he was going to settle in here to catch his breath, he needed to murk up the trail in the snow.

  Finally, he chose a spot, snugged himself between two SUVs and got low. Squatting. Another twinge stabbing outward from his ankle as he shifted his weight.

  He held as still as he could, with breath heaving in and out of his open mou
th. Clouds of steam coiled around his face, the air icy and raw in his throat.

  He stared down at the ruffled snow. Little traces squirmed at the edges of his vision, rainbowed beams of light that wouldn’t hold still, a reminder that drugs still clouded his brain, warping his thoughts.

  He closed his eyes. Breathed. Focused on only the flow of air. Inward and outward.

  As his panting began to slow, he opened his eyes. Looked up into the sky. Confirmed his earlier belief that the falling snow was denser than ever. Thick. The little flakes appeared from the heavens and fluttered down, meandering, glowing a little when they passed near the street lamps. Over and over and over.

  Endless. Infinite.

  Chapter 74

  Loshak peeked over the hood of the vehicle every few seconds. Waiting. Watching.

  The shooter would be coming by this way. Sooner than later. He knew that. The footprints leading into this car lot made that inevitable, didn’t they? He could never hide for very long in this mess.

  For now, though, he saw only the falling snow. That icy powder plummeting to the earth. Accumulating on every surface. Growing second by second.

  After another peek, he snugged himself back in between the SUVs. Kept his head down. Took a deep breath, that icy air scraping cold into his throat and chest.

  His breathing had slowed. Mostly normal now. That was good at least.

  But the prospect of the next step still scared him. Leaping out. Attacking. Pouncing on Walsh. That was what he’d do, he thought. What he must do.

  Oh, he might be able to run a while longer, now that he’d rested. But he couldn’t go forever. And the snow had closed him off from humanity, or so it felt. He may as well be about here alone. Apart.

  Better to attack while he still had some strength, while he still had a chance.

  Now or never. Live or die.