The Winter People

by Bret Tallent

He turned the key in the ignition and the truck's engine turned over reluctantly, slowed by the cold. It finally caught and grumbled to life. Hayden began to turn the car around when Mike repeated his question, nearly yelling this time.

  "What the hell did you find sheriff? What happened to them?" Mikes eyes were wild and flashing. He was near to panic. Nick placed a hand on his shoulder and Mike quickly shook it off.

  "Calm down Mike, he'll tell us," Nick urged.

  "You calm down! This asshole found something and he won't tell us what it is! Country ass fuck!" Mike stared at Hayden steely eyed and his mouth was a thin level line. He looked right at Hayden then lowered his voice and drew out each syllable to emphasize it, "What - the - hell - did - you - find?"

  Hayden didn't stop the car or change his expression. He began driving back down the road towards the Ranger Station. He reached into his pocket and pulled the gun back out, dropping it into Mike's lap. "I think they're both dead." His face was grim and his voice was flat, "I found that in the Jeep, empty. Spent shells were all over the place. Something dragged them out of there all right. Turned the Jeep over too! Looks like a rogue bear, a real big one." Then he added, "I've seen it happen before."

  Mike stared down at the gun, the color gone out of his face. He picked it up and held it with his palms opened, in both hands. He looked over at Nick then back down at the gun. Nick was staring off at nothing in particular, his face a blank. Mike turned the gun over in his hands and felt a sticky substance on it. Then he noticed the darkness against the light of his hands where he had touched the gun. He held one hand up to the light from the instrument panel and saw that it was blood.

  Mike belched twice and his stomach churned. His mouth tasted of bile and he could feel his insides wanting to come out. He swallowed hard and held it down. His eyes filled with tears and they stung from it. The lids could hold no more and they gave way, first one drop, then two. They flowed down his cheeks leaving glistening trailers to mark their path. Then, like a dam burst, he cried.

  The funny thing was he wasn't crying so much for the loss of his friends as he was from the absurdity of the situation. He was crying because of the helplessness of it. All of his fears and anxieties had surfaced and chiseled the hole that sprung the leak. The impossible had happened and he couldn't accept it. He didn't want to accept it. It was not a long cry, only a minute or so. The flow had stopped as quickly as it had come. He sniffed twice and wiped his face on the sleeve of his coat.

  Mike dropped the gun onto the seat between Hayden and himself then wiped his hands on his pant legs. He wiped his eyes once more with the backs of his hands then looked at Nick. Nick was staring at him. Only then did he notice Nick's arm around his shoulders.

  "I'm okay. I'm sorry too. Sorry I was an asshole, sheriff," he wouldn't look at him though, ashamed.

  "I thought I told you to call me Hayden," his voice gentle and un-rattled. "Death's a tough thing to deal with. Everybody handles it different." Then he said no more. Truth was he didn't know what to say.

  Nick looked over at Hayden and wondered if anything could get to this man. Then he took his arm from around Mike and sat it in his lap. He put his right elbow on the arm rest and set his chin down on the knuckles of his right hand, staring out at the sky. They drove on in silence, each of them thinking about what had happened, what was next…and death.

  CHAPTER 4

  Johnny Kaostiwa returned quickly to the warmth of his station house without looking back. He could not hear the roar of the Suburban's engine above the wail of the wind, but he knew that they had turned around and were leaving. He could feel it. He could see them doing it as surely as if he were still outside watching them. He had always been able to sense what was happening in his immediate surroundings outside of his normal vision. Johnny literally had eyes in the back of his head. It was uncanny.

  His grandfather had always said that Johnny was a "Puwarat", the possessor of supernatural power. But the Ute had always been superstitious and his grandfather was a full blooded Ute. It wasn’t that Johnny didn't realize that he was slightly more gifted than others, he just didn't believe in the Ute legends the way his grandfather did. It’s not that he wasn't proud of his heritage either. He was simply rational and realistic.

  Johnny still loved listening to Faywah's stories though, they were entrancing. When he would tell his stories of the Ute past, they would pull Johnny into them. He would become a part of their history, living it as the old man told it. As his grandfather's soft voice spoke in the old tongue each word or phrase would have a hypnotic effect. It was a combination of the language, the story, and his grandfather's retelling of it.

  Johnny could actually smell the smoke from a large central fire. He could feel its warmth on his face as his body swayed to the rhythmic chimes of Faywah's voice. Then he could see faces, dozens of faces around the huge fire. All captivated by the speaker, all weathered and hard. These were proud faces with the distinctive features that marked the Ute tribe. Their eyes ablaze with the reflective glow of the fire, their stomachs full with venison.

  Behind them were the darkness of the woods and the cold snows of winter. These stories were told only in the winter, when the snows were deep. Otherwise, something bad might befall them. They were mostly stories of incredible beasts or the bravery of a Ute warrior against some Puwarat creature, but always they were of incredible danger. The favorite story of his grandfather was of the "People Eaters", the ancient race of cannibalistic Ogres that preyed upon the Ute in the dead of winter. Then, he would always end his story with, "I tell the truth and I do not know if it is a lie or not."

  Johnny didn't believe they were Ogres of course, more likely just a tribe of cannibalistic Indians that the Ute had fought once long ago. But he still loved to hear about them. And, the truth was that the story even frightened him a little. Something left over from his childhood, he thought. When he had heard it for the first time he'd had nightmares for a month. He could see Ogres in his dreams. Huge creatures that he was sure could not have been of this earth. For surely the Sinawaf could not have made such a beast to share this planet with us.

  ***

  Johnny had pulled off his parka, gloves, and face mask then slipped out of his snow boots. He padded quietly out of the entryway in stocking feet. Before him was the main room of the Ranger Station. It was a fairly modern unit that looked like a rustic log cabin from the outside. Although Johnny always felt that it looked like it had been made of Lincoln Logs. The main room contained their radio station, a large wooden table with six chairs, and a stone fireplace. The floors throughout the building were all hardwood, and were a bit cold to wake up to in the winter months. Hence, the men all ran around in socks and even slept in them.

  At the table sat Clayton Mead and Ted Frazier, the other two Rangers at the station. Ted had just relieved Johnny tonight for the next week and in the morning he would go home to his grandfather. Ted was amiable, tall and slender. He was a gentle Texan with a quiet side and preferred to avoid confrontation. A near impossibility with Clayton, Johnny thought. In the five years that Ted had been a Ranger there, Johnny had gone fishing with him a few times. Ted kept pretty much to himself. He and his wife did couple things with a few other couples they'd met since moving here.

  Mostly with couples in Steamboat, Johnny guessed. Copper Creek was not exactly a social vortex. But, Johnny got along with Ted well enough and that's all that mattered to him. He didn't have much use for Clayton though. He was a lazy slob with a rude mouth. Fortunately, with their rotation schedule, he didn't have to deal with him all that much. Johnny thought that of all the people he had known, Clayton was pretty close to the bottom of his list. He'd disliked other people before, but still respected them. Not so with Clayton. Johnny could not find one redeeming feature in the man.

  Both men looked up questioningly at Johnny as he entered. Johnny saw that someone had removed Nick and Mike's cups from the table. Probably Ted, he thought. Ted's glass was still in front of him, em
pty. Clayton's was in his right hand, stopped half way to his mouth. The half empty bottle of Jack Daniels was sitting uncapped in front of Clayton. Johnny had no glass as he didn't drink. Behind them he could hear the statical whine of the radio.

  "What'd the Sheriff say?" Ted asked as he leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak under his weight. His southern drawl making it sound more like, whaad the sherrf saay?

  "Nothing, too cold to sit out there and gab with him," Johnny replied flatly.

  Clayton piped in, "Yeah, it's colder 'n tits on a witch out there!" Then he washed down his words with a shot of whiskey. Johnny looked at him disgusted. Clayton ignored him and slammed the empty glass down on the table and leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs. The chair moaned in protest to no avail. Then Clayton put his feet up on the table and his hands across his big belly that stretched at a couple of buttons on his uniform. "Did he believe them little fuckers?" he snorted.

  Clayton was a portly man that stood about five foot seven. His face was a round pale blob with two tiny raisins for eyes. His pencil thin eyebrows were so light that they could easily have been missed at first glance. His hair was a light blonde and usually looked to be in need of a good shampooing. It was greasy and unkempt. And most of the time he suffered from body odor.

  Johnny didn't know much more about Clayton than he did about Ted, he didn't care either. Although he had worked with Clayton for close to ten years now, neither of them considered the other a friend. Johnny had heard rumors about Clayton, and although he didn't take much stock in rumors, somehow he wasn't so quick to dismiss these.

  Everybody knew that Clayton repeatedly beat his wife. She'd been seen at the emergency room over in Steamboat too many times with a bruise from a falling can, or a broken arm from a trip down the stairs. Clayton's wife was another story that made Johnny's skin crawl. Clayton was forty three and his wife was only twenty one, and apparently he'd raped her when she was seventeen.

  It seems that Heather Mead (then Heather Jenkins) met Clayton at a town social. Flirting with an older man excited her a little….even one as disgusting as Clayton. As the story went, the flirting got a little out of hand and Clayton followed Heather home afterwards. Somewhere in the woods between the Skyview Motel and the Jenkins place, he beat and raped her. Nothing was ever reported and one year later, for reasons unknown, she married him.

  And that was the part about rumors that drove Johnny crazy. If no one ever said anything, then how do we know what happened? It was always, "I heard it from this friend of the sister to her best friend who saw someone do something to somebody else." Crazy! But somehow, it didn't seem so crazy when it was about Clayton. Johnny could really see him doing it. And now, any time he had to deal with Clayton, he felt dirty.

  "I told you, we didn't talk. I don't know what he thinks," there was noticeable contempt in Johnny's voice.

  "Well I don't believe 'em! Little city pricks are probably yankin' our dongs! Wake us up in the middle of the goddamned night with some bullshit that nobody's heard about! Their friends are probably laughin' their asses off right now, laughin' at us hicks!" Clayton reached for the bottle and poured himself another shot, didn't offer it to anyone else, then sat the bottle back down in front of him.

  Ted looked over at him with one eyebrow raised and a look of annoyance washed across his face momentarily. "Well I believe them," sounding more like, wayell a balieve them. "They were too upset for this to be a joke. Besides, who would want to get out in this weather for a joke? No, they were scared." Ted looked down at his bottle of Jack and was obviously not pleased that Clayton had made himself to home with it. But the tall Texan was either too polite or too nice to say anything about it.

  "Me too Ted," Johnny turned to him, "I think something pretty bad has happened, I feel it in my gut." Ted looked back at him and nodded.

  "Oh Je-sus Christ!" Clayton said exasperated, emphasizing each syllable. "Are you going to give us some more of your sixth sense horseshit?! You sound like a couple of old ladies. And I'll tell you what your problem is, the both of you." He paused briefly and looked at each one in turn, seriously, so as to get their undivided attention. So they would know what he was about to say would be the revelation that would change their lives.

  Ted and Johnny just stared at him, blankly. "You ain't gettin' no PUSSY!" Clayton barked out in laughter, his yellowing toothy grin filling his pudgy face. "That's right," he said to Ted, "I'll bet you ain't had pussy since pussy had you!" he laughed again, throaty grunts that turned into a cough. He downed his whiskey with a gulp and a sigh, and Ted only blushed and looked down at the table.

  "Clayton?"

  "Yeah, John?"

  "You're an asshole." He said it flatly as though he were just stating a fact that everyone knew. He turned to regard Ted, "Good night Ted, it's late and I'm getting some sleep. I'll see you in the morning." Ted looked up and Johnny gave him a look that said, "I'm sorry, but I'm also damned glad that you're working with him and not me." Ted only nodded to him.

  Clayton ignored him and strained out a fart then belched. "Well, I gotta' get up in a couple of hours thanks to those two asswipes. I'm hittin' the hay; I'll see you girls in the morning." He stood and began walking to the back of the station, to the bedroom. He was completely oblivious to the fact that he'd said or done anything that might have offended anyone. He wouldn't have cared anyway.

  Johnny stared after him for a moment then followed. In his mind, behind him, he could see Ted recap the bottle and take the glasses to the kitchen sink. He returned with a washcloth and washed off the table, paying particular attention to the area where Clayton's feet had rested. Johnny continued to watch Ted in his mind for a while, watching him straighten the chairs and then rinse out the glasses. Johnny pulled off his uniform and climbed into bed wearing his long johns and socks.

  Beside him Clayton had already done the same. A few minutes later Ted entered the room. Even though it was pitch black, if Johnny turned his back on Ted, he could see him as clearly as if all the lights were on. He lay there on his side, facing the wall, and was washed over with the feeling that after tomorrow he would never see either Ted or Clayton again. He fell asleep quickly and had a nightmare that he had not had for a long, long time. Johnny dreamed of the "People Eaters".

  ***

  It had been fifteen minutes since they had entered the wall of snow that marked the boundary to the storm front and Hayden was no more at ease now than then. It made his skin crawl. He cast a glance at the two young men beside him and could see that they were anxious as well. Hayden couldn't explain it, but for some reason this storm felt different. He felt malevolence in it, an evil. It just plain gave him the creeps.

  Hayden considered the two men beside him. His first instincts when reading a person were usually right on the money. He couldn't remember ever misjudging a person, yet. These two seemed like honest kids, not at all what he was expecting. He thought they would be spoiled, smart ass punks who figured the world owed them something. But Nick and Mike weren't like that at all. They seemed to be pretty much like he had been at that age. The comparison dredged up a faint but brief smile.

  Nick was about four inches taller than Mike, Hayden figured, and Mike looked to be about six foot even. Some people seemed to belong to certain people more than others, and this was the impression Hayden got from these two. They just looked like they should be friends. They complimented each other. They were both tall and lean, and Hayden figured that they played a mean game of basketball.

  Nick had a more wiry build than Mike though, and appeared to be a little stouter. As far as Hayden could tell anyway, they were pretty well hidden beneath their bulky winter wear. Mike's hair was jet black whereas Nick's was a light brown. Mike had thick eyebrows while Nick's were narrow. Both men had angular faces and sharp features. However, Nick's complexion was considerably lighter than Mike's.

  Nick's eyes were a pale hazel against the dark brown of Mike's, although his were partially obscured by hi
s glasses. Round, black things that made Mike look kind of like that kid from those wizard books. The thought caused Hayden to smile inwardly. Hayden figured Mike to be Hispanic even though he had no accent, and Nick was your typical white boy. Hayden decided that they were okay.

  Hayden followed Route 14 into Copper Creek, past the Ranger Station. The lights were off inside but the huge floods outside illuminated the flag, waving panic stricken in the gale force winds that lashed at it. Hayden could also make out part of the radio tower, peaking somewhere far above him, out of sight. He cast it only a casual glance as he passed, concentrating primarily on his driving in the worsening conditions.

  "Wasn't that the Ranger Station Sher....uh…Hayden?" Mike had asked quickly, his tone stressing the fact that they had just passed it.

  Hayden gave them both a side long glance, "Yeah, but I thought I would buy you two boys a drink." His tone was soft, warm, and caring. He knew what they must have gone through tonight; he had been there himself nearly fifty years ago, then again tonight. He knew that he needed a stiff one at any rate. Nick snapped out of his daze and looked over at Hayden. Mike's mouth only formed the word "oh" but said nothing.

  "Something's been bothering me Hayden," Nick said, "Back there at the wreck you said that a rogue bear had done it?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Well, it's the middle of winter. Aren't bears hibernating now?" Mike also turned his attention to Hayden.

  "I'm afraid that's an old wives tale, that bears sleep all winter. The truth is that some bears get up several times during the winter to eat. There's something else that I didn't tell you back there. There was a gouge in the side of the Jeep. It looked like a bear claw mark. And from the gaps between the grooves, it looks like a big one," Hayden explained.