Rudolph!

by Mark Teppo

  The central head dipped lower, drooling. The ichor hissed as it melted the garbage; somewhere in the packed trash, something ignited, and a lurid glow illuminated the beast's jaw. Its teeth gleamed, and it shook its head, scattering drool. The tiny fire crawled out of the hole and sent out runners of flame, chasing the scattered drops of magma spit.

  Ring, who had been standing closest to the door when Cerberus had pounced through, made a noise like a startled fruit bat as he sailed up from behind the large hound. He buzzed the three heads in a Top Gun fly-by, and I made an involuntary animal noise myself at the risk he was taking. Cerberus's right head snapped at the flying reindeer, its teeth clashing together with a sound like two dump trucks colliding. Ring made a beeline for the nearest wall, flying close enough that he could skip along the packed garbage.

  Whether he planned it or not, his run led the attention of the three heads right to Rudolph.

  The hairless reindeer lowered his antlers and pawed the ground. "Come on, doggy," he said, mimicking Comet's tone. "How about a game of fetch?"

  One of Cerberus's heads barked, and hell's guardian charged. The rest of the team scattered like frantic shoppers hitting the mall at opening on the morning after Christmas. I hunkered down, trying to pry up something to hide beneath. The left head snapped at me as Cerberus thundered past, its teeth closing noisily over my head. Along my sleeve, the material of the thermal suit started to bubble and hiss.

  I batted at the melting fabric with a glob of cardboard, trying to scrape the spittle off before it ate through the insulating layer. I got most of it off, and after quickly checking on the rest of the team who were playing a deadly game of cat and mouse with the hound of hell, I ran over to check on Prancer.

  He was struggling to stand when I reached him. He got upright, and his ankle held, but judging by how he clenched his teeth, he wasn't about to join in the game.

  "Can you hobble?" I asked. I gingerly checked out his ankle, noting that it was already swelling.

  "How far?"

  I nodded toward the portal.

  "Yeah, I can do that," he said. He offered me a wry grin. "There's peanut brittle on the other side, right? I can do anything for some peanut brittle."

  I didn't have the heart to tell him. "Just get out of sight," I said gruffly, pushing him gently in the right direction.

  "He came out of it," Prancer said, bobbing his head toward the portal. "I bet he can go back through it too. I'm not going to be able to run."

  "You won't have to," I said, reaching for one of the pistols hanging beneath my arms.

  Prancer hobbled toward the portal, and when he stepped through it, silver streamers smeared his body into a dancing cascade of light. For a second, I saw through the portal: a plain of fire. But then the vision and the reindeer were gone, and all that remained was the fading echo of a church bell and the tinkling laughter of small children.

  The reindeer swooped and darted like overweight hummingbirds around the snapping jaws of the hound. Donner came in low and speared Cerberus in the backside with his antlers and was nearly caught by a huge paw for his audacity. The muscular reindeer sped away, his hooves tearing at the trash as he went directly up a nearby wall. Blood dappled the tips of his antlers.

  Cerberus leaped after him, its paws digging and tearing at the slope. Donner had slowed as he neared the top, unaware of how close Cerberus was behind him. Vixen shouted a warning, and Donner reacted without looking back. He lunged forward, cresting the top of the wall, and the wind caught him immediately. He was slammed against the edge of the shelf and tumbled heavily down the side of the canyon.

  Cerberus dug in to the wall as its right head snapped at Cupid, who was trying to draw all three heads from Donner, who was sprawled on the canyon floor, dazed. Cerberus let go of the wall, and slid to the base, where it sprang toward the downed reindeer.

  I ran, even though my too-short legs were no match for the large hound's ground-devouring pace. The rest of the team was coming too, but it looked like Cerberus was going to reach Donner first.

  Unless . . .

  I saw Rudolph flying straight up, and when he crested the top of the canyon, the wind grabbed him. He didn't fight it. Instead, he let it carry him, and then he dove, hurtling down at Cerberus like a falling asteroid.

  Rudolph landed directly on Cerberus's back. The middle head howled as Rudolph's hooves beat at the hound's spine, and the dog's mane of serpents struck at Rudolph's flashing hooves.

  Cerberus went down, its back legs buckling under Rudolph's sharp blows. It thrashed on the ground, and then rolled, trying to crush the reindeer. Rudolph waited until the last moment to leap away, and one of the serpents tore at his flank, leaving a long scrape.

  Rudolph's attack allowed the other reindeer to reach Donner. They formed a tight semi-circle around him, their horns lowered like a wall of spears.

  Cerberus scrambled to its feet, two heads growling and snarling at the circle of reindeer. The left head was looking for Rudolph,, and it found the hairless reindeer just as Rudolph delivered a powerful back leg kick to the left head's jaw. The head snapped back, smacking into the middle head, making a sound like a couple of coconuts smacking together. "Get Donner out of here," Rudolph shouted at the team as the hound staggered, its heads yowling and snapping at one another.

  Blitzen got his head behind Donner, and the groggy reindeer staggered upright. As one, the team started moving backward, toward the portal. They kept their antler wall pointed at Cerberus.

  The right head snarled at the retreating reindeer. That head wanted to take a shot at breaking through the wall, but the other two heads wanted a piece of Rudolph, and they pulled the third head with them as they pounded after Rudolph.

  The reindeer passed me as I slowed to a lung-heaving walk. I waved them on when Cupid made some noise about getting behind their pointy bits. "You heard Rudolph," I gasped. "Keep moving." I transferred the pistol to my left hand, and tried to wipe the sweat off my right.

  I watched as Rudolph danced and taunted Cerberus. Without a bunch of other flying targets to distract the individual heads, Cerberus was getting closer to Rudolph with every snap of its jaw and swipe of its paw. It was going to tag Rudolph sooner rather than later.

  I put several fingers in my mouth and whistled loudly. Rudolph heard my signal, and left off teasing the hound. He got a running start and took off, flying below the rim of the canyon. Executing a tight turn, he came back around toward the reindeer and me. He had to pass by Cerberus, and he tried to keep as much distance between himself and the hound as possible. But Cerberus took a run at a nearby wall, and then sprang off the vertical surface, sailing through the air. Rudolph tried to dodge, but a large paw caught his shoulder and shoved him into the wall of garbage. Rudolph kept Cerberus at bay with his antlers as they both slid down the garbage wall.

  Rudolph landed sideways, and before he could scramble out of the way, Cerberus steam-rolled him. Rudolph rolled a few more meters, his limbs flopping limply, and then he was still. Cerberus turned around quickly, and ran over Rudolph again.

  My shout was lost in the thunder of the hound's paws against the ground. I started running. My hand was both cold and sweaty, the grip of the pistol sticking to my skin.

  Cerberus slid to a stop, and slowly stalked back toward the downed reindeer. The middle head was drooling, igniting fires in the trash again. The left head laughed at the sight of me running toward it.

  Rudolph's legs kicked feebly. He raised his head and tried to focus on Cerberus, but his neck was too wobbly.

  Cerberus stalked toward Rudolph, all three heads now focused on the downed prey.

  I wasn't going to make it in time.

  I slid to stop. My chest heaving, I raised the Flash Gordon pistol and aimed it at the large hound. "Hey," I shouted, trying to get its attention.

  The middle head growled, fire dripping from its jaw.

  I pulled back the hammer on the pistol with my thumb.

  The left head barked
at me.

  "Bad dog," I said.

  The pistol recoiled lazily as I pulled the trigger, and the bullet took its own sweet time leaving the barrel. Jut a leisurely afternoon jaunt, it seemed to be saying. And then everything sped up again, and Cerberus's left head snapped around as the bullet went into its open mouth. An explosion of ice crystals came out the other side of the dog's head.

  Cerberus staggered, unsure what had just happened. The middle head gnashed its teeth, spittle flying, and the right head—having caught sight of the damaged left one—raised its muzzle toward the dark clouds and howled. Some other time and place, I might have felt sorry for him, but I could see Rudolph kicking and twitching as some of the acidic spittle fell on his bare skin.

  I squeezed the trigger a second time.

  Cerberus bellowed like an angry furnace as my second shot went under the chin of the righthand head and buried itself deep in his fiery core. It came apart in an explosion of icy crystals, and when I blinked the frost from my eyelashes, there was nothing left of the hound of hell but a scattered spray of melting icicles.

  Rudolph raised his head as I came up to him. "Once upon a time," he said slowly, "all you got for being bad was a lump of coal in your stocking."

  XI

  When I stepped into the portal, I felt a cold hand touch my back. It started as a gentle caress, and as it worked its way up, its touch grew warmer and warmer, until fingers of fire were squeezing the back of my neck. I pushed my way through the portal, gasping as sweat ran down my back, and then I popped through to the other side.

  And I stared.

  "Hey," someone said behind me, and I blinked. I hadn't moved more than a meter, and Rudolph was awkwardly filling the space between me and the glittering portal. "Could you take a few more steps forward?" he asked.

  I blinked and swallowed. "Yeah, sure. Sorry," I said, making room, and when he limped away from the portal, it started to shimmer and twinkle. I raised my pistol in alarm, but nothing else was coming through. The dancing lights lessened, and after a few moments, there was nothing left on the sandstone wall but a wet smear.

  "I guess we're done back there," Rudolph noted. He looked past me. "Oh, wow," he said.

  We stood on a small shelf that jutted out from immense cliffs. A polished trail wound down from our position, leading to a landscape that was utterly out of place in hell. It was the quintessential hidden paradise. El Dorado. Shangri-La. The Savage Land. The version of Xanadu where the roller-skating muses live. A sparkling river traced a line across verdant fields as if its course had been drawn by an indolent giant. Off to my left, a forest of blazing orange and red leaves resembled a swath of delicate fire that burned all the way to distant foothills below hazy mountains. A quaint little village—its houses arranged in neat rows—was arranged along the shore of a placid lake as blue as the sky. A white clock tower anchored the town.

  "What is this place?" Rudolph asked, a shudder running through his frame.

  I inhaled deeply, filling myself with all the great aromas of fall: cinnamon, warm berry compote, apple pie, freshly cut hay, the perfume of young ladies. I could smell Mrs. C's peanut brittle too. "I'm not sure," I said. "I think we made it."

  "Ah," he said. "Persephone and the pomegranate."

  I nodded. "We can't eat anything. That's the trap."

  "I'm not worried about you and me," Rudolph said. He nodded toward the distant town square, rapping a hoof on the ground to get my attention. "Vixen, especially. You can't take him to the food court at the mall. All those free samples?" He shook his head.

  I climbed up on Rudolph's back, and he started to trot down the path. He picked up speed quickly, which did wonders for my nerves.

  We were still in hell, after all.

  A white sign at the outskirts identified the town as Maple Valley, and while there weren't any logos saying as much on the board, it looked like the construction of the quaint town had been underwritten by J. Crew, Williams-Sonoma, and Restoration Hardware. Kids, prancing down the street in synchronized delight, were poster children for the fall lines at The Gap and Eddie Bauer. Signs—Slow, Children at Play; Barn Dance This Thursday; Bake Sale in the Square!—were hand-painted and festooned with streamers and lace trim, of course. The bake sale sign didn't mention a date, which I took to mean that the bake sale was always happening. There wasn't a stray leaf in sight. It was as if the fall colors had come, but none of the leaves were in a rush to leap to their deaths.

  The whole town was perpetually poised on the edge of the equinox—that half hour between summer and fall, when everything was just perfect. The bubbling laughter of the children flowed around us as Rudolph trotted toward the main square, and somewhere in the distance, a radio looped love songs from that time in history when no one was worrying much about megalomaniacs convincing entire countries to take up arms against their neighbors.

  The main square was filled with rows of booths, almost like a miniature version of the town itself, and I caught sight of the some of other reindeer as Rudolph and I wandered around. Dasher was off to my left, letting himself be chased by a small boy in blue pants with a water gun. Blitzen was mesmerized by a taffy-pulling machine, and three young ladies wreathed in taffeta looked like they were trying to convince Donner to participate in a dunk tank.

  Ring appeared, scampering in circles around Rudolph. "Isn't this great?" he gushed. "You've got to come see it! It's Mrs C's peanut brittle. I found it. I did!" He made another loop and darted off toward a cluster of booths that appeared to be the bake sale's ground zero.

  Rudolph let out an agonized whimper, and my stomach answered with an eager growl of its own. If I hadn't been sitting on Rudolph, I would fallen to my knees and crawled towards the sweet-smelling stalls. There were rows of apple pies, ice cream cones stacked taller than the tip of Rudolph's tallest antler, a sizzling vat of oil that was producing deep-fried deliciousness on a stick, bacon on bacon sandwiches, and there at the back of this first row of booths was a Nordic-looking woman ladling sparklingly chill lemonade out of a block of glacial ice.

  This was just the rank of booths I could see. Even more splendid food and drink lay beyond. My stomach knew it. It didn't need silly sensory data from my eyes and nose. It knew.

  I really wanted to believe it. I wanted there to be a joyous little valley in the middle of hell where the bake sale went on for eternity. But I knew it wasn't true. I knew it couldn't exist. I knew we had made it ourselves. I had asked Ring to imagine Mrs. C's peanut brittle, and everything else had come from that desire.

  This was the fourth circle. After lust and despair and sloth came greed. This was the temptation that would undo us.

  A little boy ran up to Rudolph and me, a stick of cotton candy in his hand. "Hello, magic horse," he said to Rudolph, holding up his stick. "Would you like to share with me?" The sweet perfume coming off the whirled cone of spun sugar reminded me of the sugar icing spray the NPC used on stockings. The little boy's face was flushed with excitement, and his eyes gleamed with unhinged joy at the sight of such a marvelous horse in his town.

  Rudolph shook his head politely. The boy kept shoving the stick of cotton candy in his face, and Rudolph backed away a step. "Make him go away, Bernie," he begged, his body trembling. "Make him stop."

  I wasn't quite sure what the big deal was. It smelled delicious—summer sunshine spun into wispy sugar strands by magical silk spiders. Were we being rude? Not even a tiny bite? My tongue ached. The little boy looked at me—a Rockwell-perfect image of Midwestern civility and early-century innocence.

  I managed to wrench my gaze away from the plume of cotton candy and watched with mounting horror as the man at the taffy booth detached a long strand of freshly pulled taffy. He held it out to Blitzen, who was staring at it like he had been blinded by the sun. His mouth gaped open, and his tongue lolled like he was trying to make room for the entire strand of sticky taffy.

  Persephone had only eaten four pomegranate seeds. Four little seeds, and she was condemne
d to spend a third of the year in hell. What would a bite of taffy get you? Or a mouthful of cotton candy? Or a slice of Mrs. C's heavenly peanut brittle?

  I turned back to the little boy with the apple cheeks and the stick of cotton candy. His smile broadened as he saw me straighten on Rudolph's back. I reached under my arm for one of the pistols and drew it out of its holster. When I shot him in the chest, he exploded in a blinding blast of ice crystals.

  Someone screamed nearby, and a shudder ran through Rudolph as he shook off the cotton candy glamour. A woman ran toward us, nearly stumbling and falling on an icy patch left behind by the boy. "You killed him," she screamed. "You killed my little Billy."

  I shot her too, for good measure.

  Everyone started screaming, a cacophony of sound like a flock of angry birds in a threshing machine. The sound swelled and swelled until it became an unending shriek—a hundred fingers clawing at blackboards. Gritting my teeth, I dropped the now-empty pistol and put my hands over my ears.

  A pinhole opened in the center of the square, and the entire town started to smear as it was sucked away. The booths vanished, the apple pies and ice cream cones and bacon sandwiches sliding away in a long liquid pull. The white clock tower bent in the middle and then zipped away like it had been sucked through a straw. The tree-lined avenues lost their integrity one line at a time, turning into a stiff backdrop before bleeding into a rushing wash of color.

  The sky went black, and the ground became a beaten deck of rusted metal. Statues—melted and twisted as if caressed by someone with lava fingers—rose up around us. Tiny winged creatures with long toenails capered across the shoulders of these statues, and their shrill voices were the dying scream of the now-vanished town. Beyond the monuments, there was nothing but a vast space filled with flying rocks. Somewhere far below this suspended plate, I could imagine a furnace like the belly of a dying star, and hot air rising from that furnace was what kept the plate floating and what spun the rocks. Collisions were rough, shattering events where chips as large as elephants were knocked free and spun away in crazy orbits.