by Mark Teppo
The reindeer were all there, stunned by the rapid transformation. I tried to check each reindeer's mouth. Had any of them taken a sample of what hell had offered? Vixen wasn't chewing anything; Cupid's mouth hung open. What about . . . ?
In the center of our haphazard circle, a sparkling rain of fire fell. It twisted and slowly assumed the form of a tall man. His eyes were a blazing blue, and his smile was a dazzling display of expensive orthodontistry. He wore a silk smoking jacket with velvet lapels, a red shirt with black buttons, and pair of crisply pressed pants. On his feet were Italian slip-ons. Ferragamo's, if I had to guess. Probably the python moccasins that had been all the rage last Christmas. A cigar burned casually in his left hand.
He did a slow turn, looked at each one of us as he pulled heavily on the cigar, the tip glowing like a malignant Cyclopean eye. When he came back around to Rudolph and me, he pulled the cigar from his ruddy lips and tapped it once. A thick block of ash fell free. It struck the metal plate, and a spark snapped at the contact.
One of the reindeer screamed. I tried to see which one it was, but the sound was cut off nearly as soon as it had begun. There was a flash of light as flesh and blood and organs vaporized in an instant. In the horrible emptiness that followed the scream, we all heard the sound of the loose bones as they rattled against the plate.
It had been Prancer. Silly goofy Prancer who knew all the songs. Who had even warned me that he'd do anything for a piece of peanut brittle . . .
XII
"Welcome," Satan said, puffing on his cigar again. "I hope my entrance wasn't too ostentatious. I attended a seminar once where the speaker really stressed the importance of making a good first impression. It can totally set the tone for the whole relationship." He flashed his perfect smile at me as smoke plumed from his nostrils in even jets.
And that was when it hit me: that crushing weight of true despair. We had come so far, fighting our way through hell on this crusade to rescue Santa's soul. We had pitted our might and our brains against the unholy realms and had nearly made it. But it had all be for nothing. Hubris, I thought bitterly. What had we really won? Here, in the center of hell, Satan's power was absolute. With a mere flick of his cigar, he could reduce us all to ash. We had been led here by our own gullibility. While our persistence kept us from being swallowed by the desert in the second circle, it gave us false hope. It was a ghost light that lured us on, leading us into a hell of our own creation. The oubliette of eternal despair, as Blitzen had called it.
The rest of the team looked as depressed as I was, and our expressions made Satan laugh. "Oh, such abject misery. You all look like orphans out of a Dickens novel. So very, very sad." He clucked his tongue lightly as he tilted his head and looked at me. "And for what?" he said.
He flicked the end of his cigar again, and we all flinched, but there was no ash to dislodge. "Nothing," Satan said, a touch of mocking disappointment in his voice. "There is nothing here for you."
Rudolph hadn't moved. He was standing square, perpendicularly lined up with the Devil's face. It was a classic martial arts stance, altered slightly for reindeer physiology. He didn't seem concerned about the hulking demons crowding us. "We came for Santa," he said quietly. "We're taking him home."
Satan laughed. "Santa? What makes you think I have him?"
"He's not in heaven."
"He's not here." Satan spread his hands. "You're welcome to look." And when Rudolph didn't move his head, Satan looked Rudolph in the eye. "You don't believe me," Satan said.
"Why should I?"
Satan made a face. "Please, that is so tired. I lie no more than a fifth-grader with Pokémon cards in his pocket and a copy of Playboy stashed under his mattress." He pointed at me. "I don't need to lie, my dear Rudolph. Your friends do that quite well on their own."
"Bernie," Rudolph growled.
I thought frantically, and all I could come up with was the glittering snowfall in Mrs. C's office. "Oh," I said, realizing what it was. Rather, who it was. "He never left," I whispered. "The gates of heaven were closed. That's what he said. He couldn't get in. He's still there. He's haunting the North Pole."
"And you're here," Satan said, spreading his hands. "Oh, the irony is making me all tingly. Down th—"
"Then who killed him?" Rudolph interrupted. "Who killed Santa Claus?"
"Bird flu, perhaps?" Satan offered. "Maybe Ebola is making a comeback. I hear that bats are carrying it now." He shuddered, a motion of his upper body that became a quaking movement on his shoulders. "Oh," he sighed. "I'm so awful at keeping secrets."
His well-manicured hand dipped into the pocket of his smoking jacket. "Maybe"—he smirked as he pulled out a thin vial—"maybe it was this." He shook the tube and held it up.
The agitated liquid changed color, changing from a rich hunter green to a cherry red.
"I thought there would be more of it," Satan said, peering at the tube. "But I guess it doesn't last long when it has been drawn off. Some sort of biochemical reaction to the atmosphere down here, I guess"—he shook the vial again—"but you'd have to ask a real scientist. I'm just—"
"A liar," Rudolph said.
Satan rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Look closely," he said, holding the vial out for us to inspect. Tiny bubbles floated in the red solution, and I would have sworn they looked like tiny Christmas ornaments.
"It's Christmas," I breathed. "He's stolen Christmas."
"Not all of it," Satan clarified. "Just what was keeping the old man upright."
"His spirit," Rudolph said.
Satan raised his shoulders. "I suppose you could call it that." He shook the vial again, making the bubbles move. "But I'm inclined to be more generous than that. I mean, we could dash off to a lab somewhere and get this analyzed, but I don't think it'll last that long. So let's just call this the very spirit of the season, shall we?"
"You son of a bitch," I spat. "That's why Santa died, and that's why Mrs C is dying too. You've stolen their . . . their . . ." I sputtered to a stop. Their hope. Their spirit. The Spirit.
"It's an unfortunate side effect, I'm afraid," Satan said, a thoughtful expression marking his face. "I'm afraid you can't take it without ruining the host." He shrugged. "But, I've never been one to lose much sleep over things like this. Guilt? Nah. Not for me. Too much baggage."
He flipped the vial in the air, catching it easily. "Look on the bright side, boys. Do you know how long it's been since I've made Santa's List? It's going to be a lovely Christmas for me this year."
He smiled and raised his head as a fiery rain started to fall on the statues surrounding us. The statues started to twitch and wiggle, animating in jerky motion like leftover frames from Fantasia.
"You've gone and shown real pluck and effort," he said, "but really? You've lost. You're here, and you're going to stay here for the rest of eternity. I'd love to stay and chat more, but I do want to enjoy my present to myself before it evaporates. Maybe I can round up a few Princes of Hell later, and we can play Go Fish or something."
Rudolph shook his head. "We're not done yet," he growled. He was unfazed by the statues coming to life around us.
Satan cocked his head and looked at Rudolph, a bemused expression on his face. "Excuse me?" he said.
"Bernie," Rudolph said. "Open the pack. Get the present."
"The what?" Satan and I both said.
"Get it," Rudolph said.
Bewildered, I pulled open the pack and rummaged around inside. The only thing left was the red and blue thermos. "This?" I asked, lifting it out of the pack.
"That's my thermos," Blitzen said in a surprised tone of voice.
"Not anymore," Rudolph said.
"Are you regifting me?" Satan asked, a dangerous note entering his voice. "Are you giving me someone else's gift?"
Rudolph shook his head. "I'm not very good with wrapping paper and tape," he explained. "And it fit nicely inside the thermos."
"What fit?" Satan growled.
"A tactical nuclear
device," Rudolph said, and I dropped the thermos as if it had burned my hand.
It clattered to the deck, and several of the leering demons flinched as it rolled across the plate. Satan looked down as it pitched up against his python-leather clad foot. "A thermos," he noted. "You expect me to believe that you've got a nuclear device inside this thermos."
"A tactical nuclear device," Rudolph repeated. "Small yield, but highly radioactive." He turned his head slightly. "Bernie. In one of the pouches on your belt, there's a detonator. The code is ‘4-4-6.'
My hand strayed unconsciously to my belt, feeling for the zipper on one of the pouches. I moved my fingers and felt inside, touching a rectangular shape. I pulled it out carefully, and turned it over. It looked like a solar calculator, but when I hit the ON button, the display actually lit up.
The Devil snorted, and a tiny line of smoke drifted from his left nostril. "You're actually threatening me with a nuclear device?"
"It probably won't kill you," Rudolph said. "And, in my state, I might even survive. But everyone else is dead. Turned into water vapor and blasted into component atomic particles. That includes your little vial of Christmas Spirit."
Satan's eyes flickered towards the tube in his hand.
"If the children don't get Christmas," Rudolph said, "you don't get Christmas."
I pushed the 4 on the keypad, and that same number showed up on the display. Just like you'd expect with a calculator. Or a calculator that had been modified to send a short burst of radio signals when someone pushed the ENTER button.
My eyes strayed towards the back of Rudolph's head. I had to know if he was bluffing. I knew his tell. The reindeer had told me. He glowed when he bluffed.
My throat closed, and I struggled to breathe.
Rudolph wasn't glowing.
"It's a simple deal," Rudolph said. "You give us the vial and safe passage out, and we don't detonate the device."
"What if I said yes, but lied?" Satan puffed on his cigar, affecting an air of utter indifference.
Rudolph laughed, and I flinched. It was the same laugh I had heard in the infirmary at Santa's House. Everything was simple to Rudolph. Black or white. On or Off. Go or Stop. Success or Failure. He didn't believe in anything else. And his laugh was the sound of perfectly distilled madness—the purity of knowing something that no one else could ever imagine.
Satan stared at Rudolph, his gaze equally unyielding. "Go ahead," he said. "Set it off. I don't think you have what it takes to destroy everything you've ever loved."
"Bernie." Rudolph's voice was a clear chime. My finger trembled, but I managed to press the 4 again.
Some of the demons in the assembled rank shifted nervously, but I noticed the reindeer were all standing tall.
"You don't think that nuclear death isn't something visited upon those trapped here?" Satan waved an arm towards the crashing rocks. "You should visit the ninth circle. Nuclear winter would be a summer's day there. Your threats are empty, reindeer."
"Are they?" Rudolph asked.
Satan licked his lips, his tongue black and forked. "You're bluffing. There's nothing in that thermos that you couldn't buy in a can at the supermarket."
Blitzen moved beside Rudolph. "He doesn't know how to bluff," he said. "I should know. We play poker together. Every Friday night." I could feel a slight tremor from Blitzen.
Cupid marched up to Rudolph's other side. "After saving Christmas, Santa let me see," he sang "Satan begging for pity." He leaned toward Rudolph and nudged my hanging leg. "Do it, Bernie. Don't let them say we didn't try."
I pushed the third button. The display read ‘446.' My hand drifted towards the ENTER key.
Satan's eyebrows came together, and his face darkened. "This is my domain," he hissed, growing a few centimeters as he spoke. "How dare you threaten me in my own realm." He held the tube tightly in his hand, and his knuckles went white. "Who do you think you are?" he demanded, stepping forward until he was almost nose-to-nose with Rudolph. "James Bond? Robin Hood and his band of Merry fucking Men?"
No one said a word for a long moment, an expanding second that seemed to stretch to the end of Time and back. Rudolph and Satan stared at one another. And, at the end of that second, Satan blinked.
"I'm Rudolph," the reindeer said. "And we're Santa's team."
And then he head-butted Satan.
XIII
The demonic host was caught off guard by Rudolph's surprise attack. Satan staggered back from Rudolph, his forehead bleeding. His grip on his cigar loosened, and the thick cylinder fell towards the deck. Cupid spun and lashed out with a hoof. It was a NFL-worthy kick; the cigar flew the length of the deck, and vanished over the edge of the plate.
Blitzen lowered his head and charged the nearest rank of demons. He caught one in the belly with his rack, and it howled loudly, clawing frantically at his antlers and raking free long strips of velvet. When Blitzen shook his head, the demon popped like a water balloon, dispersing in a smear of dank smoke.
The rest of the team leapt into the fray with equal abandon.
Satan, blood streaming down his face, tried to clout Rudolph with a fist, but the reindeer reared back beyond Satan's reach. I dropped the detonator and tried to grab the harness, but my hand closed on nothing, and I slid off Rudolph. Satan ducked under Rudolph's flailing hooves and drove a shoulder into the reindeer's chest.
Ring got in a good shot, smacking his head against the back of Satan's thigh. Satan stumbled, his center of gravity disturbed, and Rudolph caught him in the face with an upward antler swipe. Satan stood on his toes for a second, his head cradled in Rudolph's antlers, and then he tumbled to the deck.
When he scrambled back to his feet with a roar, the vial was still on the plate. He kicked it accidentally as he sprang at Rudolph, grabbing the reindeer Greco-Roman style, and they strained against one another, titans wrestling for the fate of the world.
I dove for the vial, trying to get my hands on the last of the Spirit of Christmas before someone trampled it. Something grabbed my feet and pulled me back. My chin rebounded against the deck, and I felt a sharp sting as the contact drew blood. I struggled as I felt the thermal suit tearing around my ankles. A gangly demon covered with spikes was clawing at my legs, his cracked nails shredding my thermal suit. Soon, those nails would be doing the same to my flesh if I didn't get him off me.
A large hoof hit the deck next to my head, and I froze. Reindeer, like most four-legged creatures, will instinctively not step on living things in their path, but I didn't want to press my luck. Especially with a reindeer the size of Donner. The demon hissed at Donner, who took it as an invitation and charged. There came a satisfying thud, and the demon let go. Donner lifted his head, the howling demon caught in his rack, and heaved the flailing monster toward the edge of the plate. It scrabbled and flailed as it bounced along, but its nails were no good against the metal, and with a final howl of outrage, it went over the edge.
I stayed low, scanning the plate for the vial as the demonic host went back and forth with the reindeer. I couldn't go toe-to-toe with any of big demons, and so I had to be small and quick as I darted about in search of the vial.
I nearly had it when a squat demon backed over me. He fell on his ass, and I banged my chin on the plate again. Vixen had been chasing the demon, and he poked at it with his antlers, forcing the ugly monster to scuttle away on its backside. Lying on my stomach, I reached for the vial, catching it with a finger at first and then flicking it around so that I could a good hold on it. I half expected someone to suddenly step on my hand or kick my fingers—that's the way these sort of things went, right?—but my fingers closed around the vial without mishap.
It was warm to the touch, and the liquid turned from green to red when I shook it. I fumbled with the pouches on my belt, dumping it in the first pouch I could get open. It wasn't quite a lead-lined, Kevlar-covered, gelatin-filled capsule, but it would do.
The reindeer had been giving as good as they got, and I would have gue
ssed the odds were pretty even, but the arrival of a pack of large winged monstrosities with more teeth than brains was tipping the scale. These flappers harried the reindeer from above, which forced them to split their attention.
And then the odds went from bad to worse when Satan caught Rudolph with a haymaker that knocked the reindeer down. As I watched, Satan jumped on Rudolph, straddling the struggling reindeer, and delivered punch after punch.
Ring darted up and head-butted Satan with his tiny knobs, and when that didn't get Satan's attention, he started flailing away with his hooves, doing a pretty good meat tenderizer impression. Annoyed, Satan stopped punching Rudolph long enough to twist around unnaturally. He caught one of Ring's legs and pulled the young reindeer close. He raised his other hand, fingers spread, and pressed it firmly against Ring's chest. There was a crackling flash of smoke and Ring flew across the plate, his fur burning.
Rudolph tried to buck Satan off, but Satan held on tight, riding Rudolph like a prize rodeo rider. When Rudolph started to tire, Satan wrapped his hands around Rudolph's neck. Rudolph squirmed, trying to get his antlers in play, but Satan ducked his head and leaned in close, his hands squeezing.
I caught sight of Prancer's bones, and my gaze was drawn to the circular shape of his skull. He didn't have the largest rack of the team, but he had always been one of the most obstinate. Dense, even. I darted across the deck, grabbing at the short rack of antlers as I ran by. Hardheaded, I hoped.
Rudolph's eyes were straining, and his tongue bulged out of his mouth. Satan wasn't exactly having an easy time of strangling the big reindeer; I could see the corded strain of the muscles in his arms as he bent to his task. It wasn't going to be a quick death.