by Brom
He kissed the key. “My freedom.”
He clasped the manacle in one hand, found the lock, and tried to insert the key. His hand shook so badly that he fumbled and the key fell from his fingers.
“Here,” Isabel said, and picked up the key. “Let me.”
“No!” he cried, then softer. “I have waited five hundred years for this. Have dreamed of this moment ten thousand times. I must be the one.”
He took the key from her, hesitated, trying to steady himself as his vision blurred. He found the lock, inserted the key, and turned it. There came a simple, unremarkable click and the manacle popped open. Five hundred years of imprisonment ended with a simple click. He pulled it from around his neck, gave it a final, spiteful look, and chucked it to the dirt.
He looked around the cave, his prison, at the blackened walls that held him, at the maps he’d used to track Santa, at the thousand pictures of Santa Claus, at the filth, the bones, until his eyes fell on the Belsnickels. He smiled at them. “I am free,” he said hoarsely. “I am free.” Then his eyes rolled up in his head and darkness took him.
“IS HE DEAD?” Vernon asked, sounding hopeful.
“I don’t think so,” Isabel said.
“No,” Makwa added with absolute conviction.
“No?” Vernon’s shoulders slumped. “No, of course not. Couldn’t be that easy.”
Krampus crumpled into a lifeless ball. Isabel shook him gently. He didn’t respond. The creature looked dead to Jesse, more than dead, like something that had been in the ground a couple of months.
Isabel hopped to her feet, jumped over to a pile of tattered blankets, yanked one out, and brought it over to where Krampus lay. “What are you guys waiting for? Let’s get him out of here.” The three Shawnee leapt into action, wrapping Krampus in the blanket. Makwa hefted the creature up onto his shoulder and headed for the shaft.
Vernon shifted through a pile of tools, dug out two shotgun shells. “Is this all we have left?” No one seemed to have an answer. “Damn, I told all of you we needed something around here besides bows and arrows. Does anyone ever listen to me? Wait, I’ll answer that. No, no they don’t.”
Isabel grabbed the velvet sack, pushed Jesse toward the shaft. “Time to skedaddle.”
“Any idea what we’re doing?” Vernon asked. “I mean, is there any sort of plan here?”
No one answered him.
“Didn’t think so,” Vernon sighed, pocketed the shells, and clambered up after them.
THE STARS GREETED Jesse as he crawled out from the boulders. The night had cleared and the moon cast shadows across the snow.
“I’m afraid those birds will have no problem spotting us now,” Vernon said.
They skirted the edge of a large clearing and a wide expanse of sky opened up above them. “Stop,” called a weak, raspy voice. Krampus opened his eyes; they were glassy like those of a man after a two-day drunk. “Mani.” He sucked in a deep breath, lifted a shaky hand toward the moon as though he might be able to reach it, to caress it. “So sweet. So . . . sweet.”
“Let’s go,” Isabel hissed.
“No . . . a moment. I need her magic.” He lifted his chin, bathing in the moonbeam.
The Belsnickels shifted uneasily and searched the forest in every direction.
A cawing came from far overhead and Vernon started.
“We have been found,” Makwa said.
“Yes.” Krampus nodded.
Vernon pointed the shotgun skyward.
“Save the shells,” Isabel said. “That gun don’t have that kinda range.”
Another caw and a howl came in answer, echoed up from the valley below, a long, deep howl, followed by another. Jesse couldn’t gauge the distance.
“Freki and his mate, Geri,” Krampus said with obvious affection. He smiled. “Sounds like they are on the hunt.”
Vernon gave him a severe look. “They are on the hunt . . . they are hunting us, you idjit.”
“Krampus,” Isabel said. “We must—”
“Go,” Krampus finished. “Yes.” His eyes never left the moon. He smiled as tears slid down his cheeks. He reached for it one more time, then his arm dropped and his eyes again fell shut.
“Go!” Isabel said, and pushed the big Shawnee forward, and they sprinted away.
JESSE CAUGHT A glint of moonlight off chrome ahead; found the Belsnickels waiting for him and Isabel near the rear of his truck, alert and scanning the rocks and trees. The Shawnee all had their spears and knives at the ready.
Jesse had kept up better this time, the burden of Krampus slowing them all down. He fell against the side of his truck, gasping, trying to suck in enough oxygen to keep from fainting. He was spent, exhausted, covered in mud from a nasty fall, and desperately wanting a smoke. Jesse saw Krampus in the back of the camper. He lay wrapped in the blanket, curled up around the velvet sack, huddled in the fetal position, once again looking dead to the world.
Vernon came around the truck, carrying the old shotgun. “Hurry,” he said, pointing upward. “They’re leading them right to us.”
Jesse searched the night sky, saw no sign of the ravens, but heard them cawing from somewhere high above.
Isabel tossed Jesse the keys and they climbed into the cab while the rest of them piled into the camper. The truck started on the second try and they were on their way, bouncing back down the mountain.
Jesse rode the gears to avoid burning out his brakes. The gas gauge flickered on and off and he bit his lip, trying not to think about what would happen if they ran out of gas now. He kept his eyes on the ruts, straining to see by the remaining headlight what lay ahead, expecting to find the huge beasts awaiting them around each and every turn. None of them spoke, all searching the surrounding trees, all too aware that they’d taken too long, that there was no way they’d reach the highway before the wolves caught up with them.
As they neared the bottom of the mountain, the road began to level out, to widen a bit, and the going became smoother, faster. It was here that Jesse allowed himself to hope that maybe, just this once, God would cut him a break, allow them to reach the highway before the wolves found them. And, of course, as the joke always seemed to be on him, this was exactly when the wolves appeared.
“They’re here. I feel them,” Isabel said, her eyes wide. A second later they cleared a bend and there they stood, blocking the road not a hundred yards down the trail, big as horses, heads hung low, eyes glinting in the glow of the headlight. Jesse hit the brakes and slid to a stop.
“Turn around!” Vernon cried. “Go back!”
There is no going back, Jesse thought. No other way out. Even if there was, there’d be no turning around, not on this narrow lane.
The two wolves started forward at a stiff-legged trot.
“Oh, dear God,” Vernon said. “We’re going to be eaten alive.”
“No,” Jesse said under his breath. “Not me. Got too much business needing taking care of.” He snatched the seat belt, drew it across his chest, and clicked it into place.
Isabel glanced at him. “What’re you doing?”
“Going to go see Abigail.” He stomped on the gas, the truck jumped forward.
Isabel braced herself against the dashboard as the truck picked up speed. “You’re gonna get us killed!”
“Most likely.”
The speedometer climbed from ten to twenty, then thirty, but that was all Jesse could handle on the narrow, rocky road without careening into a tree or down the steep ravine on their right. The wolves broke into a run, coming at them head-on. Jesse knew the chances of walking away from a head-on collision with such beasts were slim to none, hoped these monsters understood that as well. In the camper, Vernon and the Shawnee did their best to hang on, to keep Krampus from injury as the truck jostled them about. Vernon screamed at Jesse to stop, but Jesse didn’t, he drove headlong toward the wolves, fighting to keep the truck on the path.
At the last possible instant, the wolves leapt from the road and up onto the
embankment. Jesse lost sight of them as he struggled to make the curve, his right-side tires jouncing along the crumbling lip of the ravine. The truck tilted dangerously toward the ledge. Jesse thought they were goners, when the old Ford managed to regain traction and hold the road.
He no sooner had all four wheels onto level ground when a crash and a tremendous jolt rocked the truck. The back roof of the camper caved in as one of the wolves tore through the thin aluminum with its front paws. The weight of the beast bottomed out the rear shocks and the tail end thumped against the deep ruts, slowing the pickup considerably. The wolf hung on, snarling and snapping with its enormous jaws, trying to get to Krampus and the sack. Makwa kicked one of the garbage bags of video games into its face. It chomped into the bag, slinging it back and forth, tearing it apart, sending game consoles bouncing down the trail. Vernon swung the shotgun around at the beast, the truck hit a rut, and the gun bounced upward, going off with a loud blast, completely missing the wolf and blowing a hole through the top of the camper. The tailgate snapped beneath the weight of the wolf and the beast fell away, tumbling down the road.
The second wolf, the larger one, leapt over its mate and charged after them, quickly overtaking them. “Oh, Christ!” Jesse cried. There was no place to go, it had them. But the Shawnee were prepared this time. All three held their spears at ready and when the wolf leapt for the truck, they threw their weight behind their weapons, driving the spearheads deep into the wolf’s chest. There came a horrible yowl, followed by a jolt as the wolf hit the truck. The wolf made a vain effort to scramble up into the truck bed, then collapsed, fell back onto the road, tumbled toward the ravine and disappeared over the ledge. Jesse heard splintering branches, another yowl, and that was all.
The pickup hit a steep grade. Jesse tapped the brakes, trying to keep control as the truck fishtailed back and forth. The left-side tires caught the ditch, causing the side of the truck to rake along the embankment; the truck came to a grinding halt and stalled.
The smaller wolf trotted into view about fifty yards back up the bend, but it wasn’t looking at them, it peered over the ledge where its mate had fallen. It took one glance at them, then left the road, heading down into the ravine.
“What’s it doing?” Isabel asked.
Jesse had no idea, but so long as it wasn’t coming after them he didn’t care.
“Whatever are you waiting for?” Vernon cried. “Go!”
Jesse twisted the key, the engine turned over, and the truck started up. Jesse eased on the gas, and the pickup slowly pulled out of the ditch and back onto the road.
They reached the highway about ten minutes later and heard a long howl coming from the hills behind them. Jesse pulled out onto the asphalt and sped away, heading south, heading away from the Santa man and his monsters.
PART II
KRAMPUS
Chapter Six
Hel
The wolf’s howl echoed inside Krampus’s head. So much despair, so much pain. His eyes flittered open. There came another howl, then another. He felt the forlorn cry in his heart, his soul. I am not dreaming. One of them is dying. How did this happen?
He caught the first signs of morning light and fought to keep his eyes open. Too long I have been without dawn’s sweet kiss. Trees flew past in a blur; the cold wind buffeted the shredded canopy. I am flying. He inhaled deeply, felt some vestige of strength returning to him, the moon’s rays, the stars, and forest air all like food for his starving soul.
“Why are you turning?” Isabel asked the man steering the carriage. “Where are you going?” Krampus didn’t know the man, but assumed he was a prisoner, that the Belsnickels needed him.
“Can’t stay on the highway,” the man said. “Not after that fuckup last night. Too many folks are gonna be out looking for me, for this truck. Have to steer clear of the main roads.”
“But we need to get far away from here . . . from those wolves, from whatever else might be after us.”
“Look, you ought to know that them wolves aren’t the only monsters after me. I got the General and his bunch looking to shoot me first chance they get. They’ll kill me . . . kill you . . . and most certainly that ugly monster of yours. They got eyes everywhere. We keep heading down this highway in daylight and we won’t make it out of the county. You understand?”
Isabel was silent.
“Fuck, and we gotta get some gas. Have to be running on fumes at this point. Any of you got any cash?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “But it’s back in the cave.”
“What? You mean the cave we just left?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, about how much good do you think that’s gonna do us?”
More silence.
Krampus thought the man showed a lot of backbone, especially in the face of all that was going on, thought he might make a good Belsnickel. And he would need as many as he could sustain, because there’d be no telling what creatures Santa might send after them next. I will have to claim him. His eyes closed. He took in a deep breath. But not now. It would be too much now. Later . . . perhaps when I am stronger. His eyes shut and he drifted away into dreams of soaring through the clouds.
JESSE HEADED UP a gravel road; it was an old mining road and he felt pretty sure no one would be out this way. If he could find some shelter, it’d be a good place to hole up until dark, until they could get some gas and maybe by then he’d have figured out a way to escape this group of freaks.
Isabel rolled down her window, leaned out looking skyward. “Them birds is still following us.”
Jesse hit the brakes, slid to a stop on the gray gravel.
“Whatcha doing?” Isabel asked.
“Taking care of something.” Jesse unclipped his seat belt, hopped out of the truck, and headed across the road toward a clearing.
“Hey,” Isabel called. “We can’t stop here.” She popped open her door and came after him. “We gotta keep moving.”
Jesse shielded his eyes with his hand and searched for the birds, spotted both of them circling above in the cool early-morning light.
The Belsnickels slid out of the camper, looked from Jesse to Isabel.
“We need to get him back in the truck,” Isabel said.
Makwa walked over and grabbed Jesse by the arm, gave him a tug back toward the pickup.
Jesse locked eyes with the big Shawnee. “I ain’t running off.” Jesse jerked his arm free and walked to the rear of the pickup. He stared at his father’s truck, at the streaks of blood and clumps of fur stuck to the twisted aluminum of the shattered camper shell. The tailgate was gone altogether and the rear bumper all but dragged on the road.
Jesse set a knee on the truck bed and leaned in. The Krampus creature lay wrapped in the blanket near the cab, cradling his velvet sack. He was looking out the side window, up into the sky, his eyes far away and a half-smile on his face, like a drunk in a whorehouse. Jesse noticed his guitar, the big crack along the body and the missing frets. “Damn,” he whispered. His mother and father had given it to him for his twelfth birthday, and despite everything else that had happened, seeing it cracked like that still hit him hard. Just one more thing to feel bad about . . . that’s all. Jesse pushed it aside, rolled the sleeping bag over to get at his father’s hunting rifle. He grabbed it and the tackle box, slid them out.
Vernon caught the barrel, keeping it pointed at the dirt. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Let go.”
“I’m not about to.”
“Then we’ll just sit here until them wolves come. Until that Santa fella tracks us down.”
“Let him have it.”
They both turned and found Krampus leaning against the side of the camper, staring up at the circling birds. Jesse noticed that the Krampus creature looked a touch better, closer now to a fresh cadaver, one that had only been in the ground say a week or so as opposed to a couple of months.
“Krampus, no,” Vernon said. “That’s a rifle . . . a gun. Do you know what—�
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“I know what a rifle is,” Krampus said in a voice deep and full of gravel.
“Well, then why in Hell would you let him have one? He’ll just shoot us all!”
Krampus continued to stare up at the ravens, an odd, sad look in his eyes. “It must be done.”
“What? No, that’s a very bad idea. You can’t trust a man like—”
“Give him the gun. That is a command.”
Vernon made a face as though he’d sat on a tack, but relinquished hold on the rifle.
Jesse propped the rifle on his knee, flipped open the tackle box, and dug about until he found a carton of rounds. He pressed fifteen rounds into the magazine, cocked the lever, seating a bullet in the chamber, then crossed the road into the clearing.
He spotted the ravens, guessed they were about two hundred feet overhead, knew it would be an easy shot with them being so large, at least with this rifle. You handle a gun long enough and it becomes an extension of yourself, and Jesse had spent half his life with the old Henry .22. He’d once shot a bumblebee right out of the air with it. He seated the rifle against his shoulder, sighted one of the ravens, led the aim to compensate for distance, and fired. The gun kicked like a pat from an old friend, and a blast of feathers flittered away. It was a clean kill and the raven dropped from the sky. The remaining raven let out a piercing cry and began to flap furiously away, but Jesse already had a bead on it. He pulled the trigger twice in quick succession, the first shot missed but the second one caught the big bird in the wing, sending it spiraling earthward in a rain of feathers.
Jesse cocked another round into the chamber, turned, and leveled the gun on Krampus. “Get away from my truck. All of you.”
The Belsnickels froze, all their eyes locked on Jesse. But Krampus didn’t give him so much as a glance, only watched the big birds plummet earthward. One raven landed in the clearing, the other about fifty yards up the road. “Makwa, bring me the birds.”