The Elf

by Max Dune

  Zeb shrugs it off. “Insomnia isn’t sexy, and I have an image to maintain.”

  That coaxes the tiniest smile out of Lily.

  “But, yeah, ever since I started drinking coffee, I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ve also had these horrible headaches,” he says with a wince, letting the suggestion bury itself in Lily’s mind.

  “Ditto on the headaches,” she says. “Even Tylenol doesn’t help me anymore.”

  His plan seems to work, but Zeb knows he must take it one step further. He must get Lily to leave Santa’s Village. As long as she remains there, she won’t be safe, and Lucian would want her to be as far from danger as possible. So he chooses his next words carefully. “Hey, Lily, have you considered, um...going back home? Spending time with your family?”

  “Now?” she says, wiping her nose.

  “I think it’d do you good.”

  She thinks about it, then rejects the thought with a shake of her pretty head. “I can’t. At least not yet.”

  “Because of the children?” Zeb sighs. “You’re too selfless. For once, please think about you. You’ve just lost Lucian, and now you’re, uh...well, sick. If anyone deserves a break, it’s you.”

  “It doesn’t matter where I go,” she replies in a small voice. “I’m not going to get better.”

  Zeb’s feels his eyes grow moist. “Lily...”

  “It’s true.” She pauses. “I’ve already made peace with it.”

  “Don’t you want to see your family, at least once more?” he asks.

  She gives him a sad look that breaks his heart. “I’d rather they remember me well. They don’t need to see me like this, slowly withering away.”

  “But they—”

  “It’s better this way, sweetie...for everyone.”

  Disappointed, Zeb drops the subject. It isn’t the right time. He decides it might be easier for her after Lucian’s funeral. He ponders what else he can do, and Pepper comes to mind. Perhaps she can help convince Lily to leave Santa’s Village too. The two of them are pretty close. She might be able to give Lily some fresh perspective, from a female point of view.

  Oleg’s words rings again in Zeb’s mind, sending a shiver up and down his spine. After New Year’s, they’re going to kill him too. Three weeks from tonight. He knows he doesn’t have that long, and neither does Lily. For that reason, he decides to talk to Pepper ASAP, to get her onboard. Together, they should be able to convince Lily to leave before she gets any sicker. Away from here, away from this poison she’s drinking daily, she might even recover.

  Problem is he’s being watched like a hawk. The guard’s words come to mind. One slip up, and we’re all done for, Zeb thinks.

  * * *

  “Come on! Just a little farther!”

  The words drum through my head as I inch up the rock wall. It is my last exercise for the day, but I’m starting to think it might be the last one of my lifetime. Looking up, I try to assess the easiest route. Rock climbing is more than a physical challenge—it’s a mental puzzle. My hands, weak and callused, dig into gaps in the wall. My shaky feet search for their own holds. I’m two and a half stories up, and I don’t dare look down. Sweat drips down my face in rivers. My heart pounds in my chest. This is even worse than fighting the wolves or the thirty laps around the cavern I did for Tiktok.

  “You’re almost there!” Chance cheers from below. He volunteered to be my belayer. So far, he’s done a stellar job of holding my ropes and preventing me from falling, but I’ve no idea how long that will last.

  I climb higher and higher, keeping my body close to the wall to relieve pressure on my grip. Another twenty feet, and I’ll reach the top. I push through the pain, ignoring the burning sensations coursing through me. I have to prove I belong on this team, to show the Rogues I’m no weakling. I keep telling myself that. In spite of my inner pep talk and all the accolades from my spotter below, as I move into another sequence, I lose my grip and slip. My face bangs against rock, and I feel myself falling. Luckily, Chance is quick to take action and locks the rope, bringing me to a jarring stop. I dangle there, swinging back and forth, in a desperate struggle to try to stabilize myself.

  “Okay, it’s time to call it a day,” Chance calls up to me.

  “Let me try again,” I plead. “I’ll make it this time. I swear.”

  He looks up at me, then frowns. “Lucian, you’re bleeding.”

  “What? No, I’m not.”

  “Check your forehead.”

  I touch it and pull my hand back. Sure enough, it’s bloody. I groan.

  “Come on. You’ll get another chance tomorrow.”

  “Fine.” I sit back in my harness and wait for Chance to slacken my rope. Once he does, I ease down the wall. A wave of dizziness floods me as I move. I assume it’s from blood loss or a concussion. I reach the ground and wobble on shaky legs as I remove the harness.

  Chance draws near. “Let me take a look at that wound.”

  “It’s no big deal,” I say.

  “Yeah, yeah. Let me be the judge of that.”

  Begrudgingly, I lower my head so he can get a better look.

  He scrunches up his face.

  “Please tell me I don’t need stitches,” I say, worried.

  “Naw. A little medical glue, and you’ll be good as new.” He turns and walks away. “Come on. I’ll fix you right up.”

  I follow Chance to the cots. A couple other elves are sitting on theirs, eating soup straight out of cans. One is tall and blond, the other a shorter, chunkier redhead. I vaguely recognize their faces from the village, but I can’t recall their names. Chance introduces them as Neil and Malik.

  “What’s on the menu tonight, boys?” Chance asks while rummaging through a backpack on the floor.

  “Chicken noodle,” says Neil, the skinny, tall one, grinning. “Same as last night...and the night before.”

  Chance chuckles. “Yeah, well, we don’t have a wide selection of food around here. Fills you up though. Ah! Here’s the med kit.” He pulls out a bottle of alcohol, a clean rag, and a small plastic tube, then pats the cot.

  I sit and watch as he pours alcohol on the cloth, then proceeds to gingerly clean my wound. It burns a little, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. “Have you done this before?” I ask him.

  “A few times,” he says, holding up the glue. He pats my forehead dry before squeezing the sticky substance onto it. “This is the good stuff, very strong. It should hold awhile and keep any bacteria out. Trust me. I used to be an EMT.”

  “Really? I thought you were a firefighter before coming to Santa’s Village.” I am sure he mentioned that offhandedly last year, but it occurs to me that he had never brought it up again.

  “Oh, I was,” he says. “But we also had to be paramedics. We didn’t just battle blazes. We were also first responders to accidents, natural disasters, and other emergencies. Medical training was sort of a job requirement.”

  “Did you like it?” I ask.

  “Definitely. I love helping the community. Plus, I had this great camaraderie with the guys I worked with. We got pretty close, working twenty-four-hour shifts sometimes. They were really like my second family. I could count on them, and they could count on me. You know what I mean?”

  I nod. “Anything you didn’t like about it?”

  He doesn’t have to think too long before he blurts, “Oh, that’s easy. All the dumb calls. People bothered us for the most insignificant non-emergencies. The worst was this guy who called because his Facebook app wouldn’t work.”

  I laugh. “Wow. I’d be tempted to use the fire hose on a guy like that.”

  “Believe me, the thought crossed my mind a time or two, but it was just part of the job. We had to deal with it.” He is quiet for a moment. “You know what I remember most?”

  “What?”

  “The reactions from little kids. They always walked up to our firetrucks, looking at us like we were superheroes. One little kid even wanted my picture and autograph.” He smiles
. “Yeah, I liked that the most.”

  “Look around us, Chance,” says Malik. “Look what we’ve been doing, what we will do.”

  Chance glances at the vast room and shrugs.

  “You’re still a hero. All of us are.”

  I snort. “Don’t be so quick to lump me into that category.”

  “Why not?” Chance asks, turning back to me with a confused look on his face.

  “Because I’m not sure how useful I’m going to be on this team. Today showed me just how truly inadequate I am.”

  “You’re still alive, aren’t you?” Chance says.

  “Barely,” I murmur, trying to ignore my aches and pains. “It hurts just to walk.”

  “At least you didn’t throw up all over the place like I did on my first day,” Chance points out, then lowers his head, embarrassed by his confession.

  Malik raises a bandaged hand. “Or cut yourself with a knife.”

  Not to be left out, Neil touches the ugly bruise under his left eye. “Hey, man, at least you didn’t get knocked out by the stupid punching bag!” He shudders at the memory.

  We all share a quiet laugh.

  “See?” Chance says, slapping my arm. “Everyone has a bumpy start. Just hang in there.”

  I respond with a half-hearted, “Okay.”

  He continues. “Besides, we won’t be alone. We have Frost and the Rogues.”

  We all gaze across the room to where the Rogues are eating in their own separate area, Bullets scarfing down food like it’s going out of style.

  A menacing note enters Chance’s voice when he speaks again, one I’ve never heard from my kind-natured friend. “With them on our side, we’ll win. Trust me. Santa is gonna pay for all this—and he’s going to pay hard.”

  I turn to look at him, then at the other two elves, who nod darkly in agreement. They have no forgiveness in their hearts. Like me, they had almost been killed by Santa’s treachery.

  And like me, they’d like nothing more than to return the favor.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next day, for the funeral, Zeb slogs all the way to the village auditorium, forcibly keeping his head up to keep from staring into the slush underfoot. He moves through the packed crowd of worker elves talking in low voices. He nods at his friends, trying to seem strong for them.

  He looks down the front row, hoping to spot a vacant seat. He spots Lily. She sits next to Pepper at the end of the row, with an empty seat to her right. Their eyes meet. Hers are red from crying. He hesitates for a moment, thinking it might be a bit presumptuous to automatically take that seat. Nonetheless, Lily pats the empty seat and nods for him.

  Zeb nods back and joins them. He exchanges a glance with Pepper, who offers a brief smile in reply. “How you holding up?” he asks.

  Lily sniffs. She looks really pale and doesn’t seem to be breathing steadily. She’s either deeply distraught or very sick, if not a little of both. “As well as possible,” she replies with a sad smile. “You?”

  He shrugs and takes the whole scene in. “Looks like the whole village turned out,” he notes.

  “You know how highly everyone thought of Lucian,” Lily replies.

  Zeb looks around again, this time sweeping his eyes over the casket onstage, the same one they used for all the services. It only made sense, in light of what he now knew. Santa is a miser, among other things. Besides, it’s not like there will ever be bodies to bury, considering what happens when an elf dies. He looks from one sad face to another, watching as the elves hug and comfort one another, all dressed in somber black.

  “I’m so sorry, Lily,” Ronald softly says, walking up to offer his condolences.

  “Thanks,” she says in barely a whisper.

  “He was a hero, you know,” the bearded elf says. “To all of us. So brave. So very brave.” Ronald then wanders off, his head hung low.

  Of course he was, Zeb thinks. He went out to search for Frost when no one else would, to get the cure and try to save everyone. He sits quietly for a minute, staring at the floor, taking in sniffles and sobs of the elves around him. Above the rumble of the mourning crowd, the sound of a tinkling hymn breaks. Zeb turns back to the front of the auditorium to see that Gordy, the choir director, has seated himself at the baby grand near the coffin and begun playing. The song is wistful, poignant, even a bit dreamy.

  The music accompanies the knots of elves who climb up onto the stage to pay their respects make their way to the coffin and then return to offer their condolences to Lily. Zeb can’t help but sigh as it continues, each deep breath filling his nose with the fragrance of the flowers, a splash of colorful lilies, daisies, and tulips. Their scents blend together, wafting into the air. Such flowers don’t last long up here. That thought reminds Zeb of his own short life expectancy. The chief guard is certainly going to make good on his threat. When doesn’t he? He searches nervously through the throng for Oleg, but there is no sign of him.

  Zeb despises the fear and paranoia that overcomes him, and he willfully forces it from his mind. Instead, he focuses on Lily, hoping he can do something to ease her pain. He glances again over at Pepper while Lily receives words of sympathy from a couple. Zeb’s eyes meet Pepper’s gain. He raises his eyebrows, and she nods in return.

  Last night, Zeb approached Pepper and skirted the idea of taking Lily home to help her get in a better state of mind. Pepper wholeheartedly embraced the idea. Lily needed her family more than ever before, and it could easily be the last time she could spend with them. Pepper promised to speak with Lily about it the day after the funeral, and they both hoped Lily would listen.

  Pepper invited Zeb to lunch after that conversation, with only the purest of intentions. They would have spoken of all the tribulations and recent tragedies, but Zeb turned her down. It wasn’t that he didn’t have feelings for her anymore. It was just his awareness of his frail future, his impending mortality come to call, that stopped him. A budding romance would not be wise right now. There is no time for attachments. In fact, the more relationships he could amicably end, the better. That will ease the pain felt by anyone when news of his passing comes around.

  Zeb begins to think of the things he will miss and the person he might have turned out to be. That brings him back to Pepper, and it is far too painful. He moves his thoughts away from the subject altogether. No romance. No strings. It’s for the best.

  The music stops. Zeb looks up to see that Santa and his security detail have finally made an appearance. Oleg stands at his side. Zeb seethes, feeling his whole body tense. The murmuring dies down, and those who had been standing find their seats.

  Santa speaks at all funerals, and those speeches are always the same.

  “Lucian was a good elf,” Santa begins. “He was conscientious, a good friend to all of us, and a valuable member of our family. He cared about us all and spent his life helping me, you, and all of our tight-knit village...”

  Zeb tunes him out. At this point, there is only so much bullcrap he can stomach from the lying, murderous hypocrite. The more the Santa elaborates on the significance of Lucian’s contributions, the more Zeb wants to punch him in the face. But the crowd? Oh, they’re eating it up.

  Zeb sits straight in his chair, staring straight ahead, even while the elves to his right and behind him break into tears at the Santa’s eulogy. He doesn’t dare let his true feelings show. He has no idea what Oleg is capable of, what harm might come to Lily and Pepper if he stood up and denounced Santa in front of the heartbroken gathering. Zeb clenches his teeth, tightens his fists at his sides, and bears it silently. He has to go along with the charade. Right up to the time when his replacement arrives and they finally dispose of him.

  He almost loses his resolve, though, when Santa calls for the slideshow to start. Zeb watches in horror and fury. It’s as if the presentation was designed to wring out every possible tear from the crowd. The slides show pictures of Lucian working in his old department, holding up a half-finished crossbow and smiling widely. Anot
her picture shows Lucian with his parents, from their first week of orientation. With an anguished gasp, Zeb turns to Lily, who is breaking down. She sobs as tears stream down her cheeks. Zeb gives her the tissues he brought, then turns to glare at Santa. How he wishes he could expose him to everyone right here, right now!

  Then a new realization hits him, and he is forced to hold down a guffaw of angry laughter. In a few weeks, it’ll be him they mourn. Santa will be up there praising him to the crowd. He’ll probably even reuse some of the same slides. Finally, Zeb feels tears running down his cheeks. But they aren’t tears of sadness.

  They are tears of rage.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Through high-powered binoculars, Jack Frost gazes ahead. He stands, shrouded in trees, in a thick forest halfway up the mountain, just miles from Santa’s Village. Hours have passed since he started spying. He watches closely as the posted guards change positions around the funeral, their work shifts ending and beginning. He counts them, making quick calculations of the force that will be required to beat them and infiltrate the village.

  As he gathers intel on the enemy, Frost is dismayed to discover that there are twice as many guards as before. Did Santa hire them for appearance? Or is he aware that Jack is still alive? Jack isn’t sure. Although he does know that Santa has been far more cautious after his life was threatened by whoever sent the skrillers. Perhaps there have been more recent attacks. Either way, the presence of more guards complicates things for his own agenda. He sighs. Lucian, the Rogues, and all the training they have done will be for naught if the mission is deemed too dangerous to carry out.

  Frost’s mind is suddenly invaded with frustration. Santa took his wife, and he wants the big man to pay for that. He can’t go unpunished. But the man is so incredibly protected. Frost has to ask himself if his wife’s passing is clouding the nature of his mission, if he’s too personally involved. Sure, Lucian and the worker elves have progressed faster than expected in their combat training, but is his ragtag army ready to go up against this kind of force? And what if Santa plans on adding more?