The Elf

by Max Dune

  But it is Yuriko who shows up instead.

  He can see her slim figure reflecting in the corner of his glasses. Yuriko’s footsteps on the crusty snow make barely a crunch. He is amazed. She might as well be a ghost, Tiktok thinks, admiring her covertness.

  He resumes staring intently at the bomb twenty yards from his position, willing some animal to approach, certain it will be more edible than what he’s been eating these past weeks.

  “You look comfortable,” Yuriko says.

  He doesn’t respond, employing his cold-shoulder strategy for dealing with unwelcome visitors.

  But Yuriko, not one to be easily deterred, continues standing over him, watching and waiting.

  “There’s something to be said for being in one’s element,” he says, hoping a little casual conversation will satisfy the ninja and send her on her merry way.

  “And this is yours?” she asks.

  “Man versus nature,” he replies. “Hard to get more basic than that.”

  Despite having a good life now, living in a penthouse suite, wearing designer clothes, and driving a Mercedes Benz, Tiktok hadn’t grown soft. His past made him hard at the roots. A survivor. A predator. He was one then, and he would never change.

  Instead of scurrying off like he wishes her to, Yuriko walks up beside him and kneels in the shelter of the rocks.

  Finally, he spares a glimpse back at her.

  She pushes a strand of red hair back into her hoodie and offers a wry smile. “I hear that narrative rarely has a happy ending. Even if you’re fighting nature with high-powered explosives.”

  He lets out a long breath and returns his gaze to the landscape. The view from that high vantage point in the mountains is otherworldly. It’s darker now, and the nearly full moon paints the arctic plains beyond in radiant silver. Tiktok knows Yuriko’s here to keep an eye on him and cajole him into coming back to the compound. Nothing more. They don’t actually care for me, he reminds himself for the hundredth time. “I don’t need a babysitter,” he tells her.

  “How about a friend?” she tries.

  Really? Has she even met him?

  “Don’t need that either,” he replies. Maybe if he rejects her enough times it will eventually sink in.

  She decides to try a different route. “You did well today, Tiktok, handling those bats.” Better to massage his ego. Praise the talent he is most proud of.

  For his part, Tiktok is unsure how to respond. He’s certainly not used to flattery. He offers only a shrug as he ponders the blast, the power and beauty of it. “It was a good explosion, wasn’t it?” he asks, the reproach in his voice melting way.

  “Almost burned my eyebrows off,” she replies, smirking at the memory. “So yes, I’d say so.”

  Tiktok can’t help but relive the moment again. The throw, the flash of light, the thunder, and the shockwave of heat. “Bombs are beautiful,” he says reverently. “Their aftermath always leaves me...breathless.”

  They remain in their positions for another moment, in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Until they see movement ahead, right where the bomb had been placed. An elk. Tiktok tenses. He signals Yuriko to remain silent—the slightest sound could make the creature bolt.

  The elk steps over the snow and bends to eat the irresistible berries, a rare treat in the icy terrain.

  “Dinner’s here,” Tiktok whispers to Yuriko, then smiles and presses the button on the remote.

  * * *

  With help from Bullets and Fuego, I gather all the trainees in the main cave to wait for Jack. Our local medic, Chance, uses this time to treat the minor wounds we incurred in Wintress’s realm. He cringes as he disinfects the bloody gash on my right shoulder.

  “It looks worse than it is,” I assure him.

  He applies bandages. “If you say so. Anyway, what’s this meeting all about? I mean, I know it’s important, but is it good important or bad important?”

  Hearing our conversation, the other sitting trainees turn their heads in our direction.

  “Important important,” I say and leave it at that. I prefer that Jack explains everything. They’ll be far more receptive to him.

  Chance, unoffended by my vagueness, shrugs and starts treating Bullets. He fared far worse in the bat attack. His left earlobe was bitten clean off. Chance hesitates before applying the alcohol. “This might hurt.”

  Bullets is calm. “It can’t be any more painful than when my arm got blown off.”

  “Excellent point,” Chance says, then pours on the alcohol on the wound and wraps it.

  True to his nerves-of-steel self, Bullets’s face remains steady the entire time. Once Bullets is taken care of, Chance grabs a seat next to me. “Aren’t we missing a couple people?” he asks, growing more anxious by the minute. “Where are Tiktok and Yuriko?”

  I don’t have a good answer for that, so I glance over at the other two rogues. Neither of them appear too eager to explain our spat with Tiktok. It looks like Bullets is about to say something, until a distant rumble shakes some dust down from the ceiling.

  Bullets lets out a chuckle. “Oh, they’re out getting us dinner,” he tells Chance. “I hope y’all like it well done.”

  “Carne asada!” Fuego says, smiling as he fills up his flamethrower.

  When I begin chuckling, Chance looks at us like we’re all crazy. Which we kind of are. “Don’t worry. They’ll be back soon,” I tell Chance, certain that if there really was an avalanche, we would have heard it.

  Suddenly a murmur sweeps over the crowd. I turn to see that Jack has entered the cave, having cleaned himself up. His expression, however, hasn’t improved much. He’s just a grim as before.

  Jack strides up to the front of the cave and faces us. A hush falls as his gaze travels over us. “I’m glad you’re all here,” he starts, speaking in a loud voice that carries over the gathering. “What I have to say will affect all of you and the choice each one of you will have to make.”

  Everyone listens in nervous anticipation.

  Jack sucks in a breath. “As many of you now know, our situation has...changed. Santa has increased his security force, doubled it at the very least. In response, I sought help from an old, powerful ally, but at this point, I do not have any assurance that she will come through. For the time being, we must assume we will have to tackle the fight on our own. I won’t lie and sugarcoat anything. The odds are sorely stacked against us, and some of you may not survive. If you wish to step down now, you are free to go home to your loved ones. I won’t blame you—nobody here will. But you must choose now.”

  Around me, my fellow elves looked at one another with uncertainty in their eyes. I stand, holding my crossbow. “I’m with you, Jack,” I say. “No matter what.”

  Chance quickly stands beside me, then turns to the others. “I don’t care how many there are,” he shouts defiantly as he raises a knife in the air. “I’ll fight them all!”

  Around the cavern, others amble to their feet. I feel a rush of excitement, seeing everyone rising up to the challenge. Hope isn’t lost.

  “Yeah!”

  “Me too!”

  “I’m in!”

  “Let’s do it!”

  The shouts echo from one side of the cave to the other, fists raise and pump in the air, and applause ensues.

  Jack, standing in front of his army, smiles with pride. The grin on his face is wider than any I’ve ever seen before. In this moment of unity, all his fears and doubts are swept away.

  Bullets climbs up on a table. “We’re ready to bring the heat!” he yells into the crowd of cheering elves. “Ain’t that right, Fuego?”

  “All day, every day, brother,” Fuego says. He then lifts his flamethrower and shoots a huge burst of fire up at the ceiling.

  The entire room leaps to their feet, roaring with excitement. It’s a contagious feeling, one that sweeps over me and swallows me up. With or without Wintress, I know we’ll win. We will have our victory—and our vengeance.

&nbs
p; Chapter Twenty–Three

  Zeb sits at his worktable, trying to focus on his work, though he’s lost all motivation to do so. He forces himself to go through the motions, tinkering with a toy helicopter and adjusting the tension on the blades with a micro wrench. To think he used to love these things. Now, he fights the urge to smash the toy against the floor.

  Lenny, his co-worker, stands by the window and stares out at the patrolling guards. “What’s up with all these new security guys?” the older elf asks. “Jack Frost is dead.”

  Zeb shrugs, not turning his stare from the helicopter he’s working on. It’s best that Lenny doesn’t see the expression on his face anyway. “I don’t know,” he says in a dull voice.

  “You don’t find it strange? Isn’t it...overkill?” Lenny continues, clearly confused.

  Like the other elves, he has no idea. If only I could tell you, Zeb thinks. Yet he doesn’t dare speak up. He shoots a glance at the cameras on the walls, then at his watch, aware that he’s being watched and listened to. His life is no longer his own; they see every action and hear every word. He lets out a tired sigh. “I’m sure Santa has his reasons.”

  Lenny walks back to his workstation and resumes work. “Eh, you’re probably right,” he agrees. “It’s just strange, that’s all.”

  * * *

  Oleg finds Santa walking up a row of pallets piled high with boxed toys, checking them off on the clipboard he’s carrying. Each pallet is marked with a different bill of lading for a different company, taped to the shrink wrap tightly encasing the boxes: Injectron LLC in Manhattan; Nyprus Enterprise in Tampa; FL. Lupont Plastics, Las Vegas; and many others. This warehouse alone houses thousands of them.

  Oleg waits patiently for his boss to acknowledge his presence. With the salary the old man pays him, he can afford to be patient. Besides, he knows Santa does not like being interrupted.

  After finishing a row of thirty, Santa finally turns to Oleg. “I’ll need our new hires here Christmas Eve,” Santa says. “Packing and loading. Make sure they work fast. I can’t afford any lollygagging.”

  “No problem,” Oleg replies. He pauses a moment, hoping it is a good time to bring up an issue that has been nagging him. “Question, Boss.”

  “Yes?” Santa says, still staring at his clipboard and sounding slightly annoyed.

  “Do you think we really need such a large security force?”

  Santa offers a twist of his mouth in response. The reaction sets Oleg on edge. “Of course I do. You failed to find Jack Frost’s body, not to mention that we’ve had more sightings of those lizards on surveillance around the village,” Santa states coldly. “Due to these failings, we must take extra precautions. This is the most important week of the year, Oleg. We can’t afford any screw-ups or delays. The extra guards are posted to ensure that all goes smoothly. It was quite obvious to me that you required the assistance.”

  “Of course,” Oleg replies, insulted and wishing he could wring the old man’s neck.

  Santa looks out at the warehouse, examining the shuffling elves. “Don’t fret too much, Oleg. It won’t be long before the new machines arrive, and that’ll make things easier for all of us. Machines don’t get sick, complain, or sleep. They work around the clock, which means increased production which means more revenue. We just have to hold on a few more months.” He turns to Oleg, half-smiling. “I know I am hard on you, but it is only because so much is entrusted to you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go relax and enjoy the party tonight. You’ve earned it. We all have.”

  “I understand,” Oleg replies, but the chief guard knows all the while that relaxing will be next to impossible after seeing the reports of what the surveillance picked up earlier from several departments. “It’s just that the elves are talking,” he says cautiously.

  That gets his attention. “About what?”

  “The extra security is making them uneasy, confusing them,” Oleg explains. “They are curious about the extra guards. I’ve even heard some talk about leaving. I checked. A few have even booked tickets.”

  Santa lets out a breath. “No one’s leaving, Oleg. That’s not even worth worrying about. Those imbeciles will believe anything I say,” he says, then smiles smugly at Oleg. “After all, I am good old Saint Nick, am I not?”

  “That you are,” Oleg says.

  Santa purses his lips. “How about Zeb? What has he been up to?”

  “He’s been visiting a sick girl a lot lately, Lily,” Oleg informs. “It seems he’s trying to convince her to go home to her family, but she has not booked a ticket yet.”

  “Has he shared what he knows?” Santa sounds concerned. “Has he told anyone anything?”

  “No,” Oleg states. “We will know the second he does, and he knows that.”

  “Hmm.” Santa runs his fingers through his white beard for a moment. “Whether he knows the consequences or not, we cannot afford to take any more chances with him—or the girl. Take care of them both. But wait a couple days, will you?”

  Oleg frowns in disagreement with the plan. He’d prefer to get it over with. He’s tired of babysitting Zeb.

  “It is Christmas, after all,” Santa explains, wearing a sinister smile that barely hides the evil lurking inside him. He laughs, then quickly checks his watch when it chimes. “Oh! Excuse me, Oleg.” Santa heads over to a nearby intercom. He taps several keys, pulls the microphone up to his mouth. “Greetings, one and all, on this joyous Christmas Eve!” His voice is full of feigned cheer. “I have wonderful news.” He waits several moments for dramatic effect, glancing at the wide-eyed elves, basking in the glory of them hanging on his every word. “All toy quotas have been met!”

  The squeals and claps of the warehouses workers can be heard from every direction.

  Oleg wrinkles his forehead in response. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take these elves—their enthusiasm is so annoying. Oleg secretly wishes that Santa would let him kill them when the new machinery arrives. It would be a lovely Christmas bonus.

  “And it’s all thanks to you, my dear elves,” Santa continues, watching the massive drones open, ready for their prospective shipments. “Because of you, millions of kids will have a truly merry Christmas this year.” He lays it on thick now. “Through adversity and much affliction, heartache and loss, your hard work and dedication never wavered. Be proud of yourselves—I am! And I’m eternally grateful to have you not only as my workers...but also as my family.” With that, Santa turns off the mic and places it back on the intercom hook. Then he looks back over at Oleg, giving him a how-was-that-look.

  Oleg claps silently, smirking a bit. He knows every elf in the village bought it. Nobody can lie like Santa.

  * * *

  Lily strolls through the village, feeling good. She has always felt a rush of pleasure when Santa announces that they’ve met their quota. The thought of so many happy children overcomes everything negative, allowing her to forget her own misfortune, if only for a time. Her department erupted into celebration at the news. Everyone she passed was full of much-needed joy.

  Her bouncy path takes her to the village’s center, where she stops before the giant thirty foot tall Christmas tree. It towers over the whole village. This year it is different though. It only holds a few white twinklers. She finds that odd. All the years before it had been a brilliant display of glowing green, red and yellow lights as well, along with intricate ornaments from every nation on Earth.

  She shrugs it off, deciding she likes the minimalistic approach. There’s something to be said about purity of the white lights, she thinks, smiling. Her optimism always perseveres. She brushes snow off one of the benches circling the tree, then sits down and admires the twinkling lights.

  She sits awhile, mesmerized by the simple beauty of the tree, before she feels someone sitting down on the bench beside her. When she looks over and sees who it is, a smile spreads across her face.

  Zeb offers a tentative smile back to her and hands her a bottl
e of water. “Hey. Merry Christmas.”

  Lily feels her eyebrows raise involuntarily as she takes the water, chuckling at the gift, something he’s been giving her a lot of recently. Of course she likes the fruit smoothies better, but, regardless, she can’t help questioning his strange behavior. “Okay, sweetie, I have to ask...what’s up with all the water and smoothies?”

  His smile turns wistful as he shrugs. “It’s my New Year’s resolution,” he says. “Eating healthier. It’s easier when your friends do it too.”

  Suddenly it all makes perfect sense to Lily. Her illness and Lucian’s death had affected Zeb more than she imagined. It’s why he’s trying to take better care of himself. It’s his way of coping. The thought almost jerks her back into that dark doom-and-gloom thinking that often drags her down, but she refuses to give in to it. “That’s a good resolution,” she says softly. “Hey, what’s up with the choir? And Pepper?” she asks. She couldn’t believe Zeb turned her down. He’d been vying for her attention for so long.

  Zeb keeps his gazed fixed on the tree. “It just doesn’t seem...so important anymore,” he whispers.

  Lily frowns at that. Zeb has changed so much from the goofball he used to be. But then again he had just lost his best friend too—such a tragedy would change anyone. Still, she is not sure how to deal with this new side of him “Not even a date with a cute girl that likes you?” she asks.

  Zeb shrugs. “Maybe after New Year’s. I’ve just got a lot of things to figure out—you know, resolutions and plans and stuff.” He looks her in the eyes. “What about you? Any resolutions?”

  “Yes,” she murmurs.

  “What?”

  “To spend more time with my parents.”