Cold on the Mountain

by Daniel Powell

  They chewed through the mask before setting upon the demon below, who howled and writhed as they picked the flesh from his bones. It flailed, scattering flies away while others took their place.

  “No!” Belphegor shrieked. “I’m dying! Father, help me! Father!”

  But help wasn’t coming, and within the space of a minute, all that remained was the vague outline of a man in the frozen grass and a collection of gore-slicked cowboy duds. The flies rose, like languid steam on a morning lake, in a single cloud; they drifted for an instant before vanishing.

  “I told you I wasn’t like them,” Jasper said, standing and brushing himself off. His ribs ached and he bled from half a dozen cuts, but his adrenaline was pumping and there was work to do. He gathered the demon’s clothing and balled it up before depositing it in a garbage can.

  He scaled the fence and set off at a trot for the center of town.

  There were a few more stops to make on the way and, judging by the clatter of wood on stone, time was short.

  ~0~

  “Girls,” Phil whispered, shaking Carrie awake first. “Girls, wake up! We’ve got food!”

  “What?” Cammie said, rubbing her eyes. “Is this a dream?”

  They left only the nightlight on while Wendy spread plates on the carpet. “Come on down here, girls,” she said. “We’ll have a picnic. Daddy’s friend brought us some more food.”

  And boy, had he ever. In addition to the lunch, he’d added stores from his own kitchen. There were apples and carrots, and even a bag of salted beef jerky.

  Did Jasper have enough to share all along, or were the rules in Adrienne suddenly changing? Phil didn’t think to question it—not on that night, and not with food right there in front of his family.

  Wendy loaded the plates and the girls scrambled out of bed and joined them on the floor.

  They ate in silence, savoring the feast. It wasn’t until they were well into their meal that Wendy noticed her daughter’s hands.

  “Cammie, what’s the matter? Can I get a look at your palms, honey?”

  The girl wore a quizzical expression, her mouth full of bread and ham. She spread her fingers and slowly brought her palms to her face.

  Her screams could be heard out on the street.

  ~0~

  “Well, I see your point,” Darryl Merton said. He yawned, scratching at his stomach beneath the old tee-shirt. “I kind of expected this was coming, boss. Just didn’t expect it in the wee hours is all.”

  “I know it, and I hate to ask, Darryl, but we’re just about out of time. You know they mean business, and you know what he’d do for you if the roles were reversed.”

  The old man nodded. “Care to come in while I get dressed?”

  Jasper stepped inside and Darryl disappeared down the hallway. Jasper went to the little mantle above the fireplace—a smattering of orange coals still glowing in the hearth.

  There were three worn pictures there. Darryl was in each, looking not much different than he did at that very moment. In one, he held up a fat rainbow trout between a pair of gap-toothed girls. In another, he had his arm around an older, shorter version of himself—his father, most likely. And in a third, he smiled from a motorcycle, a woman about his age waving from the seat behind him.

  “I wonder what they look like now,” Merton said, looping a belt around his midsection. “I wonder what they’ll think if they ever see me again. Dad…well, I doubt he’s still around. He was getting up there in years when I got stuck up here.”

  Jasper put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find a way out,” he said. “Something’s happening, Darryl. Everything feels different this year.”

  Darryl just nodded. He collected the images and slid them into his wallet. “Let’s go, boss. We’d best hurry.”

  ~0~

  Jasper felt the fear creeping back as they approached the Night Camp.

  My, my…how things had changed.

  Maybe a thousand of them had gathered in the center of town. An aura of sheer carnality, an atmosphere of raw violence unlike anything Jasper had felt in Adrienne, hung over the place.

  They walked down the center of Main Street, fifteen strong, each holding his ledger.

  As they approached the epicenter, Jasper noticed details he’d never seen before. Night Camp had always been brutal, but it had never been like this.

  A woman on her hands and knees moaned while two men shared her in the foyer of the Sunbeam Theater; a third—a drifter that Jasper heard had used the railroad system to avoid capture as he killed dozens—stood over her, masturbating furiously. The drifter locked eyes with Jasper, his grin broadening. He drew a line across his throat and nodded toward the woman.

  Scores of costumed figures pressed into the town square; they hung from light posts and clambered atop vehicles in their quest to catch a glimpse of the Night Camp.

  The ruckus was terrible—the whooping and screaming taking him back to the chaos of the raids on his village.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught the ripple of a trench coat. One of them—he couldn’t tell which—dragged a lifeless figure into the alley between the drug store and the coffee shop.

  All bets were off, and it looked like the dark ones were acting on their desires with little fear of penalty.

  “Stay together,” Jasper shouted. “Stay united.”

  He barged into the crowd, pushing revelers aside as he made for the ring, which was constructed of waist-high, wickedly sharpened stakes. Many of them were stained with blood.

  Rader rose from his perch as they approached. He wore a few patchy deer hides; game must have been sparse this year.

  “Halt!” he shouted, arms raised.

  A blood-streaked man with a tangle of sweaty black hair crouched over a prone figure, his fist cocked and ready to piston down once again. He straightened, panting, and turned his gaze on Jasper. He had the sinewy build of a boxer, and his eyes grew wide at the sight of the men.

  Indeed, every eye was now trained on the intruders.

  “You want to end up like this, Jasper?” he barked, pointing at a pulp stain; it was all that remained of his opponent’s head.

  One less asshole to worry about, Jasper thought, and the notion brought a grin to his face.

  There must have been something in that grin, because the fighter straightened his shoulders and retreated a step. Jasper knew him—hell, they all did. The bastard had a nickname—“The Animal”—and a list of victims as long as the alphabet.

  “Oh, I’ll dance with you, Joe…but only when I’m finished with what we came here to do. Where’s Denny? Where’s our friend?”

  Rader smiled. He motioned and a pair of normals opened a gate. They had a stretcher and two buckets of water, and they quickly scooped up the remains and scrubbed the blood from the asphalt—steam rising from the frozen ground.

  Joe Barboza made a ghastly spectacle of licking the gore from his fists and then vacated the ring, only turning his back on Jasper as he passed through the gate. He must have seen something in the Aleut’s face that he didn’t like, because he just kept right on going. There would be no encore.

  “Where is he, Sherriff?”

  “You do realize that you’re becoming a nuisance around here, don’t you Jasper? A fly in the ointment, so to speak. Why don’t you boys just go the fuck on home? This will all be over soon enough.”

  “We’re not leaving without Denny. An offer was made, and we’re here to make payment.”

  “Fact is, your boy’s in no shape to go anywhere. Albert? Wheel Mr. Wren in here, will you?”

  A primal caterwauling gripped the dark ones, and they rattled their staffs while the crowd parted. There was a commotion somewhere on the periphery.

  They brought him into the circle.

  He’d been strapped to a gurney. His arms and legs were buckled down; a leather strap held his head in place.

  Jasper hoped he was unconscious. Damn, how they’d hurt him.

  His eyes were swollen shut.
They’d stripped him, and the muscular bulk of his playing days was still apparent. Only now, his skin was covered with dozens of tiny cuts. They’d been torturing him, and that wound still festered in his upper leg.

  “Denny!” Jasper called. He went to the big man, overwhelmed by a pungent aroma. “Denny, can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  Jasper sniffed. Was that…was it herbs?

  “Don’t you get it?” Rader said. “What’s done is done. If he’s still alive, he won’t be for long. Our executive chef has been making preparations. As you can see, we’re pretty far along in the process here. You ain’t never seen a lobster hop out of the pot before, have you?”

  “I don’t care if he’s alive or he’s dead,” Jasper shouted. His voice carried on the cold night; the dark ones had grown deathly silent. Rader’s smile morphed into a frown, and there was a nervous air among them. “You aren’t keeping him! We came here to pay up, Sherriff Rader, and Big Wren’s coming with us—one way or the other.”

  Merton stepped forward; he raised his worn ledger high. “This is a year’s wages in that fucking factory,” he snarled, “and I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about it! You need to release our friend, just like the lady said.”

  He stomped over to the bonfire at the edge of the ring, pushing past dark ones as he went, and tossed his ledger into the flames.

  One by one, the others followed. They only needed twelve, but all of them cast their ledgers into the flames.

  Murmurs filled the air. They quickly turned into cries.

  “Ignore ‘em, Sherriff!”

  “Take the big oaf away! He’s already dead!”

  “Kill them! Kill the normals!”

  Rader pulled a sidearm from a holster beneath his cloak. He fired a single shot, the crowd shrieking in response. “Enough! Quiet the hell down so we can sort this out. Jasper, this is a pretty big surprise you’ve dropped on us here. We kind of had plans for your friend there.”

  “Yeah! We wanted to eat the fucking homo!” Jennifer San Marco screamed. “What do they call a queer from California, anyway? The San Francisco treat!”

  “Jesus Christ,” Rader muttered. He shot her in the arm and the hateful bitch hit the asphalt like a sack of flour. “Next time I’ll shoot your tits off, you fucking weirdo. You think you’re the only one around here that can go postal?”

  She howled in pain, and then the dark ones were helping her up and away from the Night Camp. Jasper heard her scream a few more choice slurs as she left.

  “Sorry about that. Anybody else want to get mouthy?”

  Apparently nobody did.

  “We paid,” Jasper said, “and I’m going to come over there to collect my friend now, Sherriff. You can’t hurt us. Not if any of you still have plans on getting back in the game, right? The real game—out there. We’re taking him home, okay?”

  Jasper put his hands up, moving slowly toward the gate. The dark ones stepped aside. Jasper’s words had sobered the crowd.

  Back in the game.

  From behind their homemade masquerades, they exchanged wary glances.

  “I don’t think so,” Rader said, drawing down on Jasper. “Not this year. Things have changed around here, and something’s changed in you, Jasper. You go ahead and put your hands up just a little higher, so I can see them.”

  Jasper studied his palms before holding them high. It was his turn to smile, and it was a wide one.

  Something had changed.

  “Huh,” Rader said. “Looking pretty light to me, buddy. Not all the way, but getting there. I suppose that’s just as good a reason as any to put a bullet in you where you sta—”

  “Stop!”

  Rader flinched. Standing directly behind him was the Dowager. She’d consumed the last of her personal supply, and she looked radiant.

  She pushed him aside and strode to the edge of the perch. “You paid the ransom?”

  Jasper nodded. “And then some. We came to bring Denny home—one way or the other.”

  “Very well, then. He’s all yours. Rovers.”

  A pair of her personal guards stepped into the ring. They undid the straps and lifted Wren from the gurney. He wore only a pair of tattered shorts, and he moaned pitifully there in the street.

  Jasper ran to him. Kneeling, he put his mouth to Wren’s ear. “We’re leaving, Denny. I know it hurts, but I need you to be strong one more time. One more time, okay, and then we’ll get you some rest. I’m going to help you up.”

  Wren moaned again, and then they were all there with him. Even the two that had been forced to clean up the carnage in the ring helped. They gently hoisted Wren to his feet and ushered him out of the ring.

  There was that smell again. Spices. Thyme and…and rosemary.

  Jesus.

  Albert Fish had pushed through the crowd to watch their departure. He wore an expression of pure sorrow as they carried Wren away, his apron covered in swatches of blood.

  Just as they were on the outskirts of the crowd, the Dowager called after them.

  “Some of us still have respect for the old ways, Jasper,” she said. “Those who killed here tonight—they will not draw lots.”

  Jasper merely nodded.

  “Good luck with your friend there. You tell your people—for that’s surely what they are now, despite your own sordid history—that they have nothing to fear from me. Tell them that the Lady of Adrienne always honors her word.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  They brought him to Phil’s place. They’d managed to calm Cammie down and the girls had fallen back asleep; Wendy and Phil sprang into action, drawing pans of warm water and putting them on the oven to boil.

  “Jesus,” Phil said, wincing, “who did this to him?”

  Wren’s pulse was faint, his breathing shallow. Phil crushed up some aspirin and mixed it in water; he helped the big man drink. “This gunshot wound is definitely infected.”

  Jasper nodded. “To answer your first question, it was Albert Fish that did this. Notorious cannibal and all-around terrible human being. Let’s get the smaller cuts cleaned out before we go to work on the gunshot wound.”

  Wendy nodded. She had tears in her eyes, and she took Wren’s hand and squeezed it. “We’re here, Denny. Just hang on, okay? We’re here.”

  To their surprise, Wren opened his right eye. It was just a sliver, but it was enough to show that there was still a person in there. “Wendy,” he croaked. “Where…?”

  “Jasper and his men got you out of town. We’re going to patch you up. Everything is going to be okay.”

  Wren sighed. A sob wracked his frame, and then another. “They…killed…at the farm…”

  “Just rest now, okay,” Jasper said. He knelt, whispering. “Just try to sleep. We’ll have you good as new in no time.”

  This was met with a snore, and Wendy took it as a good sign. Hopefully, he could sleep through the worst of it.

  She dipped a towel in the scalding water and set to work on the first of the incisions...

  ~0~

  By dawn, they had gone through a half dozen towels and two bottles of peroxide. Darryl Merton had run over to Wren’s home to put together a bag. He was pleasantly surprised to find a medical kit in the bathroom—complete with a couple of long-expired Z-Pacs of azithromycin. There was gauze, a couple different types of painkillers, some muscle relaxers, and three tubes of triple-antibiotic cream.

  Playing in the NFL must have taken its toll.

  They gave him an antibiotic and settled in for the long wait, Wendy and the girls never leaving his side.

  And around dinner, he called out to them.

  “Water,” he whispered. “Water…please.”

  Carrie brought him a glass. Cammie was still in shock, her hands hidden in the pockets of her sweatshirt.

  Wren took the water down in two big swallows and then Carrie was off to fetch more.

  “How long have I been out?” he said.

  Jasper and Merton had stuck around; the rest had gone
home.

  “Most of a day,” Jasper said, “They had you down there at the Night Camp.”

  “I…I don’t remember that.”

  “What do you remember?” Merton said.

  Wren described the chaos at Anstler Farm, his eyes shining. “Christ, they killed them, didn’t they? I saw Serena Semac go down—boom, dead. How…how many?”

  “Twelve,” Jasper replied. “Twelve good people, just stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “That asshole Benny shot me. I remember the pain, and then going in and out. I must have lost some blood. The few times that I woke up, there were people around me. They were…they were cutting at me. Sawing at me…”

  Wendy squeezed his hand. “We cleaned you up, Denny. You’re going to heal, I promise. We found some antibiotics back at your house, and we were able to dig the slug out of your leg. It’s going to be okay.”

  Wren looked away, a tear tracking down his temple. “It won’t be okay until we’re out of this godforsaken town, Wendy. All of us that got trapped here. It won’t be okay until then.”

  He turned, a question furrowing his brow. “Say, what day is it? If I was down there at the Night Camp, then tomorrow’s the day, right?”

  Jasper nodded. “It is. I don’t think we’ll all be getting out of here, Denny, but I’m going to say a prayer tonight that you do. You deserve it…that’s for damned sure.”

  Wren pushed himself up, shaking his head vehemently. “No. No way. It’s all or nothing. I think we need to rethink our approach here, Jasper.

  “I think it’s time to fight.”

  ~0~

  They sipped coffee, the last of the afternoon slipping away outside the windows of the Silverdust Café.

  “I think we’ll have to go into Adrienne,” Miriam said. Her frown created little vertical wrinkles at the corners of her mouth, and Bo finally placed her in his mind. It was Jessica Tandy, from back in her Cocoon days. “I know it’s nobody’s idea of a vacation, but this particular incantation needs us there—in the flesh.”

  “You’re sure?” Anna said, her eyes wide.

  “I’m afraid so, dear. It’s the only way.”