by Marc Franco
I looked across the street at the vacant house. The front door was open, but it was pitch black beyond that. Then Benji and Baum stepped into view. They were in the foyer with their backs to the open door. The commando dwarf was blasting away at something. Yellow blasts of energy flew back at them from the darkness inside. It was a miracle they weren’t hit. Benji struggled to move, and the small dwarf supported him. That’s when I realized that Benji was hurt. What were the commandos waiting for?
Then I saw him, the cloaked man—if he even was a man. I shouted, “It’s S.R.!” I broke from cover and ran through a row of four-foot-tall hedges. A second later, with the transformed J-Ray in hand, I yelled, “Attack! Attack!”
And then I tripped and fell face first into the snow. Clearly, I still had some work to get used to this hero thing. Still prone, I got up on my elbows and brushed the snow from my face. I saw the door slam shut behind Baum and Benji. They were trapped in the house. Then I felt myself sliding backward on the snow. It was Vixen, dragging me to … Dasher.
“Are you out of your mind?” Dasher said as I was dropped at his feet.
“It’s, it’s S.R.—attacking Benji and Baum.” I was out of breath from the excitement and thrill of the charge, even if it was short-lived.
Dasher tapped his helmet. “I have communications with Baum. He’d call me if there was a problem. Trust me, Baum can handle himself. Besides, Servant Rupert is not over there,” Dasher said firmly.
“Yes, he is. I just saw him,” I insisted then turned to Vixen. “I’m not seeing things.”
Dasher eyed me, sighed, then fiddled with his goggles for a second. “Nothing. I don’t see him and—”
“But—” I began, but Dasher held up his hand, stifling my interruption. I grunted in protest.
“If he were there, I would still see through his invisibility,” Dasher said.
“But you can’t see S.R. now,” I snapped. “He’s in the house! Gear up before anything else happens and get ready, we’re attacking,” I said to my friends as I pulled a combat helmet out of my frontpack. They shot me a look as if to say, where in the world did you get that? “Yeah, I know. I can’t explain how this thing can hold so much, but it does. I’ve touched the frontpacks, so you should be able to see everything now. Dig in,” I said, pulling out a flak jacket too.
A few minutes later we were all geared up, much to the chagrin of Dasher—probably because we looked like a miniature version of his team, from the boots to the goggles and the communication links. Not to mention we looked cool too, thanks to the gear auto-sizing. The uniforms automatically adapted to the size of the wearer, making us look like official soldiers … just half the size.
“Comet to Dasher.” Comet’s voice came across the speakers inside my helmet. “Stabilizers are toast, we are no good here. Returning to battle.”
“Roger that! Crystal Palace,” Dasher called back to the dwarves at the Western Hemisphere Command Center.
“Crystal Palace … go!” I heard the dwarf respond.
“APC dead. No ETA on fix. Request immediate evacuation.”
“Negative, negative. You are too hot! We’re reading a mobilized, battalion-sized force underground, precisely two hundred feet west of your location,” the voice from the Crystal Palace replied.
Dasher sighed. His face was deadpan, but I could tell things weren’t going as planned. “Roger that! We’ll need close air support,” Dasher said.
“Air support confirmed, Crystal Palace out.”
Just then I saw a revitalized Benji, along with Baum and a bunch of other Special Forces commando dwarves, running out of the house and firing blasters over their shoulders. I saw what they were firing at … and froze. There were about ten at first: icy, spiked skeleton heads with long, ice-skeleton bodies and frozen-liquid wings. They were the frightening creatures I’d auto-drawn in my comics. If snow angels could be evil, this is what they’d look like. They were shooting deadly-sharp icicles from their wrists in our direction. It reminded me of the way Spider-Man shot his web.
“Ice-skulls! Set blasters to heat clusters and open fire!” Dasher shouted just as Prancer rejoined us under the tree.
Dasher’s team peppered the sky with laser bolts. The bolts exploded into yellow energy clouds that consumed the ice-skulls, liquefying all but their heads.
My friends and I grabbed our J-Rays. We quickly uttered Shamira. Then we stared at the transformed machines helplessly; we had a problem.
“Uh, how do you use them?” Fleep asked, perplexed.
Thankfully Prancer was listening to us. “Flick your wrist, like it’s a wand!” he shouted.
I aimed and flicked. A green light emitted from the crystal rod and swooshed out, blasting an ice-skull into ice cubes. Cool!
“Aim for their heads!” Shig shouted.
Prancer heard Shig. “No, definitely not the heads! They explode and rain down nasty shrapnel ice. Aim for their necks—their body will freeze if you hit the right spot and they’ll come crashing down. It’s a small target, but with all the video games you kids play these days — you can hit it.”
We aimed, flicked our wrists, and zapped; it sounded like a hundred helicopters flying above us. It was cool at first, and felt like I was in some virtual reality video game … that was until our position was hit with a volley of icicles from above. The tree we were under was decimated. How none of us were hit was beyond me. Vixen and Prancer shouted, “Ice-skulls! Hit the snow.”
We dove. Just as I dared myself to raise my head and look, chucks of ice and ice bones fell on us. Two spiked ice-skull skeleton heads fell inches from Logan’s face. She screamed. Utterly freaked out, the four of us stood and wiped off the ice. I glanced over at the vacant house. That’s when I realized we were in serious trouble. Ice-skulls were pouring out, now thirty at a time, from the front door of the house. Benji, Baum, and the Special Forces team were being suppressed by attacking ice-skulls.
Dasher looked over to check on us. “Is everyone okay?”
“Yeah, but Benji and — we can help them,” I begged.
“Not happening,” Dasher said. He ran, took cover in the bushes where Vixen and Dancer were guarding Santa’s tube, and motioned for us to do the same.
I yelled over the plasma blasts. “But we can help Benji and Baum—”
“No, Jakob, there are too many ice-skulls. We’ll handle the rescue!” Vixen shouted, never losing sight of her targets. Dasher looked at Vixen. Their quick communication ended with a nod from Dasher, then Vixen shouted to me between shots, “Take your team and get Santa to the sleigh. It’s an APC—armored personnel carrier—parked by the side of your house. After you secure Santa, engage your armor. There are too many ice-skulls to battle them wearing just this.” Vixen knocked on her metal-plated flak jacket.
I threw up my arms in surrender to her insistence. “Okay—but which side of my house?”
Vixen, almost as if reading my thoughts, was already pointing toward Shig’s house.
“Your friends will not see the APC, but you will. Just push the silver tube into it. Once it’s inside, Santa should wake and all this will end.”
This will end. That was more than enough incentive to get Santa to the APC as soon as possible. Logan and Fleep took one side of the silver tube while Shig and I took the other, and we all pushed. Thankfully the tube hovered effortlessly. As I guided the tube I realized for the first time, despite the ongoing battle, how beautiful the neighborhood was under a blanket of white snow. The neatest thing was seeing the palm trees draped in snow. It was so unnatural and ultra-weird. We rounded the corner of my house when Logan shouted in a panic.
“Where is the APC?”
I looked for a reaction from Fleep and Logan, but they looked mystified too. Vixen was right, I was the only one who could see it. It was big and white, like the snow beneath it. It almost looked like a tank, but without a cannon. I could see two portholes on the side of it.
“I see it,” I shouted. “About thirty feet away
. Keep pushing. It’s right in front of us. As soon as I touch it, you’ll be able to see it. Trust me.”
We were inches from the APC when a tall figure in a dusty hooded cloak—the man from my dreams—stepped out from the shadows and showered us with a thick cloud of black powder. We couldn’t move. We were all frozen stiff. Wide-eyed, I gazed upon my attacker. His black hood concealed most of his face … but I could see the familiar evil frown, the whiskers on his cheeks, and the long braided goatee. It was S.R.—my dream was coming true! He reached down and typed something onto the tube’s keyboard. Golden symbols appeared on the tube briefly, then the bottom opened and Santa fell to the snow. I tried to speak but couldn’t.
“For me?” S.R. said jubilantly in his distinctive Scottish accent, motioning to Santa’s sleeping body. Black dust fell from his cloak. If I could move, my shoulders would have sunk.
“You shouldn’t have,” he continued gleefully. “I owe you a great debt of gratitude for this, Jakob.” I looked past him, trying to see beyond the dusty cloud. Our eyes met for a moment.
S.R. craned his head backwards. “What are you looking for? Oh, dear me,” he said mockingly. “That’s right. We were supposed to trade, but I seem to have forgotten Tiff and her useless family.”
He had Tiff?! It seemed like a lifetime ago that she and Fleep had run away from their watch post at the house across the street. I felt bad; I’d assumed she bailed on us because she was afraid of S.R., but he’d actually caught and held her captive.
“Let’s forgo the whole ransom thing, shall we? I have something better in mind.” He chuckled and then, with lightning speed, grabbed the ugly goat-head belt Santa was wearing. Instantly something went WHIIISH! An electric charge struck and sent S.R. flying back. He wasted no time getting to his feet then shuddered like you do after you’ve eaten something disgusting.
“Well, well. Fat-face has new security. But there’s more than one way to skin a cat.” He reached under his cloak and produced a cube of coal. Within a few seconds the coal transformed into a black-and-white Alien Workshop skateboard. I had a sickening realization of what was about to happen.
“Who wants this?” S.R. said flatly.
Fleep’s eyes widened. “I do!” he said, brushing past me. How was he able to move?
“Me, too!” Koji said, bursting out of the bushes. What? Koji was supposed to have been returned safely home. Clearly the miniature Houdini had figured out an escape route.
S.R. was reaching out to offer Fleep the skateboard, then pulled it back once he saw Koji.
“Oh, my,” S.R. said, sounding more like a growling animal than a man. “You may certainly not have this. Mind you, I would love to give it to you, but …” S.R. paused and sighed, “you are, sadly, too young to accept it. You wouldn’t understand your choice, but Fleep does. He chooses to not believe in this has-been anymore.” S.R. kicked Santa’s boot. “He chooses to believe in me,” he said slowly, wickedly.
“But I—” Koji began.
S.R.’s eyes grew bright yellow. I was afraid for Koji.
“Go home!” he growled. And, with that, Koji did what any kid with enough sense would do. He ran, fast. I only hoped he was running home.
“Give me the board,” Fleep demanded, grabbing for it. S.R. held it out of reach.
“Of course. But one small task first,” he said, looking down at Santa. “Remove the goat-head belt and give it to me.”
No, Fleep. Don’t do it. He’s using you. Don’t touch it, I begged with my eyes since I couldn’t speak.
He did it. Fleep removed the belt from Santa unharmed and gave it to S.R., then reached out and grabbed the skateboard like a starving child reaching for a chocolate cookie. Just as eagerly, S.R. wasted no time clasping on his coveted goat-head belt. He paused for a moment to lovingly rub a finger over his now-scratched-out initials, then his eyes angrily flashed yellow again. I noticed the goat eyes on the belt were lit yellow as well, and it seemed to be giving him more power. S.R. held out an open hand, outstretched to Fleep.
What was he doing? Then I saw the horror that chased chills of fear up my spine.
My dream was coming true!
Fleep studied the skateboard, flipping it over several times and rolling the wheels, entranced by his new toy and never realizing that he was disintegrating. I watched as Fleep’s legs began their transformation into tiny, fine, black particles. He was being sucked into a forming lump of coal in S.R.’s hand. Fleep’s disintegrated lower half was now serpentine; he looked like a genie being sucked into a bottle. Seconds later, Fleep’s frontpack fell to the snow, and he was gone … just like the wooden creature from my dream.
I struggled to move. I wasn’t scared anymore. I was breathing heavily, angry and full of rage. Set me free. I’d burn the very flesh off of my skin to get Fleep back. My eyes were drowning in a pool of tears.
“He takes the board willingly and disappears. My first wayward in more than five hundred years. Any more takers? I can use the help. Things are about to get … complicated. I hate complications,” S.R. said as he placed the coal in his black, soot-covered sack. “No one? What a pity. The Wayward List is not what it used to be.”
Enraged, I tried to speak. S.R. walked toward me then stopped suddenly, almost stepping on Fleep’s frontpack.
“Aye, now that would probably hurt,” he said, stepping around it carefully as if it were a land mine. He came within inches of my face and snapped his fingers, sending more soot into the air.
Suddenly able to speak, I cried out. “Let me go! Fleep!” A flood of tears ran down my face.
“On second thought …” S.R. snapped his fingers again, and I was silenced. “There’s no time for a chatty debate or moral reflection on what is happening here. It’s simple, really. You either believe in that buffoon lying over there, or you do not. And if you don’t believe in him, well, let’s just say it’s only a matter of time before your name is added to the Wayward List. And once you’re on the list, you’re fair game,” he said, walking around us, throwing up his arms. “He comes to those who believe, and I come to those who are on the list.” He laughed victoriously. “Before I depart, I feel obliged to impart a great deal of gratitude for your efforts. Without you and your band of misfits, I would not have this!” He patted the goat-head buckle. “My belt of power!”
He quickly looked down at Santa and studied the remaining belt, the one with the polar bear eyes.
“What a pity to leave such power with such an incompetent. I’ll relieve him of the burden. My belt will protect me.” He didn’t sound too sure of himself, but reached down anyway and touched the one that remained on Santa.
WHOOSH! A flash of blue light rippled from Santa’s belt and struck me. I fell to the snow, unconscious.
I heard the muffled sound of rapid plasma blasts as Dancer’s blurry nameplate came into focus. She didn’t tell me how long I’d been unconscious, but it couldn’t have been too long since the fighting was still going on.
“Are you okay, Jakob?” Dancer asked, almost yelling. She was scanning me with a handheld device. “Are you okay, Jakob?” she asked again, then touched the device several times.
I felt groggy and sore all over. Kind of like the time when I had wrecked my bike going over Fleep’s skate ramp. My entire body had ached for a week.
“I think so,” I answered, a little unsure.
“Here, sit up, but don’t stand until I’m done.” She glanced over at Logan and Shig. “That goes for the rest of you too. Stay put.” She held my face like the doctor does just before he asks you to open wide. “Jakob, you took the brunt of the discharge.”
“Um … I …” I stammered. “I don’t understand.”
“The shock,” Dancer said tenderly. It was hard to believe she was a fierce commando. She was so gentle and caring. She continued scanning me and touched the device a couple more times, then looked around like she was looking for someone. Her face was suddenly awash with concern.
“We delivered the little
one to his bed, but where is the other boy?”
Shig visibly jerked. “The little one—that’s my brother, Koji! Is he okay?”
“Yes. He’s in that domed house, in his bed and very safe,” Dancer said, pointing to Shig’s house.
I could see the weight of the world fall off of Shig’s shoulders. He had obviously seen what had happened with Koji and S.R.
“But the other one—Fleep, isn’t it?” Dancer asked.
“He was taken, turned into … like, coal,” Logan’s voice faltered, then the tears ran.
Dancer frowned. “Once again the Master of the Wayward List wears his belt,” she said darkly, then stood and quickly scanned Logan and Shig with the handheld device. She walked back to me. She didn’t have to read too far into my expression to realize how I felt. The situation was bad, very bad. I felt disappointed, hopeless, and sad. I wanted to cry and did.
“Don’t lose hope, Jakob. All is not lost.” There was a loud explosion followed by more blaster fire. “The battle still rages,” Dancer said, pulling me to my feet.
Logan was already up and helping Shig. I hadn’t noticed Comet and Cupid before, but I was glad to see them. They were watching for threats. I looked down at the footprints in the snow. Specks of black dust were everywhere. Then I saw Fleep’s frontpack and lost it. I cried hard. Logan and Shig walked up beside me, and we all cried together for our friend.
“I feel ashamed. I should have done more,” I said, wiping away my tears.
“You couldn’t help Fleep,” Dancer said. Her words were soft and kind, but they didn’t help ease the sadness I felt. I collected Fleep’s frontpack and gave it to Dancer. Then I noticed someone else was missing.
“Where’s Santa! Did S.R.—” I said, worried.
“No, Santa’s in there.” Dancer pointed to the APC. I could tell that Shig and Logan still couldn’t see it. “He should have woken up by now, but he’s still unconscious,” she said with a worried frown.
Dancer reached inside the APC. She must have looked strange to Shig and Logan, holding her hand up in midair and reaching for nothing. “I’ve tried everything I know.” Slowly, Dancer removed the silver chamber from the APC then typed something on it. That changed the silvery top of the tube to glass, revealing the resting Santa.