Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves

by Richard M. Heredia

  Three days! she raged within the snarl of her blankets. Though her tears had dried-up long ago, the wracking sobs gone on, unrelenting. You have taken everything from me! You fucking assholes! You have ripped me to fucking shreds! She pounded the mattress, crazed with fury, insane with grief. How could you?!? How could you do this to me?!? She could feel the emotion building at the base of her throat. It was molten. It seared her from the inside out, cooking, frying, then burning her to the bone. She squeezed her eyes shut, the tension growing, the fire filling her. It was too much. She had to let it go. She had to set the world ablaze. Everything must crinkled and char before the fury in her soul. Everything -.

  She screamed.

  With the last of her strength, she rose from the bed, bending backward at the waist. Her back curved the wrong way, her neck craned toward the ceiling. She screamed as loud as she could, feeling her body become hallow, drain, turn to a husk that was only a fraction of what it had been.

  There was the pound of running feet through the house, but she had not taken heed through the anguish consuming her.

  She fell back onto the bed, bouncing, the pathetic wails unending. She could not stop. She lacked the ability. She could only hold on for dear life and ride the tsunami-like currents wherever they might lead, wherever they might deposit her. Aware she had come close to shredding her vocal cords, feeling the agony there, she curled into a fetal position. Her knees bunched up against her breasts, her elbows overlapping. Why? Why? Why did you have to do this to me!?! To us!

  “Clarisse! Baby-girl, no!” said a voice as if someone had appeared by magic, someone who could walked through doors as silent as a ghost. It was a certain someone with the voice of her mother. “No, no, no, no!”

  The eleventh grader did not feel the weight of her mother’s body as she struggled across the mess of a bed. She did not feel her unwind her body from the blankets. She did not feel her hands as her mother pulled her from the snot-drenched pillow and into her arms.

  What she did feel was the warmth. She had felt it her entire life. She knew it for what it was without anyone telling her, without having to open her eyes and see for herself. It was protection from evil, sanctuary from pain. It was calm. It was soothing. It was bliss.

  Mommy…

  Without conscious knowledge, Clarisse’s arms came about her mother’s mid-section. It was muscle memory and naught else. It was having done so a thousand, thousand times. The movements known, the touches memorized, she lost herself in her mother’s clutches and felt wrath leave her. Her crying became less frantic, less lost and more about mourning.

  Though her throat burned and her voice was raw as if someone had stuffed sandpaper down her into her gut, she asked: “Why, mama? Why did this have to happen? Why? After I finally meet the boy I’ve been waiting for my whole life, why would they take him from me? Why? Don’t they know I love him? Don’t they know he’s mine, that he’s special? Why would they do that to me? Why, mommy? Why?”

  Her mother’s hands cradled her head. Slow and easy, she swayed one way, then the other, holding her daughter tight against her bosom. “There are no answers to questions like that, my love. At times, life can suck beyond question.”

  Clarisse wept for a few more minutes.

  Her mother moved no more than to rock her, a peaceful swing back and forth.

  “I love him, mama. Why did they take him from me? He’s so kind and gentle. Even with those huge hands of his, he would never hurt a fly. He’s so careful around me like I’m made of crystal or something. His touch is so light, so -.” She choked up and had to clear her throat. “Why?” she croaked through her tortured esophagus, a broken young woman now.

  Her mother’s grip tightened for a few seconds as if she were trying to squeeze all the torment from her only child. “I don’t know, sweetie. I don’t know.”

  Silence followed.

  Another thought sprang to her and Clarisse gazed up into her mother’s chin. “He’ll be alright though, right? Even if they hurt him, he’ll survive, right? He’s strong, mama. He is real strong. They won’t be able to hurt him too much, right?”

  Above Clarisse, her mother’s face became hard, her mind seething at the only remaining ribbon of hope left in her daughter. They won’t be able to hurt him too much…? What kind of shit was that? How could this have happened? Why had the world bludgeoned my daughter with such cruelty? Why did she have to be so young?

  Not once did she question whether Clarisse in truth loved the boy. It would have been a gross waste of time. She knew it for what it was. Joaquin Barrientos had swept her daughter off her feet.

  And now…

  “He’ll be okay, right, Mom?”

  She gazed down at her daughter, a wan smile etching her lips. “If there is anyone out there who could survive an ordeal like this, it would be him, Clarisse. You are right, baby-girl. He is a strong, young man.” He was, she thought. He is only seventeen and he is already much taller and broader than my husband.

  She had not quite believed though, what she had told Clarisse. She knew a gun or a knife could overwhelm anyone’s God-given strength with ease, but the effect on the teen in her arms was amazing. No more than a few heartbeats after her words died out. Within the confines of the room did Clarisse fall asleep. A sleep so deep, she was conscious one minute, then dead weight the next.

  Unwilling to be farther away from her heartbroken offspring, Mrs. McIntyre stayed upon the bed. Her legs, she curled beneath her, Clarisse’s head in her lap. It was necessary. It was a mother's work.

  With a parent’s care, she held onto her, sang her lullabies from when she was a toddler, rocked her and cradled her for hours on end.

  Through it all, she could not shake the feeling – though things were bad – they were going to get even worse. The disappearance of so many children was, in itself, terrible. Whatever it was lurking just beyond the horizon, it was without a doubt pure evil. It would have to be the essence of hate itself.

  And, it had yet to show its’ face.

  Without thinking, she shivered, holding onto her daughter tighter than ever.

  …It had yet to show its’ face…

  ~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~

  ~ 7 ~

  Retrieval

  Day Four, Sunday, 6:51 am…

  “You leave my Sophie alone…!” were the words upon the wind, deep within the fourth universe, upon a continent in the Melded World; so far away it was unimaginable.

  “I will kill you! I will kill all you terrible things!” She had screamed so loud, the moment the words left her throat, it was on fire, scraped raw with abuse.

  Her tiny feet hit the ground at such velocity; she sent snow flying in all directions, leaving behind a good-sized crater. Its’ bottom cleaned of all the sticky precipitation that had fallen for four straight days.

  The sun was finally out, the sky blue striking, the air icy, though crisp and fresh.

  Yet, she noticed none of it. To her, the landscape had slowed to no more than a crawl. To her, it moved at a glacial pace. She was a blur to anyone watching, in one place for no more than a quarter-second.

  Mikalah Herrera rocketed from the crater. She sent a rooster-tail of sleet streaming out behind her three times her height, double that in length. It took her less than a second to spot the trail left behind by the Crawling Creep. The deep, undulating furrow in the snow was unmistakable. It led off into the forest, angling left through the trees and underbrush. All were overburdened with the white precipitation that blanketed everything.

  With no more than the time it took to make the decision, the 3rd grader streaked after the beast, hoping she could catch it in time. She had to get to the creature before it began to ingest her brother’s girlfriend. She was a sixteen-year-old beauty that Mikalah was fast upon loving herself.

  She rounded a stand of pines, leaping over the snow-laden plant-life. To her, she was just stepping where she could. To anyone else, she was taking strides thirty to forty feet in length.


  She dodged a crooked branch, plowing through a fern. The entire plant exploded as if doused with nitroglycerin. It ceased to exist. She surged forward demanding more speed. The faint smell of rotting meat tickled her nostrils. It’s ahead, she told herself, leaping over a jumble of misshapen rocks. Landing with what she figured was ease; she pulverized a wild rose bush in reality. It had died during the cold of the storm. Its’ stalks and shoots had been brittle to the touch. Mikalah’s tiny feet reduced it to particles no bigger than ash.

  She wound her way through a pair of oaks. Then blasted through the low-hanging branches of a willow, denuding its’ entire lower portions. She scurried around some sort of shrubbery overgrown with Ivy. Every last wilted leaf ripped free in the violent turbulence of her wake.

  The putrid smell grew.

  Close! The word was unspoken.

  Then, she did leap. Completely over a dead-fall, a great jumble of trees that had succumbed to the cold of the storm. Her landing stripped the earth down to the discolored grass and frozen dirt.

  At once, she knew where it was.

  Its’ stench was the key.

  She turned.

  It was behind her.

  She twirled about, forcing the wind to change direction.

  Then, she had spotted the vile thing. It had taken the girl that her brother loved near the base of the fallen trees. She watched as it moved with a kind of corkscrewing. It propelled itself forward, further away from the cave, even deeper into the woods.

  It was the most bizarre creature she had ever seen. It was so long it was difficult to describe it in any other terms than fantastic. It was snake-like, sixty feet from tip to tip. From what she could divine in that micro-second, it had Sophie wrapped in five or six huge coils. It squeezed along the entire length of her body every time it moved. It was about ten inches in diameter, but did not have the scales of reptilian. Rather, its’ sick, green skin appeared more like bark than anything else. It had long hair-like filaments protruding at varying intervals. Even from a distance, she could see some of them curling and twisting. They were grotesque, questing over Sophie’s clothes and skin, trying to burrow into her pores. If it had a head or a tail, she could not tell which end was which. It looked exactly the same at either end.

  So, she assumed the end closest to the pale cheerleader’s face was her intended target. Without a second thought, she shot at it like a cannonball.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Garfield. The great striped tabby – a member of the Five Fingers of the Light – came bounding over the twisted morass of the tree trunks. His huge jaws were agape, his long stinger-like tail whipping this way and that. His incredible musculature was catapulting him at a pace almost a quarter of hers. She was impressed, because she was flirting with the sound barrier.

  Half a moment later, Mikalah was upon the plant-creature-thing. She did the only thing she could think in that instant. She kicked its’ front end with all the strength she possessed. Adding the kinetic energy she had built up behind her, the force of her foot was immense. She smashed into the thing trying to eat Sophie with such effect; it was monstrous… and immediate.

  Its’ front end disappeared. It turned into a thousand chucks and splinters of flesh that spewed every which way, obliterated. A strange, unnatural sap of blood and gore cascaded about the snow-covered ground.

  A heartbeat later, Garfield’s jaws closed about the thing’s other end. The massive cat gave it a huge yank backward, an attempt to arrest its’ forward motion. He had not the time to see the havoc the little eight-year-old had wrought upon its’ other end.

  Both of the attacks served to loosen the constricting coils about the white-haired girl. She half-slithered, half-fell out of its’ clutch, then her body flopped to the ground.

  Mikalah released her Gift.

  At once, the Melded World returned to a more normal speed.

  She glanced around, trying to get her bearings. Coming from the hyper-awareness while in the throes of her Gift was always a bit disorienting.

  “MOVE!!!” came the stone-grating tones of Kodiak. She was the larger of the two bear-dogs of the Fist, their fearless leader and defender of the Twelve.

  The young girl turned to see Joaquin and her brother, Anthony, had gained the top of the dead-fall. The large, dark haired teen was a step ahead of her sibling. Both of them were wide-eyed with fear. Their expressions were wild. Their movements were spasmodic, wooden, like a newborn fawn trying its’ legs for the first time.

  Then, they both lost their balance, in concert.

  A second later the upper third of the debris-pile erupted underneath them.

  Both boys were flung aside, tossed to the ground next to the Creep and the unconscious form of Sophie Reed.

  From the explosion came Kodiak. Her snout pointing downward, the crown of her head was the only part of her visible for a moment before her frame. As great as a horse, she pounded through the dead wall of wood and into the small clearing where Mikalah was standing.

  The Bear-dog’s eyes were already locked upon the supine form of Sophie. There was no hesitation as she bee-lined for the injured teenager.

  Garfield leaped up and over the stunned plant-beast. His jaws clamped around a limp coil still resting upon Sophie’s legs and pulled its’ considerable weight off her.

  Mikalah rushed forward, holding her Gift in check, not wanting to make a mess of things. She fell to her knees at the older girl’s head. She dug through the snow, clearing it away, making sure Sophie’s nasal passages were clear.

  By then, Kodiak and Mr. Patas were both at her side.

  The tall rabbit-man, bent at the waist. He grabbed the remaining coils of the beast and tossed them, with all his might, away from the platinum blond, young woman.

  Sophie Reed was lying unmoving upon the snow.

  The moment they landed, Garfield grabbed the snake-plant. He had it at its’ center and dragged it farther from the group. He would take no chances with it, none whatsoever.

  “Is she breathing, little one?” asked Kodiak, her voice like the breaking of rock during an earthquake.

  Mikalah placed her small hands on Sophie’s shoulder and under her nose.

  They all fell silent.

  Seconds after, Mikalah felt the other’s warm exhalation. The little girl peered up at the Bear-dog with a huge smile, dripping with relief. “She’s breathing!” she gushed, relieved, feeing a ton of anxiety lift from her shoulders.

  Then, her brother and Joaquin were there, throwing themselves onto the snow.

  Mikalah could tell her brother was almost beside himself with terror. His fear of Sophie hurt, the girl he loved, was overwhelming. He moved devoid of free will, frantic, faster than was necessary.

  She watched as he scooped her up into his lap, pulling her close to him. His face was stricken.

  Joaquin edged closer, his eyes dancing over the limp girl, looking for any signs of injury.

  “She’s breathing, Tony,” ventured Mikalah. “I think she’s just sleeping…” Her voice trailed off, deadened by the intensity of the scene before her.

  “Sophie, if you can hear me? Wake up, ok? Babe, if you hear my voice, then open your eyes.” He was saying it over and over like he was reciting the rosary.

  “I don’t see any cuts or broken bones, or anything like that,” concluded Joaquin as he continued to search over the teenage girl. His movements were still a little too fast, birdish. His body afire with adrenaline, made his breathing ragged, his mouth dry.

  Mikalah chanced a glance around, noticing for the first time the sun was out and the sky was clear of any sort of cloud or haze. She gazed over at the toppled mound of vegetation blocking the way back to their sanctuary. There was nothing but crystalline blue above. She saw Kenai and Mugzy above the rest of them, scanning the area with protective tenacity. The rest of the Guardians were craning their necks to see what was happening, though they all stayed at the edge of the dead-fall. They were unsure if it was proper to come cl
oser. They did not want to get in the way.

  Taking a deep drought of air, enjoying the warmth of the sun upon her face, she peered back at her brother and the girl he held in his arms. Mikalah was just in time to see Sophie’s eyes flutter, close for a moment and then open wide. Astounded, she saw a single tear fall from one of Anthony’s eyes onto the cheek of the girl, who was staring up at him. She had a quizzical look etched upon her face, the fallen moisture completely ignored.

  Mikalah had never seen her brother cry over a girl before. It left her short of breath and panting. It was profound, incredible and reflective of a part of her brother she had never seen before.

  “The sun is out,” stated Sophie, her voice groggy, as if her tongue was twice as thick as it should have been.

  “I guess it is, huh?” replied Anthony, his arms tightening about the girl. He brought her closer to him and hugged her, firm, for a long time.

  The rest of them waited for them to end their embrace.

  The silence welcomed.

  “How did I get out here?” wondered the blond teen the moment Anthony loosened his hold of her.

  Her brother's smile crooked, snagged at one corner. He gave a pleading look toward Joaquin.

  The large wrestler returned his gaze for a moment or two. Then, he gave him an imperceptive nod. “A Crawling Creep attacked you,” he began, trying but failing to keep his voice steady. Though he was not her boyfriend, there was still much feeling for her in his heart.

  Mikalah felt her brow furl. Crawling Creeps are sooo creepy!

  “A w-what?” managed Sophie, her tones stronger than they had before.

  “A Crawling Creep,” answered Joaquin. “In essence, it's a vine, though it does not need a constant connection to the earth to sustain itself. For the most part it crawls, or writhes, over the ground looking for suitable prey. When it finds it, it wraps itself about its’ meal and searches out a suitable place to devour it.”