The Ides of Matt 2017

by M. L. Buchman

  “Montana?”

  Some of them thought that sounded right, but were more interested in carrots than answering questions. She took the bag with her when she left. When they protested, she simply made a show of resettling her rifle across her shoulders…which proved most effective. About time they did some growing up.

  She and Horatio started in the Canadian Northwest Territories at a place with the unlikely name of Reindeer Station. Eight or nine houses located along the edge of the sprawling Mackenzie River delta less than fifty miles from the Arctic Ocean. It wasn’t all that much warmer than the North Pole with just two days to Christmas. The river was iced over and was crisscrossed with snowmobile tracks. She’d borrowed a brilliant red parka with a white sheepskin lining to keep her warm.

  It took most of the morning to track the region’s sole remaining reindeer herder to his remote cabin. It was a gruesome affair. Not merely well away from even the hamlet of Reindeer Station, it was also the butchery for bulls thinned from the herd. Reindeer meat was stacked outside in the Arctic chill and quick-frozen beneath hides. Inside the hut, the tools of the trade dangled from hooks on the wall. Yet the herder also had a young reindeer on a leash as a pet.

  Horatio was shivering even more than the temperature could account for.

  Betsy held his hand tightly to calm him, which she didn’t mind doing at all, while she was talking to the man. Even while shivering from disgust or distress, Horatio’s hand was as warm as a handmade quilt. He appeared perfectly comfortable in his body-hugging leather despite the Arctic temperature.

  The herder’s English was limited and apparently Horatio was only fluent in English, French, and reindeer, so he was of no help. The herder, speaking mostly in some Inuit language, allowed as he might have seen a rather curious animal that had stood aloof from his herd of three thousand reindeer. A magnificent bull with more points than he could count. He waved south.

  “Inuvik?” That was the next town, some twenty miles away.

  He shook his head and waved again.

  “Fort McPherson?” It was the only other town she knew in the Northwest Territories.

  Again the wave south, “Mont-a-land.”

  Chapter Six

  But going directly to Montana was too big a leap. It would take forever to pick up Jeremy’s track again. So they worked south in stages following the rumors of an aloof, many-pointed bull reindeer.

  “I thought Jeremy was supposed to be a cute little guy.”

  “Indeed he was, seventy-five years ago when Robert L. May wrote about him. He has matured somewhat over the years. He is still a sweetheart though as he never allowed the success to go to his head.”

  “How long do reindeer usually live? Maybe he died of old age.”

  “Fifteen to twenty years, typically, unless they are in the employ of St. Nicholas. Then their lives are rather extended.”

  Betsy eyed him carefully. There was an agelessness to Horatio’s clear features. He would have been as classically handsome a thousand years ago as he was now. Perhaps there were some questions that it was better not to ask.

  Besides, time was running too fast.

  “Can’t you slow it down?”

  “Not even St. Nicholas can do that.”

  Thirty-six hours remaining.

  Jeremy wanted her to eat something after they’d chased leads all the way down the frozen Mackenzie to the small town of Yellowknife on Great Slave Lake. From there, they’d run the ice road over to the hamlet of Detah and were now sitting in a small barn. The owner had told the story of the most “magnificent bull” he’d ever tracked while hunting. Best he’d ever seen, but apparently his shot had gone wild.

  “Jeremy is very wily,” Horatio’s whisper had tickled her ear like a warm breeze.

  She tried a carrot, but they’d frozen hard. “Give me an MRE and let’s get going.”

  So, he gave her a pre-heated Meal-Ready-to-Eat. She didn’t ask how. Next time she’d ask for a roast beef dinner with Yorkshire pudding and see if her friendly neighborhood hallucination could deliver.

  “Maybe you should rest.” The small barn had a hayloft, and the hunter had returned to his ice fishing on the frozen lake. It was tempting. So very, very tempting. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this tired.

  “When the mission is done.” She chowed down on the Southwest Beef and Black Beans while Horatio massaged her shoulders. Now that was something she could become very used to—far better than the cold, lack of sleep, and the utterly ludicrous situation.

  His fingers were strong enough to ease even her soldier-hard muscles until she felt ready to melt against him. She tossed aside the empty MRE package and decided that a little melting wasn’t completely outside the mission profile.

  She’d forgotten—mostly—about the kiss in the ancient French bistro. The memory did nothing to prepare her for what happened next. Horatio felt luscious as he pulled her tightly against him. In mid-clench, she tried to rub herself even more tightly against his incredible body.

  Horatio grunted, and not in a good way.

  “Your vest,” he managed to gasp.

  Betsy paused and looked down between them. She wore her Glock sidearm, as most Delta did, front and center for a fast draw. Above that, pockets of ammo and emergency supplies made hard edges that had left scrapes on his smooth leather.

  “Sorry.” Vest. Mission. Ludicrous scenario.

  The only way out is through.

  She sighed, sat up, and patted Horatio’s cheek. He had the decency to look disappointed despite the gouges she’d been digging into his chest.

  “Your colonel,” Horatio nodded to the south, “said that you were the hardest-driving scout in his entire team.”

  “You spoke to Colonel Gibson about finding one of Santa’s reindeer?” She tried to imagine how the stern colonel took it.

  “Perhaps I may not have asked him quite directly, but he was very impressed with your skills.”

  That was news to her. She hadn’t known that Delta Force’s commander even knew who she was.

  She sighed to herself that some overwound inner drive wouldn’t even let her enjoy a hallucinatory snuggle.

  They left the tiny Detah barn and they turned south across Alberta.

  Chapter Seven

  They had pizza in Banff and she spent three delicious hours mostly passed out in the curve of Horatio’s arms in a snowed-in hiking cabin high in Glacier Park. She didn’t ask how Horatio moved them from place to place. It seemed that they flowed, glided, perhaps simply morphed from one destination to the next. It was a dream, so it was easy to not question the transitions.

  But she would miss her time with Horatio. No, she’d miss Horatio himself. Even strung out on whatever narcotic was giving her this extended dream, she was becoming very attached to him.

  Yes, he’d started out all strange and mysterious and mostly concerned about a missing reindeer. But he had shifted. More slowly than their jumping from one place to another, but just as steadily.

  Still wrapped in her parka, she lay in his arms in the chill cabin and felt…right. As if it was where she was supposed to be. Perhaps “content” was a better word, though it was not one that had ever come up before in her life.

  He hadn’t asked about her past, which was just as well. She didn’t want to talk about it. But neither had he talked about his. Did elves have pasts? Did elves have regrets? She hoped not as she had enough for both of them.

  “What is an elf’s life like?” She could feel him shift as if he was looking down at the top of her head in some surprise.

  “Normal enough. The reindeer usually do a good job of taking care of themselves, that’s why I didn’t think to worry. Generally I spend but one month a year tending them. It’s a good life for them as well.” And he began telling her about their grazing habits, and the practical jokes they liked to play.

  One year they’d started at the South Pole rather than the North, forcing St. Nicholas to act like a Dumpster-
diver as he dug out successive presents from the bottom of the sleigh’s pile instead of working top-down. Or the year they’d switched all of the rabbits’ stockings with all of the squirrels’—the rabbits had ended up have a grand game of ice hockey with the acorns and walnuts but the squirrels had never figured out what to do with the sudden bounty of cabbage.

  It was only as they were trekking south into the Flathead Wilderness of Montana that she realized he’d told her nothing of himself. Perhaps it was fair, she’d said nothing of herself either, but it rankled. Of course, with his voice, she’d happily listen to him reading the naughty and nice name list—especially the naughty if he gave some of the details.

  Dawn broke hard.

  She couldn’t think of how else to describe it. While traveling through Canada, they had been in and out of snowstorms beneath gray skies. This morning, they’d left the cabin in Glacier Park beneath the last stars of the night, almost as brightly perfect as those from Santa’s reindeer stables. It had been a relief that the North Star had shifted well down the sky, so they were indeed well to the south.

  But standing atop the Castle Reef ridgeline and looking down at the Montana Front Range in one direction, and up into the heart of the snow-capped Rocky Mountains in the other, dawn began with a snap as sharp as the cold.

  The sun lanced over the flat horizon from impossibly far away and the entire world was catapulted into a limitless blue bowl of sky.

  “I take it this is why they call it Big Sky country,” Horatio sounded breathless.

  “I guess.” Betsy also couldn’t catch her breath. It might be the eight-thousand-foot elevation or the slicing cold of the morning wind driving ice crystals into her face like blowback from Barrett .50 cal sniper rifle.

  It might be the view.

  But it was more the realization that this was December 23rd. One way or another, their quest would be over today. As soon as sunset hit the International Date Line in roughly twelve hours, St. Nicholas would be flying off to do his job—with or without the errant Jeremy.

  Yet she could feel that he was close. Some instinct, honed over the years by Delta training, told her their quarry was nearly in sight.

  She flagged down a rancher passing by in his helicopter, who settled it neatly atop the peak. Clearly ex-military by how he flew, despite the fact that he now commanded a small Bell JetRanger with a herd of horses painted along the side.

  “How can I help you, ma’am?” He drawled it out in a Texas accent so fake that it would get him lynched in certain states. “Need a lift off this here hilltop?”

  “No, we’re fine.”

  “We?” He tugged his mirrored sunglasses down enough to squint at her strangely.

  She glanced aside at Horatio who just shook his head.

  Fine. Whatever. So he was invisible or something. Had he shown up for anyone else, or had she just crossed Canada as a solo crazy lady talking to herself? She’d bet on the latter, but didn’t have time to deal with it now.

  “Have you seen a reindeer that—”

  “Reindeer? We have moose and elk in these parts. Even a few caribou, but no reindeer.”

  “Reindeer and caribou are the same animal,” Horatio prompted her.

  When the pilot didn’t respond, she repeated the information.

  “Wa’ll, ain’t that a wonder.”

  “Have you seen a particularly impressive one lately?”

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He’d have been the handsomest man in any crowd that didn’t include Horatio.

  “Might have heard mention of one. Over to a hot spring up along the North Fork Deep Creek. My wife said she saw one when one of our guides and a guest shot—”

  “Shot?” Betsy grabbed the pilot’s arm in a panic.

  “Shot two young bulls,” the man looked down at his arm in some distress and tried to shake her off. At least the awful Texas accent was gone.

  She shook him by his arm to keep him talking.

  “She said it was the biggest old bull she’d ever seen. Had himself a couple of does and a fawn. Guess they didn’t want to break up the family. Ease off, lady.” He wiggled his arm a little and grimaced.

  “Jeremy has a family?” Horatio’s blue eyes were almost as wide as the Big Sky. Then he looked at her and his gaze shifted as if asking if she also had a family.

  She had no one. No one on the outside, and in just another day, she’d be out of Delta and have no one on the inside either. This definitely was not the moment she wanted to be thinking about her future.

  “Do you know where that hot spring is?”

  Horatio nodded.

  “Of course I do,” the pilot looked at her strangely. “I’m the one who just told you about it. Are you okay all alone up here?”

  “Not really.” She let go of the pilot who began massaging the arm she’d had a hold of. She was hunting for one of Santa’s reindeer and absolutely falling for a hallucination named Horatio, but she didn’t want to talk about it with some rancher pilot. “But I can find it on my own.”

  “I can’t just leave you here, lady.” The pilot looked around. There was nothing to see from the summit of Castle Reef except snowy mountains, dusky plains, and the biggest blue sky ever.

  “Fine, I’ll leave you, then. Thanks for the help.”

  She walked past Horatio. For the first time, she could feel one of his spatial shifts slowly wrapping around her before it actually happened.

  “What the hell?”

  She liked that she left the pilot with his own hallucination to figure out. Misery loves company.

  Chapter Eight

  The hot spring was unoccupied, but it didn’t take her long to pick up the fresh tracks through the snow.

  “By the tracks, it’s a big bull, two does, and a half-grown fawn.”

  Horatio let her lead the way. It was a hard slog through the deep snow, even though the herd had broken the path.

  At one point, an avalanche had erased their tracks. It took them several anxious hours to pick them up again on the far side of the damage path.

  It was barely an hour to local sunset—and only four or five to Global Flying Time—when she found them. The small herd was grazing near a copse of Douglas fir that had blocked much of the snow. They were kicking aside the little snow that remained and eating the frozen grass.

  “Jeremy!” Horatio’s shout of joy shook loose an entire cascade of snow from one of the trees that she barely managed to dodge.

  The two of them—elf and reindeer—ran to each other and were soon chattering away in reindeer which sounded like grunts and squeaks to her untrained ear.

  Betsy ducked under the low-hanging branches and found a small spot clear of snow where she could lean back against the trunk and wait.

  Exhaustion rippled through her as it always did after a hard scouting job. But it wasn’t just that. She was leaving Delta because she could feel that she was losing the edge and, with how far past it Delta normally operated, that was an unacceptable change. One far too prone to death. For the first time since she’d joined the Army, she didn’t belong anywhere. Yet over the last three days…

  Betsy watched Horatio as he was introduced to the rest of Jeremy’s family.

  For the last three days, Betsy had started to belong. Not merely due to her skills either. When she was with Horatio even something as crazy as searching for Santa’s missing reindeer made sense. Anything…everything somehow made sense when she was with him. She hadn’t truly belonged somewhere that she could ever recall, but she could see herself belonging with a fantasy named Horatio.

  She must have dozed, though the sun had barely shifted when Horatio kissed her awake. That gained her undivided attention, but he was too excited for it to last more than a moment.

  “He has a family. But he couldn’t get them back to the stables on his own. He needed an elfin herder to transport them the first time. Jeremy is a good man—”

  “Reindeer,” she corrected him.

  “Reindeer,” Hor
atio readily agreed and kissed her on the nose. “He didn’t want to abandon his family, but didn’t know any of the locals who could send me a message. Apparently love at first sight happens for reindeer as well.”

  As well? Is that what had happened to her? It didn’t seem very likely, but neither did anything in the three days since she’d last stood on Range 37.

  Now Horatio was looking at her very intently. “You’re the most amazing human I’ve ever met, Betsy.”

  “Human?” But that said nothing of the amazing elf women he’d surely known. Why was she pining for a drug-dream fantasy?

  “Woman. Of any breed or species. I’ve been watching you for days and can’t believe your tenacity and skill. Or your beauty. Can all human women kiss the way you do?”

  Betsy could feel herself becoming overwhelmed by his compliments. But nothing overwhelmed a Delta soldier. They were trained to keep their thoughts under control in any situation.

  She slipped her fingers into his magnificent mane of hair and tugged it lightly to pull him closer.

  “Perhaps I won’t give you any excuse to find out.”

  “Mmm,” he made a happy sound as he leaned into her kiss.

  She could feel it supercharge her, ramp her up even the way a decisive victory couldn’t achieve. There was a feeling of vitality, of joyous triumph at being alive at the end of a hard battle.

  Horatio made her feel that ten times over. His kiss filled her thoughts until they overflowed and radiated back to him. She wanted him to take her right here, right now. Under the trees. In the snow. Even with the reindeer watching. She didn’t care.

  She opened her eyes to look up into his amazing eyes the color of the Montana Big Sky, just as a particularly large snowflake plastered itself across her shooting goggles she didn’t recall putting back on.

  It left a wet smear when she brushed it aside.

  And once again she was in the heart of a mock Afghan village, dusted with North Carolina snow.