by R. T. Lowe
“I’m guessing stoners in ponytails,” Allison quipped.
“I’ll take that bet.” Felix checked his watch. “Ten minutes early.” Brunn’s Warming Hut had been constructed around a pair of towering pines that grew right through the roof, their interlocking branches coming together high overhead, shading it from the sun. The tall roof was pitched steeply to lessen the impact of heavy snowfalls, but a few inches of powder clung stubbornly to the shingles. They trudged through the snow, following the tracks until they ended at a knotted pine door and steps that had recently been cleared. Felix knocked.
They waited.
“Come in,” a voice inside said hesitantly.
“Not a woman,” Allison pointed out. “I’m still picturing a ponytail.”
The door had swelled in its frame and Felix leaned his shoulder into it, the bottom dragging across the wooden floor as it opened.
“Hello,” Allison called out as they stepped into the cabin.
Two men with ponytails stood across from them and waved, smiling awkwardly. “Hi.” They seemed embarrassed about something.
Allison elbowed Felix and smiled. “What’d I tell you?”
The interior walls, like the exterior, were logs, and though there were plenty of windows, the light was imbued with a yellowish tint further dimmed by thick swirling smoke that wafted in every corner and crevice, hovering like a dense fog under the lofty ceiling. The rich pungent scent of marijuana masked an undercurrent of dampness and mold. Two massive trees, still sheathed in dark wrinkled bark, stood twenty feet apart, rising up through the ceiling. On the far side, a massive stone fireplace presided over some deliberately rustic looking furniture—tables, upholstered armchairs and a pair of couches—and a counter where customers had once ordered hot drinks from a quaint open kitchen.
“Where’s Hamlen?” Felix glanced around, leaving the door open. The place needed an infusion of fresh air.
The two men, both in their mid to late twenties, exchanged a look of surprise. Finally, one of them said, “Are you with them?”
“Who’s them?” Allison stomped her feet to get the snow off her boots.
“You know.” He brought a lit cigarette to his lips and took a long drag, staring at them skeptically. “The ERA. The New Government. The fascists.” He exhaled and a cloud of smoke concealed his face before curling up toward the ceiling. “Them.”
“No,” Felix answered slowly. “We’re not with them.”
The guy pinching the cigarette raised a finger as if he’d just remembered something. He turned to the table and clicked on a mouse, pausing a video game the two had been playing on a laptop, World of Warcraft or something else featuring axe wielding cave trolls. He sat and the guy next to him did the same, and Felix understood why they’d had their backs to the door. From where they were sitting, they had an unobstructed view of the chair lift through a large picture window. “I’m Bruce.” He nodded at his friend. “This is Dave.”
The introduction apparently meant they didn’t believe Felix and Allison were with them.
“So Hamlen’s not here?” Allison asked.
“You don’t know?” Bruce said to her, surprised. When Allison shook her head, he continued. “This was a diversion. We were just trying to get all those New Government Nazis to come here. That’s why we announced the location so early on the professor’s website and across all our social media accounts.”
Felix shot them a puzzled look. “And you wanted them here because…?”
“Because they’re doing it somewhere else.” Allison’s brow creased. “Where? Where is it?” There was a steely firmness in her voice that caused Bruce and Dave to sit up straight.
Dave narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You guys living off the grid or something?”
Felix and Allison reached for their phones at the same time. Though they were burners, Kayla had cautioned them to leave them off when they weren’t using them, especially if they were away from campus.
Felix waited for his to come to life. “We don’t have Internet.”
“You’re joking.” Bruce smiled incredulously. “Who doesn’t have a smart phone any—”
“Where’s the podcast?” Allison cut him off.
“I’m sensing a lot of hostility here.” Bruce took a long drag, the tip glowing red as he filled his lungs. “We don’t know who you are, and I think we’ve been very respectful despite that, and it’s honestly just really shitty of you to talk to us like we’re the assholes here.”
“Sorry,” Felix said, giving Allison a look. “Please tell us what’s going on.”
Dave took the cigarette from Bruce and smiled smugly. “The professor’s email account was hacked.” He took a hit from the cigarette, holding it in for several seconds before breathing out contentedly. “Even fascists can hack, I suppose. Anyway, they found out the Skibowl North podcast was just a diversion and that the real one’s on campus. It’s all over the Internet now. I can’t believe you—”
“What time?” Felix asked, feeling Allison go rigid beside him. His phone powered on and he tapped the ‘messages’ icon.
“Five.” Dave gave them a skeptical look. “Portland College can’t tell Hamlen where he can and can’t speak! There’s still freedom of expression in this country!”
Lucas, Harper and Caitlin had all texted Felix with the same message: The podcast was scheduled for five at the LaPine Building.
“LaPine?” Allison said, reading from her phone. She turned to Felix and he could see the anger in her eyes. “Hamlen has to cancel it,” she told them. “Call him now. Tell him to cancel and to make it public! Everyone has to know!”
“And we’re the ones getting high,” Bruce joked. Then his features soured. “You are with them, aren’t you? Let me see your arms! I bet you’re branded!”
“We aren’t in the ERA.” Felix tried to keep his voice calm, but they were beginning to annoy him. “Can you please tell Hamlen to stop the podcast?”
“You need to call him now!” Allison shouted, stepping toward them. “Your stupid diversion’s gonna get Hamlen killed!”
“You can’t threaten us!” Dave shouted back, standing up, his face reddening. “We’re not afraid of you, and you can’t silence us! Professor Hamlen is the voice of the people, and we won’t be bullied by Nazis!” Bruce was on his feet too, shouting, his face flushed with righteous indignation.
The window behind them went suddenly dark, like the shade had been drawn.
Dave fell silent, his eyes searching around the room. Bruce didn’t seem to notice and continued his tirade.
Where the sunlight had filtered in gloomily through the tree shaded window, there was now only a curtain of black. Confused, Felix glanced over his shoulder at the open door. Still mid-afternoon and the sky was hazy but blue, the sunshine reflecting blindingly off the snow.
The cabin rocked and the floor pitched hard to the side, like a ship riding a swell in the ocean. Bruce quieted instantly. The ceiling boomed and long pieces of wood broke away from their moorings and clattered to the floor.
They all stared up, Bruce and Dave holding each other for balance.
An explosion of wood planks, shingles and snow rained down from above. Felix and Allison jumped back against the wall, their eyes on a huge hole that had opened up in the ceiling. Then the hole was gone and a massive head plunged through the opening, diving for the floor, a black column stretching behind it like the third tree in the cabin.
“Deathhead,” Felix whispered.
The creature raised its snout and turned on Felix as though it had heard him. Its scaled, leathery skin was a black matte, so dark and sheenless it seemed to leech the light from the room. Beneath huge bony ridges, its cold yellow eyes watched him, unblinking, like a snake before it strikes. Felix’s instincts kicked in—he held his breath and stood stock still.
Dave screamed in terror.
The Deathhead twisted its head around and glided across the room through the smoky air, its mouth opening slowly
then snapping shut on the huddled pair, shaking them in its jaws, knocking over the picnic bench and shattering chairs. Four denim clad legs, each severed at the shins, thudded to the floor, the blood draining languidly through gaps in the wooden boards. It whipped its head around and shot for Felix and Allison, tilting sideways, its mouth beginning to open.
Felix created a fire on the tip of its snout and spread the flames over its head and up the length of its neck, like a match dropped on a trail of gasoline.
It roared in pain, writhing, then the column disappeared, and its head, engulfed in flames, got caught in the rafters. It whipsawed back and forth, thrashing and bellowing, the flames igniting the timbers, streaking across the support beams from end to end. The pine trees crackled and bent toward each other, tunneling broken paths through the ceiling, pulling closer together, then they snapped back and the cabin twisted and buckled.
Felix and Allison spun and bolted out the door, jumping down the steps, high-kneeing their way through the snow, the ear-splitting roar of the Deathhead and the collapsing cabin close behind. A sudden pressure gripped Felix’s chest and he was off his feet and sideways, feeling weightless, the snow brushing his face for a moment, and then he lurched up and wheeled toward the cabin, rising up as the walls came down, burning in the tottering wreckage. He heard Allison call his name, sounding faint and far away. Searching for her, he lunged skyward again, and his eyes took in the sight of a massive black wing pounding the air, gaining altitude with each downward thrust and giving some back once it reached the zenith of its arc. Disoriented, Felix twisted his head, his body rising and falling, looking over his shoulder at an enormous ebony frame that seemed to stretch to the horizon.
I’m in its mouth! he realized, suddenly panicked. Fire! he thought, more on impulse than anything else, igniting whatever he could see, a blanket of flames that smothered its neck and one side of its body all the way down the length of its tail. The Deathhead thrashed its head, ragdolling Felix. He glimpsed an eye and incinerated it, spreading the flames across its face and then setting the sky aflame, burning everything, whether he could see it or not. The creature pounded its wings furiously, rising higher and higher, its hot breath washing over him as it crushed him in its jaws. He couldn’t seem to get any air. His heart hammered wildly, throbbing in his temples. The world consisted of pain and fire and the rancid stench of death and charring meat. Felix reached inside its skull and exploded it.
Its head erupted, cascading in a trailing shower, ragged chunks of brain, bone and flesh falling to the forest below where the trees appeared tiny. The Deathead coasted for a time, like a plane after losing its last engine. Then it began to drop. Its wings fluttered like a kite fighting a turbulent wind, bending awkwardly against the force of its sudden descent, and then the beast rolled to its back and it plummeted. Staring straight up at the silvery blue sky, the freezing wind rushed over Felix, and though he couldn’t see the land beneath him, he knew he didn’t have much time.
Could I die? he wondered vaguely. Falling from such a staggering height would surely break every bone and burst every organ in his body. Could he come back from that? Its long neck had gone limp and it whipped Felix from side to side, a zigzagging trail smoking in its wake. He trained his eyes on it, sawing through it. Gaining speed and swinging crazily, he became turned around, lost sight of his target, and couldn’t detach the head from its body. Angrily, and without really seeing what he was doing, he ripped it off—leaving more neck attached than he’d intended—and wrenched the body away, hurling it toward the summit.
Now what? Felix said to himself, watching a river of black liquid streaming up in the air. He’d killed the creature three times over, but he was still trapped in its mouth a mile off the ground. He twisted his head around and caught sight of snow and trees, still far away but coming up fast. His heart pounding in his chest, he pried the jaws open, pushing up to free himself, screaming in pain as he extracted the enormous teeth from his body. You can’t fly, he reminded himself, stealing a glance at the ground below. No, a voice answered in reply, but you can make the head fly.
Enveloping its skull in a mental grip, he slowed its descent and a wave of nausea rocked him so fiercely he vomited before he could open his mouth. Spitting out the remains of his breakfast, he released his grip. The freefall resumed.
What the hell? What just happened?
Again, he slowed its fall, and again, his stomach reacted with a vengeance, convulsing, making his chest burn with pain. He glanced downward—still time, still time, get it together—and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to compose himself. He slowed the skull’s descent, steering it toward the burning wreckage of the cabin as the torturous sickness raged through him. His mind began to go gray, and fearing he was losing consciousness, he released his mental hold on the skull and let it fall.
Conserve your energy, he said to himself, accelerating, feeling the pull of gravity stretching his face. One more time.
He saw Allison standing in a field of white beside a forest of snow-capped trees. Her mace at her side, she stared into the woods as if waiting for something to emerge. The trees swayed, snow tumbling from their branches, and a Deathhead crashed into the clearing, scurrying lightly across the powder on its spidery legs, bearing down on Allison.
Felix’s chest filled with a dark dread as he clamped his mind on the head, slowing it, guiding it for Allison. The sickness was incapacitating, but he kept his eyes on her, watching as she swung the mace at the Deathhead. His mind grew foggy and the creature’s skull began to rotate, spinning Felix in circles as it dropped from the sky. He felt his equilibrium slipping away. With each fleeting revolution, he glimpsed Allison—swinging the mace, jumping over a stabbing leg, driving the thing backward—and then his mind dimmed, his vision blurred, and he focused only on the ground rushing up to greet him, trying to stop his fall, trying to land the—
Ka-whump!
Felix couldn’t breathe. His mind was as dark and empty as the pit he’d crawled out of this morning. Pain flooded over him, forcing his senses to revive. Pain’s good, he thought numbly. Means you’re alive. He took a gasping breath of air, sucking it through his teeth. It was cold—beautifully cold. The terrible, unbearable sickness had left him. Where am I? He felt the icy chill of snow on his cheek and forced his eyes open. Get up! he told himself. Get to Allison!
Felix attempted to stand. He couldn’t budge, not so much as an inch, as though a tractor trailer had rolled over him and stopped on his back. Twisting his neck to look over his shoulder, he realized he was still in the jaws of the Deathhead, its teeth impaling him through his chest and legs. He tried to shake himself loose and the sickening sensation of being penetrated up and down his body made him cry out in pain and frustration. He took a deep breath and calmed his mind, focusing, then lifted the upper jaw like a tire jack raising a car, feeling the thick conical teeth slipping out of his shoulder blades and the backs of his legs. A sudden warmth flooded over him and he knew it was blood bubbling up from his wounds. Taking another calming breath, he prayed his injuries weren’t as bad as he imagined. He didn’t panic—he didn’t think he was in danger of dying—but if he was hurt too badly, it would take time to heal, and Allison needed him now.
You can do it! he thought, psyching himself up for the next step, probing for gaps between its teeth, the gums hard and slippery with saliva and blood. He let out a grunt to muster his strength and pushed up the old fashioned way, screaming as he extricated his chest and thighs. The Deathhead’s teeth were as long and thick as railroad spikes, designed for crushing bone, and the puncture wounds they’d inflicted fountained blood like water from a dozen hoses. He rolled awkwardly out of the mouth, his blood, and the creature’s, staining the snow in competing swaths of black and red.
Lightheaded, struggling to sit and feeling dizzy—loss of blood?—he curled his hand around a long curving tooth that protruded up from its lower jaw and dragged his tortured body through the packed snow, pulling himself to his
feet, attempting to recall where he’d last seen Allison. Pivoting painfully, and ignoring the blood streaming from his wounds, he caught sight of the Deathhead moving effortlessly across the field, scampering toward him.
It reared up on its back legs and veered abruptly to the right, then stopped and leaped high with its wings extended for a moment before tucking them in and rolling on its back, its legs kicking wildly. It appeared that the Deathhead had gone insane. It righted itself and jumped, its tail cutting through the air, body shaking and bucking, all eight legs moving in different directions. It flipped itself around so that it faced Felix.
He gasped. Allison was sitting astride its head, her boots somehow buried in its neck, and in her hands the mace was rising and falling, smashing down between the bony ridges over its eyes. Its long sinuous neck twisted and contorted, swinging in wild arcs and loops, trying to shake her off. Allison’s mace came down on its head and it jumped, roaring, its legs bending and straightening. Slathered in black blood, Felix could barely see Allison’s features as she buried her weapon in the creature’s skull, then raised it high and brought it down again with merciless precision, over and over.
His hands vibrated, and instinctively, he snatched them away from the Deathhead’s snout, fearing it might be coming back to life. He stared down at the huge pink tongue lolling from the side of its mouth. It was the deadest creature on the planet. He shook his head, trying to clear it, realizing he was thinking strange and irrational thoughts. He was still bleeding badly, some of the wounds steaming in the cold, and it was making him feel drunk, woozy. A low rumble drifted on the air and the ground began to shake. Earthquake? he thought, looking uneasily at his feet. Never mind that—Allison needs you. Raising his hand at the Deathhead—it moved lethargically now, as though it was treading water, its head nearly cleaved in half as Allison continued to rain down blow after blow—thunder rolled across the mountain. Distracted again, he peeked up at the cloudless sky, confused.
When Felix turned back, he saw that the Deathhead had collapsed on its stomach, lying motionless, its neck stretched out in front of its body. Allison wrenched the mace free of its butchered skull and pointed it toward the summit, her wild battle frenzied eyes falling on Felix. “Avalanche!” she shouted at him. “Avalanche!”