Krampus: The Yule Lord (10 page)

Makwa gestured north, and they all looked that way.

“You see them?” Vernon asked.

Makwa jabbed his finger impatiently. He could speak English, all three of the Shawnee could, but doing so seemed to annoy them. Makwa referred to English as the ugly tongue. Isabel had given up on learning Shawnee, figured if she couldn’t pick it up after all these years then she never would. So between the Indians’ stubbornness and her lack of language skills, they were all, more often than not, reduced to grunts and pantomime.

“Well, I don’t see a thing,” Vernon snapped. Isabel couldn’t either, but that didn’t mean the giant birds weren’t out there. Makwa had been with Krampus a long time; Isabel guessed at least four hundred years, and the longer you were around Krampus the more his magic rubbed off. Makwa looked at them as though they were simple-minded, then took off down the trail followed by the two brothers, Wipi and Nipi. Isabel and Vernon shrugged and followed.

All five of them raced through the woods. There was no need to hide their faces in the growing darkness, and Isabel reveled in the winter wind blowing through her hair. Krampus’s blood ran through their veins, increasing their strength and endurance noticeably. Isabel could sprint faster, leap farther, and run endlessly without tiring. But his blood did more than that; it also opened their senses to the wildness of the world in a way no ordinary mortal could ever know. She could smell the spice of rotting leaves beneath the frost, the fish in the creek, could hear a family of squirrels nesting high above in the treetops, could actually sense the pulse of life running beneath all things.
Ancient forces,
she thought,
older than the very dirt.
And when she ran like this—leaping and dashing through the woods like a deer, her heart and soul open to the spirit of the land—she found she could almost forget all that had been stolen from her.

They followed a creek beneath the highway, skirted a cluster of homes, then climbed up an embankment, coming out of the trees into a field behind the high school. The school looked the same to Isabel as it had when she’d attended over forty years ago. She stared at the dark windows and wondered if her son had gone there as well.

Makwa held up his hand and they stopped. He pointed toward the dark clouds. This time Isabel made out two specks circling about a mile away, near the elementary school, caught their distant calls. Her heart sped up. “He’s still here!” Isabel felt her hopes rise. This time they knew the make of the man’s truck, knew what he looked like. He wouldn’t get away.

Makwa shook his head, looking troubled.

“What?” Isabel asked. “What’s wrong now?”

“They call him. Call Santa Claus. He must be near.”

The two brothers nodded their agreement.

“Oh, wonderful, that’s just wonderful,” Vernon said, his voice edging toward hysteria. “What do we do now?”

“We beat him there,” Isabel stated.

“That’s all well and good, but what if he already has it?”

“Then we take it from him,” she said, not the least bit happy about it.

And that was the end of it; they all knew what she meant. Krampus had given them a direct command. He possessed them; the same blood that gave them the ability to run like deer also dominated their will. If Krampus should demand they chew open their own wrists while humming a tune, they’d be powerless to do anything but. They’d been commanded to bring back the sack at any cost, and so they’d expend their last breath trying, even if it meant going into the jaws of Santa’s monsters to do it.

“We’re wasting time,” Isabel said, and dashed away. The Belsnickels followed.

She ran all out, and as she ran she took note of the beauty around her, the thousand shades of blue and purple, savored winter’s twilight in its entire splendor as it fell across the mountains, knowing too well it may be her very last.

C
HET CLIMBED OUT
of his truck. “Why, I knew we could count on you, Jesse.” He walked up to Jesse and gave him a slap on the back. “You’re the man.” Chet did a double take on Jesse’s truck then tilted his head sideways. “What the fuck happened to your pickup?”

Lynyrd got out from the passenger side of Chet’s Chevy and came up behind Jesse, grabbed him by the collar.

“Hey,” Jesse cried. “Get your goddamn hands off of me.”

“Cool it,” Lynyrd said, and proceeded to pat Jesse down. He found the pistol in Jesse’s jacket pocket and fished it out.

“What? You gonna take my gun? What the fuck?”

“Just calm down, man. You can have your shitty shooter back once we’re done.” Lynyrd sat the pistol on the hood of Jesse’s truck. “Just wanna be sure you don’t do nothing you’re gonna regret.”

“How’s the hand?” Chet asked, and smiled.

Jesse glared at him, pressed his back up to the camper so he could keep an eye on both of them as well as the trees behind them.

“You nervous about something, Jesse?” Chet asked.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“Well, damn. You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“I got better things to do then hang out with you two pricks.”

Chet glanced over at Lynyrd and raised his eyebrows. “Jesse, I’m gonna ignore that on account you’re too stupid to know better.”

Jesse thought he caught movement in the bushes behind Lynyrd. Chet followed Jesse’s eyes into the trees. “Relax,” Chet said. “Nobody’s out there. Besides, your good buddy Dillard’s got us covered.” Jesse sucked in a breath and fought to keep his nerves under control, did his best not to think about burning orange eyes.

“Oh, and hey,” Chet said. “Thought you’d like to know . . . my nephew went batshit-crazy over that video game machine you gave me. I mean you should’ve seen his face. Thought he was gonna turn blue and piss himself right there on the carpet.”

Jesse thought he was gonna piss himself if things didn’t get moving. He wanted to scream at Chet to shut the fuck up and get on with it already before they were all eaten alive.

“Gave another one to his cousin. Did you know you can link those—”

“I’m so fucking happy,” Jesse broke in, forcing a broad smile across his face.

“What?” Chet cut his eyes to Lynyrd. “Is it just me or is Jesse plain weird tonight?”

“Jesse is always weird,” Lynyrd said.

Chet squinted at Jesse again, studied him like something escaped from the zoo. “Yeah, you’re right on that one.” Chet pulled out a tin of chew, twisted it open, dug out a plug, and stuffed it into his cheek. Jesse felt like the man moved in slow motion.

“Okay, sugar britches,” Chet continued. “Here’s the deal. Like I was telling you before, quick run up to Charleston. Same place as usual. It’ll be Josh meeting you this time—his brother got another DUI and is still in jail. His wife won’t pay his bail neither.” Chet snorted. “I think she’d just as soon he stay in there, to tell you the truth. Anyhow Josh will be expecting you at nine. Do us all a favor and make sure you’re on time. I don’t want him bitching at me. I swear that man can carry on like an old woman sometimes. So don’t be—”

“I’ll be there on time,” Jesse said, his eyes darting about in the shadows.

“Yeah . . . all right then.” Chet paused. “You jacked up or something?”

“No.”

Chet didn’t look convinced. He nodded at Lynyrd, and Lynyrd unzipped his jacket, pulled out a large brown packet wrapped in duct tape.

“Josh will have six grand waiting for you.”

“Six grand?” Jesse said, unable to hide his surprise.

Chet eyed Jesse, spat a wad of tobacco juice onto the snow. “Yeah, six grand. Don’t you go getting any funny ideas. Just remember what the General said about your daughter. I mean it, Jesse. For her sake, you fly right.”

Jesse’s jaw tightened.

Chet jabbed a thumb toward Dillard’s patrol car. “You’re to follow Dillard as far as Leewood. Martin said he’s on duty tonight. So the interstate shouldn’t be a problem. He knows the make of your truck. So if you happen to notice the state patrol tailing you, don’t sweat it none.” Chet slapped Jesse on the shoulder. “See there, guitar man, we got you covered. And the General’s bumping your bit up to three hundred. Y’know, to show there’s no hard feelings on that there hole in your hand. That’s three hundred bucks for doing just about nothing. You can send him a thank-you card if you want.”

Lynyrd stepped up to the passenger side of Jesse’s truck and popped the door open. The Santa sack tumbled out onto the ground. Loud cawing exploded from somewhere up above.

Lynyrd reached for the sack.

“Hey, leave that alone!” Jesse cried and leapt toward the sack.

Lynyrd had a big buck knife out in a heartbeat, had it pointed right at Jesse’s chest. Lynyrd wasn’t the biggest of the Boggses, but he was fast, scary fast. Jesse stopped, put his hands up. “Just getting the sack out of the mud.”

“Why don’t you just leave it be ’till I’m done,” Lynyrd said.

Jesse backed off.

“Hell, Jesse,” Chet said. “You need to calm the fuck down.”

Lynyrd shoved the packet up under Jesse’s seat.

“What the fuck is wrong with them birds tonight?” Chet said to no one in particular.

Lynyrd picked up the Santa sack and tossed it back into the cab without a second look.

“Hey,” Chet said. “Is that a Santy Claus bag? It is. What the hell, Jesse? You been playing Santa?” He walked over for a closer look.

“Leave it be,” Jesse said.

“Okay, sure. Relax, man,” Chet said. “No one wants to steal your stupid Santa bag.” Chet took a closer look at Jesse’s face and seemed to reconsider. He squinted at the sack. “Whatcha got in there, anyway?” Chet patted the sack. “That’s weird.” He poked it. Watched the way the sack slowly reinflated. “Lynyrd, did you see that?”

Lynyrd grunted.

Chet pulled the sack back out. The cawing grew louder. “Fucking birds have done lost their minds?”

“Let it alone,” Jesse said, taking a step forward.

Lynyrd grabbed him, shoved him up against the camper shell, flashed his knife in front of Jesse’s face. “You’re sure a slow learner, boy.”

Chet whistled. “Look at him, man. He’s all worked up. Must be something really good in here.” He loosened the gold cord and peered in.

“Well?” Lynyrd asked.

Chet looked puzzled.

“What?” Lynyrd asked.

“That’s really weird. It’s like there’s some sort of—”

A shadow slid from the trees and sprang for Chet. It was one of them—one of the devil men. It snatched the sack out of Chet’s hands and knocked him sprawling across the snow.

Lynyrd reacted without a second’s hesitation, launching himself at the creature, slashing out wildly with his big buck knife, catching the creature across the back of its shoulder. The devil man spun insanely fast, looking like some sort of rabid pillow-fighter as it swung the sack around in a tight arc, catching Lynyrd full in the chest and knocking him across the hood of Jesse’s truck. Lynyrd snatched Jesse’s pistol up off the hood, wheeled about, firing away. The first bullet went wild, the second caught the creature in the side of the face. The creature stumbled back and fell, but didn’t let go of the sack.

Before Lynyrd could get off a third shot, a spear flew out of the dark, struck him in the chest, followed a half-second later by two more of the devil men. They leapt from the brush and smashed right into him, slamming him into the side of the truck with enough force to rattle the whole frame. One of them opened Lynyrd’s throat with a quick slash of its knife, while the other tore the gun from his hand. Lynyrd crumpled to the ground, clutching the spear as blood gushed from the wide gash in his neck.

Two more of the devil beasts ran up, looking from the blood to the sack with wide, orange eyes. One of them grabbed the wounded devil and helped it to its feet, while the other took the sack.

“Who the fuck are you guys?”
Chet cried from where he lay sprawled upon the ground. He glared up at Jesse.
“You set us up! You fucking set us up! You’re dead! Your whole family’s dead!”

The ravens were right over their heads now, jumping around in the branches, cawing and cawing.

“Santa Claus. He is here,” one of the devil men said, the tall one wearing the mangy hide. He pointed and they all looked across the street to a sloping field. Jesse did, as well, but saw nothing.

“Oh, dear God!” another of the devil men cried. He carried a busted-up shotgun but still looked scared to death.

Chet took the moment to scramble to his feet and run, sprinting for Dillard’s patrol car, waving his arms, and screaming at the top of his lungs,
“IT’S A SETUP! IT’S A SETUP!”
None of the devil men gave him so much as another look, their orange eyes locked on the something across the way. They all seemed frozen in place.

“Get in the truck, now!”
the one with the pistol shouted, and judging by the voice and slight build, Jesse guessed this one to be a woman or girl.

They moved.

She pointed the gun at Jesse. “You. Drive!” When Jesse didn’t move fast enough, she shoved him in through the passenger door, sliding in next to him. “Get us out of here fast or we’re all dead.”

Jesse glanced at Lynyrd’s body lying in the blood-drenched snow, knew these creatures, whatever they were, weren’t to be toyed with. He cranked up the engine while the devil men piled into the camper with the Santa sack. He hit his headlights and saw a stout shape running toward them across the playground. It looked familiar.

“Go!”
the devil woman shouted.
“Go!”

Jesse hit the gas, heading for the lower exit of the parking lot.

A pair of headlights flashed on, blinding him. It was Dillard. The patrol car’s big engine revved as Dillard accelerated to cut them off.

“Oh, fuck!”
Jesse cried. Things were not going as he’d planned, not at all.

A gunshot rang out, then another, and Jesse’s remaining side mirror shattered. Jesse gunned it, tried to press the pedal all the way through the floorboard, but there was nothing for it—Dillard would win the race.

Jesse caught sight of Dillard’s mad grin, caught a muzzle flash, and a finger-size hole punched through the door frame and exited out the front windshield, followed a millisecond later by the report. Jesse knew this was just what Dillard wanted, probably sat there praying for—a chance to shoot him dead.