The Winter People (14 page)

Sarah had made
some sandwiches from some leftover roast they'd had a few nights earlier.  She
found a half a bag of Cheeto's and some Little Debbie Nutty Bars too.  Finally,
as an after thought, she put the half bottle of Peppermint Schnapps in the back
pack as well.  If the boys had spent the night at the station, the Schnapps
would be just the ticket with the thermos of hot chocolate she was bringing.

She went back to
her bedroom and pulled her ski pants on over the Danskins, then tucked her undershirt
into them.  She let her sweater remain outside and pulled on a ski bib over
this, finally tucking the sweater into it.  It felt bulky, but it would be warm
she decided.  She grabbed the rest of her ski gear and headed to the outer
room.  She glanced casually at the thermometer on the wall near the phone that
measured the outside temperature.  Twenty below zero, it read.  She gave an
involuntary tremor then turned to the kitchen.

Near the front
door she finished dressing.  Snow boots, ski coat, face mask, toboggan,
goggles, and finally her gloves.  She snatched the back pack from the table and
headed out the door.  She walked clumsily and it was awkward moving in the bulk
she was wearing.  But the bite of the wind and snow wasn't getting to her.  Her
breath hovered before her for only an instant, thick and white, then was
quickly swept away in the fury of the storm.  Her awkward progress continued
through the drifts her uncle had passed through only a half hour ago.

His prints were
very nearly covered already and the drifts were rising.  She stepped gingerly
down each step, not sure of her footing.  The back pack in one hand, her other
gripped the hand railing firmly.  She had no desire to pick herself up out of
the soft snow.  Sarah made her way down to the shelter beneath the deck and
heard the machines running.  She could see their exhaust billowing out and
being carried away in a flurry of snow and wind.  She couldn't however, see her
uncle.

As Sarah rounded
the far end of the shelter, she saw Bud leaning against the deck with one arm,
buried up to his knees in the new snow.  His head hung low and his other arm
just dangled.  She walked up to him and he raised his head at her approach.

"Just taking
a breather!" he shouted above the noise of the machines and the wind. 
"It's tough working out in this stuff!"  He didn't really have to
explain to her, she knew how it was to move around in, and at this altitude
too.

"I just have
to check the emergency gear on each machine," he continued, "then
we're ready."  He trudged past her and went to the back of the first
machine, his machine, and opened up the panel on its seat back.

They were each
equipped with a little trunk of sorts and Bud had always believed in keeping
certain gear in them in case of an emergency.  He had done so ever since he and
his oldest son, David, had gotten themselves stuck that one time.  They had
been out playing around on the snow mobiles one day and decided to cross the
river.  Unfortunately, it was still too early in the winter and the river
wasn't frozen over solid enough.  One of the machines broke through the ice and
got stuck.

While they were
trying to pull it out, they managed to stick the other one.  They were soaking
wet from head to toe and ended up spending the night out there.  When they
didn't show up at the cabin that evening, Ruth had called the Rangers to go
find them.  Fortunately for them, they had managed to build a fire and stay
warm.  But, it was a lesson that Bud would never forget.

Bud rummaged
through the compartment:  Flares, matches, rope, a flashlight, which he also
checked to see if its batteries were up, some freeze dried food stuffs, and the
flare gun.  There was also a small tool pouch and a spare spark plug for the
Polaris.  The other machine was similarly equipped.  It was a smaller vehicle
with a smaller engine, but nearly as fast as his.  He turned to Sarah after he
closed the compartment, satisfied.

"Do you still
remember how to ride one of these things?" he yelled.

She looked at the
machine and nodded, "Yeah, I can ride it.  Maybe not as fast as you, but I
can manage."  The last time she had been on one was two years ago with her
then husband, Anthony, but he had actually done most of the driving.  Still,
she was sure that she could handle the beast.  As she remembered, it wasn't
that much different from an old quad bike she’d ridden recently.  Except it was
safer when you crashed it, the snow was a lot more forgiving than the ground
and they didn't tip quite as easily.  The controls were the same, and you
leaned them in the turns the same way too.

Bud took the pack
from her and strapped it to the metal rack at the rear of his machine with a
bungee cord.  He pulled the Elmer Fudd hat and goggles off and Velcro’d on his
face mask, and then replaced the hat and goggles.  He pulled the ear flaps down
and tied them under his chin.  To see him made Sarah smile under her mask.  She
did a final check of her own apparel and, satisfied, mounted the snow mobile. 
Bud climbed aboard his machine as well, gave a final look and nod back at
Sarah, then hit the throttle with his thumb.

The two stroke's
whine screamed above the wind and belched out flumes of white that quickly
dissipated.  Their centrifugal clutches caught and they lurched forward.  By
seven o'clock they were on their way.  Bud climbed the bank before him and
emerged from the porch shelter into the blizzard, followed by Sarah.  As they
worked the parts of the machines, their movement became more fluid and
responsive.  They maneuvered between two huge lodge pole pines and headed for
the open field to the east of Bud's cabin.

When they cleared
the trees the full force of the wind hit Sarah and she could feel the cold of
the storm gaining some penetration.  She stuffed her feet further up in the
runners toward the motor, and the heat it gave off.  She flipped on the
handlebar heater as well.  Sarah followed the track that her uncle laid down
and stayed about thirty feet behind him.  It seemed to her that they were
flying, but she glanced down and saw that they were only doing about twenty
five.

The amber lenses
of her goggles gave definition to the snowfield before her.  They allowed her
to make out the line between snow falling and fallen, hill and valley, bump and
level.  On a couple of occasions she actually felt her skis leave the surface,
it was exciting.  Her eyes would widen and her heart skipped a beat.  Behind
the mask, her mouth was opened in a paused breath.  It was actually very fun,
if you didn't think about why you were going.  She decided to enjoy the ride. 
She knew that Nick was okay, she could feel it.

It had taken them
fifteen minutes to go the three miles to the station.  Sarah was glad they had
arrived; the cold had already begun to get to her.  The day seemed unearthly
dark because of the low cloud cover that obscured all but the tiniest fraction
of the sun.  To her right, Sarah could make out a large flat area that she
thought was the lake.  Now it looked like a wasteland, what she could see of it. 
The driving snow ceased visibility beyond about twenty feet.

Yet she knew the
lake was there, she felt it.  She felt the void.  It was like a dead space
beyond her vision.  For some reason it made her shiver.  It was unreasonable,
she knew, but she had the impression of impending tragedy.  The lake was a dark
place, a crypt of ice and water, dusted with snow.  She suddenly didn't like
Steamboat Lake anymore.  As they skirted its shore and left it behind them, her
tensions eased.  But a trepidation of that cold place remained.

They crossed a
frozen stream and climbed up the other side, the machines straining with the
effort.  Their high pitched whines made Sarah's ears ring momentarily.  They
came upon a clump of snow and plowed through it revealing a patch of oak brush
that had been covered by the storm.  Bits and pieces of the thicket poked out
of the snow mobile tracks they had just made through it.  Blue and silver
spruce trees lined their path, with an occasional aspen amidst them, tall and
lean.

The bigger patches
of the off-white trees that morphed in the fall into glorious colors that were
bright and warm despite the indication, lay further to the north and more on
the mountain sides.  The dark knot holes up and down their shaft making them
stand out against the green of summer, but losing them in the winter backdrop. 
At their bases were thickets of wild raspberries, their thorny branches ready
to grab at those who would ravage their sweet fruits.

The land opened up
before them and through the opaque curtain of winter, they could make out the
red form of the Ranger Station.  A mirage at first, then it gained solidity. 
Closer they came, to the back of the building and its three car garage.  Bud
slowed his machine and dropped off of the snow elevated surface to the plowed
driveway next to the garage.  Sarah did the same and they cruised slowly by but
could see nothing that lay beyond the dark windows of the garage's doors.

Bud pulled on up
around to the front of the station and stalled his machine, Sarah did
likewise.  Parked out front, buried beneath drifts that were reaching the door
handles, was Nick's car.  It had been encased in a drift and had obviously sat
there since last night.  The front porch's wooden deck was dusted with drifts
of snow as well.  There was evidence that they had been traversed recently but
this was quickly being obliterated.  In the frosty covering, Bud could see dark
spots but could not identify them.

He climbed off of
the Polaris and took several steps towards the door before he realized that it
was open.  He took several more and saw that it was not just opened, it was
gone.  Splinters and fragments of it hung in the doorway where the hinges were
still attached.  Snow was drifting into the opening, but only so far.  It
stopped several feet in as if this was some sacred ground and it could go no
further.  Bud took a couple more cautious steps and saw what was left of the
door broken and heaped just inside, attached to the snow creeping in like a
tendril.

It was dark inside
and with his amber goggles he could see no further.  He removed them then and
squinted at the wind and snow pelting his eyes.  He looked down again to be
sure of his footing and saw the dark spots again.  Only this time they had
color.  They were red.  He paused for only an instant then turned around and
ran back to his Polaris.  He retrieved the flashlight and the flare gun, then
paused a moment more.

He held the flare
gun tightly in his right hand and looked at Sarah who was now standing beside
here machine, watching him intently.  Beneath her mask and goggles he knew what
her expression was saying.  He turned and quickly walked back to the doorway. 
Bud switched on the light in his left hand and headed up the porch.  His
progress was marked by a disruption in the drifts trying to form there, and the
creaking of his weight on the wood, lost in the wind.

His light cut
through the snow and penetrated the darkness beyond.  He peered around the
corner with the flare gun held before him like a cross to ward off evil.  Bud
stepped into the doorway and scanned the room with his beam.  It was cold and
frosted and felt like a crypt.  In the coat rack by the door hung two parkas
and below them sat two pair of snow boots.  Beyond this the main room was in
shambles.

The broken door
and furniture littered the room.  His beam caught dark liquid pools on the
hardwood floor that he assumed to be blood.  It was slung all over the walls as
well.  His stomach churned and he stifled an upheaval of his eggs and sausage. 
The blood appeared to be frozen already, but that didn't give much indication
of time in this weather.  He pushed further into the room and his beam glinted
and sparked off of something to the rear, past the remnants of the large wooden
table.

He focused on it
and felt a sinking feeling deep in his gut.  The radio had been demolished,
ripped apart and scattered around the room.  It was irreparable.  The fireplace
had been hit as well, stones pulled out of it and the grate bent and twisted
over in the corner of the room.  He heard nothing but the howl of the wind, it
sounded, triumphant.  It also made him shiver.

"Jesus
Christ", he muttered, eyes wide.

Bud inspected each
room in turn and found them in the same state as the main room, although that
was the only room in which he found any blood.  The beds had been overturned
and all the windows broken out.  Bud was confused.  This all seemed so
irrational, so unreal.  He couldn't have imagined what might have happened
here, and he wasn't about to hang around to let it happen again.  He turned and
bolted for the door.

Behind him, lost
in the shrieks and wails of the wind, there was a scuffling noise from the
depth of the fireplace.  Bud missed it.  He turned the corner and nearly ran
right into Sarah.  Both of them let out a scream of alarm and surprise, and
downright fear.

"What is it
Uncle Bud, what’s happened?!"  Her eyes were so wide he could see them
through her goggles.  Her voice quivered and became several octaves higher than
normal.  Had she not had to scream above the roar of the wind, she would have
done so anyway.

He grabbed her by
the shoulders, managing the flashlight and flare gun as he did so. 
"Something bad's happened here!" he motioned to the station with his
head.  "I don't know what it is, but we need to get the hell outta
here!"  There was urgency in his voice and Sarah was petrified.  She said
nothing more and followed him to the garage.  He explained as they entered the
garage.

"The place is
a wreck and I think I saw blood all over the place.  I couldn't find anyone
inside either.  But, I saw coats and boots, they didn't leave...." his
voice trailed off as his gaze caught the two trucks.  He looked down at their
tires and winced, his jaw tightened and he let out a hard puff of air. 
"Sonofa Bitch!  Somebody's slashed the tires!"  Bud slammed his gloved
fist into the side of the truck nearest him and it made a hollow sounding
metallic thud.

He turned to
Sarah, "Do you have the keys to Nick's car?"  She simply shook her
head, and Bud bit his lower lip in contemplation.  "We'll have to make it
into town on the snow mobiles.  Are you up to it?" his eyes pleading with
hers.

"Yeah.",
she replied, stunned.

He looked at her
again and his heart melted.  "I only saw two coats inside Sarah.  They
weren't the boy's, or Nick's.  They belonged to the Rangers."  His voice
was soft and soothing, but Sarah already knew that Nick was okay, she had that
feeling.  But she was still concerned.

Bud handed Sarah
the flare gun.  "Take this, I don't know what good it might do, hell, I
don't even know what happened.  But, I'd feel better if you had it.  I'm going
to check the station and see if there are any guns there.  Wait here!"  He
was out the door before she had time to react to what he had just said.

Sarah stood there
holding the flare gun with both hands, staring at the tires on the trucks. 
They weren't slashed she thought, they were shredded.  All four tires on both
vehicles were just strands of rubber and steel cable mixed in with the chains
that encircled them.  There was something gnawing at her brain but she just couldn't
put a finger on it.  It was something important.  And it was about all of this,
she was sure.  So she stood there trying to get a handle on it, trying to catch
a hold of it and pull it in.

Bud ran across the
porch, his footfalls heavy thuds on the wood and snow.  His heart was racing
wildly and ached in his chest.  He rounded the corner into the broken door
frame and stopped in his tracks.  Standing before him, in front of the hearth,
was a man.  He was wearing blood stained long underwear and only one sock.  He
was portly and pale and Bud recognized him as Clayton Mead, one of the
Rangers.  He stared at Bud with a blank expression, his eyes wild and darting.