The Winter People (7 page)

Mike stared down
at the gun, the color gone out of his face.  He picked it up and held it with
his palms opened, in both hands.  He looked over at Nick then back down at the
gun.  Nick was staring off at nothing in particular, his face a blank.  Mike
turned the gun over in his hands and felt a sticky substance on it.  Then he
noticed the darkness against the light of his hands where he had touched the
gun.  He held one hand up to the light from the instrument panel and saw that
it was blood.

Mike belched twice
and his stomach churned.  His mouth tasted of bile and he could feel his
insides wanting to come out.  He swallowed hard and held it down.  His eyes
filled with tears and they stung from it.  The lids could hold no more and they
gave way, first one drop, then two.  They flowed down his cheeks leaving
glistening trailers to mark their path.  Then, like a dam burst, he cried.

The funny thing
was he wasn't crying so much for the loss of his friends as he was from the
absurdity of the situation.  He was crying because of the helplessness of it. 
All of his fears and anxieties had surfaced and chiseled the hole that sprung
the leak.  The impossible had happened and he couldn't accept it.  He didn't
want to accept it.  It was not a long cry, only a minute or so.  The flow had
stopped as quickly as it had come.  He sniffed twice and wiped his face on the
sleeve of his coat.

Mike dropped the
gun onto the seat between Hayden and himself then wiped his hands on his pant
legs.  He wiped his eyes once more with the backs of his hands then looked at
Nick.  Nick was staring at him.  Only then did he notice Nick's arm around his
shoulders.

"I'm okay. 
I'm sorry too.  Sorry I was an asshole, sheriff," he wouldn't look at him
though, ashamed.

"I thought I
told you to call me Hayden," his voice gentle and un-rattled. 
"Death's a tough thing to deal with.  Everybody handles it
different."  Then he said no more.  Truth was he didn't know what to say.

Nick looked over
at Hayden and wondered if anything could get to this man.  Then he took his arm
from around Mike and sat it in his lap.  He put his right elbow on the arm rest
and set his chin down on the knuckles of his right hand, staring out at the
sky.  They drove on in silence, each of them thinking about what had happened,
what was next…and death.

Johnny Kaostiwa
returned quickly to the warmth of his station house without looking back.  He
could not hear the roar of the Suburban's engine above the wail of the wind,
but he knew that they had turned around and were leaving.  He could feel it. 
He could see them doing it as surely as if he were still outside watching
them.  He had always been able to sense what was happening in his immediate
surroundings outside of his normal vision.  Johnny literally had eyes in the
back of his head.  It was uncanny.

His grandfather
had always said that Johnny was a "Puwarat", the possessor of
supernatural power.  But the Ute had always been superstitious and his
grandfather was a full blooded Ute.  It wasn’t that Johnny didn't realize that
he was slightly more gifted than others, he just didn't believe in the Ute
legends the way his grandfather did.  It’s not that he wasn't proud of his
heritage either.  He was simply rational and realistic.

Johnny still loved
listening to Faywah's stories though, they were entrancing.  When he would tell
his stories of the Ute past, they would pull Johnny into them.  He would become
a part of their history, living it as the old man told it.  As his
grandfather's soft voice spoke in the old tongue each word or phrase would have
a hypnotic effect.  It was a combination of the language, the story, and his
grandfather's retelling of it.

Johnny could
actually smell the smoke from a large central fire.  He could feel its warmth
on his face as his body swayed to the rhythmic chimes of Faywah's voice.  Then
he could see faces, dozens of faces around the huge fire.  All captivated by
the speaker, all weathered and hard.  These were proud faces with the
distinctive features that marked the Ute tribe.  Their eyes ablaze with the
reflective glow of the fire, their stomachs full with venison.

Behind them were
the darkness of the woods and the cold snows of winter.  These stories were
told only in the winter, when the snows were deep.  Otherwise, something bad
might befall them.  They were mostly stories of incredible beasts or the
bravery of a Ute warrior against some Puwarat creature, but always they were of
incredible danger.  The favorite story of his grandfather was of the
"People Eaters", the ancient race of cannibalistic Ogres that preyed
upon the Ute in the dead of winter.  Then, he would always end his story with,
"I tell the truth and I do not know if it is a lie or not."

Johnny didn't
believe they were Ogres of course, more likely just a tribe of cannibalistic
Indians that the Ute had fought once long ago.  But he still loved to hear
about them.  And, the truth was that the story even frightened him a little. 
Something left over from his childhood, he thought.  When he had heard it for
the first time he'd had nightmares for a month.  He could see Ogres in his
dreams.  Huge creatures that he was sure could not have been of this earth. 
For surely the Sinawaf could not have made such a beast to share this planet
with us.

***

Johnny had pulled
off his parka, gloves, and face mask then slipped out of his snow boots.  He
padded quietly out of the entryway in stocking feet.  Before him was the main
room of the Ranger Station.  It was a fairly modern unit that looked like a
rustic log cabin from the outside.  Although Johnny always felt that it looked
like it had been made of Lincoln Logs.  The main room contained their radio
station, a large wooden table with six chairs, and a stone fireplace.  The
floors throughout the building were all hardwood, and were a bit cold to wake
up to in the winter months.  Hence, the men all ran around in socks and even
slept in them.

At the table sat Clayton
Mead and Ted Frazier, the other two Rangers at the station.  Ted had just
relieved Johnny tonight for the next week and in the morning he would go home
to his grandfather.  Ted was amiable, tall and slender.  He was a gentle Texan
with a quiet side and preferred to avoid confrontation.  A near impossibility
with Clayton, Johnny thought.  In the five years that Ted had been a Ranger
there, Johnny had gone fishing with him a few times.  Ted kept pretty much to
himself.  He and his wife did couple things with a few other couples they'd met
since moving here.

Mostly with
couples in Steamboat, Johnny guessed.  Copper Creek was not exactly a social
vortex.  But, Johnny got along with Ted well enough and that's all that
mattered to him.  He didn't have much use for Clayton though.  He was a lazy
slob with a rude mouth.  Fortunately, with their rotation schedule, he didn't
have to deal with him all that much.  Johnny thought that of all the people he
had known, Clayton was pretty close to the bottom of his list.  He'd disliked
other people before, but still respected them.  Not so with Clayton.  Johnny
could not find one redeeming feature in the man.

Both men looked up
questioningly at Johnny as he entered.  Johnny saw that someone had removed
Nick and Mike's cups from the table.  Probably Ted, he thought.  Ted's glass
was still in front of him, empty.  Clayton's was in his right hand, stopped
half way to his mouth.  The half empty bottle of Jack Daniels was sitting
uncapped in front of Clayton.  Johnny had no glass as he didn't drink.  Behind
them he could hear the statical whine of the radio.

"What'd the
Sheriff say?" Ted asked as he leaned back in his chair, causing it to
creak under his weight.  His southern drawl making it sound more like,
whaad
the sherrf saay?

"Nothing, too
cold to sit out there and gab with him," Johnny replied flatly.

Clayton piped in,
"Yeah, it's colder 'n tits on a witch out there!"  Then he washed
down his words with a shot of whiskey.  Johnny looked at him disgusted.  Clayton
ignored him and slammed the empty glass down on the table and leaned back in
his chair, balancing it on two legs.  The chair moaned in protest to no avail. 
Then Clayton put his feet up on the table and his hands across his big belly
that stretched at a couple of buttons on his uniform.  "Did he believe
them little fuckers?" he snorted.

Clayton was a
portly man that stood about five foot seven.  His face was a round pale blob
with two tiny raisins for eyes.  His pencil thin eyebrows were so light that
they could easily have been missed at first glance.  His hair was a light
blonde and usually looked to be in need of a good shampooing.  It was greasy
and unkempt.  And most of the time he suffered from body odor.

Johnny didn't know
much more about Clayton than he did about Ted, he didn't care either.  Although
he had worked with Clayton for close to ten years now, neither of them
considered the other a friend.  Johnny had heard rumors about Clayton, and
although he didn't take much stock in rumors, somehow he wasn't so quick to
dismiss these.

Everybody knew
that Clayton repeatedly beat his wife.  She'd been seen at the emergency room
over in Steamboat too many times with a bruise from a falling can, or a broken
arm from a trip down the stairs.  Clayton's wife was another story that made
Johnny's skin crawl.  Clayton was forty three and his wife was only twenty one,
and apparently he'd raped her when she was seventeen.

It seems that
Heather Mead (then Heather Jenkins) met Clayton at a town social.  Flirting
with an older man excited her a little….even one as disgusting as Clayton.  As
the story went, the flirting got a little out of hand and Clayton followed Heather
home afterwards.  Somewhere in the woods between the Skyview Motel and the
Jenkins place, he beat and raped her.  Nothing was ever reported and one year
later, for reasons unknown, she married him.

And that was the
part about rumors that drove Johnny crazy.  If no one ever said anything, then
how do we know what happened?  It was always, "I heard it from this friend
of the sister to her best friend who saw someone do something to somebody
else."  Crazy!  But somehow, it didn't seem so crazy when it was about Clayton. 
Johnny could really see him doing it.  And now, any time he had to deal with Clayton,
he felt dirty.

"I told you,
we didn't talk.  I don't know what he thinks," there was noticeable
contempt in Johnny's voice.

"Well I don't
believe 'em!  Little city pricks are probably yankin' our dongs!  Wake us up in
the middle of the goddamned night with some bullshit that nobody's heard
about!  Their friends are probably laughin' their asses off right now, laughin'
at us hicks!"  Clayton reached for the bottle and poured himself another
shot, didn't offer it to anyone else, then sat the bottle back down in front of
him.

Ted looked over at
him with one eyebrow raised and a look of annoyance washed across his face
momentarily.  "Well I believe them," sounding more like,
wayell a
balieve them.
  "They were too upset for this to be a joke.  Besides,
who would want to get out in this weather for a joke?  No, they were
scared."  Ted looked down at his bottle of Jack and was obviously not
pleased that Clayton had made himself to home with it.  But the tall Texan was
either too polite or too nice to say anything about it.

"Me too
Ted," Johnny turned to him, "I think something pretty bad has
happened, I feel it in my gut."  Ted looked back at him and nodded.

"Oh Je-sus
Christ!" Clayton said exasperated, emphasizing each syllable.  "Are
you going to give us some more of your
sixth sense
horseshit?!  You
sound like a couple of old ladies.  And I'll tell you what your problem is, the
both of you."  He paused briefly and looked at each one in turn,
seriously, so as to get their undivided attention.  So they would know what he
was about to say would be the revelation that would change their lives.

Ted and Johnny
just stared at him, blankly.  "You ain't gettin' no PUSSY!" Clayton
barked out in laughter, his yellowing toothy grin filling his pudgy face. 
"That's right," he said to Ted, "I'll bet you ain't had pussy
since pussy had you!" he laughed again, throaty grunts that turned into a
cough.  He downed his whiskey with a gulp and a sigh, and Ted only blushed and
looked down at the table.

"Clayton?"

"Yeah,
John?"

"You're an
asshole."  He said it flatly as though he were just stating a fact that
everyone knew.  He turned to regard Ted, "Good night Ted, it's late and
I'm getting some sleep.  I'll see you in the morning."  Ted looked up and
Johnny gave him a look that said, "I'm sorry, but I'm also damned glad
that you're working with him and not me."  Ted only nodded to him.

Clayton ignored
him and strained out a fart then belched.  "Well, I gotta' get up in a
couple of hours thanks to those two asswipes.  I'm hittin' the hay; I'll see
you girls in the morning."  He stood and began walking to the back of the
station, to the bedroom.  He was completely oblivious to the fact that he'd
said or done anything that might have offended anyone.  He wouldn't have cared
anyway.

Johnny stared
after him for a moment then followed.  In his mind, behind him, he could see
Ted recap the bottle and take the glasses to the kitchen sink.  He returned
with a washcloth and washed off the table, paying particular attention to the
area where Clayton's feet had rested.  Johnny continued to watch Ted in his
mind for a while, watching him straighten the chairs and then rinse out the
glasses.  Johnny pulled off his uniform and climbed into bed wearing his long
johns and socks.

Beside him Clayton
had already done the same.  A few minutes later Ted entered the room.  Even
though it was pitch black, if Johnny turned his back on Ted, he could see him
as clearly as if all the lights were on.  He lay there on his side, facing the
wall, and was washed over with the feeling that after tomorrow he would never
see either Ted or Clayton again.  He fell asleep quickly and had a nightmare
that he had not had for a long, long time.  Johnny dreamed of the "People
Eaters".

***

It had been
fifteen minutes since they had entered the wall of snow that marked the
boundary to the storm front and Hayden was no more at ease now than then.  It
made his skin crawl.  He cast a glance at the two young men beside him and
could see that they were anxious as well.  Hayden couldn't explain it, but for
some reason this storm
felt
different.  He felt malevolence in it, an
evil.  It just plain gave him the creeps.

Hayden considered
the two men beside him.  His first instincts when reading a person were usually
right on the money.  He couldn't remember ever misjudging a person, yet.  These
two seemed like honest kids, not at all what he was expecting.  He thought they
would be spoiled, smart ass punks who figured the world owed them something. 
But Nick and Mike weren't like that at all.  They seemed to be pretty much like
he had been at that age.  The comparison dredged up a faint but brief smile.

Nick was about
four inches taller than Mike, Hayden figured, and Mike looked to be about six
foot even.  Some people seemed to belong to certain people more than others,
and this was the impression Hayden got from these two.  They just looked like
they should be friends.  They complimented each other.  They were both tall and
lean, and Hayden figured that they played a mean game of basketball.

Nick had a more
wiry build than Mike though, and appeared to be a little stouter.  As far as
Hayden could tell anyway, they were pretty well hidden beneath their bulky
winter wear.  Mike's hair was jet black whereas Nick's was a light brown.  Mike
had thick eyebrows while Nick's were narrow.  Both men had angular faces and
sharp features.  However, Nick's complexion was considerably lighter than
Mike's.

Nick's eyes were a
pale hazel against the dark brown of Mike's, although his were partially
obscured by his glasses.  Round, black things that made Mike look kind of like
that kid from those wizard books.  The thought caused Hayden to smile
inwardly.  Hayden figured Mike to be Hispanic even though he had no accent, and
Nick was your typical white boy.  Hayden decided that they were okay.

Hayden followed
Route 14 into Copper Creek, past the Ranger Station.  The lights were off
inside but the huge floods outside illuminated the flag, waving panic stricken
in the gale force winds that lashed at it.  Hayden could also make out part of
the radio tower, peaking somewhere far above him, out of sight.  He cast it
only a casual glance as he passed, concentrating primarily on his driving in
the worsening conditions.