If he failed that reindeer would spook and be up in the air with or without its rider.
Breathing came painful as Taylor staggered back up the steps to the porch, his lungs burning, his fingers disobeying him as he searched blindly for Mandy’s wind chime. It’d been hung about here, right where Greg had hit his head on it almost every time he’d walked past. Its papery chimes making more of a chuffing-murmuring sound rather than a tinging one.
The wind chime came apart under his hands. Flat, painted disks crumbled with the barest of tugs against the slim thread the school had used for the project. Mands would be so upset. Oh, how she would cry when she saw the pieces spilled within the snow. She’d dig them out, pile them into Greg’s outstretched hands, berate Taylor all the while—
And he wouldn’t care as long as she was alive to do so.
He yanked the rest of the wind chime down, freeing the much more durable strand Greg had used to hang the project. Unscrewing the hook took a little more effort, his fingers unwilling participants in his first attempts to twist it from the wood as he shuddered uncontrollably. But when the hook came free, it came fast, almost spilling into the darkness where Mandy’s wind chime would be scattered.
Back down the steps with his broken goods, he crouched between the nearest bushes, snow-laden branches brushing against his bare arms, scraping against his neck. There he kept one eye on the glow of the flashlight, barely visible, so weakly shining in the darkness. Practically a trick of the eye. With the rest of his attention, he tied off the strand to the screw-side of the hook. He had maybe a few feet of it in total. Not much, not much at all to work with. He certainly couldn’t throw it.
With a frustrated groan, quietly tamped down between shuddering teeth, Taylor strained his head upward. The storm surged. The wind battered at the broken gutters, making them screech and scratch against the siding. The snow clung to his eyelashes, sank against his shirt, no longer melting immediately. His jeans would crack with ice at every little move. His shirt had grown stiff where the snow had burrowed.
Maybe the flashlight hadn’t been enough of a light for the elves to notice. Maybe they saw through the darkness or could smell the paint. Taylor couldn’t smell it though—could smell nothing but the cold and the occasional clove puff and peppermint hint when he could smell anything at all past his running nose. He wiped it off against his sleeve, ending up with snow spread across his face for his trouble.
Distantly, he heard banging—like thickened snowmen arms against a car…or a garage door.
He began to stand, body stiff, resisting. He’d have to come back, tempt the elves another way because this wasn’t working. It was a failed experiment, the cold winning. Those damn snow shapers either too wary or too focused to bother checking.
The banging continued at an increased pace, indicating many snowmen congregating around Greg and Mandy. He heard another metallic bang, like something had crunched into his already ruined car—the snowmen possibly already figured out that the weight of it was working against them. He needed to get back to the others—do something about all those snowmen.
The snow shapers’ unnatural cold saved his life, for he’d scarcely moved, scarcely pushed himself from his crouch when the wind suddenly puffed in an abrupt change of direction.
A tunneled gust dove downward, hit the snow and sped out in a circle in a heavily surging windblast, sending Taylor flailing backward, having to catch at the bushes to stop himself from being flattened against the siding. Snow billowed up in a blanket of white. He gasped, then gagged on his own frosted breath.
Too cold. Too freezing. Arctic reminders.
He gripped the hook so hard the ribbing in the screw-side tore into his palm. Against the roaring blowback of the storm, he narrowed his eyes, squinting through the bombardment of snowflakes rushing into his face.
A red glint descended from above, like a fairy-tale Rudolph come to lead the way to children’s houses on a fateful Christmas Eve. Torn between a sudden glee lifting in his heart that the elf had taken the bait and the frozen fear over Greg and Mandy’s safety, Taylor hesitated. Then he closed his eyes tight, bit his lip hard to keep his teeth from chattering, and leaned forward, into the wind.
He intended on destroying the elves, each and every one. If he took the snow shapers out, the snowmen and angels would cease to be created, perhaps struggle to even remain animated as the temperature settled to the normal ranges of this latitude. The banging meant the snowmen hadn’t gotten past the garage door; Greg and Mandy were still safe, for a little while longer.
In front of him, where his fake corpse lay with its leaking reddish smears, the snow calmed in a wide circle. A tranquil hole appeared within the surging storm. Crafted by elvish fingers, to remove themselves from the chaos they created. But that chaos had made his trap less obvious, covering his jacket with a dusting, the paint faded down into the snow.
The elf wore green and gold—filigree swirled along its face; peppermint-striped weapons strapped to its back; a floppy plush hat pulled down over its ears. The reindeer landed and pawed at the ground, leaving curved hoof prints in the snow. Magical, anyone else would have said, completely ambivalent to the danger such a trained beast indicated.
Shiny icicles and dangling red bulbs hung from its six-point antlers, the red glow casting Taylor’s makeshift dead body into a dim relief against the snow. He held his breath, the tied hook frozen in his hands as he waited for the elf to look this way, for him to realize Taylor hunkered within the still-churning bushes within the blizzard, just a few paces outside the calm circle the elf had crafted.
But the elf, high on his mount, the snow dusting away from him with a flick of those snowflake-tattooed fingers, didn’t so much as scan the area. That condescending, cocky, pointed-eared helper looked down his stubby nose at the corpse, a thin smile playing tricks against his lips. That smirk grew into a satisfied giddiness until the elf chortled out loud.
Still within the whirling snow, Taylor pulled free his gun from the back of his pants. Lifted himself to his knees, though his clothes cracked and his body ached at the effort. Yet his aim wandered, trembling like a child in Santa’s meaty grasp.
His arm shook too badly, his fingers too stiff and unwieldy to squeeze the trigger. If he shot now, it would be jerky and off-balance, startling the elf into action. But the reindeer had its warmth, its caressing cocoon of magic that bled from its fur and filtered into all who touched it. If Taylor could just get close enough.
The elf clambered down from his perch, dropping to the snow and starting toward the misshapen leather jacket and paint-strewn snow.
Now or never.
Taylor dragged himself up and staggered forward out of the snowstorm and into the calm. He froze for just a second at the dramatic shift from blizzard to stillness, the wind no longer battering him on all sides. Cold caught up with him. His ears burned. His breath threatened to expulse from him in a wild shout. He gulped the shout back down forcibly.
He had no time, no time at all to dwell on the frost, the ice that had formed within his shirt and pants making him crinkle as he stepped forward. The reindeer turned its head, icicles and reddish bulbs chiming, blocking out the sound of Taylor’s footsteps.
The hook he’d stolen from Mandy’s wind chime slid easily over one of the belts on the harness, gently chiming the bell below. He wrapped the strand about his wrist and gripped it tightly in case the reindeer spooked. Then he breathed easy.
In and out. Breaths quiet. Quieter.
He brought his other arm down over the reindeer’s midsection. Rested on the creature’s flank. Gun trained. Steady. Unwavering. Aimed at the bent figure.
The elf—its diminutive features painted with that soft reddish glow, puffy cheeks coated with sparkling glitter—only had the chance to stand, to turn, to widen his eyes before his head snapped back and his body crumbled. The reindeer jerked at the crack of the gun, those antlers thrown back, the hanging bulbs wildly oscillating, clattering in a high-pi
tched melody.
“Shh, boy, shh.”
The reindeer rose onto its hind legs in the start of a typical launch pattern. Its flank tensed under Taylor’s hand. But as it began to climb in an escape, the hook caught sharply in the harness. Taylor gave the strand a hard yank, wrestling with the reindeer’s superior strength, using surprise to his advantage. The reindeer seemed to sidestep in the air, then staggered back to earth, shaking its head and tugging at the harness where Taylor had caught it.
In the space of the reindeer’s confusion, Taylor gripped the harness in one hand and leapt onto its back. It was an awkward move, rough and jerky rather than graceful, but he made it. He had his ticket to the sky, just as he’d had all those years ago.
As he settled on the reindeer’s back, a blossoming warmth wafted up and around him. That pocket of reindeer magic pushing out wonder that had his numb fingers beginning to tingle and his frozen clothes melting.
It was nothing like the heat his body craved to remove the frost settling in his limbs, but it made his muscles obey and bore the scent of distant stables he’d spent many a day mucking. He could just barely smell the kitchens where the gingerbread baked—the clove and cinnamon, the ginger, the mint—like the elves carried the cookies wherever they flew across the globe.
Settled, Taylor leaned forward, wrapped his hands about the reins, and urged the reindeer to fly.
The beast lifted onto its back legs, those red bulbs shaking light across the encroaching storm, and then they were in the air, rising, rising. The snow, so thick below, became thinner. The wind turned to a gentle breeze. The sky turned starry, the milky way aglow as the blizzard dispersed as they reached the space above Greg’s house.
Their flight steadied out, the reindeer’s glow doing little to pierce the darkness, yet the storm below them stood out in stark relief against the stillness of the rest of the world. The snow swirled in a pattern—circular, tight, limited.
The rest of the neighborhood remained dry, distinct from the snowstorm that weathered and beat Greg’s house and surrounding yard. From mailbox to the elm in Greg’s backyard, the blizzard raged in containment. Pressure building, drifts piling, but focused in a terrible manner.
On Taylor, no doubt.
His stomach gave a little drop as the reindeer turned, letting him see the neighborhood with its lit Christmas lights more clearly. They could have just run to the street and escaped the storm, had they but known the blizzard’s limiters.
Taylor lifted his glare to find where the other snow shapers might be crossing the sky. Soft glows, similar to the red bulbs on his own reindeer’s antlers, drew his eye. Bells on harnesses rung in time with shadowed reindeer leaps; Taylor’s own mount following some pre-trained path across roads he couldn’t see.
Flying in a matrix pattern flew three other reindeer—those green and red bulbs glinting off their antlers to mark their paths and send elfin features and brown fur into sharp relief. The elves would have likely given chase even had Taylor known to send Greg and Mandy out into the street, the center of the storm following them, chasing them until they couldn’t run any longer.
As his reindeer drew close to another, the two passing in their pre-determined paths, the elf’s features sharpened. She was distracted, one hand outstretched over the storm below, her white-sugared brow drawn in concentration. She hadn’t even noticed him.
This might be far easier than he thought.
He lifted his gun as they passed a mere half dozen feet from one another. As his sight cleared the other reindeer’s neck, the elf glanced up and did a double-take. As he squeezed the trigger, she had just enough time to throw her palm out, a snow-ridden storm gust snapping up from below and lashing out toward Taylor.
His reindeer lurched in surprise at the sudden fury pulsing against them, blowing them off course. Off-balance, Taylor’s heart skipped, the whirling storm below a sudden, dangerous pit. He scrambled for purchase, releasing his gun and grabbing for the harness where he huffed against the reindeer’s fur in relief.
Only then did he peek back down, in time to see the elf’s body and the black sliver of his gun disappear into the chaotic, pulsing mess of snow and ice below.
Two down.
He turned to find the other two snow shapers having paused in their patterned flights.
Two to go.
Peppermint wheels came spitting out of the dark, one cracking off the reindeer’s antler.
“Crap. Go, go, go!”
He urged the reindeer down to dodge the sudden streaming of projectiles. Spinning red and white wheels blasted over his head, glinting in the light before turning to round shadows curving into the storm. Snowflake ninja stars hissed toward him, one of them embedding into the reindeer’s flank, sending the creature into a frenzied panic.
The reindeer sprinted through the air, zigzagging like a butterfly, tossing its head, huffing gruffly in fury and fear. Taylor tightened his grip and flexed his thighs in order to keep from falling to his death. He bent as low as he could across the beast’s neck to give the elves less of a target. Though, they didn’t seem much to mind hitting the reindeer, peppermint wheels continuing their barrage, snowflake stars razoring past.
He heard them shout behind him, calling to one another.
Killing them would be difficult. He’d lost his gun, hadn’t had the chance to relieve the dead elf on the ground of his weaponry, and couldn’t exactly pause to do so now. However, maybe he wouldn’t need to kill them. He could just lead the snow shapers away from Greg and Mandy, pull their attention toward himself.
The reindeer dove downward, Taylor’s stomach falling with it, as if it knew something he didn’t. A gust of icy wind, bits of sharpened icicle chunks within, blasted over their heads.
“Good, reindeer,” muttered Taylor, clinging for dear life as the beast curved to the left, body tilting so far he got a good, long look at the storm below.
The elves gave chase.
Down across the roof of a neighbor’s house, his reindeer’s hoofs pattering against the shingles, like some carol come to life for the children inside. Up again, over the trees, wind whistling past Taylor’s ears. With every snowy whirl the snow shapers sent toward him, his reindeer lurched and dodged. Given its head, the reindeer didn’t care about direction, didn’t care about anything but survival, desperate to avoid the icy shards, the peppermints, the snowflake stars that kept streaming from the dark.
It shook its antlers, red lanterns shivering, reflecting reddish sparkles against the icicles. The constant glow made them an easy target to follow. That was good though, drawing them away, far, far away so they might cease their crafting of snowmen and angels.
The reindeer sank low to the ground and sprinted through a copse of pines, obviously deploying a trick in an attempt to lose the elves, but Taylor grabbed one of the red bulbs, yanking it right off the reindeer’s antler, and threw it into the sky. The reindeer sped across lawns, kicking through dormant flower beds, past chubby Christmas inflatables, over cars that rocked from the savage, blinding speed of the reindeer’s passage.
Snowy blasts from the snow shapers frosted windows, cracked branches, froze flags stiff on flagpoles and layered rainbow Christmas lights with ice that dulled their colors. And still the reindeer sprinted, its flanks undulating underneath Taylor’s legs, all that power, all that magic pumping them forward.
The bells rang so loudly, so vibrantly, it was a wonder that it didn’t wake people from their beds. Drag them outside to see the race through the sky with reindeer ducking and weaving and flowing through the air like it belonged to them and not the birds who strove to claim it in these climates.
The streets blended together. The woods becoming stretches of inky blackness, untouched by Christmas lights or the occasional gleaming window. They ran, Taylor occasionally guiding the reindeer one way or another, never allowing them to get too far from the blasts chasing them.
As the reindeer rose into the night once more, Taylor glanced behind them,
noting a red glow that mimicked their own. But the other, the reindeer with the greenish bulbs hanging from its antlers was missing. Ahead of them maybe? Striving to cut them off?
The sky ahead seemed empty. The Christmas lights on neighborhood houses could be hiding a reindeer, deep in the shadows, still, waiting for them to pass. He strained his eyes, searching as they sped past house after house, tree limbs shuddering in their wake, the distant headlights of cars along the main drags attracting his attention when what he needed to be finding were shadows in the darkness.
Where was the other one?
He could feel a tenseness growing between his shoulder blades, adding to the pounding in his skull, to the soreness in his body. With a sense of foreboding, he reached over the reindeer’s head and snapped one of the icicles free, flipping it over in his palm to serve as a blade. Though close-combat readiness against elves who had numerous distance weapons, from their guns to their snow shaper abilities, was a frail defense.
The reindeer jumped to the left, its sides heaving. Its breath came in huffing grunts. Exhaustion slowing it.
Taylor twisted to look behind them again, this time staring into the darkness, seeking out that second elf, but only the one stood out in stark relief against the night sky. Even when they passed the lightened yards, going straight through a particularly shining one with a tree as large as a house strung with white lights to its tip, even then, the lights only illuminated one elf. Just one.
Oh, Santa-damn the blasted things!
He’d probably been dodging one this whole time.
“Back to the house,” Taylor demanded, gripping the reindeer’s reins and jerking it around. It resisted, its grunts turning angry, but the resistance was minimal, the creature too tired to do more than put up a measly fight.
Greg’s house was a sight among sights. That contained blizzard, with its columns of snow, with its channeling flurries, with its snowmen shapes shifting through the darkness, was a horror. Greg and Mandy were still in there, stuck behind a garage door that he prayed would hold.
Rise of the Snowmen Page 12
