by Max Dune
The Elf
Max Dune
Published by David & Duke Publishing, LLC, 2016.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Max Dune
Published by David & Duke Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Cover Design: Max Dune and GermanCreative at Fiverr.com
Interior Formatting: Penoaks Publishing, http://penoaks.com
Author Photo: Studio 1 Photography
Book Editing: Brandon Johnson, Alan Roi, Autumn Conley, Jessa Julian, Donna Alward
ISBN-13: 978-0-9898690-3-4
Printed in the United States of America
1st Edition
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty–One
Chapter Twenty–Two
Chapter Twenty–Three
Chapter Twenty–Four
Chapter Twenty–Five
Chapter Twenty–Six
Chapter Twenty–Seven
Chapter Twenty–Eight
Epilogue
About The Author
Dedication
For all you dreamers,
Chapter One
“Where are you going?” I taunt. “There’s nowhere to hide.”
Jack Frost doesn’t answer. Under the canopy of winter-crystallized trees, he crawls across the snow. His tall, muscular body leaves a trail of berry-red blood behind him. He looks desperate to put distance between us.
I begin to whistle softly and draw closer to admire my handiwork. Broken nose. Swollen eye. An arrow buried deep in his leg. Ah, such a beautiful sight to behold. I turn to Blitzen, my most loyal of companions, and smile. “Thank you, friend. Without you, I wouldn’t have made it.”
Blitzen gives an affirmative snort, staying close to our sleigh and supplies. His strong legs and zesty spirit had kept me alive for the last two weeks. The Artic is a cold house for the unwary. Nothing in it ever stirs. Nothing moves. Nothing sings. Yet he had guided me through it, his hooves detonating like muffled grenades as they crunched the powdery snow. We’d traveled over timeworn mountains, through tomblike valleys and flash-frozen rivers. I plan on rewarding Blitzen with his favorite food once we’re back in Santa’s Village. It’ll be agaric mushrooms for life. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
First things first though: I cock my crossbow.
Clink.
Upon hearing that sound, Frost forces his knees and elbows to move faster. He fights for his life like a desperate wild animal at death’s door. The expression of terror on his face is absolutely priceless. I wonder if he’ll start begging soon. Even if he does, it won’t do him any good. I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger and send one final bolt into his black heart.
For my friends...for my parents...
“Mmm,” I utter, savoring the moment. “This is even better than I imagined.” As I loom over him, a sudden wave of fury grips me. I violently plant my boot in his shoulder, prompting a muffled groan from him. Through gritted teeth I hiss, “And I’ve imagined this a lot.”
I remove my foot. Frost rolls over onto his back and gazes up at me in defeat. “Don’t do this, Lucian. Please.”
Ah, finally.
“Do you think begging is going to help? It didn’t help my parents or the other elves. They died just the same, all shaking, bleeding, and crying...and all because of you.” I point the loaded crossbow at his chest. “Now it’s your turn to die.”
“Wait!” He lifts up a trembling hand. “I can grant you great powers, unimaginable abilities, even immortality! Y-you could be the most powerful elf who’s ever lived!”
“Power?” I scoff. “I don’t want power. This is all I want.”
“Revenge won’t bring your parents back.”
I consider his words for a moment and do see the truth in them, but the rage inside pushes me on. “No, but it’s going to feel pretty good.” My finger slides the safety off.
Frost’s eyes widen.
Bzzz-bzzz-bzzz...
Suddenly a deep, loud sound echoes all about us, seemingly coming from every direction. They disturb the serene beauty of this frozen, crystal paradise where Frost is meant to meet his doom. Puzzled, I lower my crossbow and search for the source. My eyes scan through the tall, gray trees, their skeletal wooden arms knocking against one another in the slight breeze, but I catch nothing in my gaze except the clear, blue skies beyond. What the heck’s going on? Confused, I dart my eyes in every direction. And why is that annoying buzzing getting louder?
Beep! Beep! Beep!
A sense of déjà vu hits me.
Wait! That sound... Isn’t that...?
The beeping continues to assault my ears for several more moments, muddling my senses.
“No!” I wail when I finally remember. “No! Not yet!”
My desperate cries prove futile, though, as my crossbow melts in my hands. Its liquefied remnants splash at my feet. It doesn’t take long for the surrounding trees to follow suit, forming charcoal-gray puddles on the ground. Blitzen, too, begins to disintegrate where he stands. His fur, flesh, and bones dissolves into a paste and seep into the ground.
“No!” Without wasting time, I jump on Frost, wrap my hands around his cold neck, and begin to viciously choke him. “I’ll kill you with my bare hands!”
Rather than panicking or pleading for mercy, he only laughs in my face, knowing full well it’s too late. His flesh quickly melts like hot wax until my fingers are kneading the remaining mess.
I punch the ground with my fists again and again, even as they start melting away. “Come on! I just needed another minute!”
As I beg for more time, I feel my bones softening, becoming more pliable, like iron morphing into licorice. Soon I am unable to hold my weight, and I topple over, falling to the icy ground.
* * *
I jump up in bed, breathing hard.
“My God. It was just a dream,” I mutter, rubbing my head and trying to give my sleepy, red eyes time to adjust. I groan as I look at the blaring clock that is wreaking havoc on my eardrums. Six a.m. Good grief. It feels much earlier than that. I plop back down and curl up under my warm blanket, unable to muster enough energy to lumber out of bed.
Zeb, on the other hand, seems ready to conquer the day. Already up and dressed, my sickeningly energetic roommate runs a comb through his curly brown hair as he croons a Christmas carol with all the gusto of a Broadway star. Naturally; Zeb is a ridiculous ball of energy who never stops, even though most people really, really wish he would. At the moment, I wish that more than anyone.
He probably heard my mattress creak, because he stops singing. “You awake?”
For an ans
wer, I only offer him silence, closing my eyes and feigning sleep.
Zeb hurls his comb at my head.
“Ow!” I cry out.
“Oh! You are up!” He saunters over and chirps, “Morning, boo.”
I glare at him. “What did I tell you about calling me that?”
“Okay... Baby Bird?”
“No.”
“Puddin’?”
I raise a brow. “Do you want me to strangle you with Christmas lights?”
He sighs. “Well, I can see you’re ready to start the day. Sooo much enthusiasm...”
I remain silent and roll over.
Zeb sits behind my back, irritating me further. “Look, I’m sorry, man. I was just trying to cheer you up.” After a minute of silence, he softens his tone. “You wanna talk about it?”
I shake my head. What difference would it make? It won’t bring back my parents, won’t take away the soul-crushing feeling I get every time I really think about them. Nothing I can say to him and nothing he can say to me will ever set things right.
“C’mon, Lucian. I’m your best friend. You know I tell you everything, right? You can tell me anything. Heck, I even tell you all the stuff I know you don’t wanna hear.”
Ain’t that the truth.
“I mean, when I get those nasty rashes on my thigh, who is the first person I text a photo to? Huh?” He reaches around to tenderly tap my nose. “You. Always you.”
I roll my eyes again. Thousands of other elves here and I have to room with this hyperactive nutbag. A pang of guilt pinches me immediately. Because, truth be told, Zeb has been a great friend. His loyalty and attentiveness in recent months can’t be dismissed. He’s always checking up on me, cracking plenty of jokes, dragging me to social gatherings. I know Zeb actually cares. In his own chemically imbalanced sort of way.
I sigh and face him. “Well, it’s been three months since my parents, uh...”
“Oh. I didn’t realize,” Zeb responds quietly.
“Yeah, three months to the day, and...well, I...” I trail off, unable to say the words, but I don’t have to; Zeb knows me well enough that he can pinpoint the source of my suffering.
“It wasn’t your fault, Lucian,” he says. “And the sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be.”
“But it was, Zeb,” I reply tightly. “Have you forgotten? I was the one who convinced them to apply for jobs here.” I glance at the picture on my dresser, a snapshot of my parents and me, all of us wearing broad smiles. It’d been taken when we first we arrived at Santa’s Village. We were filled with such excitement, happiness, and pride back then. Even as we sat through orientation and job training, we still couldn’t believe all our applications had been approved. For an elf, being hired to work in Santa’s Village is the highest imaginable honor, an elf’s dream, the greatest achievement any of us could hope for. And there we were—all three of us!
But then the virus came.
Elves started dying. They were taken from me, along with so many others, and the dream we’d all been reaching for turned into a nightmare.
Zeb turns his head, unable to argue. The crossbows hanging above my headboard draw his attention, and he pulls one down. He walks to the window and takes aim at some unsuspecting target outside. “When did your department make these?” Zeb asks.
“Last year. It’s the Eclipse XT model.”
“This is one bad boy.”
“Tell me about it.”
He gives me a thoughtful look. “You should return to your old job, building these things and making all those junior rednecks happy on the big morning.”
“Meh. I like chopping wood. It gives me time to be outdoors, alone...and I need that right now, Zeb.”
“But it’s not safe, man. Frost is still out there.” He frowns. “What if that psycho sneaks up behind you one day while you’re chopping away?”
I shrug. “Maybe I’ll chop into pieces too.”
“You kidding me? Frost is one of the most powerful beings alive. He’d turn you into an icicle before you could blink! Let those Russian guards deal with Frost. That’s why Santa hired them.”
I let out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, and they’ve done such a stellar job so far, just like those brilliant scientists who still haven’t found a cure for the virus that’s killing us.” Finally, I decide to get up and start dressing for the subzero temperatures awaiting me outside. I pull on a thick, insulated jacket, snow pants, and winter boots. Then I take a quick inspection using the door-length mirror opposite my bed. My dark hair looks wild, so I work it with a comb. Can’t do much about the bags protruding under my blue eyes, though—or the drained expression on my face. I’m only 20 years old, but these recent weeks have me looking older. Worn out.
Zeb is still gazing outside. He is deep in serious thought. “They’ll find a cure,” he says.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because they have to,” he says, although the fear in his eyes betrays his words.
I don’t bother responding; Zeb already knows my pessimistic opinion on the subject. Instead, I take my keys off the dresser and head to the door. “Let’s go. We’re going to be late.”
Chapter Two
Outside, the wind immediately cuts through my skin, stealing precious warmth from me. My muscles clench tight in an effort to stave off the cold as we leave the men’s dormitories and speedily walk toward the cafeteria. The sun is already peeking out, spilling its hot oranges and reds into the horizon and buttering Santa’s Village with soft yellow hues.
Contrary to popular belief and all those holiday specials, Santa’s Village isn’t the winter wonderland always assumed to be. Forget about cozy wooden cottages with smoking chimneys, smiling snowmen with carrot noses, and candy cane poles lining the streets; you won’t find any of those here. Truthfully, the village bears more resemblance to an industrial park. Dozens of gray, concrete factories occupy the majority of the icy terrain, and rather than living in gingerbread-looking houses, we elves live in high-rise dormitories. The thousands of us who live here eat in a cafeteria. There is even a laboratory and a hospital. They’re recent additions—thanks to the virus Jack Frost unleashed here last year.
And, I hate to spoil your last illusion, but we elves average about five foot nine and wear the same kind of clothes anybody working in a factory does. You wouldn’t notice anything different if you passed one of us on the street. We don’t have any magical powers either. We used to, long ago, but they became dormant as centuries passed.
As we shuffle to breakfast, other elves pass by, offering kind smiles and greetings as they pass. “Merry morning!” one says, beaming as if there is nothing wrong in the world. “Stay cheerful!” another encourages with a wave of his hand.
Even with death lurking about the village, almost everyone tries to keep his or her chin up. Optimism runs in our veins. Although lately I’ve been struggling with that, given all I have lost.
As we walk, Zeb yaps nonstop like a hyped-up Chihuahua about anything that swirls into his ADHD mind. At the moment, his thoughts are focused on his current crush, Pepper. “...and Lily said she’ll talk to Pepper soon, find out some valuable intel. She’s gonna prep me, plant the seeds, set things in motion. Has Lily mentioned anything to you?” he asks, bubbling with enthusiasm.
It takes me a moment to register the question. “No.”
His brows raise in suspicion, as if he thinks I’d have any reason to fib about it. “Nothing at all?”
“Why would she?”
“Uh, because she’s your girlfriend.”
“Well, she hasn’t,” I assure him.
“Fair enough.”
“Dude, why don’t you just ask Pepper out yourself?”
He shakes his head, exasperated. “Because that’s not part of the plan, okay? Can’t believe you’ve forgotten already. I realize you’ve been out of sorts lately, but c’mon, buddy. Didn’t you read my email? I CC’d you the detailed outline of the plan.”
�
�Um...”
“Okay, fine. Let’s review then. First, Lily keeps complimenting me around Pepper till about February, but she’ll be all casual about it. Second, she’ll organize a group outing, so official introductions can be made. Third, I’ll take Pepper’s favorite treats to said outing, impressing her with my culinary skills. And finally, she’ll fall madly in love with me.”
I have to smile at his unabashed confidence. “Sounds like a fail-proof plan.”
“I know, right? Man, I hope Lily comes through though! Pepper is so hot, with that tight little body of hers. I bet I could bounce a quarter off her—”
Whump!
Before he can finish, Zeb collides with Oleg, the chief guard. Despite being in his mid-50s, Oleg is not someone any of us would ever want to mess with. He’s built like an Olympic weight lifter, strong as he is sharp, and behind his eyes lurks this visceral lethalness, like that of an old pit bull who could still tear your arm off at any moment.
Zeb steps back, stuttering. “S-Sorry, Oleg...er, uh...s-sir.”
After glaring at Zeb as if he has committed some fifth-degree felony, Oleg scolds in his thick Russian accent, “Be more careful!”
All Zeb can do is nod. He doesn’t even breathe again until Oleg stomps away. “Is it me, or is that guy about the most terrifying thing you’ve ever seen?” my friend asks.
I nudge his shoulder. “Everything scares you. Those Talkie Tammy dolls we make freak you out, Zeb. I hope Pepper’s got a thing for the wimpy type.”
“Hey! Their eyes follow you. They freakin’ follow you!” He sighs. “Still, I’d take them over that Mafioso any day.”
“Well, what do you expect from the chief guard?” I ask. “Hugs and lollipops? Get real.”
His frown remains. “Whatever. I can’t wait for these thugs to leave. They creep me out.”
I turn to study the dozens of stone-faced guards around us. Unlike the happy-go-lucky workers that exude yuletide, those elves never smile. Or greet any of us. In fact, other than anger and annoyance, they exhibit no trace of emotion whatsoever. Their hands constantly hover over their guns, and their seemingly vacant eyes constantly scan the vicinity for threats, like sharks searching for blood in the water, ready for a feeding frenzy. I stare at the Russians for a moment, then back at my friend’s wide eyes. “I hear you.”
