Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves

by Richard M. Heredia

  Hours and days later, he found he was sort of “mapping” the landscape he traveled through. And, he was doing do with such specificity, he could recall individual trees. He knew how many leaves, living or dead, they still had upon their branches. He was capable of giving each of them names, hundreds of them, then thousands, with blinding alacrity in both mind and body. He was intimate with every bush, knew every twig. He was familiar with every break or each case of frost damage they had endured during the course of their lives. He was able to discern which sides received more sunlight, their relative age, even when they were most likely to wither and die. He could delve into the lives of the various grasses and other such low-lying plant life. It did not matter if they were underneath a plethora of snow. Still, he could tell which ones had gone dormant, which ones would not exist much longer in such cold. And, of course, he could feel those ones that had died and had begun to nurture the ground with their decaying remains. He knew them all. They responded. With such individuality, it would take an encyclopedia sized set of books to describe a mere square foot of the ground he passed.

  And, with every new detail, with each strand of knowledge, his mind grew.

  Not in just size. No, it was in complexity - dimensional, exponential, to the power of ten with every passing minute. The more he had shifted down the Colorado wagon trail. Every step he had egged the insidious, child-like beast further and further from his son, the more his mind grew. His knowledge of the Melded World deepened with recollection so vast, it was accurate in its' most minuscule aspects. He would have filled terabytes of data in a quarter of an hour. He would have crashed even the mightiest server farms back in the World of Man.

  He saw it all. He felt it all. And, he used it to his advantage.

  He had drawn her out that day, almost all the way to what he knew would have been Glendale back home, before she had bedded down for the night. Not before, she had yelled at him. She had not known where he was per se, but she screamed in all directions just the same. She promised she would eviscerate him. She had elucidated how she would eat his steaming entrails, how she would devour the whole of him. She had said she would begin with his genitals, munching upon his juicy testicles. It had gone on and on, and he had watched it all until she finally grew fatigued. She ended the day sound asleep in the clutches of her gargantuan pet.

  He jump-phased back the way they had come. He was able to make much larger “leaps’ since he had covered the details of that ground already. It was now fused in his mind. Once he knew the place, he could go there at once. Thus, his trip back into the area where he had suspected the children were had been over three times faster. He was glad, because it allotted him more time to look for them, though he had made only moderate progress that night.

  He had made his way back to her before she had awakened in the midst of a hammering blizzard. He had toyed with her some more, leading her away blind, stumbling over the land. He brought her deep into the area on Earth he had known as the Sepulveda Basin.

  She had stopped early when night fell, ranting and raving about with her hands digging at either side of her head. He had always taken her for the devil’s own. He had been certain beyond certain she was out of her fucking mind, but that night…

  …She had looked like something straight out of the Cuckoo’s Nest. The way she had carried on was nothing short of monstrous.

  Hijo de puta, was all he could think as he watched.

  The girl-that-was-not-a-girl was a raving loon.

  She had finally fallen down in the snow like a sack of papas, a few hours after sunset.

  He had phased back to the big rock pile he had found the night before to search some more. That was the night he had found the smoke seeping from the ground. That was when he knew where his boy, his first-born, was hiding. His heart had ridden the hidden stars that night. Joy had overwhelmed him. He had known, without a doubt, his boy was safe, for the time being at least. His search was over, Andrew and the rest of the children were all right and they had protection. He felt - for the first time since his transportation to this place - able to relax, enjoy the possibility of resting at ease.

  He had not lingered after that. He phased back to where the pinché hija del diablo had lay sleeping but had found her in a completely different state.

  She was writhing on the ground. Her hulking beast had been striding around her, in a circle, in obvious bewilderment.

  That had been the first time Juan Ibarra had felt an inkling of something unexpected. Something was occurring upon this strange world that was definitely out of the ordinary.

  Something, he might be able to work in his favor.

  Thus, he had stayed the rest of the night, gazing through the howling wind and the biting snow. He watched as the little girl-who-was-not-a-little-girl fought some invisible entity. Her body flung one way, and then would hurtle in the opposite direction. All the while, she had clasped her head, screaming and screaming. She had howled with the worst obscenities Juan had ever heard. They were disgusting ravings, lunatic and gross, but he had endured it. He had wanted to see where it would lead. Because somewhere deep in the recesses of his tremendous mind he knew the outcome would be important.

  By sunrise, the storm had blown itself out, as had the girl in the white dress. Only now, her dress was a soiled mess, dirty and torn. The blue ribbon about her waist had frayed and ripped, threatening to fall away. She had been still then, leaning back against the great bulk of the creature that obeyed her every command. She was staring out into the forest beyond, at nothing in particular. Her jaw had gone slack, her eyes vacant.

  Juan had skip-phased as close as he dared, which had made her pet growl in warning, though it did not move an inch toward him. He had knelt upon the ground. He watched her for almost an hour and a half.

  The entire time she did not move once, her chest did not rise or fall; her limbs did not twitch with nervous inactivity. She had not even blinked.

  If Juan had known her for anything other than what she was, he would have deemed her dead. He knew, though, she was not. He knew the beast she was, so he had waited, patient and quiet as her pet dosed and she remained motionless.

  It was the horrible cracking and breaking sounds that roused his attention first. He peered at the vile, little female in astonishment. Both of her legs snapped, just below the knee, at grotesque angles. It was though she had toppled from a five-story building or bludgeoned by a ghastly set of twin sledgehammers. She had screamed in agony, freezing him where he knelt in the cold white of winter, sickening tingles running up and down his spine.

  Her huge pet had lurched to his feet, scuttling away like a frenzied pup. Her head flopped hard upon the packed snow. The beast left her to squirm about in anguish. It ran a couple dozen yards away, then had stepped behind a large pine, mewling and whimpering as if she'd beaten him.

  What the shit? Juan had thought, coming to stand. He stared on with unwholesome fascination as her legs crackled back into place, making her cry out again.

  He had lost track of the time he had stayed there, standing less than a dozen yards from her, waiting, wondering. All the while, he tried to anticipate what would happen next. Until, she had rolled onto her stomach and with agonized movements, jerky and unsteady. She had regained her feet and turned to stare back at him, Juan.

  To his utter surprise, she had grown, only a few inches, but she had grown nonetheless. Her face had changed as well, not by much, but it had altered enough that he took notice.

  He had tried to pin it down at the time, but he had been absorbing so much in such a short amount of time, he found he was unable.

  Now, when he thought back on it with hindsight in his corner, he realized what had happened.

  She had aged.

  Not by a lot, but the cast of her countenance had been more angular than before. They were less round as if all the child-like features she had once had about her face had melted away.

  She had grown and she had aged.

  �
�What’s the matter, Juan Ibarra?” she had asked, her voice no longer as high-pitched and musical as it once had been. Some of its’ allure had vanished as well. It was harsher now, chimed less, and was sharper - almost biting to the ear.

  “Nothing,” he had replied, chancing a quick glance at her pet. He pleased it had not budged from its’ partial concealment within the trees. “Just curious…,” he had added.

  “Ah, but I thought you knew… that curiosity ate the cat,” she warned. She peered over at her beast, her small eyes narrowing as the giant wolf-like animal whimpered in pain.

  “Isn’t it ‘curiosity killed the cat?” he corrected.

  The girl smiled, pure evil, from the side of her mouth, gazing at him through the corners of her eyes. “Not where I come from.” Her laugh was throaty and suggestive.

  “Stupid, little puta,” Juan cursed under his breath.

  “What’s wrong? Afraid now that I’ve discovered your little ruse? Worried that I will now turn tail and go after you precious offspring?” she asked, level.

  Juan could feel the violence within her, a palatable ooze flowing from her.

  “I promise I will tickle him for a long, long, long time…”

  Juan had had enough. “Hey, why don’t you just leave him be, huh? Leave them all be!”

  “I cannot.” The shake of her head was a false attempt at sadness.

  “Why not?” he demanded.

  “I will not.”

  “You little bitch, you leave my son alone!”

  “Ne-Veeeer,” she said. The last syllable drew out, rattled. Her long, articulating tongue uncurled from her mouth, widening far beyond one of a normal human being. It was impossible, almost an appendage. She wagged it at him as if beckoning him to come forward, rocking her hips back and forth in a manner a girl her age would not know how to do.

  “I will kill you, if you go near Andrew!” he vowed with enough force, spittle dripped down his chin.

  “You are always welcome to try…,” she replied around her lolling tongue. Then she yelled of a sudden, “Jätung!”

  From behind the screening trees, the great beast howled. It strained against something Juan could not see. Almost as if the creature was under the threat of torture.

  Without warning, the beast bounded forth as if compelled, not of its’ own volition. It had stopped before the girl. Its’ heavy coat twitched and spasmed as though it loathed being near to her.

  She ignored her reluctant pet and mounted the beast, then turned to gaze back a Juan. “The Twelve belong to me now, young man. Stay out of the way and you won’t get hurt.”

  With that, she had ridden off, back the way they had come. Her long hair flowed behind her, her small frame bouncing upon the back of Jätung.

  He stared at her for a while and then she had twisted around, lifted her hand and flipped him the bird.

  He had chuckled, rueful, and yelled back at her retreating form.

  She coaxed her great mount back toward what used to be Highland Park, more than twenty miles distant.

  “Y tú, pinche cabrona!” he had called after her with great volume.

  She paid him no heed as she sped away, once more in search of his son and the other children stranded here upon this accursed plane.

  For no reason inspiration filled him and yelled at the top of lungs once more, though he knew she could not hear him. “You’re messing with the wrong Mexicano, you bitch!!!”

  A moment later, he had vanished, while the blizzard continued.

  He had reappeared where he knew she had to traverse, along the Colorado trail west of the Eagle Rock Plaza. He was content to sit and wait. He would do so for however long it took.

  Something was happening to her.

  He could feel it deep down in his bones.

  It was something the other side had not expected - something new.

  He was going to get to the bottom of it!

  In the meantime, he was going to keep that crazy bitch from the…

  What had she called them?

  …The Twelve?

  It did not matter.

  She would never get anywhere near his boy and his newfound friends. Never.

  ~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~

  ~ 22 ~

  Gut Feeling

  Sunday, November 28th, 10:42 am…

  Pain!

  Pain!

  Pain was everywhere. It was pain in his gut, pain in his head, even pain behind the spheres of his eyes.

  It was painful to look at her, agonizing to hold her hand, though he tightened his grip on her until his muscles ached.

  She peered back, her face a rictus of anguish. She could feel it as well.

  What was happening?

  Everything blurred. It was hard to gaze through the fog of agony. His mind could not focus, thoughts formed, but were not complete. They disappeared before the gale, scattered, shattered, never realized. He tried again and again, but could not construct a single notion of merit.

  With the slightest touch, he felt the tension in her hand, made small by his giant palm, but insubstantial at the same time. What was happening?

  Where was she going? Why?

  She yelled his name, but there was no sound. Something else was drowning her out. It was a long, forlorn resounding. It seemed to go on forever.

  Blooooooooonnnnngggg!

  With it came what felt like ripping, tearing. He shredded from the inside out!

  She hollered again. His name.

  Yes, it was his name. He could tell by the way her cosmetically blackened lips moved. She was holding onto him with both hands now, her back hunched, her feet spread apart. She was trying with all her might to keep a hold of him. She was tugging with all her might, though he did not feel anything pull.

  He noticed it then - the growing amorphousness about them. It was a thing smacking of all that was indistinct, undefinable and it was growing, spreading, outward. It was not coming from one central location. It was in all places, everywhere.

  He stared down at her, fear creeping upon his back, into his lungs. He breathed it now. It was him.

  The sound would not stop. It was deafening. It was overpowering.

  “Shawn!” He could just hear her. She spoke with the strength of her entire body. She was using every ounce to communicate. Still, it was like she was under water, screaming through air that was one thousand times thicker than it should have been.

  Why? How was this happening?

  To his horror, she became fuzzy. Right before his eyes, she was less there than she had been a second before. He could no longer make out the details of her face, the color of her eyes. They’re blue, Shawn! he bawled as the memories of her washed over him. She has eyes the color of an aquamarine gemstone!

  Try as he might to make himself see them, he could not.

  She was less tangible now. Her hand did not feel the same. It was no longer warm, no longer comforting. She was somehow less of a person. She was more of an image.

  “Kimberly, don’t leave me!” he shrieked, but he could not hear his own voice above a whisper. He felt the massaging of his throat as the sound passed from his chest to the outside world. But there, it died. It lacked the vitality to withstand the immense, reverberating cacophony that rattled him in his own skeleton.

  The four sets of double-doors leading into the Macy’s department store disappeared. Then the walls went away. The ceiling and the decking turned to mist until it was just him and the teenage girl he beginning to love. An enormous gray nothingness surrounded them.

  Another bout of pain wracked him. He wanted nothing more than to double-over, to clutch about his mid-section. His stomach and entrails were screaming at him, but he would have none of it. He would continue to look at her. He would not give her up. Now that he had finally found her, he would never let her go. He could not. He would not.

  In the end, he did.

  He passed out.

  Everything went black. He could not see.

  Kimberly wa
s gone.

  But, he could feel. The pain was still there, only emanating from different places – his left shoulder, the corresponding hip. His right ankle felt like it was on fire.

  In a flash of blinding light, with the sound of a convoy of semi-trucks, the world burst into being. It was horrid, terrible. He felt it in his stomach, a wretched twist, bile rising in his throat. He was going to throw-up.

  The scene about him was nothing short of hell itself. Bodies smashed and tangled amongst a throng of cars and delivery haulers. Men, women, children and infants ground to nothing resembling who they had once been. Raw sewage assaulted his nose with ferocious intent. Somewhere thousands of volts of electricity snapped and popped. He heard someone shred their vocal cords as the currents ruined what had once been a human being.

  He was slipping, with each passing blink of his eyes. He was edging his way further into this fiery hole of death, ever closer to the carnage. He was sliding toward more pain and what had to be his own demise. He tried to grasp onto something, anything, it arrest his lethargic descent. His fingers sank into mud, made moist and gooey with the most gruesome of liquids. Still, he skidded down the decline, making long furrows in the gook.

  He flipped onto his stomach, spread his limbs as far as they would go. He hoped, entreated any sort of being mightier than him to bless him, to help him. He did not want to fall into the roiling mass of murder that churned at the bottom. He had to live. He had to survive. He had to!