Authors: Bret Tallent
Johnny continued,
“That’s Tom Willis in the big chair.” He motioned toward Tom with head. “He’s
a Doctor, so let’s see if we can get him up and around.”
Tom had regained
some of his composure but was still very weak. He had been able to track the
conversation and finally piped in “I was a Doctor…In another life.” He said
sarcastically.
“Maybe so,” Johnny
replied, “but you’re the best we got. And right now Hayden needs you…And so
does Roscoe. You can wallow in your self pity later.”
***
Hayden had
suffered from hypothermia but it didn’t appear that he’d gotten any frostbite,
as far as Tom could tell. Of course Tom’s vision was still blurry, and his
eyes felt as if they had sand in them from the snow blindness. After a couple
of cups of Sarah’s coffee, and the three Snickers bars that Gary had produced
from a vending machine somewhere in the building, Tom had felt a lot better.
So he had set about tending to the two patients that Johnny had brought him.
Hayden could have
been a lot worse, Tom knew. But Johnny had done the right things and probably
saved his life, along with his fingers and toes. After some warming up, Tom
figured the big man would be coming around. So he had Mike and Nick find some
space heaters to put near him. Then, he turned his attention to the dog.
He wasn’t a Vet,
but he was sure he could patch the dog up. From medical school, he had worked
on a few of them and knew they weren’t that different from people. Tom’s
biggest problem was his eyesight. He’d needed Sarah to help him examine
Hayden, and now he was going to need her to do some suturing. Tom gently
palpated the long gashes in Roscoe’s side and found that a few of the ribs were
broken as well. There wasn’t much you could do about broken ribs anyway, so it
seemed like just a good cleaning and sutures would do it.
The station’s
first-aid kit wasn’t great, but it had a decent supply of bandages and
ointments and the like. Sarah had found a sewing kit in the receptionist’s
desk drawer, and though it wasn’t ideal, it should do. Sarah scrubbed the
wounds with iodine while Gary comforted Roscoe, and Tom supervised. Roscoe
only barely flinched each time Sarah put in a stitch with the silk thread and
needle she’d found. Tom let Sarah do all the work, and approved of her
suturing job. When she was finished, she liberally greased up the wounds with
Neosporin and then wrapped it all up with gauze.
The only pain meds
in the kit were Tylenol capsules. Tom seemed to recall that it was okay to
give dogs low doses of Tylenol, but you couldn’t give them acetaminophen. So
Tom had Gary break a couple open and dust a bite of candy bar with it. Roscoe
accepted the treat readily from Gary’s hand and followed it down with half a
bowl of water. Tom then checked the capillary refill in Roscoe’s gums and
confirmed his suspicions that the dog had lost a lot of blood. The wounds had
not hit any vital organs or entered any body cavities, so with some rest the
dog should be fine. Tom stood there nodding at both his patient’s prognosis.
For the first time in a long time Tom felt like a doctor.
***
Johnny had downed
a couple of Tylenol with a cup of Sarah’s coffee and left Hayden and Roscoe to
Tom’s care. He was grateful for the snacks that Gary had rounded up and
munched them with a vengeance. It had been a long time since he had eaten, and
the cold and his work in it earlier today had drained him. He noticed that
Nick and Mike barely picked at their food. Finally he suggested that they
inventory what they had.
Nick and Mike had
already searched the building but found it empty, save for the typical office
supplies. Their best bets were whatever could be found in the Police Station.
While Roscoe was being stitched up, they thoroughly inspected all of the
station. That concluded, Johnny made a mental note of what they had that could
help. There were a couple of flare guns with a total of seventeen flares
between them. There were also four kerosene lanterns, some shop tools,
acetylene torch, about fifteen gallons of gas, four snowmobiles, two shotguns
with twenty some shells, and Gary’s crossbow with a dozen bolts. Not much, he
decided.
Johnny, Nick, and
Mike joined the others in the main office. They each grabbed another cup of
Sarah’s coffee and found seats around the room. Each of them looked
expectantly of Johnny. There was an awkward moment of silence as each pondered
the situation. And in that moment Johnny looked at the other seven sitting
around the room with him.
There was strength
in numbers he hoped, even these numbers. He considered each of them in turn
and slowly shook his head. Of them he could count on only three that would
have the strength and conviction for what lay ahead, the boy, the girl, and her
friend. Her brother was already locked in combat with
them
, and was
losing. Hayden was nearly dead, and by all rights should be. The doctor had
already given up on life a long time ago. And he was a gimpy park ranger with
a banged up dog. He only hoped they would be enough, that he would be enough.
Johnny hated being
put in this position, but he simply was the only one who really knew what they
were up against. It was his people that first encountered the Winter People.
It was his people that told and retold their stories. It was their legends
that had become a part of his history, his life. He alone understood what they
were and how to fight them. He alone knew the extent of their fury and
hatred.
Johnny also knew
that it was he alone that would eventually have to face them. It was his
responsibility, to his people, and his grandfather. Johnny knew that he must
tell these people everything. He had been given the task to set things right,
it was up to him and he would need their help. He would need to tell them the
story as it had been passed down. Johnny swallowed hard and broke the awkward
silence.
“It was 1833 and
called the winter the stars fell,” he began, “and it was one of the coldest
winters in recorded history by our tribe. It was a time of great famine and
hardship, whole families dying from disease or starvation. The old and the
very young were often cast aside to die. It was a time of shame for the Ute
and the spirits abandoned us for our sins. It was at this time that the skies
opened up and the stars fell to earth.”
Johnny paused to
collect his thoughts. It was a difficult story to tell. He took a deep breath
then continued, “A short time after the stars fell, an evil wind came down to
walk among the trees and took a man-like form. It was cold and angry, and
committed great savagery against the Ute. There was a great war between the
tribe and the wind. It called upon its friends, the night and the clouds, to
help it. Together they showed no mercy or compassion. They would haunt them
in their dreams and bury them in icy snows. They would attack all that moved;
the old, the infirm, the strong, and the very young. They would render grown
men as easily as little babies; toss them about like a child’s doll. Then,
they would devour the dead. They were known to the Ute as the Ha’a’jo Den’e,
the Winter People.”
Johnny took a sip
from his coffee with a trembling hand then resumed his story. “The Chief of
our tribe could no longer stand to see his people suffer and called upon his
warriors to make a stand. The Chief and his warriors fought bravely as the
women and children fled into the lowlands. They had killed a number of the
Winter People, but finally were decimated by their large numbers. A few Ute
warriors survived, led by my great grandfather, and escaped to join the rest of
their tribe. My great grandfather had killed many of them, and wounded several
more.”
After a short pause and
another sip, Johnny continued. “But in the end, they were driven from the
land. And so began the new history of the Ute. They would live in the high
country during the summer, and move into the lowlands during the winter when
the snows were deep.” Johnny paused and stared into his coffee cup, gathering
his thoughts. No one said a word, even the wind outside seemed silent, waiting
for its story to be told. Johnny contemplated for a moment more, and then
continued.
“The Winter
People,” he began, “are nomads. They spend their summers far to the north
where the earth is still frozen, and travel the mountains to the south in the
winter to feed. They whisper in the wind and torment in our dreams. Theirs is
a sick desire, bound by misanthropy and perverse pleasures. They delight in
how brutal they can be, at how much misery they can inflict. They toy with us
as a cat toys with a mouse. We are but playthings for their twisted games.
The lucky ones,” Johnny swallowed again, “the lucky ones are allowed to freeze
to death and taken back up north as food for the summer months.”
“Later,” he
continued, “in 1847 a group of pioneers led by Richard Donner had become stranded
in the deep snows of a high mountain pass. Several months later they were
eventually rescued but only a few had survived. Only they know what truly
happened, but there were many reports of cannibalism among the group. I
believe it was the Winter People that had fed upon them.” Johnny paused and
gulped another shot of hot coffee, “there have always been reports of people
and settlements just disappearing in the winter. Most of them without a
trace. But my people have always known why.”
Johnny sighed and
finished, “Bullets and arrows, clubs, knives, these have little effect on
them. Fire is their only true enemy. Their blood burns. Like touching a
match to gasoline, touch their blood with fire and they are consumed by it.”
His words hung in the air like so much dust caught in a sunbeam, then finally
settled on the occupants of the room and there was no response at all.
Each of them had seen
enough today to believe everything the Indian had said. It made perfect
sense. As insane and unreal as it was, it made perfect sense to them all. And
that would make Johnny’s job a whole lot easier. He wouldn’t need to convince
them of anything…except what they had to do next. Johnny had a plan, but it
would require sacrifices of everyone, some more than others. This was not just
about survival.
Finally, Mike broke the
silence. “So what do we do?”
***
Nick and Mike were in
the main building, removing heavy doors from their hinges. They were large,
solid wood doors and Nick only hoped they would be strong enough. It took the
two of them to carry one door so it took several trips to get enough for what
Johnny had in mind. Part of it, Mike knew, was because of Nick’s condition.
He hadn’t been up to speed for some time now and Mike regarded him as they carried
the last door into the main office. He was pale, his eyes were tired and
drawn, and he seemed far away.
They sat the last door
against the wall beside the front door of the station. The big front window of
the station was already covered by two of the doors they had retrieved earlier,
screwed into the framing with large lag bolts they had found in the garage. A
second pair of doors were placed against those at a forty five degree angle to
the wall and the floor, and secured to the floor with 3 inch wood screws.
Sarah was helping Johnny to secure half a door over a small window in the next
office, while Tom and Gary stood vigil over Hayden and Roscoe.
No one really spoke.
They just went about the tasks at hand. Nick shrugged to Mike and they dragged
the heavy door they had just carried in, into position over the front door.
Nick held it in place while Mike retrieved some lag bolts and a ratchet. They
all continued around the offices securing the doors and windows as best they
could. The last door they secured was the door that accessed the rest of the
building. Finally, Nick and Mike dragged the heavy wooden receptionist’s desk
over in front of that door and ran some wood screws into the floor around its
feet.
With the office
secured, Johnny plopped into the big padded chair and began massaging his bum
leg. Nick and Mike sat down on the couch and Sarah sat between them. Tom
pulled up the receptionist’s chair and eased his aching frame into it, while
Gary stayed with Roscoe. The lot of them sat around in a semi-circle,
dejected. It was Nick that said what they all were thinking.
“This isn’t going to
stop them, is it?” he said to Johnny.
“Probably not.” He
replied.
“Then why the hell did
we do it?” Mike barked.
“It will slow them
down.” Johnny replied flatly. “It will give us a chance.”
“…A chance to do
what…Survive?” Mike asked sarcastically. “Make ourselves the last treat before
they head out of town? …A snack for the road?”
“It will give us a
chance.” Johnny replied.
Mike just shook his
head. Sarah put her arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. Mike
glanced over to her appreciatively, and then hung his head, embarrassed. “I’m
sorry.” He mumbled. “I just feel so freakin’ helpless. I don’t want to just
sit here and let them come.”
Nick asked, “What can
we do?”
Finally Tom, who had
been listening quietly, said. “We know how to hurt them. And I think Johnny
has more in mind than he’s let on.” He gave Johnny a knowing look and Johnny
replied with a light nod.
“This is not just
survival.” Johnny agreed. “We can make a stand here, and probably survive.
But there is more that I have to do. There is more that we have to do.”
Johnny thought for a moment then continued. “They have already gathered a
number of the town to take with them for the summer. We need to help them.”