He kicked through a snowdrift blocking the shed and slid inside. The Ski-Doo motor gurgled and died on the first two tries. On the third, it roared to life.
He tossed the life jacket aside. If he had to run or hide, fluorescent orange wasn’t the best color. Gary drove out onto the trail, moving slow, trying to keep the engine as quiet as possible. He kept the lights off, using the night-vision goggles to guide his way. The Ski-Doo glided through the inch or two of snow that had accumulated since the road had last been plowed. Dark woods rose up on both sides like canyon walls.
In just over three minutes, Gary saw the church tower through the trees. He took off the goggles. He unzipped his snowsuit, pulled out a flashlight, pointed it at the tower and flashed twice.
SARA AND TIM sat huddled together under three blankets that did little to ward off the cold wind blowing through the bell-tower turret. When Sara saw the double flash come from the dark path leading to the harbor, it seemed unbelievable at first, somehow fake. The second double flash, however, made it real.
“No fucking way,” Tim said.
“Way,” Sara said. She lifted her own flashlight, a clumsy maneuver thanks to Clayton’s thick mittens, and gave two answering flashes. She set the flashlight down and picked up the binoculars, sweeping the dimly lit town square.
GARY SAW THE two flashes. He had to be careful. Could be Magnus up there, tricking Gary into coming in. He patted the gun again, just to be sure it was there. This was crazy, really fucking crazy—he was a barfly boat driver who dealt a little pot on the side, not some action star like Uncle Clint.
Gary put the flashlight away and put the night-vision goggles back on. No way to really know who was in that turret. Setting up for a fast getaway would be smart. He turned his Ski-Doo around, leaving it just past the edge of town with the nose pointed back down the road. He slid off the sled. Now or never. His dad needed him. One quick walk to the church and back, and it would be all but over.
He reached the edge of town before he saw movement.
SARA LOWERED THE binoculars. “What the hell is that?”
“What the hell is what?” Tim reached for the binoculars, but Sara slapped his hand away. She looked through them again. Down there in the darkness, something was moving. Something big. Lurking around in the trees at the outskirts of the small town.
“Oh no,” she said quietly. “Oh my God, no.”
GARY FROZE. HE half hoped there was something wrong with the night-vision goggles, but he knew they were working just fine. At the edge of town, near the lodge, less than a hundred feet away… a… bear? No, the head was too big. Way too big. Through the goggles, the thing’s black-patched white fur glowed an unearthly pale green. Something on its back kept popping up and down.
It opened its eyes wide. Gary knew this because the night vision suddenly showed two glowing white-green spots in the middle of that big head.
It was looking at him, mouth half open, long, pointed teeth glowing like wet emeralds.
“RUN, YOU IDIOT,” Sara whispered. “Goddamit, don’t you see them?” The man stayed perfectly still, staring at the shadowy something near the corner of the lodge. He obviously didn’t see the others—Sara offhandedly estimated at least twenty—closing in on him from all sides of town.
“Sara,” Tim hissed. “What the hell, come on.”
She handed him the binoculars and pointed. “Tell me I’m crazy. Tell me those aren’t what I think they are.”
Tim stared for only a second. “Oh fuck me running. No way.”
That wasn’t what Sara wanted to hear. She started scanning the town, the horizon, looking for something she could use to help the man.
WIND WHISTLED THROUGH the snow-covered pines. Gary slowly took off a mitten, keeping his eyes focused on the bear-thing by the lodge. If he didn’t get Sara and Tim out now, they’d be trapped for days. He didn’t know exactly what the animal was, but it was just an animal. He was a human with a gun.
He slowly reached into his snowsuit, trying to control his fear, trying to stay calm. He heard a branch break somewhere off to his left. It registered that it would have to be a big branch to be heard over the wind. A really big branch. Gary turned, his chest roiling, already knowing what he’d see. Seventy-five feet away, at the edge of the woods, another of the big-mouthed bear creatures glowed green in the night-vision light. It, too, was looking right at him.
What little bravery Gary possessed instantly evaporated. Were there more? How many more? Staying very, very still, he swept the landscape.
A third by the hunter’s shop.
A fourth and a fifth near the church.
A sixth at the edge of the woods on his right.
Gary Detweiler turned and ran as fast as the bulky snowsuit would allow, his legs swish-swishing against each other in a dark parody of a child’s wintertime play.
SARA TOOK CAREFUL aim at the lead creature chasing Gary Detweiler. A sudden blow knocked her into a pillar. Strong, bony fingers covered her mouth. Tim had tackled her. Sara angrily brought up her hands to shove the man, but Tim leaned in so close his lips pressed against her ear.
“Don’t move!” he hissed. “Keep still, there are more right below us!”
She pushed him off, but stayed quiet. She slowly looked over the parapet and down the side of the church tower. Sara’s eyes widened in surprise and fear. Against the suffused gray-white moonlight glow of the snow-covered ground, she counted seven of the creatures. They were all looking up into the church tower.
They’re looking right at us.
It seemed that way at first, but Sara realized the creatures were turning their heads, searching. They weren’t looking at her, but they sure as hell were looking for her.
A roar—deep and jagged and hateful and savage—erupted from the path that led to the dock.
WHEN HE HEARD the first roar, his heart seemed to stop but his feet weren’t as dumb—they kept pumping. Gary sprinted for his life. Another roar, closer this time. He poured all his energy into the sprint, heavy boots slamming against the snow-covered ground, arms pumping, legs churning.
Like an Old West gunslinger mounting his horse, Gary leaped and spread his legs, landing butt-first on the soft Ski-Doo seat. The now-warm machine fired up on the first try and he gunned the throttle, shooting down the path.
More of them oh fuck how many are there poured out of the tree-canyon walls, coming at him from all sides. Speed carried him past their muscular, heaving bodies. The journey that had taken five minutes while put-putting along took just over a minute with the throttle locked wide open. The dune crest rose before him, and beyond it would be his boat.
Another one. It came from the harbor side of the dune, stopped on the crest, crouched like a tennis player waiting to return a serve. Gary slowed, banked hard right and drove at an angle toward the crest. The monster took its own angle down the dune face, trying to cut him off. When it almost reached the sled, Gary opened up the throttle full out. The monster curved its pursuit path to correct, but Gary was already past.
He banked hard left just in time to sail over the dune ridge, catching big air, the boat now before him like a beacon of hope. So close. He hit the ground and pumped the brakes. The Ski-Doo skidded and slid—Gary was off it and running before the machine even stopped moving.