Lynyrd reached for the sack.
“Hey, leave that alone!” Jesse cried and leapt toward the sack.
Lynyrd had a big buck knife out in a heartbeat, had it pointed right at Jesse’s chest. Lynyrd wasn’t the biggest of the Boggses, but he was fast, scary fast. Jesse stopped, put his hands up. “Just getting the sack out of the mud.”
“Why don’t you just leave it be ’till I’m done,” Lynyrd said.
Jesse backed off.
“Hell, Jesse,” Chet said. “You need to calm the fuck down.”
Lynyrd shoved the packet up under Jesse’s seat.
“What the fuck is wrong with them birds tonight?” Chet said to no one in particular.
Lynyrd picked up the Santa sack and tossed it back into the cab without a second look.
“Hey,” Chet said. “Is that a Santy Claus bag? It is. What the hell, Jesse? You been playing Santa?” He walked over for a closer look.
“Leave it be,” Jesse said.
“Okay, sure. Relax, man,” Chet said. “No one wants to steal your stupid Santa bag.” Chet took a closer look at Jesse’s face and seemed to reconsider. He squinted at the sack. “Whatcha got in there, anyway?” Chet patted the sack. “That’s weird.” He poked it. Watched the way the sack slowly reinflated. “Lynyrd, did you see that?”
Lynyrd grunted.
Chet pulled the sack back out. The cawing grew louder. “Fucking birds have done lost their minds?”
“Let it alone,” Jesse said, taking a step forward.
Lynyrd grabbed him, shoved him up against the camper shell, flashed his knife in front of Jesse’s face. “You’re sure a slow learner, boy.”
Chet whistled. “Look at him, man. He’s all worked up. Must be something really good in here.” He loosened the gold cord and peered in.
“Well?” Lynyrd asked.
Chet looked puzzled.
“What?” Lynyrd asked.
“That’s really weird. It’s like there’s some sort of—”
A shadow slid from the trees and sprang for Chet. It was one of them—one of the devil men. It snatched the sack out of Chet’s hands and knocked him sprawling across the snow.
Lynyrd reacted without a second’s hesitation, launching himself at the creature, slashing out wildly with his big buck knife, catching the creature across the back of its shoulder. The devil man spun insanely fast, looking like some sort of rabid pillow-fighter as it swung the sack around in a tight arc, catching Lynyrd full in the chest and knocking him across the hood of Jesse’s truck. Lynyrd snatched Jesse’s pistol up off the hood, wheeled about, firing away. The first bullet went wild, the second caught the creature in the side of the face. The creature stumbled back and fell, but didn’t let go of the sack.
Before Lynyrd could get off a third shot, a spear flew out of the dark, struck him in the chest, followed a half-second later by two more of the devil men. They leapt from the brush and smashed right into him, slamming him into the side of the truck with enough force to rattle the whole frame. One of them opened Lynyrd’s throat with a quick slash of its knife, while the other tore the gun from his hand. Lynyrd crumpled to the ground, clutching the spear as blood gushed from the wide gash in his neck.
Two more of the devil beasts ran up, looking from the blood to the sack with wide, orange eyes. One of them grabbed the wounded devil and helped it to its feet, while the other took the sack.
“Who the fuck are you guys?” Chet cried from where he lay sprawled upon the ground. He glared up at Jesse. “You set us up! You fucking set us up! You’re dead! Your whole family’s dead!”
The ravens were right over their heads now, jumping around in the branches, cawing and cawing.
“Santa Claus. He is here,” one of the devil men said, the tall one wearing the mangy hide. He pointed and they all looked across the street to a sloping field. Jesse did, as well, but saw nothing.
“Oh, dear God!” another of the devil men cried. He carried a busted-up shotgun but still looked scared to death.
Chet took the moment to scramble to his feet and run, sprinting for Dillard’s patrol car, waving his arms, and screaming at the top of his lungs, “IT’S A SETUP! IT’S A SETUP!” None of the devil men gave him so much as another look, their orange eyes locked on the something across the way. They all seemed frozen in place.
“Get in the truck, now!” the one with the pistol shouted, and judging by the voice and slight build, Jesse guessed this one to be a woman or girl.
They moved.
She pointed the gun at Jesse. “You. Drive!” When Jesse didn’t move fast enough, she shoved him in through the passenger door, sliding in next to him. “Get us out of here fast or we’re all dead.”
Jesse glanced at Lynyrd’s body lying in the blood-drenched snow, knew these creatures, whatever they were, weren’t to be toyed with. He cranked up the engine while the devil men piled into the camper with the Santa sack. He hit his headlights and saw a stout shape running toward them across the playground. It looked familiar.
“Go!” the devil woman shouted. “Go!”
Jesse hit the gas, heading for the lower exit of the parking lot.
A pair of headlights flashed on, blinding him. It was Dillard. The patrol car’s big engine revved as Dillard accelerated to cut them off.
“Oh, fuck!” Jesse cried. Things were not going as he’d planned, not at all.
A gunshot rang out, then another, and Jesse’s remaining side mirror shattered. Jesse gunned it, tried to press the pedal all the way through the floorboard, but there was nothing for it—Dillard would win the race.
Jesse caught sight of Dillard’s mad grin, caught a muzzle flash, and a finger-size hole punched through the door frame and exited out the front windshield, followed a millisecond later by the report. Jesse knew this was just what Dillard wanted, probably sat there praying for—a chance to shoot him dead.
A man dashed into the beams of Jesse’s headlights. The Santa man, eyes wild, teeth clenched in a fearsome grimace, carrying a sword and running directly for them. “Hey!” Jesse cried, and swerved, trying desperately not to hit the man. The Santa man swung the sword, striking the front of the truck, taking out the driver’s-side headlight. The blade raked down the side of the truck as they barreled past, sending up a shower of sparks. The Santa man spun away and ended up directly in the path of Dillard’s speeding cruiser. There came a tremendous wallop as the cruiser collided with the man, sending the vehicle veering away into the ditch and knocking the Santa man tumbling across the parking lot.
Jesse spun out onto the road, hit the brakes, looked back over his shoulder, hoping, praying, that he’d see Dillard’s brains splattered onto the windshield of his cruiser. It just seemed fair that if everything else had to go so completely wrong, maybe this at least could go his way. Jesse had seen what a deer could do to the front end of a car, but the front of Dillard’s cruiser was a step beyond that, more like what hitting a cow might do. He noticed the deployed airbag and his heart sank. “Dammit.”
“Is he dead?” the devil woman asked. “Is he?”
Jesse realized she was talking about the Santa man, not Dillard.
“No,” answered one of the devil men. “Don’t think so.”
Jesse scanned the parking lot, searching for a mangled body, was surprised to see the Santa man climb right back to his feet looking no worse for wear. The ravens squawked and swooped overhead. The Santa man turned, looking at something far up the road.
“They come,” the tall devil man said. “See . . . see them!”
Jesse saw two dark shapes galloping toward them. He had no idea what they could be. They looked like shaggy dogs, wolves maybe, only huge, nearly the size of bulls, less than a hundred yards out and closing in fast.