“This is a . . . tweeker?” Krampus asked. “He has the sickness?”
Chet nodded. “Yeah, he’s got the sickness alright. Addicted to crystal meth. Craves it. Y’know, has to have it or goes all batshit crazy?”
“I understand addiction. It is like those who are enslaved to the opium.”
“Yeah, like that, ’cept worse. These folks, they make this shit out of whatever chemicals they can get a hold of. They don’t eat, don’t sleep, and it slowly chews away at their brains.”
“This plague, it is prevalent throughout the land?”
“Yeah,” Jesse put in. “Thanks to douche bags like Chet here, it sure as shit is.”
“What the fuck, Jesse?” Chet barked. “Your hands ain’t exactly clean.”
Krampus shook his head, left the man on the sofa, and continued into the kitchen. Jesse flipped the light switch, but the light didn’t come on. In the dim morning glow they could see someone had removed all the doors from the cabinets, that there was nothing left on the shelves but a few packets of instant oatmeal and a box of Froot Loops. The place smelled of mildew, of meat gone rancid. Dozens of plastic garbage bags lined the far wall. Some toppled over, spilling out their contents, others had holes chewed into them where the rats had been at work. Stacks of unwashed dishes and pans cluttered the sink, counters, and stovetop.
“Fuck,” Chet said, holding his nose. “How do people live in this filth?”
Jesse peered down the hall, searching for Isabel. The house was quiet, eerily quiet. He felt as though he were in a spook house, sure some horror was about to jump out at him from every shadow. A clang came from somewhere, possibly the basement, difficult to tell. “Oh, Good Lord,” someone said, it sounded like Isabel. Jesse made his way down the dark corridor, trying not to trip over all the trash.
He found Isabel and the girl in a back bedroom. A man lay tangled in a sheet upon a bare mattress, staring up at the ceiling. His waxy skin and sunken eyes left no doubt that he was dead . . . long dead.
“Well, now that’s a shame,” Chet said over Jesse’s shoulder. “Looks like Boone County’s got one less dumbshit ice-head to hand food stamps out to.”
Isabel spun around, set angry eyes on Chet. “Shut your fool mouth,” she hissed. “That’s her daddy you’re talking about.”
Chet flinched, looked at the little girl. “Didn’t realize . . . hell, sorry.”
“Her name’s Lacy.”
The little girl didn’t turn around, didn’t even seem to hear, just stood there staring at the dead man. Isabel bent down and pulled the sheet up over his head. Krampus and the others stood at the door. No one spoke.
“She says he’s been dead a long while,” Isabel said. “Maybe four or five days. That’s what she was doing out there in the cold, trying to dig a grave for her daddy on account no one else would.”
“This one,” Krampus asked, pointing at the corpse. “The sickness? The meth?”
Chet nodded. “Yeah, body can only take so much, y’know. Probably enough chemicals in his veins that they won’t have to even bother with the embalming juice.”
Isabel took the little girl’s hand. “We need to get her someplace warm. Get her something to eat.”
“You planning on just taking someone’s kid?” Chet asked. “You sure you wanna be doing that?”
She looked at Krampus. “I ain’t leaving her here.”
Krampus nodded absently, his face unreadable, staring at the body.
Isabel kneeled down next to the girl. “You wanna come along with me? Get something to eat?”
The girl wiped her nose and nodded.
“Well, that’s all I need,” Isabel said, and led Lacy through the Belsnickels and out into the hall. The Belsnickels stood unsure, watching Krampus, waiting for his next move.
A shrill cry cut the silence, “Who the fuck are you?”
Jesse pushed out of the room, saw a silhouette back toward the kitchen blocking Isabel’s path. A woman, gaunt, with long, stringy hair, looking as close to death as a living person could, stood in front of the open basement door. She reeked of chemicals.
“What you doing here?” She spotted Lacy. “What you doing with my little girl? What the fuck are you doing? You get away from her, you hear me!”
Isabel let go of Lacy, grabbed the woman, and shoved her into the wall. Clutched her by the jaw, twisted her face, and forced her to look at her little girl. “Look at her. Look! Your little girl is starving to death. She’s got no shoes on. She’s so cold she can’t stop shivering. What kind of mother are you? Tell me, huh?”
The woman blinked. Her eyes filled with pain and horror. It was as though she was seeing her daughter clearly for the first time in a long while, and Jesse guessed she probably was.
Isabel let her go and she slid down to her knees. “Oh, sweetie,” the woman’s voice broke, she began to sob. “I’m so sorry. Let’s get you something to eat.” She reached for the girl with a boney hand that looked more like a claw. “C’mon . . . mama’s gonna fix you a grilled cheese. C’mon, shug.”
The little girl backed away, tried to hide behind Isabel.
The woman’s brow furrowed, her voice became taut. “Sweetie, come here . . . now.”
The little girl shook her head and stayed put.
The woman began to tremble, her face twisting into something miserable and grotesque. She saw Krampus, got a better look at the Belsnickels. Her eyes began to twitch, her lips to quiver. “Demons,” she whispered. “Someone has let demons into my house.” She stood, jabbed a finger at them, and shrieked, “Devils! Oh, God, save us! C’mere, baby, don’t let ’em touch you!”
She leapt forward, catching Isabel by surprise, shoved her backward. Isabel stumbled and fell over a clump of trash. The little girl tried to run, but the woman caught a handful of her hair, yanked her around, started to drag her away. Jesse dashed forward, caught the woman by the arm. Vernon was ready; he rushed up and dashed a pinch of sleeping sand directly into her face. The woman let out a shout, wiped at her eyes, losing hold of the child. Isabel gained her feet, snatched Lacy up, and hustled her down the hall, disappearing into the kitchen.
The woman stopped struggling for a moment, looked confused, sneezed, blinked, then caught sight of them again. “Devils!” she screamed and began slapping and clawing at Jesse. Vernon tossed more sand into her mouth and nose. She stumbled back, spitting and wiping at her face, sneezed again, and sat down hard on her ass. Even so, she still held on to consciousness, glaring at them as they passed.
“Damn,” Vernon said. “Did you see that? A whole handful and she’s still kicking.”
“It’s the crank,” Chet said. “She’s so jacked up, nothing’s gonna knock her out.”
They left the woman in the hall, passed through the kitchen and into the front room. The man, whoever he was, had not left the sofa. He had the blanket pulled up to his nose; his haunted eyes following them as they exited the house. They tromped down off the porch and rounded the house, caught up with Isabel in the yard. Isabel pulled the panda cap off her own head and tugged it down over Lacy’s. The little girl sobbed, pressing her face into Isabel’s shoulder.
Isabel turned as they approached, and all at once her eyes grew wide, she let out a cry, and Jesse caught sight of Lacy’s mother. She came running up behind them, seemed to appear out of nowhere. She clutched a shotgun and her eyes meant business. Before anyone could move, do more than shout, she leveled the weapon at Krampus and pulled the trigger—the blast deafening at such close quarters, echoing up and down the valley. The buckshot caught Krampus across the back of his left shoulder, spinning the Yule Lord around and knocking him to the ground.