“They’re going to try and send an ambulance,” Michael said as he came into the room. “The logga—the police, or whatever they call them—are coming too. If they can plow through all that snow. I guess the storm was twice as bad around Hvammstangi. The main highway is blocked.”
“What if no one makes it here?” I asked. Grandpa’s hand was like ice now. “I don’t know much about first aid.”
“If Grandpa gets worse, we’ll have to phone back and get advice.” Michael knelt down next to the couch. “The woman on the phone said it’s just important to keep him warm.”
Sarah had her palm on Grandpa’s forehead. Grandpa’s eyes were closed, his face solemn. “He doesn’t seem to be waking up. He has a heck of a fever, but at least he’s breathing. That’s a good sign.”
“What if he’s in a coma?” I asked. I tucked Grandpa’s hand under the blanket, then went to the end of the couch and covered his feet. “What are we going to do?”
“What can we do?” Michael asked. “Should I look for Uncle Thordy?”
“Go outside?” Sarah shook her head. “We don’t know what’s out there. We’re safest right where we are.”
“What about Mordur?” I said. “We can’t just leave him alone.”
I went to the kitchen window, scraped at the ice, and peeped through the clear spot. “The light’s still on, so I guess he’s awake,” I said on my way back to the living room.
“We could phone him,” Sarah suggested.
“He doesn’t have a phone, remember?” I said.
Michael stood, his hands balled up into fists like he was gearing up for a fight. “Someone will have to go over there. But one of us has to look after Grandpa.”
“How do we decide who stays?” Sarah asked.
“Rock, paper, scissors,” I said. It was a hand game we’d played since we were kids, often using it to decide who would ask our parents for extra ice-cream money. We held out our hands. Mine was shaking slightly, even though I tried to hold it still. “On the count of three, loser stays.”
Sarah counted aloud. On three, both Michael and I put our hands out flat, meaning we chose paper. Sarah made a fist.
“Paper covers stone,” Michael said. “I guess you’ll have to stay, Sis.”
“We don’t have time for a best out of three, do we?” she asked. She hugged both of us quickly. “For good luck,” she explained. “Now hurry back.”
We threw on our winter clothes and jammed our feet into our boots. I went back to the kitchen and found a large flashlight in the cupboard, heavy enough that it could be used as a weapon.
Sarah had pulled a chair up beside Grandpa and was holding one of his hands in both of hers, concentrating as if she were praying. She didn’t look up as I passed her.
Michael grabbed the axe from inside the closet and hefted it in his hands. “Let’s go,” he said and we stepped out into the open. It was still snowing lightly, but the air was calm. Despite that, we had a tough time slogging through the snowbanks, sinking up to our knees and higher. The tires on Uncle Thordy’s vehicle were completely buried, and they were big tires. I had a sick feeling that it would be ages before an ambulance or cops got here. We were too far from town, and if the roads were clogged up anything like Uncle Thordy’s driveway, they’d be completely impassable.
The moonlight seemed to be growing dimmer and dimmer, as if somewhere in the heavens something was taking bites out of it. I thought of the wolf who chased the moon through the sky. Too many of my dreams were becoming reality.
Mordur’s outside light served as our guiding beacon. When we got to the house we discovered the door partly open, a small bank of snow already building up against it. The light from inside the house revealed tracks that were quickly being filled in.
I yanked on the door and it got jammed in the snow, but there was just enough room to stumble inside. “Mordur!” I shouted. What I saw pulled me up short. A pitcher had been shattered on the floor, shards of glass scattered across the tile. The table was knocked over, along with a stack of books. One wall was a bookshelf, more books were lying beside it. “Mordur!” I cried, running into the bedroom. I flicked on a light switch but nothing happened. I pointed my flashlight around, saw an unmade bed. The tiny room was empty.
Michael stood in the doorway of the bathroom. “He’s gone,” he said, kneeling down next to what looked like a broomstick. “But he didn’t go without a fight.” The stick was actually a handle that could have come from a pitchfork. Clamped at one end was the four-edged spearhead. A book was open beside it, full of illustrations.
“It looks like Mordur was doing some research,” Michael said, lifting up one of the books. I glanced back at the spear. Next to it was a pool of blood.
“He’s been hurt!” I said. I looked closer. Streaks of blood led to the door.
“I’m not sure what to do.” Michael’s face was pale. “I don’t think we can take that thing on.”
“Maybe it’s weaker now. Grandpa wounded it. And Mordur might have, too. Maybe this isn’t his blood. It—”
A low moan came from just outside the open door. Someone was crawling in the snow, trying to get in the house.
“Do you see that?” Michael whispered. He gripped the axe with both hands.
I bent down slowly, slipped my hand around the shaft of the spear, and lifted it, feeling its weight, light and balanced like it would strike a straight blow. We stayed still.
There was another moan and a man lifted his head, trying to look into the house. “Help,” a soft voice said. “Help me.”
His hand grasped the bottom of the door, pulled it open farther.
It was Mordur, crawling through the snow, trying to squeeze himself inside. His face was bruised, a cut bled on his forehead. His eyes swiveled in their sockets like he was trying to focus. He looked right at me and pushed his hand out towards me.
I moved to help him, lowering the spear, but Michael grabbed my shoulder. “Wait! I see something else.”
A tall shadow was visible just outside the door, a figure slightly hunched over. It had a grip on Mordur’s leg.
“Help me . . . get inside,” Mordur whispered. “The shifter is right here.”
I raised the spear, Michael brought his axe up, and without any signal from the other, we charged ahead. The shape was becoming clearer. And larger.
Just as we got to the door, the creature jumped back. It kept a tight hold on Mordur, dragging him out into the deep snow, like it was playing a game with us. It crouched over Mordur. Its long, muscled back was covered with matted hair. Tattered clothing hung from its body. Its red eyes glared at us over a long snout. In a heartbeat I knew that our worst nightmare was true.
Another shape-shifter, larger than the last, stood just feet away.
Compared to the one that had attacked us at the croft house this one seemed full grown.
“Skoll,” I whispered.
It seemed to nod when I said its name. We stepped towards the beast and it jumped up and thrust its arm into the air.
The light over the door burst, showering us with glass and electric sparks.