Mike watched as the sun made the sky lighter. When he stepped outside, he was not at all prepared for what he saw.
“BT!” Mike shouted, gripping his rifle. To his credit, the man was down the stairs in less than thirty seconds; Mike could only figure he’d had as hard a time as himself trying to sleep.
“What!? What’s going on!?” BT had a pistol in his hand, scanning for the threat.
Mike pointed to the ground. BT matched his foot up against the deep print; it was less than half the size.
“This some sort of joke, Mike?” BT asked.
“Look out in the lot.” Mike swept his arm. A squad of kids high on sugar would have been hard-pressed to make as many footprints in the ash as were out there.
“What in the hell…?” BT asked.
“If I had to take a guess?”
“Sure, guess away.” BT was shaking his head as he kept looking.
“They sent us a verbal warning, then something with a little more pop, then they came down here to see if we'd heeded their heavy-handed advice.”
“And that we haven’t?”
“I guess they’d be considered great apes, so, in some way are related to us. Using us puny humans as an example, I would think bloodshed is next up.” They headed back in.
“Why now? This campsite has been here for decades,” BT said.
“Habitat, or loss of it,” Linda said as she came into the room. “It’s likely their home has been compromised by flooding or some other geological disasters, maybe completely destroyed by the quakes. Looks like this is where they want to live now.”
“They can have the place. I don’t get paid enough to deal with this,” Trip said. “I can barely pay my rent.”
“You don’t have rent,” Stephanie told him.
“Because I can’t afford it!” Trip was indignant.
“Should we leave?” Tracy asked.
“If we’re voting, I say no.” Mike turned back to look at everyone in the room. “We have guns and cover; we head out into the wild, we’ll be vulnerable.”
“We don’t know that they’ll attack us if we leave,” Linda contested.
It was then that Paul made his way out of the office. “I think I can safely say we do know.” He was holding his ribs.
“As horrible as what happened to you is, Paul,” Linda stated, “that was a case of a mother protecting her young. We’re talking about animals that, until very recently, we considered myths. That means they generally just want to be left alone. I vote we give them this place. We hike out of here and get back to our lives.”
“You know I agree with you, honey, but we still have the problem of being able to get everyone out,” BT said, nodding to Paul, who had propped himself against the doorframe.
“So, that’s it then? If these extremely rare animals come to the site tonight, we’re just going to slaughter them?” Linda directed the question at Mike.
“This isn’t something I relish,” he told her. “You know I don’t hunt, and I’ve definitely had my share of killing. I’m done. But if we’re talking about defending our lives? I will let nobody or nothing cut short the existence of those I love.”
Linda stormed up the stairs. How can one argue against the preservation of their life and sound rational?
“I vote for leaving,” Trip stated. “I really want a Tofu burrito; it’s on my bucket list.”
“We should probably board up the windows,” Tracy said.
“Maybe we could park one of the RVs in front. It would offer the greatest protection.” BT was thinking.
“I can’t imagine Mrs. Bennilli is going to be okay with us using her rig as a wall.”
BT thrust his chin towards Chuck’s RV.
“Seriously? It’s still a crime scene in there, and that body has got to be smelling pretty ripe by now.”
“I’m not thrilled about it either, but you’re right. We very well may be in a fight for our lives, and no one is coming to save us. We’re going to have to do what we can until we’re able to travel. A couple of weeks is all we need.”
“Let’s get this over with.” Mike wrapped two pieces of cloth around his face. “Wish I had some Vicks for the smell.”
“We’ll put him in the bathroom,” BT said as the two headed out.
“I hope he isn’t goopy; I’m going to puke if he starts falling apart in my hands.”
“Stop. You’re not making this any easier.”
“Maybe we should just leave him where he is and drive the RV over.”
BT thought about that as they got closer and then walked around the far side.
“Do you think he came back?” Mike asked as they stared at the RV door, half-buried in ash, some twenty feet away.
“Like a zombie?” BT asked.
“Well, seeing as the door is ripped off its hinges and tossed away like a yogurt lid, I’m going to say vampire, maybe werewolf.”
BT had his gun out and pointed as he cautiously approached the RV. He took a quick look inside. “There’s a second, much worse option.”
“Worse than a 'roided zombie?”
“It would appear the yetis popped the lid on a can of food.”
Mike looked in as well. “Oh fuck, that's disgusting. Rancid meat? They’re eating rancid human meat?” The evidence was plain enough. A femur, stripped of all its muscle, lay in a small puddle of fluids. Drag marks in the sludge showed that the body had been pulled from the camper. “I hate to put a damper on such a stellar start to the day, but what good is the camper now? They don’t seem afraid to enter structures, and this thing now smells like an open cooler to a bear.”
BT slowly scanned the area. “They’re watching us right now.”
“You see them?” Mike spun.
“I can feel it.”
They were both looking at the tree line. Mike shuddered; his friend was right. He could feel the yetis' gaze upon him, and it wasn’t one of curiosity. It felt strange; not a typical watchfulness. It was more than predator to prey, more than the regard of combatants waiting to kill or be killed. There was malice in that scrutiny, and a ferocity. They wanted to do harm for harm’s sake. Yes, they would kill the enemy, yes they would consume the prey, but there was a distinct anticipation; they wished to kill for the joy of it, for the pain it would inflict. In that, they were exceedingly human-like.
“I saw the furry fuckers last night.” Tim had come out of the cabin that BT and the rest had vacated the night before. He was dressed only in Krusty the Clown underwear and white gym socks, which were rapidly turning gray as he stirred through the ash.
“When?” Mike was somehow more disturbed when he looked Tim’s way.
“I was on the front porch, eating. Heard some grunting and strange whistles, went and grabbed a flashlight.”
“What were you doing outside at night?” BT asked.
“The boy chews his food like an ill-mannered goat. No matter how many times I tell him to close his mouth. It's disgusting.” Mrs. Bennilli came outside, pulling her black shawl tight around her shoulders. “If he’s going to chew like an animal, he’s going to eat outside like one.”
“Aw, come on, it's not that bad,” Tim said sheepishly.
“The yetis. Can we get back to that?” Mike asked.
“So, I’m out here chewing on a liver.”
“Wait, what?” Mike asked. “Just so we’re clear, this liver, it’s like, a cow’s or something, right? And cooked?”
“I’m not a savage. I brined it, gave it a nice seasoning rub, and yeah, I cooked it. Fuck, you’re weird.”
“Excuse my friend, he’s still working on his manners. The yetis?” BT motioned with his hand for Tim to continue.
“So, I’m eating liver," he looked at Mike as he said it, “licking my fingers even; so damn delicious.” Mike, for his part, kept a brave face, though his stomach lurched at the notion. “I heard the sounds, and grabbed my night vision binocs.”
“You have night vision binoculars?”
“I do now. Chuck lent them to me, and since he’s not going to need them anymore, I figure I’ll keep ‘em. Anyone have a problem with that?”
“All yours, goat man,” Mike told him. “Maybe would have been nice if you'd told us about them, considering our current predicament.”
“Why? I don’t really trust any of you.”
“Says the murdering clown,” Mike mumbled.
“Shut the fuck up, Mike,” BT hissed.
Tim smacked the side of his head hard. “I don’t like when people whisper around me; makes me very self-conscious.” He smacked himself again. Mrs. Bennilli rested her hand on his before he could do it again.
“Timmy had a difficult childhood,” she said, as if that explained everything away.
Tim glared at BT and Mike as if daring them to say something. Mike began to shuffle his feet, watching the ash eddy about. Then, as if Tim’s short fuse had been extinguished, he smiled, believing he had kowtowed the men. “There were three of them, two big ones, and I guess a kid.”
“A male?” BT asked.
“I didn’t think to check for a pecker; figured you could do that.”
Mrs. Bennilli told Tim to bend down, then she smacked him on the back of his head.
“Sorry, Nonna.” He stood back up. “Now that you mention it, one of them did have these big saggy breasts. You ever see the movie, There’s Something About Mary? That detective dude is spying on Mary looking through the window, and that old lady flashes him? Looked a lot like that, only, more like a double D cup. You want me to bend down again, Nonna?” Tim asked Mrs. Bennilli.
She clucked her tongue at him.
“I thought about tossing one off, tits are tits, but I had liver in one hand and binoculars in the other, it was a conundrum.”
“What am I going to do with you?” an exasperated Mrs. Bennilli shook her head as if he were just the most precocious thing ever.
“Anyway, the kid is sniffing around Chuck’s trailer, mom comes over, grabs the door handle like she knows what she’s doing, but instead of turning it, she pulls the thing completely out of the frame. It was no harder for her than if she’d just opened it normal.”
Mike turned back to the lodge. The wooden door was stouter than an RV one, but would it stand up to the forces the yeti was apparently capable of applying? He didn’t think so, and even if it did, the windows were going to be a problem.
“The kid made some weird sound like a squeal when he stuck his face in the camper. I think he was hungry. The one who may or may not have had a penis (I’ll leave that to you, big man), went inside, busted up a few things, then came out with old Chuck dragging behind him. Smacked Chuck’s head on the two steps down, then he snorted or said something to big tits, and they headed to the woods. A little fine dining, I guess. They sure did me a solid. Tough to get convicted if there’s no body.”
BT didn’t tell him there was still a femur, a confession, and enough DNA evidence to put him in jail for life. Didn’t make sense to turn a potential ally against them, not now, anyway.
“It’s snowing.” Mike had a hand out and was gathering equal parts ash and snow.
“You’re right. We should have gone to Vegas doesn’t snow there,” BT lamented.
“And weed is legal.” Trip had come outside.
“Not sure about you, but I’m not going up into the woods to gather firewood,” Mike said.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t recommend that; the furry fuckers aren’t much more than a hundred yards in,” Tim said.
“If there’s only three of them, should we hunt them down? Kill them before they kill us?” Mike asked. “They have to sleep at some point; seems with the limited number of sightings over the years, they must be nocturnal.”
“Linda would make my life a living hell if we actively hunted them down. Tough to call that self-defense.”
“Look at that!” Tim pointed and laughed. “Big old swinging dick like you letting a woman lead you around by your balls!”
“Bend!” Mrs. Bennilli yelled. Tim dutifully did so, and she popped him again. It appeared that the irony of what had just transpired was lost on him as he stood back up, still smiling at his quip.
“If he can’t go with you, little man, I’ll do it,” Tim said.
“I think I’d rather give myself a colonoscopy with a Dremel,” Mike told him.
“I do not recommend that,” Trip admonished.
“Maybe they’ll go on their way.” BT was looking toward the woods. “They ate.”
“Or maybe they decided that people taste pretty good and are going to stick around to see what the next course is,” Tim said.
“I won’t taste good; too stringy. You, however, look like you have a little meat on you.” Mike pushed Trip away as the stoner rubbed the other’s belly.
“Okay, so we won’t actively hunt them, but if they come back here, I think we have every right to defend ourselves. That fair?” Mike asked.
“I can’t see how Linda would have a problem with that, especially after we tell her about Chuck.”
Tim and Mrs. Bennilli went back into their cabin. After a moment, BT and the rest retreated into the lodge. Mike was sitting by the window with Trip’s rifle in his lap, going over the numerous problems they faced. It was snowing, and this was Alaska; there was no reason not to think that it might not stop until April. By the time Paul was ready to move, they could very well be snowed in. Food was a big concern even well-rationed. Including the not-so-healthy vending machine fare, they’d be lucky to get ten days' worth. Water wasn’t as bad; they had roughly two months' worth, but even that could be a problem if they had to survive for the winter. Boiling snow was an option; hopefully the fires would be blanketed soon and then they could avoid the layers imbibed with ash. It was difficult fitting the yetis into the survivability scheme. As long as they stayed in the cabins and the giant apes had to come to them, the people had the advantage.
That was the only part of it Mike felt somewhat comfortable with. He was used to battle, he understood it. His actions and the actions of those around him would have an effect. Out of everything, regardless of right or wrong, he believed the cold would be their biggest problem. Hypothermia could take the strongest of them out of the game overnight. They had some stored firewood, but nothing near enough to keep the frigid temperatures at bay for long. Mike couldn’t help but think the wolves were at the door.
“How much trouble are we in?” Tracy asked. She was wearing an oversized sweater; she pulled it down over her legs as she curled up on the couch.
“We’re okay.”
.Right“I’ve seen that look before; you’re working through the problems. So I’ll ask again: how much trouble are we in?”
Mike was ready to give her the standard, "We’ll be fine," but decided against it. His wife would see through that immediately. “What if I maybe didn’t answer?” Surprisingly enough, she didn’t press him on it. She stayed next to him, reading a book. Mike turned back to the window; visibility had been reduced to less than twenty feet. The driving wind pushed the snow vertically, blotting out the rest of the campground. If Mike tried hard enough, he could imagine he was aboard a faster-than-light spaceship about to make a jump into hyperspace. He figured the scenarios were similar enough in terms of how isolated they were. As the temperature continued to drop outside, BT made sure to keep the fire within the wood burner stoked. They were all together in the living room but were separated by miles within themselves.
Tracy finished her book, stood, stretched, and went to the window. She could just make out a smudge of black that was darker than the rest. “Something’s out there!” She pointed.
Mike focused his mind, which had been cloudy and haze-filled around the edges. He stood to get near her. He followed where she pointed but couldn’t see anything discernible.
“It moved.” Stephanie was at the next window.
“You ready?” BT was checking his pistol.
“No. Let’s go,” Mike told him.
“Be careful.” Linda opened the door.
Mike had not realized just how cozy the lodge was. The wind cut through his shirt and hoodie, making him feel as if he’d gone out naked. That the snow clinging to him didn’t immediately melt and soak through was the only half-decent thing about how cold the temperature was. He had the rifle up to his shoulder, finger resting against the trigger well, he didn’t sight in because he still couldn’t find a target, and he didn’t want to blind himself to peripheral threats.
“It’s Trish!” BT had to shout over the shrieking wind, and still, Mike could barely hear him. He was looking for the others as BT bent down and picked the woman up, and immediately headed back to the lodge. Mike stayed where he was. If she'd made it, then it stood to reason that the others had as well. He wanted to venture further but was fearful he’d travel too far and lose sight of the cabin. Once that happened, it wouldn’t be long before he succumbed, unless he lucked out and stumbled toward another cabin. The storm had picked up in intensity so that when he turned back the way he’d come, the lodge had already all but disappeared. He reluctantly headed back.
“The others?” Stephanie asked as Linda began to strip off Trish’s wet clothes. Tracy was gathering blankets to warm her up.
“Hon, Mike, can you drag the couch closer to the stove? Not too close, she has to warm up slowly, or we could put her into shock.” Linda directed them as they found the sweet spot.
“Does she have any injuries?” BT asked as the two retreated to give them some privacy.
“Bruising and scrapes but nothing that would signify an attack of any sort. Okay, it’s safe to turn around." Trish was wrapped up in blankets, the blue in her lips was beginning to recede, and a ruddy pink began to replace the deathly pale in her cheeks.
“Can you get her to talk?” Mike asked.
“She’s not a prisoner of war!” Linda barked.
“Hon, he meant so we could ask about the rest of her group,” BT clarified.
“She needs to rest.”
“That’s time that the others don’t have, provided they’re still out there.”
Linda nodded at Mike’s words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap, it’s that, um, I’m beginning to come to terms with just how much trouble we’re in.”
“No worries, but I want one in the bank for when I invariably do something stupid.”
“Done.” She turned her attention back to the young woman. “Trish," she said gently, then with more force, “Trish, can you hear me, honey?”
“NOOOOOO!” Trish sat bolt upright, her eyes wide in fear, not focused on anything. Linda had to move back as Trish punched wildly.
“Trish, you’re safe.” Tracy went to calm her down, but the punches kept coming.
“I’ve got sedatives,” Trip announced.
“No, we need her awake. She’ll come around soon enough. I’ve seen this before.”
“From soldiers, Mike. She’s just a kid that’s been through something traumatic,” Tracy told him.
“We were just kids, too.”
“I know, I know.” She grabbed his hand.
“Does anyone mind if I give myself one of the tranquilizers?” Trip was heading toward the stairs.
“Knock yourself out,” BT told him.
“He didn’t mean that literally.” Stephanie glared briefly at BT.
“You sure?” Trip asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” BT shook his head.
“Shouldn’t say stuff like that then.” Trip was disappointed.
“MAX!” Trish screamed, she looked around as if expecting him to be there. By degrees, her eyes took in her surroundings. “Where’s everyone else?”
Mike had the feeling she knew the answer before she’d asked the question, much like Paul had.
“We were hoping you could tell us that.” Linda moved closer, attempting to put an arm around Trish’s shoulders; she was having none of it and shrugged her off. “We’re just trying to help.”
“We don’t need your help!” Trish raved.
“Why are you being so combative?” Mike couldn’t help but ask. “Maybe you don’t need help because you’re nice and toasty inside, but what about the four you left with?”
“That’s not helping,” Stephanie said.
“I don’t really give a shit. I’m trying to find out from the young lady, who would have frozen to death by now if BT hadn’t brought her inside, if her friends are out there before we risk our lives looking for them. Is that too much to ask?”
Trish shook with anger or fear, or most likely both before she let her head drop. “Blaire and Porjie were right behind me. Chaz is….” she hesitated, "gone. And maybe Max too. I lost sight of him during the…I don’t even know what it was.”
“Trip, do you have cold weather gear stored here?” Mike asked.
“You can’t go out in that, it’s blizzard conditions. There’s a whiteout,” Tracy said.
“You heard her, Blaire and Porjie were right behind. We have to look.”
Trip went into the closet and pulled out a trunk that would have been better suited for an Ocean liner from the 1920s. It was enormous and ornate, with gold leaf outlining the oversized locking mechanism and the metal bands that covered the curved top. Leather handles were bolted onto either side for the poor porters tasked with moving it about.
Mike went over and pulled the lid open. There was a large bundle of purple nylon rope tied neatly; he pulled that out to see four sets of long johns, two heavy winter coats, and three sets of gloves. On the very bottom were two sets of spiked crampons for mountain climbing and one bright neon green snowsuit.
“Hurts my damn eyes.” Mike tossed the rope to BT. “Could you tie this off?”
“Why are you the one going?”
“Because this coat is going to be tight on me, and it doesn’t look like it’ll stretch to accommodate you. Sure wish I'd brought winter boots.” Mike was putting his comfortable hiking boots back on. They were perfect for a moderate trail, not so much for inclement weather.
“Mike, you have two hundred feet of rope, do not take this off,” BT told him as he tied a loop around Mike’s waist.
“Why so tight?”
“Because I know you. If you see something at two hundred and twenty feet, you’ll slide out of it. I’m trying to make sure you can’t do that.”
“Fair enough.”
BT tied the other end off onto a heavy table set next to the door.
“Shit.” Mike was trying to shove his gloved finger into the trigger housing without much luck. “Stephanie, do you have scissors?”
“What for?” She went behind the counter and grabbed a pair.
“For this,” he said as he cut off the top of the index finger.
“You cut off the wrong fingertip.”
“We go through this every time we go shooting together. I’m a lefty.”
“Makes no damn sense; you do everything else righty.”
“We ready?” Mike looked around at the group. There was anxiety on every face except for Trish, who seemed resigned.
The door was nearly wrenched from BT’s hands as he opened it. The winds had significantly picked up, and snow blasted halfway into the room.
“Be careful out there,” BT told him. Mike clapped him on the shoulder before leaning into the teeth of the storm.
“What the hell do I even need the gun for? Can’t see shit.” Mike couldn’t even raise his head for fear the blinding snow would freeze his eyes closed. His goatee was already heavy with accumulated ice. He knew if he didn’t trip over a body, he’d never see it. He pulled up short when he nearly walked into the side of Mrs. Bennilli’s RV. “Fifty feet.” The cold had already begun to seep in; he wished he’d spent the additional couple of minutes it would have taken to put on the long johns. He reasoned that if someone were indeed out here, they wouldn’t have the two minutes to spare. A shooting pain rocketed up his right leg as he stepped awkwardly on an invisible curb.
“At least I know where I am. Edge of the parking lot, roughly half my rope.” Mike bent and rubbed at his sore ankle. When he stood, he noticed that his rope had gone taut. When did I get stuck on something? was his thought. He tugged on the rope, hoping to pull it free. He didn’t want to backtrack, not yet; time was not on his side and definitely not on the side of anyone lost outside. The rope didn’t budge. “Fuck.” He pulled harder, leaning back, using his full weight. He figured this would be the time it released, and he’d land hard on his ass. He wasn’t overly concerned with breaking his tailbone; there was a decent layer of ash and snow to cushion his fall. Instead of feeling slack, he was violently yanked back. Landing face first, he sputtered to clear his nose and mouth. “What’s going on?” He scrabbled to stand. He was being pulled.
“BT, stop! I’m fine!” he yelled as loudly as he could. “Come on!” Mike finally got his legs underneath him and stood, bracing his entire body against the forces pulling on him. He was helpless to stop it. His friend was a strong man, but Mike hadn’t realized to what degree. Then the realization dawned on him: it wasn’t BT. Mike struggled trying to reach the rifle strapped to his back; he had one hand on the rope and was attempting to keep his balance. He felt like a fish being reeled in. A large dirty-white shape loomed up ahead, barely visible.
“Mrs. B’s RV.” Mike had a moment of inspiration. He ran towards the vehicle thinking he would use the resultant slack to his advantage as he dove underneath, near the driver’s side wheel. He then came up by the front grill. He had enough rope to do it again, wedging the rope tightly underneath the tire. “Gotcha.” Mike smiled grimly. He’d stopped his movement, but he was far from out of danger. Wasn’t like the beast wouldn’t be able to figure out where he was. He was able to pull his rifle free, but as of yet, had nothing to shoot at. The rope was once again pulled tight. It was yanked so hard it was losing diameter, the fibers crushing in on themselves.
“Yeah, fuck you. Now come and get me,” Mike said. A loud squelching sound came from near the tire. A sudden fearful thought occurred: the cord was being pulled underneath the wheel and, eventually, he’d go with it. He didn’t think his body would fair so well making the loops around the tire. The RV rocked and then, impossibly, moved. “What the fuck?” Mike panicked as the front end of the RV was pulled six inches sideways. He fumbled with the rope, but between the gloves and the confounded knot BT had tied, it was impossible to undo. He realized the thing that was supposed to keep him safe was going to be his undoing. He tugged on the rope, wondering if he could somehow slip through. “Shit, shit, shit.” He danced around, attempting to force it down past his hips; it wasn’t working, the RV was slowly but steadily moving. Whatever was at the other end was freakishly strong, Mike wondered why it hadn’t simply walked itself back along the line to collect its prize. He was thankful it wasn’t overly bright.
“Fuck this.” Mike fired a shot up into the air. Even with the storm, it was heard inside the lodge.
“What was that!” Tracy ran to the window.
BT opened the door, and the snow and wind pushed him back half a step. He picked up the end of the slack rope. He pulled it back inside the lodge; when it became tight, he yanked. “It’s stuck!” Another shot rang out. Tracy and Linda came over to help pull; before they could get to him, the rope was yanked hard, burning his hands before he could release it. He barely dodged the table before it took him out. The heavy piece of furniture became wedged in the doorway, then the leg was ripped off in a splintering of wood.
“It’s here!” BT was convinced only something with unnatural strength would have been able to do something like that.
“What’s here?” Tracy knew but was too scared to verbalize it.
“Linda, I need the jacket!” BT had stepped a couple of paces outside.
She brought the jacket without hesitation. “You can’t go out there! I can’t even see the rope anymore!”
“Mike’s in trouble!” he yelled to be heard over the roar of the storm.
Another rifle report. Mike only had two more shots, and he’d yet to scare the yeti away. To compound his problems, the rope was beginning to move around the tire. He knew instinctively that once he was pressed tight against the wheel well like a bug on a windshield, the yeti was going to come and finish the job. He rested the rifle against the vehicle, ripped his gloves off, and frantically pulled at the knot. “Come on!” he yelled when he couldn’t find purchase. For every few inches the RV moved, Mike moved more. He didn't know if unraveling himself was the best course of action or if he would even be able to, as the tire of the vehicle was sitting atop a small portion of the rope. “This can’t be happening.” Mike was struggling to accept this impossible reality.
A meaty hand slapped down upon his shoulder. He’d been so focused on something coming from the front that the rear attack paralyzed him. It looked like the animal had some smarts after all. He looked to the rifle, knowing it was far too late for that option. Even if he could get to it, he didn’t have the necessary separation to use it.
“I’ve got you!” Tim shouted. “Stop fighting!”
“What the fuck is going on!?” Mike turned to see Tim holding a hunting knife. The man had no shirt on and was only wearing SpongeBob underwear. On his feet, he did have heavy wool socks and boots, although the laces were undone. “Are you here to kill me?”
“Why would I do that?” Tim asked as he reached around and cut the rope. It zipped down and around and then was lost in the maelstrom. Tim had turned and was heading to the cabin. “We should probably go!” he shouted back. Mike was torn. By now, those in the lodge knew he was in trouble. He couldn't continue his search, but going back blind and with the enemy close made no sense.
Please don’t come and look for me, he thought, hopefully.
“I have to go and look for him!” BT was panicking.
“Tim, they’re going to come looking for me. I need to let them know I’m okay.”
The grin he gave Mike was colder than the surrounding storm. It looked like something a joyful murderer might give their victim a moment before extinguishing their life.
“Nonna!” Tim yelled from the door. “I need your keys!”
Stacy ran to him. Unlike her cousin, she appeared to be dressed in as many layers as she could safely carry.
“You’re going to love this.” He pressed a button on the keys, Mike thought he heard a slightly chirping sound and possibly the start of an engine. Tim pressed another button.
BT was out the door, against the desperate wishes of his wife. “You hear that?” he asked, stopping suddenly. Linda had gripped the side of his jacket, subconsciously attempting to keep him inside. “It’s…it’s a horn...and...is that Kool and the Gang? What is going on?”
“Get down on it?” Linda asked.
“Here, talk into this.” Tim handed the remote to Mike.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Bluetooth to the horn,” Tim told him. “I’m going back in; I think I froze my dick.”
“Hey!” Mike shouted, surprised when he heard his voice echo back from the parking lot. “I’m fine! A yeti is out here! Hunker down—I’ll come back after the storm! Please tell me you got that!”
BT fired a round in response.
“See you soon! Love you all!”
Another shot.
“Fuck me.” Mike's heart pounding, he sagged with relief. He shut down the van and headed in. “Jesus!” Mike turned quickly. Tim had pulled his underwear down and had his pelvis pushed forward close enough to the wood-burning stove he was in danger of sizzling his short and curlies.
“Ever freeze your dick? It hurts so bad thawing it out. Feels like I accidentally whacked the head with a hammer, twice.”
Mike winced at the thought of it.
“Again!?” Mrs. Bennilli yelled. “Maybe if you didn’t go running out in your underwear, this wouldn’t happen.”
“If I'd taken the time to dress, we wouldn’t have a guest.”
“Pah.” She turned away as she waved with her hand. She sat down in a chair, sipping a cup of tea as if nothing all that strange was going on.
Tim started hopping around. “It burns! Damn!” He penguin walked toward the sink where he splashed himself with water. Stacy got a good chuckle out of the whole thing.
“I, umm, wanted to thank you for saving me.”
“It’s what civilized people do, according to Nonna. She said I had to, that it was probably the dumbass Talbot in trouble.”
“Only a fool goes out in a blizzard.” Mrs. Bennilli looked up, not at all embarrassed by her echoed words.
“The college kids are out there,” Mike offered in defense.
“They should request their tuition back. All that money spent on higher education, and here they are, the dumbest of us all. Except maybe for him.” She smiled, thrusting a thumb to Tim, who was furiously splashing cold water onto his nethers.
“Did you see it?” Stacy asked as Tim turned around.
“Hard not to,” Mike answered.
“What’d it look like?”
Mike was confused by the question. “I don’t know," he shrugged, "I don’t generally check that kind of thing out. A scared purple turtle maybe?”
“A yeti looked like a scared, purple turtle? I would have figured they’d be white. Yellow? And really hairy, you know, like a bear had a baby with a sheep,” Stacy pondered.
“Oh, them,” Mike responded.
Stacy laughed until tears fell from her eyes.
“Timothy, put some pants on!” Mrs. Bennilli shouted then shook her head. "Chooch."
Mike stared out the window, not wanting to make small talk but, more importantly, making sure the ferocious animal wasn't about to break in. He turned when he heard a loud swooshing sound coming down the hallway. He felt as if his retinas were on fire as he looked at Tim; the man had donned perhaps the brightest striped balloon pants ever produced.
“Nice, huh?” Tim was smiling.
“Sure,” Mike told him before normalizing his vision by peering into the snow.
“What’s the matter with them?” Tim moved closer.
“Nothing,” Mike replied.
“I asked you a question.” Tim pushed against Mike’s shoulder.
“And I answered.”
“Come on, you can tell me. I won’t punch you in the face hard enough to lay your nose flat or break an orbital socket.”
“That’s pretty specific.” Mike turned to face the newest threat. He was face to nipple with the oversized man.
“Timmy.” Mrs. Bennilli stood up, she’d obviously seen this display before and was attempting to diffuse the situation.
“No.” Tim held up his hand to her. “I saved this punk’s ass out there, and now he’s going to disrespect me in my own home? My father taught me that something like that couldn’t go unpunished.”
“Your father was an asshole,” Mrs. Bennilli told him, “God rest his soul.”
“That very well may be, but—”
“Listen, Tim, I cannot express to you how thankful and appreciative I am of your help. And I don’t want any trouble with you.”
“Of course you don’t. Who would?” He flexed his pecs, the muscle bouncing off Mike’s nose. “What the fuck is wrong with my pants?”
“I don’t like clowns.”
“The fuck you say?” Tim stepped away so he could look Mike in the eye.
“I said I don’t like clowns.”
“Come here!” Tim wrapped him up in a hug, although he tried to shy away from it. Tim pressed his chest hard against Mike, smushing his face. “Everyone loves clowns! We’re a national treasure, right up there with Mickey Mouse. Oh, sorry about that,” he said when he let him go. “Your face has a sheen to it; I like to moisturize with Sesame Oil.”
“I don’t like Mickey either.”
“Now you're just trying to be difficult.”
“Timothy, it’s a rat. He’s right not to like the dirty vermin,” Mrs. Bennilli told him as she whacked his shoulder with a pillow. “And stop wasting my sesame oil!”
“I need to be properly moisturized!”
Mike couldn’t help but think of another murderer who liked his skin moisturized, well that wasn’t quite right; it was his victims’ skin he liked moisturized. But skin he ended up donning, so, sort of the same thing, even if it was just a fictionalized killer.
Tim went back to his room. Mike hoped it was to change. Instead, he came back with a ruffly bright yellow shirt to accentuate his pants. He knew the clown was screwing with him, seeing what kind of reaction he could garner, but if he figured it for a slight, Mike didn’t think Tim would hesitate with a real attack, no matter what Nonna said. Mike stared out the window like the skeletal structure of his face depended on it.
Night descended quickly. The events of the day had Mike exhausted, but short of sleeping outside, he couldn’t think of a less comfortable place he’d wish to get some shut-eye. Tim, Stacy, and Mrs. Bennilli were wholly unconcerned with guard duty. Mike had brought it up, and for the most part, he’d been ignored.
“It’s not like they’re going to sneak in. We’ll hear it if they decide to come crashing through the door,” Tim told him before heading off to bed.
“That’s fine, I’ll stand guard.”
“You do you,” Tim told him.
Mike made it a few hours before the pull was too heavy. His head lolled to the side, and he was out cold.