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.
“Go!” the woman shouted, they all did, “Go! Go! Go!”
Jesse got the message; whatever those things were, he had no desire to meet them up close. He pressed the accelerator firmly to the floorboard and the truck took off. The V8 roared and pinged, as the speedometer crept up: twenty . . . thirty . . . forty. “C’mon!” he shouted at the old F150. “C’mon, baby! You can do it!”
Chapter Five
“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.
“Go!” the woman shouted, they all did, “Go! Go! Go!”
Jesse got the message; whatever those things were, he had no desire to meet them up close. He pressed the accelerator firmly to the floorboard and the truck took off. The V8 roared and pinged, as the speedometer crept up: twenty . . . thirty . . . forty. “C’mon!” he shouted at the old F150. “C’mon, baby! You can do it!”
Chapter Five
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