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Now I can hear his footsteps on the road, heavy and steady. Coming my way. Closer. Closer.
No matter where you go.
His voice is getting louder. My fingers are nearly frozen to the rocks, and I feel my heart go cold, too. Anger is suddenly an engine propelling me in his direction instead of away where instinct pulls me.
Run, says my brain.
Kill him, demands another voice. The fighter in me.
I creep to the edge of the trees. I’ve stopped feeling the cold now. Even my hands and feet don’t feel like they’re part of my body anymore.
Fuck you, Santa, I think.Fuck your lists and your judgments and your stupid presents. I’m going to take you down.
His voice rings out, echoing in the night.
You leave a trail behind.
He’s taunting me with his stupid poem. He’s a monster.
That anyone can find.
Then silence. His footfalls come abruptly to a stop. I wait, my breath slow and deep. Then he starts moving again, slowly, as if he too is listening to the night.
“I hear you breathing, Lolly. Let me take you somewhere warm. You must be so, so cold.”
As soon as he comes into sight, I leap, springing from the darkness, my hands gripping those rocks. I knock him to the ground and we both fall hard as he issues a grunt beneath my weight. I hit him as hard as I can, again, again, again, blood spraying through the eye hole of his Santa mask before he lifts his arms to block me.
He flips me and I hit the ground hard, head knocking, still clutching my rocks. When he comes for me, I swing for him again. But he knocks my hand away and the rock goes flying. I swing with my other hand, connect with his head. He wobbles, and I use his dazed condition to scramble away and start to run.
In the distance, I hear an engine. There! The twin beams of headlights lighting the road. He grabs me by one of my ankles and drags me to the ground, starts pulling me to the trees. And I start to scream with everything I have left in my body and spirit.
“Shut up, shut up!” he yells, panting, dragging me toward the trees. If he gets me into the darkness, I know I won’t survive him. I get one of my legs free, still wailing into the night.
Help! Help me!And the engine grows louder, the lights brighter.
I use my free leg to kick Santa hard in the knee and he barely seems to feel it, but he lets go of my other leg and I scramble to both my feet and run with everything I have toward the light. I don’t even turn to see if he’s following me, as a truck pulls into view. I run toward it screaming, then stumble and fall to the ground as it comes to stop, its lights blazing. Both the driver’s and the passenger door open, and two people climb out. The passenger runs toward me. A slight woman in a big coat.
“Lolly?” she says, dropping to her knees in the road. “Is it you?”
I nod. “He’s behind me. He’s coming.”
But when I look back the road is empty. “Who?” asks the big, bearded man she’s with. “Who’s following you?”
“Santa,” I breathe, using my last bit of strength. And the snow is so, so cold as a terrible darkness falls.
26
“Get her into the truck,” I say, breathless, “Oh my god, she’s so cold.”
Badger lifts her easily, carrying her and putting her in the driver’s seat, cranking up the heat. I dig my cell phone from my pocket and dial 911.
“Don’t,” he says, watching me.
“I have to,” I say. “She’s going to die. We need help.”
“Nine-one-one,” says the dispatcher, as Badger nods, resigned. “What’s your emergency?”
“We—we found Lolly Morris. She’s alive.”
