--I own Ashlee Crawford and her father, Frank. Everyone else is property of Stephen King.--
"Do you hear what I hear?"
said the night wind to the little lamb
"Do you see what I see
Way up in the sky, little lamb?"
Do you see what I see?
A star, a star, dancing in the night
With a tail as big as a kite
With a tail as big as a kite
Ashlee pressed the pre-set buttons on the dash boredly.
"Apparently, music has yet to be discovered out here," she said moodily, giving a button a rather savage punch with her finger. "Nothing but static, static, stat--"
"ATONEMENT!" bellowed a voice, and her father abruptly turned the radio off.
"I hate radio preachers," he muttered.
"Now there's something we can both agree on." Ashlee finally finished chewing the lump of Slim Jim in her mouth. She noticed with distaste that it had been her first bite.
"All fire and brimstone," Frank said moodily. "Only salvation through money. It's just about the worst way someone can twist God." He raised his hand and absently switched gears. "Anyone who believes in those phony sermons needs more than salvation, they need a brain trans--" His words came to an abrupt stop as the headlights suddenly hit pure white; Frank slammed hard on the brakes and turned the steering wheel. The Fiero did a wild spin, sending the two of them flat against the back of their seats. Tires squealed, brakes screeched, and Ashlee screamed. There was a mighty thunk as the car hit something solid and finally stopped -- half-buried in the mound of snow that had caused the crash.
A long moment of pure silence passed until Ashlee finally regained her lost breath and was able to talk.
"What -- what was -- was it a --" Frank shook his head slowly. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
"No, not a person," he said shakily, reading the look on her face. "Just a snowbank. Blocking the road. I didn't see it in time." She paused, then let out a wry laugh.
"Some four-wheel drive," Ashlee spat, twisting to look at her father.
"Are you all right?" Frank was changing the subject rapidly.
"I'm fine. Dad, can we stop talking and just pull out of this glacier? Please?" She groped on the floor of the car and finally found the stiff stick that was her dinner.
"I don't see why you're so impatient to get to Hemmingford," her father said indignantly.
"Maybe if I had been in Hemmingford when I was supposed to, I wouldn't be this impatient," Ashlee snapped. Frank pursed his lips for what seemed the hundredth time that night. He looked ready to say something, but chose not to; instead, he turned the key hard in the ignition. "I just want to enjoy what's left of my Christmas," she added sullenly. The lights on the dashboard glowed to life as Frank put the car in reverse.
"I don't know how you expect me to get through this snowbank," he said coldly.
"Drive around it!" Ashlee threw her hands in the air. "The car can take rough terrain! That's what it's for, Mr. Four-Wheel-Drive!" Her father darkened and began backing away from the hugely packed mound of snow.
"Stop snapping at me," he growled. "I've had just about enough of--" Again, he stopped right in the middle of his sentence. The engine, which had been purring so nicely a moment ago, gave a feeble cough and fell silent. Ashlee sat there for a moment, unable to believe the situation.
"You can't tell me we're out of gas," she asked incredulously. "Please don't tell me we're out of gas, Frank."
"I thought I filled it up back in Omaha," he said, voice sheepish as he turned the key again with no result.
"You didn't fill it up in Omaha!" Ashlee unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to her father. "The only reason you got out of the car in Omaha was to get a friggin' double chili cheeseburger from Dairy Queen!"
"Don't yell at me, Ash!" he spat, giving the steering wheel a savage slap with the flat of his palms. "This isn't my fault!"
"It's certainly not my fault!" she countered, and Frank glowered at her.
"Nevermind. I've got a tank of gas in the back." For the first time since the trip had started, Ashlee brightened.
"Oh -- oh, wonderful! Great planning, Dad!" This seemed to hearten her father. He opened the door of the Fiero and hopped out, hurrying to the trunk.
"Sure! I never go anywhere without a spare can of gasoline!" Frank stamped his feet vigorously in an effort to regenerate circulation and popped the trunk open. "We'll just fill this baby up and -- oh." He hefted the can of gas only to find it was unusually light. Ashlee, who had twisted in her seat to watch the progress, frowned.
"Oh, Frank," she said, half disappointed and half disbelieving.
"I guess I didn't refill it last time," Frank said meekly, and slammed the trunk shut.
"What are we going to do? I don't want to walk the rest of the way, it's frickin' freezing out there!" Ashlee's point was emphasized as her father slipped back into the car, letting in a flurry of snowflakes with him.
"We can't do anything else," he said, shoulders slumped. "I highly doubt we're going to be able to hitchike. There's no one around here." Frank paused, then nodded firmly. "All right. Here's what we'll do. Ash, dig into your suitcase in the backseat and get out your heaviest clothing. Put on an extra pair of pants and another shirt if you need to. In fact, I recommend it." He pulled the keys out of the ignition and slipped them into his pocket. "Extra socks too. When you're done with that, put on your boots and coat and gloves and scarf. Just make sure you're bundled up good, we're making the rest of the trip on foot." Ashlee shook her head slowly.
"You're not serious."
"Deathly," Frank said, tone short. "Get into your extra clothes. Now. We're going to get Hemmingford before morning if it kills us."
They had been walking in silence for nearly half an hour.
"Frank, I'm cold," Ashlee complained. She had even been scolding herself a while ago, after having inspected her previous behavior; she'd swore to herself that she wasn't going to be such a smart-assed burden. That was, however, nearly 20 minutes before it felt like her fingers were going to fall off.
"So am I, Ash," Frank responded. "We should be there soon though, I promise." It was difficult to hear him, and even more difficult to see where they were going -- the "flurry fit", as Frank had initially called it, was now a raging storm, and the two to three inches he'd predicted to stick had actually culminated to over half a foot. It was almost up to Ashlee's knees.
"There's another sign," she shouted over the wind, trying to change the subject she herself had brought up. "Hemmingford, 6 miles, Gatlin 1-- but that last one said that Hemmingford was only 2 miles off!" Ashlee whirled and strained to see her father through the thick sheet of snow. "We're going the wrong way!"
"Ash, it's getting worse out here!" Frank had stopped to briefly attempt cleaning his glasses, which was a lost cause, what with all the wind and snow. "We can't turn around and go six miles back that way. They'll find us frozen sometime next spring!" He paused, then added apologetically, "Look, let's just head to this Gatlin. It's only a mile off. We can stay there for the night--"
"But Dad!" she exclaimed.
"--and in the morning, I promise I'll get you to Hemmingford."
"Dad!" she repeated.
"Ashlee, we can't stay out here!" Frank hesitated, then smiled wryly. "Unless hypothermia is at the top of your Christmas list." Ashlee had stopped walking. She wanted to see her mother, she wanted to be with her on Christmas. Not this bumbling fool who'd forgotten gas every time he had the chance and couldn't see a snowbank five feet in front of him. But she also wanted to be somewhere warm.
"Fine," she spat over the roar of the wind, and whirled, heading past the sign that proclaimed Gatlin was only a mile away.
Her footsteps crunched not only snow, but dead cornstalks as well. The sound made Ashlee shiver. It was like... like bones cracking. Something about the place was giving her an eerie feeling.
"Houses," Frank said suddenly. She looked up and saw he was right.
"Hurry," she urged. He suddenly came to a stop.
"Wait." Frank paused, then tilted his head slightly as if he were listening to something. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Ashlee asked impatiently. Her legs had nearly gone numb by now, and she was in no mood to wait.
"That," he said as if it explained everything, then listened hard again. "Don't you hear it?"
"Hear what?" she repeated angrily. "All I hear is snow and wind! And I'm cold! There's houses right over there, I'm going!"
"Ash, don't," Frank warned. "I swear I hear something, like there's someone out here with us--"
"You're being paranoid." Ashlee stamped the ground a few times to assure that there were still legs in there, then sprinted ahead. The old man could catch up eventually.
"Ash! Ash, don't! Ashlee, come back!" But the howling wind blocked out his voice as Ashlee's boots pounded the snow, drawing her closer to Gatlin and farther away from her father.
Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy
"Do you hear what I hear
Ringing through the sky, shepherd boy?"
Do you hear what I hear?
A song, a song, high above the tree
With a voice as big as the sea
With a voice as big as the sea
Malachai burst in through the living room door.
"Outlanders," he gasped. His sudden appearance had terrified some of the younger children; even Isaac reluctantly admitted to himself that he had been frightened as well. Malachai's large form had nearly broken down the door when he stumbled into the living room, his body and hair frosted with a thin sheen of snow. His face was flushed an ugly red from the cold, and his nostrils flared as they tried to take in more oxygen for his burning lungs. Truthfully, it was nothing short of having the Boogeyman explode into the living room.
"Outlanders?" Isaac repeated doubtfully, getting to his feet as Rachel tried to comfort the little ones who'd begun to cry.
"Outlanders!" Malachai confirmed breathlessly. Isaac's brows knitted; he'd been sitting by the fire for quite some time, and at last he'd gotten warm and comfortable. He'd even seriously considered nodding off for a little while.
"Where?" Isaac asked in concern. Malachai struggled for breath, holding up a hand for a moment to recuperate. At last, he managed an answer that was more composed.
"They've been on the border for a while, but they've finally entered Gatlin. They're on their way here. Towards the houses." The small crowd of children began to murmur to each other, the word moving through the room in a collective whisper.
"Outlanders."
"How many?" Isaac asked, not sure whether to be merely concerned or alarmed as well. Oh, certainly they'd had outlanders in Gatlin before... but it was always in the summer or autumn, when the weather was right for traveling. Not in this sort of weather.
"Two." Malachai had finally caught his breath, and the unpleasant flush of cold was leaving his face. "A girl, and... a man." The whispers of the children fell into a sudden heavy hush. Isaac felt his muscles tighten.
"A man?" he asked quietly. "You're certain?"
"Yes," Malachai said, sounding quite firm. "A man. Isaac, they went straight through the cornfields." There was another silence that followed, this one shocked.
"They stepped onto the holy ground?" Isaac whispered. Now he was startled as well -- surely this would mean a barren harvest for next year if they had defiled the sacred land. Malachai nodded shortly.
"Ran right through it." Another long, uncomfortable pause. Isaac wrinkled his forehead in thought. He couldn't risk sending any of the Children out into the snow -- not in this storm -- but he certainly couldn't let the outlanders find them. And unless he wanted a tainted harvest next autumn...
"Malachai," Isaac said softly, "you know what you must do. Can you go out in the snow again?" The response was startling; Malachai nodded vigorously, lips splitting into an ugly grin.
"Oh yes. I can go -- I know what I must do." He whirled and clomped back out into the snow. Isaac saw the flash of silver blade just before the door slammed shut. He closed his eyes tightly. Of all the nights to be cursed with such a storm...
"Outlanders," one of the Children whispered. Isaac glanced to the one who'd spoken and smiled thinly.
"Not for long, my child," he said gently, placing a careful palm on the little girl's head. "Not for long."
He could see his breath rise before him in white clouds. They were somewhat exciting, tonight's events. Sure, Malachai had taken care of other outlanders... but in such a storm! It made everything more challenging. Challenges he liked.
"Who to go after first," he said under his breath, stopping to briefly hide behind one of the old houses. "The old man, or the girl?" Malachai paused and turned the knife slowly over in his palm. He was remembering some old tune, some song from long ago... the words were just slipping away from him. He decided to hum the melody instead. "The old man will be a snap," he said between a pause in his humming, then grinned and started off at a run. The snow was blinding, the wind deafening, and the cold numbing.
Challenges he most definitely liked.
"Do you hear what I hear?"
said the night wind to the little lamb
"Do you see what I see
Way up in the sky, little lamb?"
Do you see what I see?
A star, a star, dancing in the night
With a tail as big as a kite
With a tail as big as a kite
Ashlee pressed the pre-set buttons on the dash boredly.
"Apparently, music has yet to be discovered out here," she said moodily, giving a button a rather savage punch with her finger. "Nothing but static, static, stat--"
"ATONEMENT!" bellowed a voice, and her father abruptly turned the radio off.
"I hate radio preachers," he muttered.
"Now there's something we can both agree on." Ashlee finally finished chewing the lump of Slim Jim in her mouth. She noticed with distaste that it had been her first bite.
"All fire and brimstone," Frank said moodily. "Only salvation through money. It's just about the worst way someone can twist God." He raised his hand and absently switched gears. "Anyone who believes in those phony sermons needs more than salvation, they need a brain trans--" His words came to an abrupt stop as the headlights suddenly hit pure white; Frank slammed hard on the brakes and turned the steering wheel. The Fiero did a wild spin, sending the two of them flat against the back of their seats. Tires squealed, brakes screeched, and Ashlee screamed. There was a mighty thunk as the car hit something solid and finally stopped -- half-buried in the mound of snow that had caused the crash.
A long moment of pure silence passed until Ashlee finally regained her lost breath and was able to talk.
"What -- what was -- was it a --" Frank shook his head slowly. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
"No, not a person," he said shakily, reading the look on her face. "Just a snowbank. Blocking the road. I didn't see it in time." She paused, then let out a wry laugh.
"Some four-wheel drive," Ashlee spat, twisting to look at her father.
"Are you all right?" Frank was changing the subject rapidly.
"I'm fine. Dad, can we stop talking and just pull out of this glacier? Please?" She groped on the floor of the car and finally found the stiff stick that was her dinner.
"I don't see why you're so impatient to get to Hemmingford," her father said indignantly.
"Maybe if I had been in Hemmingford when I was supposed to, I wouldn't be this impatient," Ashlee snapped. Frank pursed his lips for what seemed the hundredth time that night. He looked ready to say something, but chose not to; instead, he turned the key hard in the ignition. "I just want to enjoy what's left of my Christmas," she added sullenly. The lights on the dashboard glowed to life as Frank put the car in reverse.
"I don't know how you expect me to get through this snowbank," he said coldly.
"Drive around it!" Ashlee threw her hands in the air. "The car can take rough terrain! That's what it's for, Mr. Four-Wheel-Drive!" Her father darkened and began backing away from the hugely packed mound of snow.
"Stop snapping at me," he growled. "I've had just about enough of--" Again, he stopped right in the middle of his sentence. The engine, which had been purring so nicely a moment ago, gave a feeble cough and fell silent. Ashlee sat there for a moment, unable to believe the situation.
"You can't tell me we're out of gas," she asked incredulously. "Please don't tell me we're out of gas, Frank."
"I thought I filled it up back in Omaha," he said, voice sheepish as he turned the key again with no result.
"You didn't fill it up in Omaha!" Ashlee unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to her father. "The only reason you got out of the car in Omaha was to get a friggin' double chili cheeseburger from Dairy Queen!"
"Don't yell at me, Ash!" he spat, giving the steering wheel a savage slap with the flat of his palms. "This isn't my fault!"
"It's certainly not my fault!" she countered, and Frank glowered at her.
"Nevermind. I've got a tank of gas in the back." For the first time since the trip had started, Ashlee brightened.
"Oh -- oh, wonderful! Great planning, Dad!" This seemed to hearten her father. He opened the door of the Fiero and hopped out, hurrying to the trunk.
"Sure! I never go anywhere without a spare can of gasoline!" Frank stamped his feet vigorously in an effort to regenerate circulation and popped the trunk open. "We'll just fill this baby up and -- oh." He hefted the can of gas only to find it was unusually light. Ashlee, who had twisted in her seat to watch the progress, frowned.
"Oh, Frank," she said, half disappointed and half disbelieving.
"I guess I didn't refill it last time," Frank said meekly, and slammed the trunk shut.
"What are we going to do? I don't want to walk the rest of the way, it's frickin' freezing out there!" Ashlee's point was emphasized as her father slipped back into the car, letting in a flurry of snowflakes with him.
"We can't do anything else," he said, shoulders slumped. "I highly doubt we're going to be able to hitchike. There's no one around here." Frank paused, then nodded firmly. "All right. Here's what we'll do. Ash, dig into your suitcase in the backseat and get out your heaviest clothing. Put on an extra pair of pants and another shirt if you need to. In fact, I recommend it." He pulled the keys out of the ignition and slipped them into his pocket. "Extra socks too. When you're done with that, put on your boots and coat and gloves and scarf. Just make sure you're bundled up good, we're making the rest of the trip on foot." Ashlee shook her head slowly.
"You're not serious."
"Deathly," Frank said, tone short. "Get into your extra clothes. Now. We're going to get Hemmingford before morning if it kills us."
They had been walking in silence for nearly half an hour.
"Frank, I'm cold," Ashlee complained. She had even been scolding herself a while ago, after having inspected her previous behavior; she'd swore to herself that she wasn't going to be such a smart-assed burden. That was, however, nearly 20 minutes before it felt like her fingers were going to fall off.
"So am I, Ash," Frank responded. "We should be there soon though, I promise." It was difficult to hear him, and even more difficult to see where they were going -- the "flurry fit", as Frank had initially called it, was now a raging storm, and the two to three inches he'd predicted to stick had actually culminated to over half a foot. It was almost up to Ashlee's knees.
"There's another sign," she shouted over the wind, trying to change the subject she herself had brought up. "Hemmingford, 6 miles, Gatlin 1-- but that last one said that Hemmingford was only 2 miles off!" Ashlee whirled and strained to see her father through the thick sheet of snow. "We're going the wrong way!"
"Ash, it's getting worse out here!" Frank had stopped to briefly attempt cleaning his glasses, which was a lost cause, what with all the wind and snow. "We can't turn around and go six miles back that way. They'll find us frozen sometime next spring!" He paused, then added apologetically, "Look, let's just head to this Gatlin. It's only a mile off. We can stay there for the night--"
"But Dad!" she exclaimed.
"--and in the morning, I promise I'll get you to Hemmingford."
"Dad!" she repeated.
"Ashlee, we can't stay out here!" Frank hesitated, then smiled wryly. "Unless hypothermia is at the top of your Christmas list." Ashlee had stopped walking. She wanted to see her mother, she wanted to be with her on Christmas. Not this bumbling fool who'd forgotten gas every time he had the chance and couldn't see a snowbank five feet in front of him. But she also wanted to be somewhere warm.
"Fine," she spat over the roar of the wind, and whirled, heading past the sign that proclaimed Gatlin was only a mile away.
Her footsteps crunched not only snow, but dead cornstalks as well. The sound made Ashlee shiver. It was like... like bones cracking. Something about the place was giving her an eerie feeling.
"Houses," Frank said suddenly. She looked up and saw he was right.
"Hurry," she urged. He suddenly came to a stop.
"Wait." Frank paused, then tilted his head slightly as if he were listening to something. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Ashlee asked impatiently. Her legs had nearly gone numb by now, and she was in no mood to wait.
"That," he said as if it explained everything, then listened hard again. "Don't you hear it?"
"Hear what?" she repeated angrily. "All I hear is snow and wind! And I'm cold! There's houses right over there, I'm going!"
"Ash, don't," Frank warned. "I swear I hear something, like there's someone out here with us--"
"You're being paranoid." Ashlee stamped the ground a few times to assure that there were still legs in there, then sprinted ahead. The old man could catch up eventually.
"Ash! Ash, don't! Ashlee, come back!" But the howling wind blocked out his voice as Ashlee's boots pounded the snow, drawing her closer to Gatlin and farther away from her father.
Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy
"Do you hear what I hear
Ringing through the sky, shepherd boy?"
Do you hear what I hear?
A song, a song, high above the tree
With a voice as big as the sea
With a voice as big as the sea
Malachai burst in through the living room door.
"Outlanders," he gasped. His sudden appearance had terrified some of the younger children; even Isaac reluctantly admitted to himself that he had been frightened as well. Malachai's large form had nearly broken down the door when he stumbled into the living room, his body and hair frosted with a thin sheen of snow. His face was flushed an ugly red from the cold, and his nostrils flared as they tried to take in more oxygen for his burning lungs. Truthfully, it was nothing short of having the Boogeyman explode into the living room.
"Outlanders?" Isaac repeated doubtfully, getting to his feet as Rachel tried to comfort the little ones who'd begun to cry.
"Outlanders!" Malachai confirmed breathlessly. Isaac's brows knitted; he'd been sitting by the fire for quite some time, and at last he'd gotten warm and comfortable. He'd even seriously considered nodding off for a little while.
"Where?" Isaac asked in concern. Malachai struggled for breath, holding up a hand for a moment to recuperate. At last, he managed an answer that was more composed.
"They've been on the border for a while, but they've finally entered Gatlin. They're on their way here. Towards the houses." The small crowd of children began to murmur to each other, the word moving through the room in a collective whisper.
"Outlanders."
"How many?" Isaac asked, not sure whether to be merely concerned or alarmed as well. Oh, certainly they'd had outlanders in Gatlin before... but it was always in the summer or autumn, when the weather was right for traveling. Not in this sort of weather.
"Two." Malachai had finally caught his breath, and the unpleasant flush of cold was leaving his face. "A girl, and... a man." The whispers of the children fell into a sudden heavy hush. Isaac felt his muscles tighten.
"A man?" he asked quietly. "You're certain?"
"Yes," Malachai said, sounding quite firm. "A man. Isaac, they went straight through the cornfields." There was another silence that followed, this one shocked.
"They stepped onto the holy ground?" Isaac whispered. Now he was startled as well -- surely this would mean a barren harvest for next year if they had defiled the sacred land. Malachai nodded shortly.
"Ran right through it." Another long, uncomfortable pause. Isaac wrinkled his forehead in thought. He couldn't risk sending any of the Children out into the snow -- not in this storm -- but he certainly couldn't let the outlanders find them. And unless he wanted a tainted harvest next autumn...
"Malachai," Isaac said softly, "you know what you must do. Can you go out in the snow again?" The response was startling; Malachai nodded vigorously, lips splitting into an ugly grin.
"Oh yes. I can go -- I know what I must do." He whirled and clomped back out into the snow. Isaac saw the flash of silver blade just before the door slammed shut. He closed his eyes tightly. Of all the nights to be cursed with such a storm...
"Outlanders," one of the Children whispered. Isaac glanced to the one who'd spoken and smiled thinly.
"Not for long, my child," he said gently, placing a careful palm on the little girl's head. "Not for long."
He could see his breath rise before him in white clouds. They were somewhat exciting, tonight's events. Sure, Malachai had taken care of other outlanders... but in such a storm! It made everything more challenging. Challenges he liked.
"Who to go after first," he said under his breath, stopping to briefly hide behind one of the old houses. "The old man, or the girl?" Malachai paused and turned the knife slowly over in his palm. He was remembering some old tune, some song from long ago... the words were just slipping away from him. He decided to hum the melody instead. "The old man will be a snap," he said between a pause in his humming, then grinned and started off at a run. The snow was blinding, the wind deafening, and the cold numbing.
Challenges he most definitely liked.
