Ice Rogue

  Dixon stared at her hard. “You’re all that’s left?”

  Ruefully, she nodded.

  “Heh. I could’ve figured as much.” He picked up his lantern and began to walk into the pitch black.

  “Wait!” Snowden forced herself to her feet. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Follow me if you want to find out.”

  The words she heard were only an echo as Dixon disappeared deeper into the darkness. When she caught up to him, they wound their way through a tunnel. Snowden tripped occasionally on the spontaneous dips in the stone floor and rocks, but Dixon never missed a step. “This isn’t your first time down here,” Snowden observed.

  “Nope.”

  “Did you dig this tunnel yourself?”

  “Nah. Once in a great while, Mother Nature provides. I found this place about three years ago, when I was on the hook for murdering my family. I holed up here for eleven months afterwards, until more people started showin’ up dead in my absence and I was free to return. Royce was the one who helped me. He made sure I had enough food and fresh water, and he kept me up to date on the rogue’s whereabouts.”

  “Royce?” Snowden said as the tunnel opened up into a large room. “Why would he help a fugitive? He’s a ranger. ”

  Dixon smiled inquisitively. “Who told ye that?”

  Snowden felt foolish. They had never explicitly been told that Royce was a ranger, though even if they had, perhaps they shouldn’t have believed it. Things were not as they seemed up in these mountains. “But his truck,” she started. “Conservation Services—”

  “Bought it at an auction a few years back,” Dixon said. “Dumb shit just never repainted it. He’s a fuckin’ cryptozoologist. Or, the closest thing to one I’ve ever known anyway.”

  “Whoa…” Snowden’s breath escaped her when the lantern illuminated the cavern. Aside from the room being a suitable living space complete with a cot and a bearskin rug, it was also an armory. Rifles lined the walls. There was a reloading bench in the center with sacks of shot and black powder and empty shells. “Is this like your headquarters?” she asked.

  Static crackled from the radio clipped to Dixon’s belt. He grabbed it and held it up to his ear. Royce’s voice was broken on the other end: “…killed one…them. Prime specimen. Rogue… still… out there… Luck.”

  “What does that mean?” Snowden asked. “Is that Royce?”

  “It means I’m going to war, Blondie.” He set the radio on the reloading bench and pulled up a seat for himself. “I think I know how to kill it… if you’ll agree to help me.”

  Aware that she really had no choice in the matter, and that she had absolutely nothing to lose, Snowden nodded. She would help Dixon exact his vengeance and stop the rogue from breeding more brutality, even though the glint in Dixon’s eyes told her she’d very likely lose her life. “I will,” she said.

  Dixon handed her a shotgun. “Good girl.”

  *

  She would be the bait. That was the agreement. Snowden sat at the reloading bench, listening to Dixon crank the press. A fire burned low on the floor, just its coals glowing “You knew, didn’t you?” she said after a while.

  “Knew what?” He loaded another casing with black powder and clamped it. It clinked on the hard wood of the bench.

  “That those… things, those monsters… would come after us. You knew they would attack the lodge.”

  “I had a strong suspicion, followed by strong instincts and a survivalist’s intuition. But I didn’t know, per se.”

  “And yet you let us stay?” She shook her head.

  “I’ll admit, Blondie,” Dixon said as another finished bullet bounced off the surface of the bench. “I took my own agenda into consideration when I let you and your friends stay that first night. Though I daresay your boyfriend wouldn’t have taken no for an answer at the time.”

  Snowden combed her fingers through her hair. Although Zach had intensely disliked Dixon, he had opted to stay for her. He had only wanted her to have a good time, to know what it felt like to live again. He had only ever wanted the best for her, and now, Snowden thought, perhaps he had been right to mistrust Dixon from the beginning.

  “They won’t hurt you, ye know.” Dixon interrupted the silence.

  “Huh?” Snowden had been rolling a bullet back and forth in her palm.

  “The monsters,” as you call ‘em. “They won’t hurt you.”

  Snowden scoffed. “Right. Just like they didn’t hurt Keeley and Zach and Minhas and that one drunk chick and—”

  Dixon laughed darkly. “ I didn’t say nothin’ about ‘em not hurtin’ yer friends. I said they won’t hurt you. Why do ye think I let you stay that night?” His gaze bored into her. Snowden felt vulnerable under his stare, stupid.

  “I… um—”

  “You didn’t think I was interested, did you?” The deer-in-the-headlights look on Snowden’s face amused him. “I mean, let’s face it. You ain’t got squat for tits and I’m really more of a brunette kind of guy. That Lana chick on the other hand…”

  Despite her exhaustion and the weight of all the terrible things that had occurred earlier in the day, Snowden felt anger rising inside of her. He had no right to judge her. “Then why—?”

  “Ye gotta learn to hide yer pain, Blondie,” Dixon said. “I could see it plain as day on yer face, on the bleeding heart ye keep on yer sleeve. I knew the snow-beasts wouldn’t hurt ye. You’re damaged goods. You’ve got nothin’ to live for. You’re no threat to them; you’re more like a doe with a gut wound, slowly bleedin’ out. And—fortunately for you—these things don’t believe in mercy-killing; only murder.”

  Upon hearing that, Snowden felt as though she really did have a gut wound. There had been a knife in her all along and Dixon had just given it a good, hard twist. “What have you got to live for?” she retorted.

  “Vengeance,” he said darkly. Another bullet clinked to the hard wood surface.

  Snowden sighed. Her breath came out jagged, she was so angry. “So you’ve been planning on using me as bait all along.”

  He tilted his head from side to side, his dusty hair brushing his shoulders. “More or less.”

  “You planned on me finding you here.”

  “I hoped you’d find me. I didn’t plan anything, Blondie. You and yer friends came to my resort operating on your own free will. This rogue has been taunting me for the past three years. I’m just a man who doesn’t let opportunity bite him in the ass.” He paused, his arm bent in midair, hovering over the press. “So are you still with me?”

  “How are you gonna kill it? You must have a plan for that.”

  Dixon’s teeth glowed white. He pushed down on the press, producing another bullet. “Same way ye kill any animal,” he said matter-of-factly. He held the newly finished bullet in his palm. “I’m gonna shoot it in the head.”

  Chapter 7

  Fire, Ice, and Sacrifice

  She was alone in the dark with only the stars to illuminate the shadows of her predators, and even they did a piss-poor job of it. Snowden looked up toward an overhang of rock where she hoped Dixon waited, as promised. He confirmed his position by firing his shotgun once. There was an explosion of white, and then the gasoline caught. A ring of fire about thirty feet in diameter blazed around her.

  Biting back her fear, Snowden stood with her fists awkwardly clenching a rifle, and waited. She had nothing to lose, she kept telling herself. It would all be over soon. She couldn’t say exactly how long it was before she heard a long, low growl. “Dixon!” she shouted, unable to control her instincts. Even as she yelled, however, she knew it was a lost cause; Dixon would not give up his position by yelling.

  He assured her that they would not go into the fire. If they had any fears whatsoever, fire was it. Apparently, he had warded off several of them with only a torch in his hunt for the rogue. “Like anything,” he’d said, “they’ll be drawn to the fire. Soon as they get near
ye, I’ll pick ‘em off one by one.”

  “But how will you know which one’s the rogue?” she’d asked.

  He’d smiled sardonically as he fit the last bullet in his rifle. “He’ll be the last one standing.”

  She craned her neck to try and see over the flames. There were two snow-beasts for sure, watching her as they might a rabbit caught in a trap. Dixon shot them both. Their skulls exploded and their massive bodies collapsed. She looked up at the overhang, but all she saw was the tip of his rifle glowing orange.

  He shot a third one, then, and a fourth. She closed her eyes and imagined them crawling from the mountains like spiders out of the ground. How many of them could there be? She let out a long exhale when suddenly, she heard the flames whoosh, followed by the sound of thunder. The ground shook so violently that she lost her balance and fell on her butt, into the snow. A great snow-beast towered over her. It had ram-like horns, one of which had coiled and was growing back into its skull. Old blood matted its fur at the entry point. This was not the one that had attacked the lodge, she knew. Though it had all happened so fast; for the beast to have destroyed the lodge and then to meet them at the chair lifts, there had almost had to be two of them. The creature bared its teeth and bit the empty air.

  “Dixon!” she screamed, but no shots came this time.

  *

  Dixon wasn’t deaf. He could hear Snowden’s desperate cries for help, but he was powerless. He spat out a mouthful of snow, shaking it out of his eyes as he reached for his gun. A heavy, clawed foot stepped on his back, forcing all the air from his lungs. A massive pressure swelled inside his head and he could feel his eyes bulging out of their sockets. Down below, he could see Snowden scrambling and a fierce hatred burned in his chest. He’d know that hulking form from anywhere. It was the rogue, for what other beast would have leapt through the flames?

  Suffocating, he stretched his arm even farther but the gun was simply beyond his reach. He would die like this, flattened and having failed at his vendetta.

  Suddenly, the weight lifted.

  It was toying with him, he knew, but nevertheless, Dixon seized the opportunity to roll onto his back. He threw himself backwards, barely managing to grab the stock of his rifle. As he did so, however, he caught a glimpse of the awful beast that hunched over him. Its face was scarred and when it roared, he could see that it was missing its back molar. “Son of a bitch,” Dixon growled.

  There were two of them! There had been two rogue snow-beasts the entire time, creating diversions for each other. No wonder neither he nor Royce could ever get a clear tracking on them.

  Never before in his three years of hunting had Dixon ever come face to face with the beast that had slaughtered his family. Now that the moment had finally come, he found himself filled with an unfathomable rage, and without a spare second to readjust his rifle. The beast lunged forward to strike, and Dixon jammed the butt of his gun into its hideous face.

  It recoiled, giving him a chance to regain his ground. Then, the creature roared and beat its fists against its chest. Dixon was familiar with the ritual. He knew what was going to happen next.

  The snow-beast charged.

  Dixon shot once, blasting a chunk from its shoulder. It somersaulted into him like a boulder, catching him in its claws. Hot blood streamed onto him from its wound. When the snow-beast stood, it held Dixon tight against it, one meaty arm across his neck. His hands still free, Dixon pressed the barrel of the .300 winmag into his own abdomen and fired.

  *

  She heard the shot from above and hoped that it meant Dixon would be coming down soon. She’d already run a dozen laps inside the ring of fire, and no one had come to her aid. The beast was not showing any signs of fatigue, either. Finally, knowing that it would be an unlikely shot, Snowden knelt with the rifle resting on her knee. She pulled the trigger.

  The blast caught the snow-beast in the side. It was a destructive hit, but not enough to bring it down. It only infuriated it.

  Snowden pumped the rifle again, but it jammed. “Shit!” she yelled.

  Just then, she heard the sound of an engine. It seemed to be getting closer. The snow-beast paused in its attack and stared beyond the flames. Gunshots shattered the night and the earth trembled as more lumbering beasts fell to the ground.

  “Get down!” a voice commanded.

  Snowden just stood, dumbstruck. It was not until the engine noises became almost deafening and a new breed of monster leapt through the flames that she dove into the snow.

  A snowmobile leapt through the fire.

  It was Lana and Parker!

  Elbows bent at ninety-degree angles, Parker gripped the steering column and launched the snowmobile right at the rogue snow-beast. The snow-beast roared and swiped at them with its inhumanly long arms. One of its giant claws raked across Parker’s chest, slashing his jacket. Lana leaned over him then, and, yielding a chainsaw, drove the rotating blade into the beast’s neck. Hot blood exploded, soaking everything in its vicinity. The beast’s intimidating roar transformed into a defeated gurgle as it started to drown in its own blood. Lana wrenched the blade out and finished the job. It’s head landed in the snow with a final thud.

  The snowmobile plowed into the snow nose-first and exploded. Shards of metal blasted in all directions and the night was suddenly illuminated by the fiery mushroom cloud that bloomed into the atmosphere. Lana and Parker were both ejected. They landed hard near Snowden, just at the edge of the dying fire.

  Snowden shivered. She was soaked in blood. It was in her hair and her mouth and matted her clothes to her skin. She looked to Lana and Parker. They’d been splattered, too, but not as heavily. Lana sported a darkening bruise by her eye and Parker had a slash that ran from his ear to his forearm. They lay back, almost like a group of kids celebrating the Fourth of July as they watched the body of the snow-beast dance until it completely disintegrated.

  “Son of a bitch ripped my jacket,” Parker said.

  They all laughed.

  Chapter 8

  Aftermath

  They found Dixon atop the overhang, just as he’d promised he would be. His eyes were iced over already, the stars reflecting in their glassy surfaces. His jacket was soaked with blood and it dyed the snow beneath him. Though he’d suffered a gut wound, his face was strangely peaceful.

  The rogue lay facedown beside him. It had a hole in its back the size of Montana.

  Tears welled in Snowden’s eyes and Minhas put his arm around her. He’d come with Royce after seeing the explosion. He wore a bandage wrapped around his head to completely cover his one gouged eye, but otherwise, he was no worse for wear than the rest of them.

  Royce shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed. He kicked Dixon’s boot. It sounded as though he had just kicked a brick wall. “Well, guess he’ll be preserved for a while… ‘til somethin’ comes along and eats him anyway.”

  Snowden unlocked herself from Minhas’s hold. “What? You can’t just leave him out here! You have to bury him!”

  Royce laughed. “When, sweetheart? With the thaw?”

  She turned to her friends but they all just stared at the ground. They knew that Royce was right. There would be no breaking ground with a shovel for months yet. She fumbled for an argument. “But, he was—, he deserves—, ugh…”

  “Dixon got what he wanted, believe me,” Royce assured her. “There could have been no better end for him.” He bent over the body and retrieved Dixon’s flask from inside his jacket, then turned to address both Minhas and Parker. “Ok Meathead, John Wayne: help me load this bastard into the truck.”

  *

  They spent the night at Royce’s cabin. Luckily, the power had come back on, permitting them all to have hot showers. Snowden stared down at her feet while she scrubbed at her scalp. She stood in a river of red.

  She slept on a cot in a pair of Royce’s flannel pajamas curled up next to Minhas. Parker and Lana shared a sleeping bag on the other side of the room
.

  As she lay awake watching the sky gradually lighten, she could see that this was no ranger’s cabin. He had bleached skulls on the countertops and unidentified specimens in mason jars. Video equipment was strewn about his dining table and maps and evolutionary charts papered the walls. Feeling somewhat peaceful for the first time in months, Snowden allowed herself to fall asleep, knowing what she needed to do.

  Come morning, they all dressed and ate a breakfast of hash browns and eggs and Snowden made coffee for everyone.

  Royce drove them back to the dilapidated resort lodge to retrieve their vehicles. They stood in the parking lot, saying their farewells.

  “I can’t believe you’re still going to your friends’ wedding,” Snowden said.

  Lana shrugged. Even with a black eye and hair that could probably suffer a brush, she was still wicked sexy. “We came all this way. It’d be a shame to turn back now.”

  Parker turned the key in the ignition, then, and they disappeared up the hill, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of exhaust.

  “Well,” Minhas turned to Snowden, “you ready, Snow?”

  Snowden studied the mountains, blue and snow-capped in the daylight. The skies were clear. If not for the destroyed lodge and the collapsed chair lifts, it was hard to imagine that any horrors had happened at all. “Gigantopithecus,” she said.

  “What?” Minhas spat.

  Royce looked intrigued.

  “I’ve been looking through some of Royce’s books,” Snowden explained. “And the snow-beasts seem to bear striking resemblance to a prehistoric creature named Gigantopithecus.”

  Royce beamed. “Holy Hell, you may be onto somethin’.”

  Snowden handed Minhas the keys. “I’m staying here,” she said. “For a while, anyway. I want to study these creatures.”

  “Snowden, they killed our friends.”