Hail Santa! by John McNee

Author:John McNee [McNee, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: epub, ebook, QuarkXPress
Published: 2023-11-09T07:00:00+00:00

25.

THE FIRST KID to stab Beatrice did so from behind, sticking his knife into the soft flesh of her thigh. It wasn’t a large blade and didn’t go deep, but there was no question she felt it. She let loose a shriek—more of shock and confusion than of pain—and lurched forward, but the children in front drove her back, thrusting their own knives into her flailing arms and stomach. It was unclear to the observers in the car if they managed to penetrate the thick fabric of her winter coat and pierce the skin, but she screamed just as loudly as if they did.

“Oh Christ,” Shona groaned, horrified by what she was witnessing. “Curtis!”

He turned the key in the ignition for the fifth or sixth time, without the hint of an effect on the engine. “It’s not working.”

She grabbed his arm, her eyes still locked on the unfolding horror outside. “Curtis!”

“It won’t start.” He didn’t look at her, focusing all his attention on the key, while a voice in his head reminded him they’d been here already, only a few hours ago, her urging him to do something, get out of the truck and do something. He’d barely scraped through that encounter with his life, yet here they were again. Not that he resented her for it. Not that he wouldn’t act, if he had to. Not like he was afraid or anything. He just really, really wanted the engine to start.

“Curtis!” She slammed her fists against his arm, incensed by his inaction as, through the window behind him, she saw Beatrice whirling through a barrage of bladed attacks. There was blood on her coat now—in the front, back and sleeves, little stains growing bigger. She screamed for help. “Fuck!” Shona couldn’t bear to sit helpless in the truck a second longer. She opened her door and turned to jump out.

“Wait,” said Curtis.

She was going to tell him to fuck off, but before she could, something jumped out from under the truck. A creature of frightening speed and dazzling colors, it let loose a maniacal cackle like something between a wildcat and a jackal. Its face twisting in fury and claws already swinging in attack, it was almost on top of Shona before she realized it was another child.

The retina-scarring overcoat he wore belonged to Theo Deuling, a sickly seven-year-old whose mother dressed him in fluorescent colors for fear of him being lost in the snow. He was short for his age and on the thin and frail side, which caused his family no end of worry. They would have been shocked to see him now, with limbs so long and muscles so swollen they’d burst the stitching on his coat to expose the white padding beneath. His face was red and angry as a hemorrhoid and his left hand clutched the truck’s ignition coil, while his right held a knife. And not a stubby paring knife like the kitchen utensils his friends had scavenged, but a twelve-inch machete, its edge sharpened to perfection.

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