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Winter's Blade (Fire)

R.Jairam squatted down in front of the magazine racks, putting back Us Weekly and pulling out Maxim. He'd been through this month's Maxim twice already, but then he'd been through everything on the rack at least once, and besides, Lacey Chabert was the covergirl. He flipped to her photos as he worked his way back behind the counter.

The wind outside made the windows bulge; Jairam hoped the power wasn't going to go out again. Customers didn't always understand that gas pumps needed electricity.

A car pulled up outside; Jairam didn't bother to look up. Customers liked it better when he ignored them, and generally vice-versa. Something about this neighborhood made everybody look ugly -- worn-out or desperate or scared, and almost always pissed-off. His father owned a second station up by the university; at least there Jairam got to see the occasional cute coed wander in for drinks, smokes, or snacks. Here all he had was Lacey Chabert, and six photos in a not-quite-skin magazine wasn't enough to last another whole night.

News radio burbled in the background, mentioning the apartment fire again, but just repeating what it'd said a half-hour ago. Jairam remembered the fire trucks wailing down the street a couple of hours ago. That and a couple of kids peeling out of the station had been the only two things worth looking up from already-read magazines so far -- and from the way the wind was blowing, Jairam knew the second half of that storm was about to land, and that would pretty much kill all hopes of anything interesting interrupting his boredom.

That's when They walked in.

The first guy barely registered in Jairam's peripheral vision -- bald, military jacket, no shortage of that type in this neighborhood; probably here for beer. But the girl on his heels set off Jairam's Don't Stare Or You'll Get Your Ass Kicked alarm. Tall, blonde, skinny with big boobs, with a stripper's strut that made her black PVC raincoat and matching stiletto-heeled boots squeak. Jairam's eyes darted over her form and then darted away toward the door, only to land on another dangerously-dressed girl. This one wasn't as tall or as stacked, but the short blood-red coat flared in a way that suggested a very pleasing figure. Legs sheathed in laddered black stockings ended in high-heeled pumps. Jairam's eyes broke free of those sexy legs to catch her piercing stare. Looking away, Jairam noticed the guy behind her; the dark ballcap, trenchcoat and cargo pants seemed harmlessly middle-of-the-road compared to his companions, as if he'd been swept up in something far wilder than he'd ever done before. But that impression died when he gave Jairam a nodded greeting; this guy looked too comfortable next to such a fine-looking woman to be in over his head.

Jairam half-wondered if he'd dozed off and awakened in The Matrix.

But then he came up with a more reasonable explanation -- the girls were strippers, and the guys were their bodyguards. Probably on their way to a private party in one of the hotels near the airport. Jairam remembered Taj's bachelor party...

These guys were probably here to buy Reddi-Wip.

"You have gas cans?" the sexy woman in red asked.
Jairam blinked. "Hmm?"
"Gas cans," the bald one said from the end aisle.
"A friend of ours ran out of gas," the other guy said.

"Oh! Yes, right up there." Jairam pointed to a shelf on the far wall, above the insulated travel mugs.
The bald guy grabbed two and headed outside; the others stayed put, waiting for him to fill the cans before paying.

The silence was uncomfortable. Jairam eventually noticed the tall girl eyeing his magazine; he flipped it shut. Lacey Chabert stared up at him from the cover; she seemed jealous.

Two gas cans. Why two? Jairam wasn't going to ask.

The guy in the trenchcoat answered anyway. "It's a Hummer."

The tall one stepped toward the counter, planting her hands at the edge. She leaned forward; Jairam knew she wanted him to look at her chest, but he wasn't going to. No, he wasn't. His peripheral vision informed him that her coat was parting as she leaned further over. There was cleavage. But he wasn't going to--

Damn.

Daaammmmn!

She spoke. "Mom's Cookies, is it up this street here?" She nodded toward the wall behind him.

"Umm... umm... yeah."

"Okay, tha-anks," she said in a sing-song voice. Her hand reached into her coat and pulled out something crisp-sounding and vaguely greenish. Jairam blinked to reset his focus -- a pair of twenties. "That enough?" she chirped.
He just nodded.

The cleavage rose and turned away; Jairam was sad to see it go.

Two cars started up and pulled away -- a boring blue Accord and some Japanese-looking sports car. Jairam sighed.

Lacey Chabert glowered.

Alex let Chester lead. Mom's Cookies wasn't hard to spot -- a cut-out of the familiar freakish balloon-head logo peeked over the top of the building, as if some giant Raggedy-Ann body was crouched behind the wall, ready to leap out and crush passing cars.

Em shook her head. "You'd think a cookie company wouldn't choose a logo that would scare children."

They looped once around the building. Longer than a football field and about as tall as a three-story apartment complex, with a loading dock at one end and an incongruous 1980s glass-cube addition of offices at the other, it looked more like an aircraft factory than a bakery. The back side had no obvious doors, just two horizontal stripes of old factory windows, separated by a stripe of courrogated metal that was painted in alternating blocks of pink and purple. The front side was the same, except for a tall protuberance a third of the way from the loading dock end. It looked like a cross between a garden shed and a clock tower butted up against the main wall, with the creepy Mom's logo-head at the top of each side, staring out as if keeping watch.

The main entrance was on the front side, where the glass cube ended and the factory began. Chester's Accord continued around the corner and pulled over; Alex pulled past him and parked.

Alex looked in his mirrors; Chester got out of his car, leaning and staggering against the blustering wind as he approached Alex's window. The wind whistled and then howled as it forced its way in through the lowering window, ruffling their coats.

As Chester leaned over to talk to them, his phone -- well, Jovie's phone -- warbled its inappropriately-amusing ringtone. Chester looked at the calling number; his face hardened. He looked at Em. "You really up for this?"
Em took Alex's hand. She nodded.
"Are you *sure*?"
Em looked at the phone, and then at Chester. "The only thing I'm not sure about is you."

The phone repeated its ring. Chester took a deep breath; he stepped back, punching a button and raising the phone to his ear.

"Yeah? [pause] 'It is their blood that binds.' [pause] Ruprecht. [pause] No, I lost her. [pause] I couldn't keep up with them; the guy she's with drives a Sup... ped-up Mustang. [pause] I didn't *let* them leave; they just left. [pause] What, I was supposed to shoot her? [pause] She's smarter than that. But it doesn't matter now. [pause] I don't know where they're going. [pause] No. [pause] The police? But- [pause] All right, but... shit... I'm almost out of battery. You better call it in for me. I lost 'em at Industrial, right off the freeway. It's a *red* Mustang, like ten years old. Listen, I'm gonna keep looking for 'em; I'll try to get another battery and call you back." Chester hung up, holding the button down until the phone was off.

The air grew wet; a misting rain fell in jagged sheets that leaped sideways with every gust of wind.

"Leave the cars here. Give me a minute, then get Jovie and the stuff and come around the front. Keep the rags dry!"
"Got it."
Chester ran off into the mounting storm.

When the window closed, the sudden silence was a little unnerving. Alex looked at the display on the car stereo; the colon between hours and minutes blinked every second, but it seemed much slower than that now. One. Two.
Three.
Alex thought he should say something reassuring. That's what was expected. That's what happened in movies. But words... words failed. It was too much. Somehow they were here and they had to go in there and killer eyeless elves fire Smiths book plague lost run demon crossing blood axe claws life Emmeline-

Something grabbed his neck and pulled him down, and suddenly he couldn't breathe because there was a mouth on his, soft lips pressing and sucking and turning and gasping and a tongue searching and enticing and breath drawing and holding, fingers curling, nails digging, bodies pulling closer, two frightened and frantic energies coiling and searching for strength and hope and finding only each other, two souls desperately clinging to the fading light of one last kiss...

Emmeline.

She pulled back, just far enough that his eyes could find hers, deep eyes that welled up with apology and terror and joy.

"We'll get through this," she said softly, her hand again finding his and gripping it too tightly. "We just have to stick together."

Jovie ran ahead, carrying her big bag stuffed with shop towels and a gas can; Em, toting a trio of baseball bats and Alex's flashlight, scurried a few steps behind, somewhat less confident running in heels than the stripper in front of her. Alex brought up the rear, hauling the two gas cans in one hand and the small fire extinguisher in the other.

Alex expected broken glass, but the doors looked intact, except for the bent and gouged metal around the lock. Chester saw Alex's look and held up a large crowbar.

Chester spoke crisply. "Em, watch the front door; Jovie, you keep an eye on the bakery through the window there. The main lights'll start coming on in a minute. Alex, wrap the end of the bats with four shop cloths each; don't worry about tying them, that's what this spool of wire's for." In a couple of minutes there was a torch for each of them. Chester poured gasoline into a wastebasket and dunked the torches. "Em, take this one; Jovie, here. Alex, you take the wooden bat; I got the crowbar."

Em already had the lighter out; Chester grabbed her wrist. "Don't light 'em yet. I don't know how long they're gonna last, and it's a big building. Don't worry, they'll light fast." He looked at Jovie, who was hoisting her bag over her shoulder. "Dammit, Jovie, did you have to bring your purse?"

Her voice was loud. "How d'you think I got the shop towels in here?" Em shushed her. "Besides," Jovie said more quietly, "I'm not leaving it in the car in this neighborhood."
"Well, leave it on the desk there and we'll pick it up on the way out."
"No way. What if one of those elf-things takes it?"
"They're not interested in your stuff."
"How do you know?"
Chester just sighed. "Whatever. Just... be careful."

"So where do we look first?" Alex whispered.
"First we go upstairs," Chester said.
"You think they put the axe up there?" Em asked.
"No, but the main office area has windows that look out over the bakery floor. Once the main lights come up we can get a better idea of where to look."
"You think it's a good idea to turn the lights on?" Alex asked.
"I thought they didn't have eyes," Jovie said.
"I don't know if it matters to them," Chester said, "but us humans have a hard time finding things in the *dark*. Besides, one of us is a Winter, so they probably already know we're here."
"I'm endangering the mission. I shouldn't have come," Alex intoned.
Chester looked confused.
Alex identified the line. "Return of the Jedi."
Chester rolled his eyes. "Geek."
"I wasn't counting on the element of surprise, anyway," Em said, brandishing her torch.

"Okay, stay close," Chester said, starting up the stairs. "Alex, you bring up the rear."

Alex waited for Em to start up, then he slowly backed up the stairs. He wasn't letting those little monsters sneak up on him...

The second floor was a ring of smallish offices around an open central space. Chester had turned on the overhead lights, but less than half of the flourescents worked. It was enough light to see that the place was mostly cleared out -- there was only one desk left, an ancient metal thing tottering on a broken leg, a coffee-stained paper blotter kept from sliding off by a crusty rubber band carcass. There were no chairs anywhere, and the surrounding offices were all empty except for a few ratty posters. From marks on the floor there used to be a row of file cabinets along the back. From the look of things, one of them had managed to disgorge a drawer before being dragged away -- paper forms and manila folders formed a pale lake over most of the left side of the room; Alex thought the filing mess looked better than the tired tomato-colored carpeting.

Looking toward the factory, Alex saw that Chester was right -- five wide picture windows nearly wall to wall, covered by cheap plastic blinds. There was a door at the far end. Chester stood in front of the middle window, peering through a crack where a slat was missing. "Jovie, watch the stairs," he ordered. "Alex, Em, come take a look."

"I wanna look too," Jovie whined, but she took up watch by the stairway. "Do these elf things make any noises?"
"I don't know," Alex answered, "but they have a strong smell, sweet and syrupy."
"All I smell is gasoline," Jovie muttered.

Chester had raised the blinds on the center window; several of the bakery's overhead lights were already on, and a few more were pulsing or flickering. They cast a stark blue-green light. Alex and Em approached the window.

The bakery floor was a kaleidescope of dismantled or displaced equipment and awkward empty spaces. Patterns in the concrete marked where workers had walked and conveyers had run, but so much had been taken apart or removed already that it was hard to mentally connect things.

A long metal box with a horizontal slot in the end squatted on short legs just beyond the catwalk railing outside the window; Alex guessed it was an oven. To the left about halfway down stood an incongruously-neat wall of small (from up here) boxes, three boxes deep, four high, and maybe fifteen long; on their sides was printed... premium maroon? macaroni? It was still a little dark in that spot, and he couldn't quite read it from here.

Roll-up doors ran across the far wall, with the exception of a small elevated cutout in the middle; a long shelf with metal rollers ran from the cutout to the backside of a metal box about the size of a bedroom, with a thick quilted-metal door propped open on the right side. He'd seen doors like that before... on the back of ice cream trucks. "I think that's a refrigerator," Alex said, pointing to it.

"That's a good place to look," Chester said. "Hey, check out that door," he added, pointing to the far left corner; there was a regular door next to the chain for the roll-up door -- and it was open. "I bet that's where they come and go." There was a matching door in the far right corner, but it was closed.

"What's that?" Alex pointed off to the right at something that looked like a giant industrial laundry basket, a sturdy cube frame covered in shiny white fabric. On its side, a bright red placard warned of... explosion?

"Flour silo," Chester said.
Oh, right, Alex thought, flour was flammable. "I thought silos were round. And taller."
"That's an indoor silo," Em said. "And down there is where the mixers are." She pointed nearer to them on the right; Alex thought they looked like small cement trucks.
"You sound like you've been here before," Alex said.
"No," Em answered, "when I was in fifth grade we went on a field trip to see how bread was made."

Alex noticed a path ran from the flour silo to the mixers, lined on either side by a row of concrete posts. Alex imagined big carts shuttling back and forth to deliver flour to the mixers; the posts were probably there to keep a runaway cart from running into other equipment. A few of the posts seemed crooked and misshapen; they'd probably taken quite a beating over the years.

Arrayed about the middle floor space among bits of mechanical debris were a half-dozen pieces of machinery. Alex thought about different kinds of cookies and tried to imagine what kinds of machines might be needed to make them. But he hadn't exactly spent a lot of time wearing an apron, and the only cookies he'd ever made with his mom were Nestle Tollhouse...

Past that, towering over the remaining equipment, stood a scissors-lift, cranked up to the ceiling; Alex could just see the top of a toolbox on the near edge of the platform. The dismantlers weren't finished, then. So had the elves just shown up tonight, or did they hide during the day?

Chester asked the obvious question. "Does anyone see any elves?"
Em asked the more pertinent question. "Does anyone see the axe?"

They all scanned the floor; Alex mentally picked through the bits of paper and pipe and power cords, searching for something that didn't fit...

"There it is," Em said. She pointed down low.
"Where?"
"Left of the mixers."
"I don't see it."
"Umm..."
"Is that it? In the middle of those... what are those things?"
"Oh, now I see it. Those are concrete posts; they keep things from running into the equipment."
"But what are those protecting?"
"I don't know; they probably removed it already."
"Uhh, guys?"
"So let's go get the axe and get out of here."
"There's stairs at the end of the catwalk there..."
"Hold on, let's figure this out."
"What's to figure out? Go, grab, gone."
"We can't see what's down there with all these pipes running across."
"Not from here -- but we can't get the axe from here, either."
"I don't want to go down there until I know it's safe; we haven't seen any sign of the elves."
"Maybe they went out for pizza -- I think *not* seeing them's a *good* thing."
"Guys!" Jovie shouted.
"What?" Chester snapped, whirling around.
"Lighter."
"Huh?"
"Lighter!" Her eyes grew wide; her hand was outstretched...
"Oh shit," Em breathed; her hand struggled to find the pocket in the unfamiliar coat...
"Give it to me," Chester said. "Jovie, get away from the stairs." He took a step toward the stairs, looking back at Em, waiting for the lighter...

Em finally found the lighter; she held it out; Chester snatched it from her. His hand was a blur: snick-flick-flame-Whoof! and his crowbar-torch came to life. He was already several steps closer to the stairs; he snicked the lighter closed and tossed it back; Em lunged and caught it.

Jovie screamed.

Alex looked toward the stairs; two elves stood there, their eyeless heads swiveling slowly toward him. Past him. They cocked to one side, as if puzzled.

They were looking at Em.

Chester hesitated; Alex realized this was the first time the man had seen these things. Chester moved around, putting himself between them and Jovie, holding his torch out in front of him like a lance. They took a half-step back, toward the stairs, but still kept... "staring" at Em.

Em had her torch lit now; she gripped it in both hands, holding it high, like a club. Alex saw fear in her eyes, but it hardly froze her; she began to step forward...

Chester raised his crowbar-torch like a hammer, winding up with his upper body as he stepped forward -- but instead of bringing the crowbar around, he turned sideways, raising his opposite leg and snapping it foward, driving his foot through one elf's shoulder. The elf went reeling, losing its footing at the edge of the stairs and tumbling out of Alex's line of sight.

The other elf whirled around in time to have the flaming end of Chester's crowbar catch it on the side of the head. It staggered sideways, toward Em and Alex, as bright blue flame streaked over the surface of its skin. The flame erupted a bright orange as the short beast turned their way, taking another step. "Look out!" Alex shouted. Em didn't expect to have a fireball coming at her; she backpedalled, bringing the big aluminum bat down. Alex stepped up, switching his grip and cocking the Louisville Slugger over his left shoulder; he wasn't a switch-hitter, but the bat connected well enough, catching the stumbling fireball in the chest and knocking it on its back.

The flames grew; the lake of paper on the floor caught fire. "Put it out!" Chester shouted. Alex looked around; who had the fire extinguisher?
They'd left it downstairs...

"Get back!" Alex motioned Em away from the flaming elf-corpse; meanwhile he used his foot to try to drag loose paper away from the flames and form some kind of carpet fire break.

Two more elves pushed into the room. Chester jabbed at one of them with the crowbar; it caught fire and staggered backwards into another elf behind him; flames leaped toward the ceiling. But one elf escaped Chester's reach, squirting with surprising speed past both men. Jovie screeched as it seemed headed right for her, but before she could think to lower her torch it juked sideways, trying to end-run Alex and reach Em.

"Don't burn it!" Chester warned, but Alex already knew that would be a mistake. He dropped his flaming bat and spun around, reaching for the running elf's arm. He caught it, stepping into the thing's momentum but then leaning and stepping back, swinging the thing around and hurling it back toward Chester. The thing stumbled over its fallen comrade's burning body, catching itself aflame before face-planting at Chester's feet. There was now a wall of fire at the stairway entrance, and Chester had to step back, raising his free hand to his face to shield against the intense heat. The burning elves fell on one another, twitching for a few seconds before seeming to soften into a single gelatinous fireball.

"Em, check the catwalk -- do you see any more?"
Em went to the window. "No, it's clear." But for how long?
"All right," Chester said. He reached for Jovie's arm. "Jovie -- you okay, Jovie?" The girl's eyes were as big as saucers, but she nodded. "I'll go first, and break off for the axe. Alex, behind me; you lead the girls out the b--"

Chester's lips kept moving, but Alex couldn't hear him.
They couldn't hear anything but a deafening alarm bell.

An instant later, torrents of water sprayed from the ceiling.

They'd set off the sprinkler system.

The torches spit and sputtered; flames flickered and danced, but there was no avoiding the downpour.

"Go! Go!" Alex saw Chester shout. He'd dropped the crowbar and was making a pushing motion with both hands. Alex's head snapped around; Jovie was already halfway to the door.

Em ducked reflexively. The white noise of the water nearly overwhelmed the alarm bell; it was the sound as much as the weight of the drenching that slowed her. She turned to the door, reaching for the knob. It was slippery, but she got it turned and leaned foward... only the door didn't open. She dropped the dead torch and threw her shoulder into it, but it still didn't budge.

Then, through the graying haze of the downpour she saw why: a deadbolt. Rain-slicked metal slipped through her fingers the first time, but on the second try she got it turned; the door burst open, and she nearly fell through.

Jovie was only two steps away now; Em waved her through. She looked at Alex, and their eyes locked. Even through the blurring torrent she could see the look of reassurance: they were going to get through this...

But then she saw something behind him that made her blood run cold.

Alex saw Em's eyes go wide. Behind him...

He whipped around and saw Chester backpedalling toward him...

...and a stream of elves scrambling over the smoldering pile.

The first elf's body was still burning, but the flames were dark and angry, writhing in agony beneath the liquid assault. Alex picked up the Louisville Slugger; the flame at its end died almost as soon as it broke contact. But flaming or no, it was better than nothing.

Chester had squared up beside him. They exchanged a look.
Alex looked over his shoulder at Em. "Go!" he yelled.

Em wasn't going to leave him here. She took a step toward him...
"GO!" he screamed.

And then he turned away.

The elves began to press forward. The bat rose off Alex's shoulder; the end danced in gruesome anticipation.

Em felt something grab her arm -- Jovie. The taller girl pulled her through the doorway, spinning her against the catwalk railing, and slammed the door shut.

Em saw the stairs at the end of the catwalk, almost halfway to the back door.

Jovie grabbed her elbow, and they ran.