Thursday, December 27, 2012

...To Town

In continuation of yesterday's post. It's been fun!

The bag worked with magic. How much magic was left, he wasn't certain, but he could still pull gas cans out of it when he ran out of gas.Sometimes there was even enough magic to clear ravines and blown out bridges, but he wasn't going to chance it, not today. Avery was counting on him.

The sled was much faster, but he enjoyed the charger more. It offered a simpler driving experience, one that wasn't so nuanced as the sled. When NORAD began to track him, he had the elves make stealth panels to put on the sled. It worked for a little while, but the reindeer still showed up on radar. Now it was the charger, slower, louder, and bigger than ever. A few mobs were following him now, sprinting at break neck speed. Some of them actually lost their heads. Santa cracked his jolly grin, or as much of one he could manage. The burn scar that ran across his face, made it painful to smile. But there wasn't much to smile about any more.

He set the car to autopilot then, and turned around in his seat, hoisting the bag to the front passenger seat. He reached into the bag until he could find something worth while. Out of the sack came two IEDs and a string of grenades.

"Merry Christmas..." He laughed tossing the items out of the sunroof and out onto the road behind him. About a minute later, an orange light appeared in the distance behind him, followed by a crack like a gun shot. On his movement radar, he toggled the distance on the range finder. Most of the dots had disappeared,  except a few. but they had stopped moving.

After four days he arrived in New York, looking at the battered silent high rises that stood guard over the channel. They were empty and soulless, nothing showed on his motion detector. Bracing his mind he attempted to recall where the note came from. Taking him a bit to triangulate the origin of the vision, he found that it was near by, in a small boat house near the docks on the other side of the bridge. opening his car door, he stepped out, holstered his guns and dragged the sack behind him limply and began his journey down the bridge.

Santa wasn't afraid. He was never afraid. No animal on earth could scare him, except people. He had lived so long in the shadows, watching them grow from afar. He realized that to teach them the nature of goodwill toward men was a foolish idea. Jesus did a better job at that. When he stopped aging in Turkey, he took it as a sign and left everything behind, Theology, the children, everything to find his purpose. It wasn't until he turned up in Holland a thousand years later that he discovered that purpose. He found the sack, the reindeer and traveled North, far beyond Finland, until he reached the North Pole. And he liked it there. It was quiet.

At the end of the bridge, poised at the top of a large column, he saw a flickering light in the highest widow of the boat access. Quickly he hurried his pace, being careful not to be too erratic in his movements. Though it was a myth that zombies collected in major cities, he still didn't want to risk drawing attention to himself. Reaching the locked door to the tower, he reached into his sack and pulled out a key, unlocking the door, and running upstairs. The interior was in strangely pristine condition, everything set up to look normal, as if nothing had happened.

When he reached the upstairs, a lone solitary child of thirteen sat crouched down, huddled by a kindled fire near the window of the room. He was nearly skin and bones, like those pictures you see of African children. The deep circles around his eyes showed that he hadn't slept for sometime. He was probably scared of them. He needed to stay awake to prepare for them if they ever came. Santa looked down, and extended his hand toward Avery, who shrunk away into the corner in fear. Santa frowned, but them though of another idea. He reached into his sack and pulled out a Captain America action figure, mint condition, still wrapped and everything. Avery's eyes glowed, looking at the sack then Santa, and finally the toy.

"You're really him," Avery croaked, his throat sticky and dry, "aren't you?"

"Are you alone? Do you have any family?"

"No," Avery said, looking away with bittersweet eyes, "they left me here to die. You see, I was sick. They left me here. That was three weeks ago."

"I got your letter last year," Santa said, feeling confused, "if they left you only three weeks ago why did I come here?"

The boy sighed, pursing his lips in anger.

"This was our home, and they just up and left. They wouldn't take me, because I was sick. I wasn't even infected. I think it's pneumonia..."

Without a second thought Santa extended his hand in pity. This was no place for a child. Better that he stayed home with him and the dwarfs.

 "Well let's get you home," Santa said, with his crooked smile, "Golfang could use the company."

"You mean it?"

"Christmas came early this year kid, let's go."

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