Valerie Malmont - Death, Snow, and Mistletoe

“Hurry,” he urged. “She could be watching.”

I knew he meant Pearl. Again, I wondered what she had done and why Peter was so terrified of her.

Shrouded by the evergreen forest, the road became so dark I could hardly believe it was still morning. It was now hardly more than a trail, and I feared I would round a bend and find it gone. As I drove higher and deeper into the forest, I realized I was also driving farther and farther away from the area on which the search parties were concentrating.

Peter was now sitting up, watching the passing landscape with intense interest. “Stop here,” Peter said.

I braked, pulled onto the shoulder, and turned off the ignition.

He jumped out. “Come on,” he said and pushed into the forest, where I could see no path. I followed him, not liking this one bit. The only sound to be heard was the faint crunching of dry pine needles beneath our feet. Low branches reached out, tangled my hair, snagged my jacket. I ducked to avoid one and came up with something unpleasant and sticky clinging to my face.

“Where are we going?” I panted after a few minutes. We'd been moving uphill at a brisk pace, and I was rapidly realizing I was in no shape for hiking.

“Shhh.” He paused and looked around. “You hear something?”

“No,” I snapped. I was growing impatient and, unfortunately, beginning to wonder if Peter was leading me on a wild-goose chase. For the first time I wondered if he and Pearl were pulling a trick on me.

“Let's go,” he ordered.

At last, we stumbled out of the gloom into a small clearing. Directly in front of us was a crumbling tower of dark gray stones, rising at least twenty feet over my head. Behind it was a steep, rocky hill.

I bent over, gasping, and tried to catch my breath. Tomorrow, I vowed, I would really start my diet-and an exercise program, too.

When I'd pretty much recovered, I straightened up to see Peter climbing the hill behind the tower. What had at first looked like natural rock formations now appeared to be the ruins of a stone staircase.

“Come on,” he urged. “Hurry.” He was halfway up the hill, at the summit of the tower. A narrow bridge crossed from the hill to the tower, and Peter skipped across it. He leaned over the stone wall, looking down at something.

The tower, I realized, was similar to one I'd seen in Caledonia State Park-an enormous chimney, built long ago to process iron ore from the local mines. The large opening at the base, where the fire would have been built, was blocked now by fallen rocks. I suddenly knew Kevin was inside, and my heart pounded wildly as I scrambled up the hillside.

The rocks were moss covered and slippery, and many were loose. I stumbled, twisted my ankle, and had to grab a tree limb to keep myself from tumbling backward down the hill. At last, I reached the bridge. Trying not to look down, I hurried across it to where Peter sat on the edge of the chimney wall.

“Be careful,” I warned. “Don't fall in.”

I stood on tiptoe and peered down into the square opening. It was larger than my New York living room. Stones from the wall had tumbled in and partially filled the interior, and it was heaped with dead leaves, brown pine needles, and picnic trash.

“Kevin,” I called into the pit. “Are you there? We've come to help you.”

I listened, and at first I heard nothing, then came a faint crackling sound from beneath the debris. “I have to go down there,” I told Peter as I climbed onto the wall. The height made me dizzy, but I managed to swing my legs over the side, get a good handhold on the ledge, and lower myself as far as my arms could stretch. It wasn't quite enough. Shutting my eyes and saying a quick prayer, I let go and dropped the remaining couple of feet.

I landed upright, then toppled over backward. The litter cushioned my fall. As I rolled over, my left hand came in contact with something soft and warm. I scrambled to my knees and began to dig through the trash.

It took only seconds to uncover the child's face. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was shallow and uneven, but he was alive, and that's what was important. I cleared some of the crumbled dead leaves and dirt away from around his lips and nose and made sure his breathing passages were open.

His eyes opened then, and he blinked several times, trying to focus. Slowly, he seemed to realize someone was with him, and this appeared to frighten him. He attempted to push me away with his frail arms. “Go 'way… go 'way.”

“It's okay, Kevin.” I tried to soothe him. “I'm going to get you out of here.”

I began to scoop the rest of the trash away from his body. Suddenly he screamed, and I realized that one of his legs was twisted unnaturally beneath him. I gently uncovered it and saw a jagged, blood-crusted bone poking through the skin of his thigh.

“Peter,” I called. “You'll have to hike down the mountain and find a phone. We need an ambulance-and emergency crew.”

As if in answer, a rock tumbled off the ledge and landed in the pile of garbage next to me. “Careful!” I screamed. “That almost hit us.”

Another rock fell, closer this time. I looked up and saw Peter peering over the edge. He was smiling, and I felt uneasy.

“What's wrong? Why don't you go?” I asked.

He giggled, and to my horror I saw him raise a large stone above his head.

“No!” I yelled. I threw myself over Kevin, hoping to protect him with my own body. The stone, when it landed, bounced off another and hit my right arm below the elbow. The pain was so severe I couldn't even scream. But Kevin could and did. I realized my weight was crushing him.

From above came one more high-pitched giggle. Another rock landed somewhere behind me. The next grazed my right leg. Lying facedown, on top of the screaming child I'd come to rescue, I knew we were both going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I thought of Fred and Noel and hoped someone would give them a good home, and of Garnet, and the baby brother or sister I'd never get to see. “I'm sorry,” I told Kevin, who seemed to have fainted. “I'm really sorry.”

All was quiet for a moment. I tensed my back and waited for the next barrage of rocks-the one that would most likely prove deadly-when I heard a sound that was even more horrifying than Peter's laughter: the unmistakable blast of a shotgun.

Where had he gotten a gun? Would the end come quickly? Would it hurt? I waited. Nothing happened. I rolled off Kevin onto my back and looked up. There was no sign of Peter. I feared he'd gone for more ammunition. I had to get out before he returned.

I started tossing rocks into one corner. The ledge was not too far above. If I could pile up enough stones, I might be able to climb out and get help.

I frantically continued working on my escape route, even when I heard approaching footsteps above me. I climbed to the top of the mound of rocks and reached for the ledge. Almost. Almost.

I had the feeling I was being watched. I looked up in dread and saw not Peter but Pearl staring over the edge at me.

“You two kids won't get away with this,” I yelled at her. “Help me get out of here. Right now!”

“It's okay,” she said. “I done tied him up. But you better hurry. He might get loose.”

I quickly finished my makeshift staircase and climbed out of the pit. Behind me, Kevin moaned pitifully. The child needed help, and he needed it fast.

Peter was lashed to a nearby tree with gray metallic duct tape, tightly wrapped from his chest to his feet. More tape covered his mouth. Blood trickled from a wound on his forehead, and I guessed Pearl must have hit him with something. He writhed and twisted, but the tape held him fast.

Pearl stood a few feet away, cradling an enormous shotgun in her arms.