The Fat Man_ A Tale of North Pole Noir - Ken Harmon [33]
I decided to run for it, but the mistletoe gang read my mind. Nearsighted gave a scream that didn’t even belong in hell and, a second later, Python was around my legs once. Tumbleweed catapulted up with a growl and rammed into my shoulders, sending me to the ground. I kicked my legs to keep Python from wrapping my feet tight, hoping that I could somehow break free and make a run for it. Tumbleweed had other ideas though. I was reaching for a branch on the ground when the mean little weed rolled up on my neck and searched for the sweet spot. I managed to twist and throw him off long enough to grab a branch and whack him in the face, but the rotted wood crumbled when I hit him, only slowing him for a second. Meanwhile, my legs were getting tired and the python vine was starting to tighten the noose. Tumbleweed launched into me again and was met with a face full of elf fist. It worked better than the branch, but it also made him mad.
Over my shoulder, I noticed the nearsighted mistletoe was on the ground and crawling my way. He looked very old and brittle, making me the Senior Special. The other two plants had been sent to capture me so I could give the old bramble a proper meal. He was going to have me all to himself, the hedgehog.
I sat there thinking that the last joke I was ever going to crack was a real stinker, and that I probably deserved to die just for thinking it. But I just wished I didn’t deserve it so soon.
Above me, I heard crows and vultures explode out of the trees. I figured they were too soft to watch elf carnage, but the birds were flying the coop because of the ruckus tearing through the forest and heading right for my little shindig.
As the nearsighted mistletoe geezer locked its jaws on top of my head, I smiled—
Because I spied, like every mother’s child, that reindeer really do know how to fly.
CHAPTER 14
Vixen
The Christmas moose with the red beak may get all the ink, but, when push comes to shove, those in the know at the Pole go with the Originals: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Dunder (yeah, Dunder, not Donner) and Blitzen. Santa’s A-Team is a big reason the gifts get to kids on time. Elves tip our hats to the reindeer because, without them, a lot of our toys would never make it below the tree. The reindeer are top guns; so sure, they can get a little cocky and loud. At the Blue Christmas, they hog the jukebox and stand on the bar playing air guitar. With a flashy grin and granite pecs, they’ll steal your girlfriend for a few dizzy weekends in the fast lane, but she’ll be just another notch on the old antler. She’ll come back to you, red-eyed and ashamed, swearing that you’re really the one she wants, though you’ll see in her eyes that your paunch and stupid laugh make her want to heave. You’ll hate a reindeer’s guts for that. Many days, the reindeer are just plain jerks, flying low and knocking off your hat. They’re an exclusive club and you’re not allowed in. But no matter how many times they steal your girl or send you diving into the snow, when you need someone in your foxhole, there’s no better sight than Santa’s Caribou Cavalry coming your way.
Needless to say, it warmed my cold elf heart to see Comet motoring to my rescue, especially since it looked like he had discovered a seventh gear.
Now I know why they call Comet the “Tundra Tornado.” As he barreled up to where the mistletoe monsters were getting ready to sip me until I was sapped, branches, bushes and small plants flew from Comet’s wake like they had been shot out of a cannon. The air was filled with a whirl of forest shrapnel, causing my mistletoe captors to let go and dive for cover. Comet squealed into the clearing with a force so strong the mistletoe tumbleweed that seemed tough before was knocked back to Christmas Past. “If you’re waiting on me,