Reindeer Runaway

The first snowball hit me square in the back of the head.

Not a glancing blow. Not some soft powder puff that explodes on contact and makes everyone laugh. This was an iceball, packed tight by someone who understood physics and malice in equal measure. It caught me right at the base of my skull, and for a second the world went white and ringing.

"Nice shot, dumbass!" a kid's voice yelled from somewhere behind the tree lot.

I spun around, snow crunching under my boots, and spotted three of them crouched behind the Douglas firs. Local kids. The kind who wear Carhartt beanies and know every back trail on the mountain. They were maybe ten, eleven years old. Old enough to know better. Young enough not to care.

"Hey!" I shouted, rubbing the back of my head. "That's a reindeer pen, not a batting cage!"

The tallest one, a kid with a gap in his front teeth and a Patriots jacket three sizes too big, was already packing another snowball. "Then why's it full of targets?"

I should mention that I was not, technically, supposed to be in charge of Santa's reindeer. That job belonged to Mr. Holloway, who ran the Christmas tree lot every December and rented the reindeer from some farm up in Vermont. Mr. Holloway was seventy-three years old and had a hip replacement and spent most of his shifts inside the heated trailer playing solitaire on his phone. Which meant that feeding the reindeer, watering the reindeer, and keeping the reindeer from being pelted by local delinquents fell to me.

Charlie. The guy who forgets his own lunch period. The guy who once showed up to school on a Saturday because he thought it was Tuesday.

But I needed the money. My mom had this thing about me earning my own gas money, and my truck, a 1998 Ford Ranger with a dent in the door and a heater that only worked when it felt like it, drank gas like it was going out of style. So here I was. Snow up to my ankles. Reindeer crap on my jeans. Getting beaned by middle schoolers.

The second snowball caught me in the shoulder as I ducked behind the feed trough.

"That's it," I muttered.

I grabbed the bucket of reindeer chow, set it on the ground, and took off running. The kids scattered. The tall one sprinted toward the road. The smallest one, a girl with red braids sticking out from under her hat, ran left toward the hardware store. The third one just stood there for a second, eyes wide, like he hadn't expected me to actually chase them.

I went after the tall one. He was fast, but I had longer legs and a personal vendetta. I caught up to him at the edge of the parking lot, grabbed the back of his jacket, and spun him around.

"You're gonna help me clean up the snow you threw all over the pen," I said.

He squirmed. "You can't make me."

"I can call your mom."

His face went pale. "You don't know my mom."

"I know everyone's mom. This is Pine Hollow. I know your mom, your dad, your grandma, and that guy who drives the plow. What's your name?"

He didn't answer.

"Fine. I'll just describe you to every parent I see. Gap in your teeth. Patriots jacket. Throws like a girl."

His jaw dropped. "Hey!"

"You hit me in the head with an iceball. You're lucky I don't tell Santa."

I let him go. He stumbled back, stared at me for a second, then ran off toward the gas station. I stood there in the parking lot, breathing hard, watching my breath cloud up in the cold air. The sky was that flat gray you get in mountain towns in December, low and heavy, like it was holding its breath before another storm.

That's when I heard the sound.

Not a loud sound. Not a crash or a yell. Just a soft creak of metal, the kind a gate makes when it swings open on its hinges. I turned back toward the corral.

The gate was open.

Not wide open. Just a few inches. Enough for a reindeer nose to fit through. And Vixen's nose was definitely fitting through it. She had her head pressed against the gap, sniffing the air, her dark eyes bright and curious. The other reindeer were watching her. Dasher. Dancer. Prancer. All eight of them, standing in a row like they were waiting for a bus.

"No," I said. "No, no, no."

I ran.

But Vixen was faster. She pushed the gate with her nose, and it swung open wide, and then she was trotting out onto the snow-packed road, her hooves making soft clomping sounds on the pavement. The others followed. One by one, eight reindeer walking out of the corral like they'd been planning this for weeks.

"Vixen! Hey! Stop!"

She didn't stop. She broke into a jog, then a run, heading down Main Street. Past the hardware store. Past the diner with the flickering neon sign. Past the library where I'd spent every Saturday of my childhood reading comic books in the back corner. The other reindeer followed in a line, their antlers bobbing, their breath steaming in the cold air.

I ran after them, my boots slipping on the ice. "Someone help! The reindeer are loose!"

A woman in a puffy coat looked up from her phone, saw eight reindeer trotting down the street, and dropped her coffee. A man coming out of the post office just stood there, mouth open, holding a package. Nobody moved to help. Nobody did anything. They just watched, like this was a parade or something.

The reindeer picked up speed. They were heading for the edge of town, where the road curved up into the mountains. The snow-covered peaks loomed in the distance, gray and white and impossibly tall. If they got up there, I'd never find them. They'd disappear into the forest and that would be it. Mr. Holloway would fire me. The rental company would sue me. My mom would ground me until I was thirty.

I pushed harder. My lungs burned. My glasses fogged up. I wiped them with my sleeve and kept running.

"Vixen! Please!"

She looked back at me. I swear she did. She turned her head, just for a second, and looked at me with those big dark eyes. And then she kept running.

The last reindeer in line was Blitzen, the smallest one, the one with the chipped antler. He was slower than the others. I gained on him. Ten feet. Five feet. I reached out and grabbed his harness.

He stopped. Just stopped, like he'd been waiting for me to catch up. The other reindeer kept going, but Blitzen stood there, breathing hard, looking at me like he was sorry.

"Okay," I said, gasping. "Okay. One down."

I looked up the road. The other seven were already disappearing around the bend, their dark shapes fading into the gray of the mountain. The snow was starting to fall again, soft and steady, covering their tracks.

I pulled out my phone. No signal. Of course.

Blitzen nudged my shoulder with his nose. I looked at him. He looked at me.

"You're not gonna make this easy, are you?"

He didn't answer. He just stood there, patient, while the snow collected on his back and the mountains swallowed the rest of his family.

I had a choice to make. Go back to the lot and call for help, or follow them into the mountains before the storm erased every trace. The smart thing was to go back. The smart thing was to call Mr. Holloway and let him deal with it.

But I thought about Vixen's eyes. The way she looked at me before she ran. Like she knew something I didn't. Like she was running toward something, not away from it.

I tightened my grip on Blitzen's harness.

"Come on," I said. "Let's go get your friends."