That Risen Snow: A Scary Tale of Snow White and Zombies (Wattys 2014 Award Winner)

Chapter Forty-One

Grouchy

“THIS IS A WHOPPING bootful of stupid,” Battson says as he peers down the northeast passage’s vertical shaft. “I’m just saying.”

Two dwarfs, two humans. The last of the Collective and the remains of a platoon. The stifling darkness below huffs and growls, or at least that’s what Grouchy imagines. The cool air smells of dust and minerals.

“The damn bear didn’t hatch down there,” Grouchy says. “It came in from outside. If that big bastard got in, then we can get the hells out.”

“Yeah, stump. But we still have to get past the bear.”

“I don’t like bears.” Snoozy fidgets with his beard. “All hollow and wooden. Should we knock first?”

Battson rolls his eyes. “I don’t recall our last run-in with Mr. Bear going altogether smoothly.”

“Because you didn’t follow orders, ass-pit.”

“Because I don’t take orders from stumps. You want to boss me around, figure out a way to do it while looking me in the eye.”

Grouchy already knows a way. It involves slapping Battson’s crotch. He’s about to enact that plan when Hays intervenes.

“We ain’t harvesting a rich bounty of options here. Grouchy, any thoughts on how we deal with the big ball of furry death down there?”

He shrugs. “We’re bound to kill it before it kills all of us.”

Battson smirks. “Great plan, stump.”

The thundering footsteps grow closer, and ragged breaths echo down the passage. Grouchy clamps his lantern to his belt and grabs one of the ropes they left behind earlier.

“No time to rappel. We’re sliding down. Don’t let the rope burn through your hands.”

And with that, he swings into the shadows. Even through his gloves, the rope bites into his palms. Still, he’s grateful to be off of his busted leg.

Merry.

Dammit.

He misses the prick. That dumbass grin. That big belly.

And Bones.

Seeing Bones felt like a rusty spike twisted in his gut. But what if Bones wasn’t outside the mine simply because he couldn’t fit through the tunnel? What if he was under orders to guard the exit? Orders from Snow?

Grouchy’s mismatched boots clop onto the shaft’ bottom. Wincing, he whirls the lantern around. The light snags on a crumpled mass—his boot. He examines the drool-covered hunk of torn leather. Frowning, he kicks off the human boot and slides his own disfigured boot over his swollen foot.

Hays lands next, followed by Battson and Snoozy, whose mouth fidgets constantly, his tongue and teeth as busy as ants. Grouchy is ready to slap him when he hears the growl.

With a deafening roar, the bear charges into the shaft, rears up on its hind legs, and smacks Battson to the ground. Grouchy grins at Battson’s wide eyes and twisted mouth, then stabs Honey-Stick into the fur-wrapped storm cloud. Hays swings his sword, too, but the beast pins him to the ground and roars—a noise that threatens to bring down the entire mine.

This won’t end well.

A Horror plummets down the shaft with a ragged hiss punctuated by a resolute splat of bone and chunky flesh—hot, wet stuff that splatters onto Grouchy’s shins. The bear whines as if stabbed by fire and then charges down the passage.

“Follow the bear,” Grouchy yells.

“You want us to follow that?” Battson flails his arms.

“It’ll lead us outside, dumb-shit.” He turns to Snoozy. “Any more fuses?”

Snoozy stares back blankly, only his teeth moving.

With a grunt, Grouchy rummages through Snoozy’s pockets—expecting to find roots but instead finding a clump of fuses. “Get him out of here,” he says to the others.

The soldiers pull Snoozy after the bear. Grouchy starts to follow, but something grabs his ankle, knocks him to the ground.

It’s the soldier who just fell, now a mess of pulped flesh and shattered bone. It turns its head—bones inside its neck crack—and moans. Grouchy kicks at its face, but it won’t let go. Above, the dangling ropes wiggle violently. The rest of the Horrors either learned from this one’s mistake or—again—they’re following orders. Snow’s orders.

He kicks until chunky brains cover his boot. After climbing to his feet, he limps down the passage, stopping only to grab a brick of dinermite.

At the end of the passage, he finds Snoozy and the soldiers making their way through a collapsed wall at the bottom of the northeast spiral. The wall opens into a cavern lit by pale morning late and filled with a jumble of rocks and boulders.

As Grouchy climbs over the rubble, something catches his eye—a figure lurking in the shadows. He aims his lantern and sword at it, only to find a human-sized skeleton fossilized in the rock.

What the holy hells? It’s roughly the size of a short human but has the stubby finger bones of a dwarf. Grouchy runs his fingertips over the skeleton’s ribcage. Where did it come from?

Footsteps and hisses echo behind him. He scrambles over gravel and rock until, miraculously, fresh air blows against his face. The cavern opens at the other side of the mountain onto a rugged cliff overlooking the Slithering River.

Above, moody clouds obscure most of a dark blue sky. It’s morning, early enough that the full moon still nudges at the clouds. Hays, Battson, and Snoozy are already climbing down the cliff.

Grouchy stuffs a fuse into the explosives and lights it. Sparks crackle and consume the length of cotton.

“Down, dammit,” he yells.

He throws the dinermite back into the cavern and runs. The sound of the explosion prefaces a wave of debris. The ground lurches beneath his feet, and rock fragments smack into his back. The force launches him from the cliff into the open air. He lands head-first into Slithering River’s icy-cold embrace. After that, he does what any dwarf would do in the same situation.

He sinks.