Page 5 of Mistletoe

They didn’t open locked doors, though.

Whatever was in the barn, it wasn’t a simple wolver. It was something far worse.

“Emma De Lacey, what are you doing with that shotgun?” Agatha De Lacey appeared at Emma’s elbow, apparently materializing out of thin air.

“Not now, Ma.” She lowered the gun, pointing the barrel to the ground. “Something’s got the hens all riled up.”

The wind picked up, stirring Agatha’s hair. She tightened her shawl around her shoulders. Nearing her sixth decade, her once blonde hair was now silver, and fine lines surrounded her eyes.

“Violence is never the answer. We can find a peaceful solution.”

Emma was all for living in harmony and balance with the natural world, but the natural world on Nexus was determined to kill humans. At least it was that way in the West Lands. Centuries ago, when humans arrived on the planet, the original settlers were able to terraform only a fraction of the planet. The settled regions had been shaped by technology for humanity, complete with old Earth plants and animals. That technology never reached the West Lands. It was a frontier region on the edge of civilization, barely habitable and overtly hostile.

She suspected her parents had no idea how difficult life on the frontier would be when they hitched their wagons west. The De Laceys were artists, enchanted by an idealized simple life, free from the burden of the modern, civilized world. They dressed the move up as a conscious change in lifestyle, learning to live off the land and get in touch with nature.

Truthfully, they didn’t have a choice. Her father ran into a spot of bother with the authorities. It was either take up the homesteader offer and live a quiet life away from the capital—and law enforcement—or be arrested.

With that in mind, the prairie had its merits. Plus, the fresh air was good for growing children.

Life in the West Land was hard, and hard work did not always equal survival. No amount offresh airwould change the fact that Earth crops didn’t take to the soil. Native grasses were too tough for cows to digest.

Goats did well enough. Sheep, too, but they weren’t smart enough to keep themselves from being eaten and required constant monitoring. That hadn’t been a problem when Emma could share the work with her brother. She couldn’t expect her mother to help much. Agatha’s time was monopolized by her father. Partially blind, he required her to write as he dictated. Now, Emma was a workforce of one and had to decide if she could afford to keep the flock or sell.

Well, since the military slaughtered all the sheep, it wasn’t a problem anymore.

Beyond her parents’ remarkable lack of preparation, neither had the temperament to bend the wild land to their will. Agatha was a painter; her father, Oscar, a poet. Neither had ever done a day’s hard work in their life. Running a farmstead was more than they could manage. They weren’t bad people, or lazy, just naive about the realities of frontier living. Fortunately, the ratite herds were plentiful enough to keep the De Laceys fed through that harsh first winter.

“Surely whatever it is can be reasoned with,” Agatha said, moving to push past her.

Emma held up an arm to block her mother. “Ma, wait. Do you hear that?”

Something rustled above in the hayloft.

Emma raised the shotgun, ready to blast the monster or beastie or whatever it was.

A cat sprang down with a yowl and scampered off.

“Clover,” she sighed, relaxing her grip on the shotgun.

“You’re so dramatic, my dear,” Agatha said with a very dramatic sigh, patting Emma on the arm.

“I didn’t hear the cat.”

“The chickens are safe. Now, I need your help in the kitchen.”

“I’ll only be a minute,” Emma said.

“Don’t forget that Pa is going to readA Christmas Carolafter dinner.”

How could she forget? Every year, Oscar recited the old holiday story from memory, giving it the full dramatic treatment.

Yesterday had been the winter solstice, but those were always fraught with worries. Monsters prowled on the equinox and solstice, when the Nexus energies were at their height. Actual holiday celebrations came the day after, when the Nexus flux waned, and people could relax.

Not that Emma felt much like celebrating this year.

She sighed, slumping against a post, exhausted. Running the farm by herself was an impossible task. She could manage it for now, but she’d need help by the time the snow melted. She could ask around the nearest town, Sweetwater Point, but the pickings were slim. In addition to drafting her brother, the military took anyone fit enough to carry a rifle.

She opened her eyes and spied a cluster of mistletoe wrapped in a scarlet ribbon hanging from the rafter. With a sigh, she leaned the shotgun against the wall, dragged a stool under the mistletoe, and climbed up to pull the decoration down.

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