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  Ronin

  The Last Reindeer

  Ronin: The Last Reindeer

  Claus, Volume 6

  Tony Bertauski

  Published by DeadPixel Publications, 2018.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Title Page

  Ronin: The Last Reindeer (Claus, #6)

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  26

  Also By Tony Bertauski

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  This is Ryder’s last stop.

  It’s a half-million-acre ranch and home to forty teenagers. It’s also home to a famous and eccentric philanthropist with a peculiar obsession with the North Pole. His name is Billy “Big Game” Sinterklaas. But shortly after Ryder arrives, secret messages begin leading him to what’s really happening. Billy Big Game believes that Santa Claus is real.

  This is the year he proves it.

  He says there’s one Christmas story no one has ever heard, the legend of the biggest and baddest reindeer of them all, the one who leads the sleigh on Christmas Eve and the one who protects the herd. But Billy Big Game doesn’t want to discover the last reindeer. He wants to capture him.

  That’s why he brought Ryder to the ranch.

  1

  A white blanket covers the world.

  Stretched beneath a dark and starry sky, it grips the top of the world. Icy veins cut across it, a network of watery leads where the Arctic Ocean meets the wintery air, a jigsaw floating in slow arrangement as far as the eye can see.

  A dark figure is down there.

  It contrasts with the icy surrounds, a black dot on a white backdrop, waddling toward the mainland. Short, fat and low to the ice, he slides on wide feet—

  “Thirsty?”

  Ryder snapped awake. Eyes wide, it took several moments to remember where he was and who the person was smiling at him. The dream was back, so convincing like he was there. The colors so vivid. The air so cold. It was stress that brought it back.

  And moving was always stress.

  His mouth was cotton-dry, his throat hot. He was totally thirsty. He just didn’t want a drink. Every new experience was like this. He’d overheat, feeling nauseous and gross. It always worked best to keep an empty stomach until the first day was over.

  He stared out the window.

  “That’s good.” Mindy held a bottle of water. “Pensive. A little worried. Turn a little towards me... that’s perfect. You’re a natural.”

  He’d never been inside a limo. He’d slept in bedrooms smaller than this. Technically, they were closets. Mindy whispered to the guy next to her, who was pointing a camera.

  This is totally new.

  He’d been driven to a dozen homes but never like this. It was usually a social worker driving a compact car with a cracked windshield. Mindy didn’t know anything about social work.

  The window was icy against his forehead, the landscape buried in snow. He hadn’t seen a house for miles. The road was winding and the hills steep. He unzipped his new coat. He was wearing new jeans, too, and a brand-new shirt, sweater, socks, and boots. Even his underwear.

  “We’ll be there in twenty.” Mindy patted his knee. “Just be yourself, okay. If you feel nervous, be nervous. It’s perfectly okay. Not many kids like you get a chance like this. Just enjoy, okay?”

  Kids like you. How many times had someone told him that? Ryder looked at the guy next to her.

  “Don’t look at the camera,” she added.

  Mindy gently lowered her companion’s camera and whispered they had enough footage. Maybe it was the look on Ryder’s face that did it. She fixed a newly painted smile and turned on a television monitor to take his mind off the countryside and concentrate on things to be grateful for.

  You know, for kids like me.

  While Mindy and the cameraman talked about film angles and editing, drone footage of snowcapped mountains soared on the monitor. It zoomed toward an isolated building nestled in a tree-filled valley, a sprawling, U-shaped ranch. A fire was roaring in a large courtyard bracketed by the two wings, and a fountain was showering a stack of antler out front.

  Kringletown.

  It looked more like a resort than a foster home. And the name, it sounded more like an amusement park. This made him more nervous than usual. It wasn’t the cameras or Mindy telling him he looked pensive and pensive was perfect for the camera that turned his stomach. He bounced from house to home all of his life and now he was in the back of a limo on the way to some winter wonderland called Kringletown. Ryder didn’t trust her.

  To be fair, he didn’t trust anyone.

  “Big change,” the television reported, “needs Big Game.”

  Ryder was looking out the window again. At least it was cold, where he was going. He could trust the weather. The weather never pretended to be something it wasn’t. It was hot or cold, rainy or dry, and that was that. He couldn’t say the same for people.

  The limo began to slow. Around the turn, gates were opening. A man tipped a cowboy hat as they passed. Another man pointed a camera.

  “Did you get it?” Mindy put her finger to her ear.

  Ryder rolled down the window. It was getting stuffy. Snowflakes stung his cheeks and melted on his lips. He closed his eyes and could hear Mindy whispering that this was a spontaneous moment. She was so proud.

  They went around a steep bend before the road straightened out. The valley was below. In the distance, Kringletown was nestled in the trees. Mindy buttoned her coat but kept the footage rolling with the window down. The winter wind was biting his nose.

  “All yours,” she said. “The mountains and streams, forests and hills. Airplanes don’t fly over Kringletown. This is private land. Nothing comes out here unless BG says so. It’s a half-million-acre playground, Ryder.”

  It was probably the same line she gave to every kid she delivered. This didn’t happen, not in real life.

  Not to kids like Ryder.

  The limo descended into the valley. It was several more minutes before they were level. From the ground, the ranch looked every bit a resort. The fountain was a geyser bursting from a tangled stack of antlers and dripping into a circular basin.

  A group of teenagers were waiting on a wide set of steps. They looked more like a choir than a welcoming committee, wearing brand-new black coats and leather gloves. The boys wore stocking caps like the one Ryder had in his pocket. The girls wore earmuffs.

  “This is it.” Mindy crossed her fingers then silently mouthed your big day.

  A boy and girl stepped down to the driveway. They were the oldest, as far as he could tell. Their smiles were expectant, hands clasped in front. Snow began to fall, big flakes drifting from a gray sky.

  “Remember,” Mindy said, “don’t look at the camera.”

  This was beyond surreal. Resorts weren’t houses, and fountains weren’t made out of antlers, and kids didn’t stand like that or welcome him with creepy smiles, and people with cameras didn’t wait around like a reality show—

  “Ryder?” Mindy whispered. “Open the door.”

  His hand was on the handle. He never thought he would ever wish for one of his previous homes (well, not all of them).

  I can’t do it.

&nb
sp; Mindy put her finger to her ear. The boy outside the car pulled the door open. The sound of the fountain crashed inside. Mindy’s elbow was in his back. Ryder leaned into her before she shoved.

  Snow had settled on everyone’s shoulders and caps. The whiteness matched their teeth. Stranger than that was the horde of drones. Ryder had seen quadcopters before, had even flown one in the park once with a friend. These weren’t quadcopters. They didn’t have propellers, didn’t make a sound.

  Just hovered silently.

  He’d never experienced a sky so big and land so vast. The resort suddenly seemed small. Kringletown was a half-million-acre playground. The welcoming committee’s grins were starting to fade.

  “I’m John,” the boy said. “This is Jane.”

  Ryder stuck out his hand. John observed it. Jane put her hands to her chin adoringly, her gloves frilly at the cuffs. Her eyes glittered with tears that never fell.

  “You’re family,” John said.

  He pulled Ryder in for a crushing hug, pounding his back like he was trying to dislodge something from his throat. Jane was next, her fragrant blond hair splashing across his face. Her embrace was more delicate but deeply meaningful. The welcoming committee cheered.

  The drones swarmed like flies.

  “It’s a lot,” John said. “We all remember the day we arrived, and we all felt the same, that this is a dream, it can’t be real. But you’re not sleeping.” He flashed a dazzling smile. “It’s time to meet the rest of your family.”

  Twenty of them came down the steps and introduced themselves and hugged him—the boys slapping his back and the girls holding him tight. Ryder was used to invisibility, not celebrity. He was just a fifteen-year-old boy, not a pop star. But maybe they all got the same treatment the day they arrived. They were just making up for his previous fifteen years.

  It didn’t explain the smell.

  He couldn’t describe the strange odor they all possessed. It wasn’t body odor or fragrance or smoke from a fire. Ryder couldn’t quite place it. Even John and Jane. Like they’d been hanging out in a pottery kiln.

  “All right, everyone. Give him some space,” Jane said. “No need to rush, we’ve got all the time in the world. He’s with us now. He’s home.”

  She took his hands. Ryder’s new brothers and sisters gathered around with their white smiles and sparkling eyes. The drones tracked over them, one per person. Ryder looked up, and everyone paused, their expressions frozen. A drone was recording the final moment of arrival.

  “Don’t look at it,” John whispered.

  When Ryder looked at Jane, it was like someone hit play. Her frozen expression thawed. “You didn’t win a lottery, Ryder,” she said. “You were found by someone with a big heart.”

  There was another pause. The drone lifted higher.

  “We good?” John asked.

  Ryder didn’t know what that meant. Mindy gave a thumbs-up after consulting someone. The crowd dispersed, muttering to each other. A few of them waved, but most of them wandered toward the front doors.

  “When we’re rolling,” John said, “don’t look at the drones.”

  “I told him,” Mindy said.

  “We can edit, but it throws off the flow. Got it, champ?”

  Ryder stared.

  “It’s weird, I know. All of this. But you’ll forget the drones, and all of this is for good reason. Now we go inside, show you around, get you situated. You’ll have some alone time in a few minutes. How’s that sound?”

  Jane dropped his hands just before John playfully threw his arm around his neck. But not too playfully.

  “Let’s shoot in the office,” Jane said.

  “We’ll start in the foyer first,” John said, “walk him to the office, do the interview, and then take him to his room.”

  “It’s too slow, John. We never use the footage.”

  “BG wants to start in the foyer.”

  The two stared; neither smiled. A warning stiffened Ryder’s short hairs. This was the rumble before the storm, Mom and Dad digging their trenches. But they weren’t much older than Ryder.

  Mindy and a few assistants made their way through the front doors, their footsteps printing the freshly fallen snow. The fountain suddenly stopped. It was mostly quiet, water dripping from the tips of antlers. Jane hooked her arm around Ryder’s elbow.

  “Let’s go to the foyer, then.”

  Ryder followed. He wasn’t asleep, that was clear. Dreams weren’t this weird.

  ***

  Drones were waiting.

  A snowplow could fit through the front doors and half a dozen of them could park in the foyer. It wasn’t the decadence that made Ryder dizzy, it was the vaulted ceiling and the massive windows on the back wall that displayed the white-capped mountains.

  The space swallowed him.

  A few from the welcoming committee were down the hall on the left, shucking their coats. Ryder recalled the U-shaped building, and the two wings formed a horseshoe that enclosed a courtyard where a fire was burning. John and Jane took their positions at his shoulders and waited. Mindy pointed at them.

  “Your room is that way.” Jane gestured to the right. It was the opposite direction of the others. He assumed that was the other wing. “You’ll meet your roommates tonight at the bonfire, but first things first.”

  John started toward a small section of solid wall in the center of the glass wall. There was a normal-sized door in the middle. He went inside and closed the door behind him. After the drones took new positions near the glass, Jane led Ryder forward. He wondered if the door would shrink Willy Wonka style.

  It did not.

  “Go ahead,” she said, “open it.”

  Ryder pulled it open slowly, peeking inside. Jane smiled like it was a present. The room was a normal-sized one. It was an office. The kind of office with a massive oak desk and photos on the wall to impress the occasional visitor.

  A drone dropped down from the ceiling. Ryder did his best to ignore the green eye. It wasn’t hard to be impressed, if that was what they were expecting.

  The photos were of faraway places, mostly snow and ice. Interspersing the pictures were racks of antlers taken from deer and elk, moose and ram. Awards hung in display cases, the kind that recognized excellence and achievement—trophies, diplomas, statues and glass orbs.

  There was a man in the photos, tall and slender with shoulders made for chopping wood and a beard built to withstand the cold.

  “I know,” Jane said. “Not what you were expecting.”

  Was she talking about the office? The office was normal. Compared to everything else. The green-eyed drones hovered out of the room. Silence remained.

  “When you’re ready,” she nudged.

  John looked like a child behind a desk that could hold a king-sized mattress. There were no papers or folders on it. Not even a pen. Hands folded on the shiny surface, he nodded at the empty chair. The office was void of drones, but based on John’s and Jane’s stiffly rehearsed expressions, they were still being recorded. A banner was attached to the wall.

  Big Change Needs Big Game.

  When Ryder sat down, the desktop lit up. John was obscured by holographic images of three-dimensional monitors. Ryder could see through them. From his vantage point, the words were backwards and the images flipped. He recognized his own face and name. John slid his finger on the desk and the images parted.

  “Where did you get a name like Ryder Mack?”

  Ryder looked around. No one had ever asked him that question, and he was certain the answer was on those ghostly monitors. Jane’s hand slid over his shoulders. Her fingers were icy.

  “You don’t talk much,” John said. “I get it, but this is a conversation. You need to participate.”

  John stared at Jane and nodded. He leaned back and slowly weaved his fingers behind his head. His expression turned stony.

  “You’ve seen the show.” Jane squeezed Ryder’s shoulders. “I’m going to let you in on a secret. On TV, it look
s like we’re all about entertainment, telling stories about all the drama in a big family of misfits. It’s more than that. We’re chronicling life, Ryder.

  “You lose a little bit of privacy and gain a lifetime of opportunity. That’s a small price to pay, given where you’ve been—all of us, honestly. So forget the cameras and the millions of people watching. Act natural. You’re at home now, and we’re family. All the people out there watching are family. They want to know you.”

  She knelt next to him and whispered. Her breath was humid in his ear. “We want to hear your story.”

  She patted his arm. Ryder licked his lips. The attention was a thousand spotlights. She stood up with her hands on his shoulders.

  “Let’s try again.”

  John sat forward, elbows on the desk like a director had shouted action. There was no clapper. Just the expectation of paying for all of this wealth with a little bit of freedom.

  “Where did you get a name like Ryder Mack?”

  Ryder cleared his throat. “It’s the name of a truck.”

  “Truck?” John raised his eyebrows.

  “A, um, a moving truck.”

  “Right, I get it. Mack truck. Why would you be named after a truck?”

  Tension pulled Ryder’s eyebrows together. His cheeks flushed. John’s gaze flicked up to Jane.

  “Not a big deal,” John said, “you don’t have to tell me. We’re not like the rest of the world. It’s why we’re here. If you think you’re special because someone found you in a moving truck, not around here you’re not. That’s just another day.”

  Jane squeezed his shoulders gently. Then they waited. The silence drew out. There was no escape. Not from half a million acres.

  “That’s the name they gave me,” Ryder finally said. “It was a Mack truck owned by the Ryder moving company.”

  A smile widened on John’s cheeks. “Ryder... Mack. Now that’s a story. And an original name for an Alaskan. Do you think you’re Inuit?”

  “What?” Ryder shook his head, but he remembered someone once saying, You got Eskimo in your blood. It’s why you didn’t freeze in the truck.

  “How many homes have you been in?” John asked.