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

Chapter Thirty-Five

Grouchy

GROUCHY HOLDS HONEY-STICK AT the ready as he and Battson jog down the northwest passage. Up ahead, a ruckus simmers in the distance.

“What’s that noise?” Battson says.

Grouchy shrugs and dims his lantern. When they reach the bend where the ceiling drops, he smiles, waiting for the thud of swob head on rock. Except as Battson approaches, Grouchy surprises himself by warning Battson.

“Duck, swob.”

Battson grunts in appreciation.

Soon they arrive at the vertical shaft. Where once two lifts hung over the shaft, now a tangled mess of cut ropes dangle from pulleys. Gore covers the floor. The coppery scent of blood and burnt grease fills Grouchy’s nose and tapers into his throat.

“What the hell happened?” Battson kicks dust across a blood puddle.

“Those fumping Horrors happened.” Grouchy holds his lantern over the shaft, illuminating darkness and several pairs of holes in the wall.

“The upper rungs are missing. At least that’s gone right.”

“Help!” a human shouts from below. “Who’s up there?”

It’s the young farmer-soldier. What’s his name?

“Hays,” Battson yells. “It’s Battson and Grumpy.”

“Grouchy, dammit.”

“Same difference,” Battson murmurs. He yells below. “I’ll find something to pull you up.”

“Hurry,” Snoozy says. “The worms are boiling over.”

Grouchy grins. Relief swells in his stomach. For a moment, he thought he was the last dwarf left. “Get your ass up here, Snoozy. We’ve got the bloody explosives. We’ll lower a rope.” He turns to Battson. “You get some rope at the staging chamber. Pull them up here. I’ll blow the spiral shaft. The spuds will be trapped.”

Battson nods and jogs down the passage, but Grouchy calls out his name. When Battson turns around, Grouchy grins.

“Watch your head, swob.”

“Watch your ass, stump.”

Grouchy limps toward the spiral, practically dragging his left leg. He finds that Snoozy has drilled the holes for the explosives running along the wall from the floor up to the ceiling and back down to the floor on the opposite wall. It’s a wobbly pattern, but it’ll do. Snoozy has already tied the fuses, now trampled on the ground.

He sheathes Honey-Stick, unwraps the two dinermite bricks, separates them into sticks, and then stuffs one into each hole. Ignoring the bitching pain in his busted fingers, he attaches a fuse to each stick making a rather shabby-looking spider web stretching across the spiral’s entrance. He runs a central fuse several paces away. Down on his good knee, he lights a match and looks back at the spiral. When he sees her on the other side of the fuses, his mouth drops open.

It’s Snow.