The game had changed. With four of the eight reindeer down, blood on the highway, Christmas was in serious jeopardy of being shut down for North America. John knew he could limp the sled back to the North Pole with the four remaining, but the issue was delivering to the children coming into a crucial Christmas. John stood and looked at the carnage. Blood ran in rivers across the secluded highway. The elves were tending to the slaughtered reindeer, loading them onto the Tomahawk. No one left behind. Tears fell as the animals they had raised so many generations ago from calves nothing more than broken flesh.

“Church, what’s the damage?” John fell into the comfort of combat.

“The four deer on our side, no other casualty. All but this one on their side.” He pointed the muzzle o...

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