by Hunt, Jack
5
Kelly awoke to knocking. It was loud, persistent and all-pervading. It only took a few seconds to realize it was coming from the trap door. Something — someone — was trying to get in. Her insides knotted as panic crept up in her chest.
3:18 a.m.
It was still pitch dark.
Only a few dying embers glowed in the fireplace.
She didn’t dare move. Who was it? Were they aware she was here alone?
Now she wished she had a gun, any form of protection. Her eyes darted to the knife block holding six kitchen blades. She could get up but the floor would creak. They would hear her. They? Who were they? One, two? How many were out there?
Thud, thud.
The lock rattled again.
Get a grip on yourself, she muttered. It wasn’t like this was the first time she’d spent a night alone. There were many times Cole was on night shift. Neither was this the first time she’d been at the lookout by herself. Now she wished Boomer was here.
Boomer. A sinking feeling in the pit of her gut, yesterday’s incident came back to her like a bad dream. He was still out there, somewhere, perhaps lost in the storm or worse — dead. She would never forgive herself if he was simply lost.
Kelly clenched her jaw, her pulse pounding as courage rose inside her. She slipped into slippers and donned a thick sweater before shuffling over to the counter and removing a large six-inch knife.
Another thud, followed by two more.
“Hello?” she said.
No response.
Either the howling wind was making it hard for them to hear or her nonexistent voice was — more than likely both.
Kelly got low to the floor, inches away from the hatch, and checked the lock. Thank God for strong deadbolts. Security had been a troubling aspect of running the lookout. Without Wi-Fi, and little to no cellular reception, it was one of the first questions guests asked. Is there a lock? What happens if someone tries to break in? Do you get troublemakers in the area? She wasn’t going to say yes. She would have never booked anyone. And, it wasn’t like she could leave a gun with them, or employ a security guard. They were in the middle of nowhere. It was a remote, off-the-grid rental that appealed to hikers, romantic couples, the adventurous of society. She figured they were attracted to the inherent dangers of the wild. “You should know this is private property. You are trespassing.”
Then, a husky voice filtered through.
“Please. Let me in. I’m freezing out here.”
“Who are you?”
“The name’s Barnes. Travis Barnes. I’m a LEO forest ranger from St. Joe National Forest.”
Her plot butted up against the Idaho Panhandle National Forests which was an aggregation of three national forests: St. Joe to the west curling beneath her, Coeur D’Alene and a portion of Kaniksu to the north. It was why it was common to see campers hiking through her property unaware they were trespassing, especially if they were trying to make it to Stoney Lake. “What are you doing here?”
She could hear the shivering in his voice. “I got caught in the storm, lost my way. Look, I just need to warm up. I’ll freeze to death out here.” Kelly had made friends with a couple of rangers from the area due to the frequent interactions with campers. She was all too familiar with their dress code and the location of the nearest station. Reluctant to open, she continued her line of questioning.
“What station you from?”
“St. Maries,” he shot back without hesitation.
“Address?”
He reeled it off.
“You’re a little out of the way, aren’t you?”
“We got a call for lost campers from Shadowy St. Joe Campground. A group of us were out trying to find them when the blizzard hit. I got separated from the others, couldn’t discern where I was. I saw the lookout and figured I could take shelter. Didn’t know anyone was here.”
The wind howled like an angry woman. Kelly ground her teeth together.
“I thought the LEOs were based out of the Coeur D’Alene district.”
“That’s right, however, St. Maries has a few of us now.”
Not everyone was familiar with the differences between park rangers, forest rangers and game wardens, and even fewer knew that not all forest rangers were law enforcement officers (LEOs) — the strong arm of the law for the U.S. Forest Service.
“Give me some names of your colleagues.”
“What?”
“Names. Forest rangers from your department.”
“Uh…” He reeled off three, the first two she didn’t recognize but the third, Ray Harding, she knew him. “Look, I’m sorry to impose but I’m freezing. I just need to warm up.” He was persistent. She didn’t want trouble, or to have his death on her conscience.
A few more seconds of hesitation. “Climb back down and step out where I can see you.”
“What?”
Kelly repeated the question, and heard him curse before he agreed.
Wrapping a thick winter jacket around her, and slipping into boots, she opened the door to the wraparound deck and took out a flashlight. Ice-cold needles raked her face and she gasped at the freezing temperature. The cold air blew so wild that it had reduced visibility to almost zero. Still, Kelly peered over and waited for him to emerge at the bottom. Squinting into the porridge of white she could barely see a damn thing. Eventually, twenty-five feet below, the stranger trudged out into the snow and looked up, one arm briefly covering his face. Kelly shone the 1,000-lumen beam from the Maglite down and could see the green uniform. Although she couldn’t make out every detail, a few minutes of staring and contemplating his answers was enough to convince her to let him in.
Kelly reentered and pulled back the deadbolt, and lifted the hatch. She waited, still clutching the knife behind her back.
Can’t be too careful, she thought.
By the time Travis made it to the top he looked like a snowman covered in white from head to toe. As he climbed over the lip, the first thing that caught her attention was his duty belt, and a gun. LEOs were the only forest rangers that carried a piece.
“Thank you,” he said, shivering and shaking off snow before entering.
Up close he was clean cut, a good-looking fella, shaven, dark eyes and approximately five foot ten. He removed a black beanie to reveal a full head of brown mousy hair and a small scar at the corner of his eye. He didn’t look a day over thirty-five. His cheeks were flushed red, wet, and his lean figure was shivering like mad.
“Here, let me take your coat and you take this,” she said handing him a warm horse blanket to wrap around him. He took a seat on one of the small foldable stools and shivered. Kelly slammed the trap door closed and threw a few more logs into the fire to warm up the abode. She returned the knife to the block. “You’re lucky you found this place,” she said.
He nodded, clutching the blanket around his shoulders. “Your voice. What happened?” he asked. Kelly suddenly felt very exposed and vulnerable upon realizing the scarf that she usually kept around her neck was not on. Still, it was dark and the only light came from her flashlight and the fire which was now flickering to life and casting shadows on the inner walls.
“Um.” She quickly changed the topic. “Hot chocolate?”
He stared at her and nodded, breaking a slight smile of appreciation. Kelly busied herself taking out two cups and tried to learn more about him to avoid having to answer any personal questions. “So Travis. You said you were out looking for campers?” she asked while scooping two heaps of powder into mugs.
“Uh?”
“Campers. You said you—?”
“Right. Yeah. Two fourteen-year-olds. We assumed they couldn’t have got far. We spread out to cover more ground, then this storm blew in and it was just a wall of white. I couldn’t tell if I was going north, south…” He chuckled. “Two years on the job and I’ve found myself in a lot of hair-raising situations but nothing like this.”
“Don’t you carry a personal locator be
acon?”
“We have them but I didn’t have one on me. Didn’t think we would be out long. You know, most of the time folks have just stepped off the trail.”
“Right.” She nodded. “Radio?”
He shook his head. “Tried it. Didn’t work.”
“Cell phone?”
“No luck.”
“Yeah, a poor signal is quite common out here. You still have them… the radio and phone, I mean?” Kelly couldn’t see the typical radio attached to his duty belt.
He reached for his coat, took out a phone and showed her that it wouldn’t power on. After, he pointed to his belt and then patted his chest where the mic would usually be attached. “I lost the radio in the storm. I spent more time scrambling through snow on all fours than standing.” He sighed. Travis ran a hand over his face. “Ah, anyway, I don’t think it matters — the grid is down.”
“The what?”
“The power grid.”
She nodded thoughtfully, filling the kettle with water and placing it on the butane burner to heat up. “Because of the storm,” she added.
He shook his head. “That’s not what caused it.” He looked around.
She stared back, her brow knit together. “What do you mean? The power has gone out before. Last year for instance. It was down for almost sixteen hours.”
He reached down and untied the laces in his boots. “It could very well be. I’m not saying it’s not that but…” He trailed off as if he knew more but didn’t want to worry her.
After a few minutes the kettle whistled that it was ready. Kelly removed it from the burner and poured hot water into the mugs. A quick stir and she handed him one. “Here you go.”
Travis took it with both hands and blew steam rising from the surface. “You are a godsend.” A quick sip and he looked back at Kelly who remained standing. Her eyes darted to the bed and she realized how awkward this was — there was only the one.
He cleared his throat. “So… uh… what are you doing up here?”
“I own this place.”
He pointed at her. “Right, you said. Private property.”
She nodded. “I rent it out. Mostly in the summer but I’ve been testing out the last two winters.”
“Huh. Any luck?”
She shrugged. “Ah, so-so. Mostly hikers, and the odd couple mad enough to brave the cold weather.” She smiled back; their faces glowed in the amber light of the fire. Travis pulled at his khaki pants which were soaked through along with portions of his shirt. She set her cup on the counter behind her. “You know what… hold on a second.” She rummaged around in the drawer space below the bed and pulled out a fresh pair of pants, socks and a shirt. There was underwear but she figured the situation was already awkward enough. “You look about his size,” she said handing them over.
“Your husband?” he asked.
“Ex.”
He made an O shape with his mouth.
Some of Cole’s clothes and hers were there from the previous summer.
Kelly cleared her throat and turned to head out onto the deck when he stopped her. “It’s fine, no point you getting any colder.”
She nodded then turned away. His slim silhouette reflected in the window as he peeled off the damp clothes and slipped into the dry ones.
“Sorry, I forgot to ask your name?” he said, sliding a leg into one of the jean legs and balancing on the other.
“Kelly Danvers,” she muttered over her shoulder.
A few seconds later he was dressed. “Well, Kelly, I really appreciate this. I had visions of breaking in and spending the night shivering.” He wrapped the blanket around him and sat down. He exhaled a sigh of relief. “If you want to sleep, don’t mind me.”
“No… I’m… wide awake now.”
He pursed his lips and gave a nod. “How long you been running this place?”
“Quite some time.”
“So this is what you do for a living?”
She picked up her drink and stood across from him, still cautious.
“Actually, no, this is a side project I started several years ago.” She didn’t go into detail but she might as well have as the question that followed was a common one asked by those who didn’t recognize her from the jacket of her book.
He swallowed and rolled his neck around to work out tension. “Cool. So what do you do?”
There it was, the question she didn’t like answering.
Really, she should have had no problem, as it wasn’t like she needed to be embarrassed, but for some reason she always was. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful for what she did for a living or that she wasn’t proud, but there was often a weird shift in the dynamics of a conversation once she told people she was an author. She always left off the “bestseller” part in fear of sounding pretentious. Either way, there would usually be one of two responses: “Oh that’s fabulous,” or their voice would drop a tone lower and they would pull a face before following up with the next question. “So… you written many books?”
Often when asked, she told them no, and left it at that. Occasionally, she would say only one — at which point they would either smirk or their brow would knit together in confusion. How could that be a living? One book? Truth be told, one book rarely made authors a living, she was in the minority, some critics said.
Neither answer sat well with her.
Usually she would change the subject or tell them the name of it. She always got a kick out of those who never heard of the title or even her for that matter, as it meant they didn’t act differently toward her. For some strange reason the moment people knew who she was and the title of the book, they would act like they were in the presence of a celebrity, and that was far from how she felt. Sure, she wanted people to read her book but having her face plastered over millions of copies, being found in airports, and having hundreds show up for signings, well, that was uncomfortable. That’s because it wasn’t her goal when she set out to write the book. If ever… the story was like an itch that just wouldn’t go away. In fact, she’d shelved the idea four times, and even dumped the first draft in the garbage can. Had it not been for her mother who had noticed, it would have likely would up in a recycling plant and history would have been rewritten.
Kelly stared at him, pondering her options.
Instead of lie, she told him outright, trying to shorten the line of questioning. “I write. I’m an author. I wrote A Call to War. It was an international bestseller and it’s the only thing I’ve ever written. It affords me a comfortable lifestyle. I prefer not to discuss it… if you don’t mind.” The words shot out then she took a sip of her drink.
His eyes grew wide and he wagged a finger. “I thought you looked familiar.”
Oh great, he was in that group. Here we go. Wait for it. When are you writing the next one? Come on. You’re going to say it, she thought. So might as well get it over and done with.
Except he didn’t. Strangely, Travis simply got up and walked over to the window, his expression changed to concern as he clutched his drink. “I hope they found those boys.”
Kelly breathed a sigh of relief. For once, someone who recognized her but didn’t make a big deal out of it. “I hope so too,” she added. Then it dawned on her. “You wouldn’t have come across a German Shepherd in your travels, would you? she asked.
He turned and shook his head. “Your dog run off?”
She sighed. “Yeah. Yesterday.”
Travis lifted a hand. “Hey look, if it’s any consolation, dogs have a unique way of finding their way back. They’re very resilient, you know. Much more than us.” He looked back out again. “And of course it does help that they have all that fur.”
He returned to his seat.
“Yeah, I hope you’re right.” She stared at him for a few seconds, shadows dancing off his features. Even though he was a stranger, for the first time since yesterday she didn’t feel so isolated, alone or even scared. “Hopefully tomorrow I should be able to get a few bars and you can
call your office. I can even take you into town by snowmobile. It’s about twenty-five minutes from here.”
He shook his head, and sucked in air. “No, it won’t work.”
Puzzled she replied, “Of course it will.”
He swallowed a mouthful and stared down into his cup. “Like I said. I don’t think the power going down is related to this storm.”
She studied him with a look of confusion. “I don’t understand. If it’s not the storm, what else would cause it?”
Travis raised his eyes and without missing a beat he replied, “An EMP.”
6
Kelly didn’t believe it.
She couldn’t. Not here. Not in America. It was too outlandish to accept as true. Before the first rays of daylight filtered through the forest, Kelly had more questions than answers. EMP? She’d never heard of such a thing. Could any American say they had? It wasn’t like they taught this kind of stuff in schools. It was the gossip of conspiracy groups, the paranoid and scaremongers — wasn’t it?
An electromagnetic pulse. Travis went on to describe how a high-altitude nuclear detonation, a focused EMP weapon or a solar burst from the sun could emit a pulse that could knock out the grid. Electronics plugged in would be zapped, and those that weren’t could still be vulnerable to the effects of the EMP because an invisible pulse radiated outward through the air.
Travis was leaning heavily toward a bomb, spouting recent headlines in the news that backed up a theory that America was on the verge of a war — something to do with China, Iran and Russia building super-EMP bombs for “blackout warfare,” however, he also said it could just be a natural event.
Was it possible? Of course.
Probable? In this day and age anything was probable.
Still, like a good segment of society, she didn’t hang on every news bite, as most of it was questionable, or at least unreliable — so if an EMP bomb was responsible for a power outage, she, like others, wouldn’t have known until it was too late. It wasn’t that she had no interest in what was happening around the globe but with her mind lost in storytelling, most days she was lucky if she had the capacity to stay focused on watching a movie, let alone news.