Virgin for the Woodsman

by Eddie Cleveland

  “That’s what I’m telling ya,” an elderly Native man with long, smoky wisps of hair falling from his neat braid around his deeply lined face replies. The man grabs some cooking oil from the shelf beside Cecil’s head and walks away from us.

  “S’cuse me,” I jump and wheel around to face a burly beast of a man glaring down at us. His dark eyes are just slits in his face almost matching the crescent shaped scar on his thick jaw. I tilt my head back to try to meet his gaze, but he must be almost seven feet tall and built like a bull. I’m not sure how he got that scar on his chin, but I’m guessing it wasn’t a fight. If it was, I’d put money on the other guy being dead.

  “Yes?” Cecil looks like he’s trying to stand taller, but the more he stretches his spine, the more he looks like a child next to the huge stranger. Although, if he looks like a child, I must look like an infant. Compared to me, Cecil is tall. And this guy is practically a giant.

  “I’ve been getting complaints that you’re harassing my customers,” the man’s voice booms like claps of thunder.

  “You own this place?” Cecil looks around the store.

  “That’s what I said,” the lumbering man frowns at us. I shiver involuntarily, and it’s not from the cold.

  “Perfect, just the man I’d love to talk to!” Cecil lights up, like this guy just extended him a warm welcome instead of a warning. “I’m Cecil White, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he waits for the man to fill in the blank.

  “That’s because I didn’t give it to you,” he answers with no humor in his voice whatsoever. He looks from my boss’s face to mine and sighs deeply, “The name is Dave. Now I’m going to have to ask you and your daughter to quit bothering my customers with a bunch of questions, understand? You’re making people uncomfortable,” Dave folds his large, muscular arms over his chest and it reminds me of the huge X on a barn door.

  “This is Abbie. She’s not my daughter, she’s my assistant. Sure, sure, I won’t bother anymore customers,” Cecil nods and pulls the picture back out of his pocket. “Hey, you probably know just about everyone around here, right? Do you recognize this man?” He holds the picture up in front of Dave’s face.

  “I don’t see how who I know is any of your concern,” Dave narrows his eyes and pushes Cecil’s hand down from where it hovers.

  “The thing is,” Cecil steamrolls over him, “this guy is a dangerous man. He’s a bad guy. He’s a murderer,” he lowers his voice. Dave’s face doesn’t change. If the idea of a killer living in his town frightens him, his face would be the last to show it.

  I pull my long brown hair over my shoulder and begin to twist the ends nervously. I can’t help but feel like I’m watching Cecil poke a bear.

  In its den.

  Protecting a cub.

  From the size of this guy, he could easily pass for a shaved bear.

  “Listen, I’ll tell ya what,” Cecil stuffs the picture back in his coat pocket and tugs his wallet from his pants. The Velcro rips open loudly and he tugs a hundred-dollar bill out. “How about this? I would be happy to compensate you for any information you might want to share,” Cecil dangles the money in front of Dave’s face like a carrot on a line.

  “It’s time you go checkout,” Dave answers through his teeth.

  “Pardon me?” Cecil blinks in surprise. I’m starting to wonder if all the stories that he’s told me about his great people skills and detective work aren’t bullshit. It’s hard to imagine how someone who clearly has no idea about how people operate could have the tremendous success hunting them down that he’s prattled on and on about.

  “Listen, I don’t know if you’re deaf or stupid, and I don’t care. You said this girl is your assistant, well maybe she can assist you in pulling your head outta your ass, ‘cause no one here is interested in some outsider snooping around and tryna dig up dirt. Now get your supplies and get the hell outta my store before I pick you up and toss you out!” His voice rumbles. I can’t help but feel like I’m supposed to run for shelter, like his baritone is as powerful as an earthquake. And just as dangerous.

  Cecil drops his hand and shoves his bill back in his wallet before stuffing it back in his jeans. His face drops to look at the things in the cart we’ve gathered for our hike. “Fine,” he mutters, without meeting Dave’s intense glare.

  I follow him to the checkout and watch as Cecil keeps his eyes downcast on the items being rung in, like a puppy that was scolded for peeing on the floor.

  Over my shoulder, Dave is still standing like a Paul Bunyan statue, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, forcing us out the door without moving a muscle or uttering a single word.

  Cecil yanks the bag of supplies from the cashier's hand and stomps toward the exit petulantly. As he approaches the door an elderly lady blocks his way out. Clearly, she’s struggling to make her way into the shop. I gasp as Cecil shoves her aside, nearly knocking her to the ground.

  “Get outta my way,” he sneers.

  I rush behind him and offer the poor woman a hand as she struggles to maintain her balance. I can’t believe the nerve of this guy. He gets told to leave and he takes it out on an old, defenseless woman?

  Mama used to tell me that people don’t really show you who they are when everything is sunshine and roses. It isn’t until life gives them a squeeze that you really see what they’re made of.

  As we make our way out of the store, I don’t like what Cecil is showing me. This entire mission is beginning to look doomed. Between the entire town stonewalling us and Cecil’s tantrum-like behavior, I’m starting to think this whole thing might be over before we even take our first step into the woods.

  4

  Cole

  “You might want to lay low,” Big Dave told me. He pulled me aside this afternoon as I was grabbing some whiskey and food.

  When I first arrived in the Canadian Yukon, I knew this was the place. With a backdrop of nature so beautiful, you’d swear it was a postcard come to life, it felt serene. Then, once I met the locals, I knew I’d found my new home.

  Almost everyone here who isn’t a native is running from something. We all have something in our past we’d rather not have exposed. We know that about each other and we have a silent agreement to live and let live. When I showed up here, bleary eyed from exhaustion and carrying nothing but my old army rucksack with me, it didn’t take long for people in this town to realize I was one of them. I wasn’t some tourist looking to take a rafting tour up the river to Dawson City. I clearly wasn’t here on any kind of government business.

  They say wolves know each other by scent, well they could smell it on me that I was one of them. And, lucky for me, they accepted me into their pack.

  “You should hang back for a few days, you can stay with me if you need a place,” Big Dave continued.

  I knew this day would come. It didn’t take a genius to realize that the authorities would eventually search for me around here. When I first arrived, I spent months building my place. Even though it was the dead of winter, I fought through the blistering cold days and created the perfect little spot for myself.

  With town less than a half-day’s hike, I thought I’d scouted the best of both worlds, a cabin with complete seclusion and privacy, but with civilization only a few hours away. It made supplies easy to manage and if I ever got too squirrelly from spending so much time alone, company wasn’t far. I knew the bag full of old army rations I brought with me wasn’t going to last forever. Tinfoil pouches of beans and wieners and toothpaste tubes of peanut butter would only stretch for so long before I’d need to top up.

  “Nah, I’m good. I’ve got a plan,” I answered Dave and grabbed a pair of binoculars to add to my cart.

  It was nice of him to make the offer to stay at his place. The truth is, I’m not afraid of many men on this earth, but Big Dave is one of those few. He’s a great guy to know and his store is an essential part of the community, but he’s not someone I’d want to share quarters with.

  “Suit yourself,” he s
hrugged.

  Instead of making myself comfortable on Dave’s couch, I’ve been following the dynamic duo who have come to the great white north to track me down. I’m hunting the hunters.

  Not that there’s any challenge in it. These two make their way through the woods like a couple of drunk moose. It’s been easy to stay on the periphery and keep tabs on them, except for when they got turned around and spent forty minutes walking back toward town. I already knew from the looks of them that they weren’t law enforcement, but their shitty navigation skills sealed it. There’s no way any self-respecting officer of the law would be trudging around in the forest in figure eights all day.

  Once they decided to set up camp for the night, I scouted a suitable tree and climbed up under the shelter of the branches and leaves to hide out for the night.

  I’m not sure if these two jokers have the skills to find my place, but if they do, I’ll be watching them from a safe distance. Then, once they clear out, I’ll grab the supplies I need and move on out. Now that the weather is warm, it’s not a problem to explore the woods deeper until I find another place to call home. Not that I think I’ll ever find anything more perfect.

  I watch the middle-aged man and young lady through my binoculars as they sit by a Coleman stove. Neither of them could make a fire to save their lives, so they finally decided to use their propane camping stove for heat. Brainiacs. Next, they’ll cut open their backpacks to use them as blankets.

  They’re drinking. From the looks of it, they’re swigging back vodka. Well, he is. She’s been politely declining and holding onto the same glass he poured her hours ago. I know because I’ve been watching her.

  Closely.

  It’s been months since I’ve spent a night with a woman. Not since before I shot him. Sure, I could’ve hit up some random chick in Whitehorse, but I don’t think the best way to stay in a community’s good graces is by burning through their women. Of course, I always have the option of hiring out by the hour for my needs, but even on my longest, loneliest deployments I never scratched the itch with hookers. Plenty of guys did, and that was fine for them, I’m not judging, it just wasn’t for me. What’s the fun in fishing when they just jump in your net?

  Anyway, this girl is much prettier than any woman I’ve encountered in town. Any girl I think I’ve ever seen, to be honest. She’s striking in her natural beauty. Her long brown hair hangs loosely over her slight shoulders. Right now, she has her back to me, which is a damned shame, because when I did see her face it was a sight for sore eyes.

  Her creamy skin has a light smattering of freckles, and she’s been too far away to see the color of her almond shaped eyes, but it’s been easy to see how expressive they are. She looks like she’s a lot more in her element out here, easily jumping over fallen logs and bounding up hills with her toned body. Unlike her partner, who has been thumping and bumping into everything, signalling his presence to every living creature within a fifty-mile radius.

  I stuff my binos in my pack that’s hanging from the branch beside me and lean back against the trunk of the tree.

  Calm washes over me as I let my heavy eyelids droop down and settle in for the night. I love the familiarity of sleeping like this. When I was a sniper, I hated being bugged out like this. Clinging to tree limbs, or laying on sizzling hot roofs for hours or even days at a time. My muscles would be exhausted from lying in prone position, tensed up, ready to fire. Birds would shit on me, the heat would bake my skin and I had to endure it all as I waited for the perfect moment. For the perfect shot.

  Then, when I came back to America, I would always struggle to sleep in my own bed. It felt so much larger than the cots in the barracks. It felt so much more exposed than the blinds I would shoot from. As if a queen-sized mattress was a vast, open field I was standing in, with a target on my back.

  It took some time to learn that if I piled pillows around my body at night and imagined seeing the world through the scope of my rifle, watching targets pass over the crosshairs, I could drift to sleep peacefully. Old habits are hard to break, I guess.

  “No! Don’t. Please stop!”

  My eyelids snap open as I hear the girl screaming below. I don’t need to retrieve my binoculars, the terror in her voice is enough to make me grab my bag and scramble down the tree.

  I reach inside my pack and pull out my hatchet, then silently maneuver through the woods toward her cries.

  “Please, don’t do this,” she cries. “Stop! Mr. White! Cecil! Don’t,” her voice hitches and she begins to bawl.

  My fingers tighten around the handle of my hatchet until my skin is pressed so tight it feels like it could burst open. As I close in on them, I can see the girl is frantically trying to push that old fucker off of her. He’s got her shoved up against a tree and his pudgy hand is stuffed up her torn shirt. Fucking piece of shit. There’s no fucking chance in hell this is happening. I’m not going to let some human shit stain rape this girl.

  I circle in from the shadows, narrowing my eyes as I focus on him, taking a huge breath, I lunge inside the boundary of their camp.

  5

  Abbie

  “Please, stop,” I nearly choke on my words as tears streak down my face. He doesn’t listen, his eyes are dancing wildly as he roughly paws at my breasts. I don’t know what happened. One second, I was scurrying back from peeing in the woods and the next my head thumped against this tree and his hands were all over me.

  “You’re such a pretty little thing, aren’t ya. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me. You’re a tease, you know that? Walking around here wiggling your ass at me and batting your eyelashes. I know what you want,” his boozy breath billows over my face and I gag.

  “No, you’re wrong. I don’t want this!” I squirm to the side, desperate to break free but he’s too strong. Too big. I can feel his erection pressed into me as he pins me in place.

  I try to claw his face, but he grabs both my hands and holds them over my head with one of his and starts unbuckling his belt with his free hand.

  “Aww, don’t be like that. I’m gonna take good care of ya,” he pants as he struggles to open his jeans.

  “Cecil, please don’t do this. Just let me go and we can go our separate ways. Please. Please, I don’t want this to be my first time,” I beg.

  “I knew it!” His eyes light up and I cringe with how much more excited he just got. “Don’t you worry, if you just stop acting like you don’t want it, I’ll try to go slow on ya,” he finally manages to pull out his dick and starts working on my pants.

  I thrash my feet, kicking him in the shin and scream, “Help! Help me. Please, can anyone hear me?” I know it’s useless. I know we’re miles away from anything resembling civilization.

  “Get the fuck off her!” A violent roar rips through the air and suddenly Cecil drops like a sack of potatoes to the ground. I’m stunned, I stare down at him bleeding from his head. Is he… dead?

  I look up at the man snarling down at him, holding a hatchet in his hand. The dull side is dripping with Cecil’s blood. I open my mouth to scream, but no noise leaves my lips.

  It’s him.

  His brown hair is longer now, and he has scruff covering his jaw, but there’s no mistaking those piercing blue eyes.

  It’s our target. The killer. It’s Cole fucking McAllister.

  “Let’s go,” he grabs me by the wrist and wrenches me toward him roughly.

  “Did you kill him? I’m not going anywhere with you! I need to get out of here. Please, just let me go,” I dig my heels into the dirt and try to make myself into a human anchor.

  “He’s not dead. I knocked him out. I don’t have time to discuss this with you, we’re both in danger if we hang around here. Let’s go!” He barks his command and I cringe.

  I still try to pull back from his grasp. I’m grateful he stopped Cecil, but being saved by a known murderer isn’t exactly a happy ending.

  Cole comes toward me, hunching down, and flips me over his shoulder. His
hand is still holding my arm while his other arm is holding me secure over his shoulder.

  The world is upside down as I dangle over his back, feebly kicking my feet and pounding my one free hand against him.

  “Let me go! Please, just let me go. I’ll leave the woods and I promise I’ll never come back. Just let me go,” I try to yell, but as he thumps through the woods, every time he jumps over a log I bump against him and struggle to breathe.

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  First I’m almost raped by my boss and now the killer we were supposed to be hunting is kidnapping me. I can barely breathe as terror grips my chest. Tears and snot flow from my face and I try to scream. I won’t give up. I keep squirming, wrenching, twisting and kicking, but I’m outmuscled. I’ve never felt so weak.

  Talk about jumping from the frying pan into the fire. I’m fucked. I’m worse than fucked.

  I’m dead.

  6

  Cole

  “Put me down! Someone help me!” She squirms over my shoulder as she begs to be let free. No matter how hard she twists or flails, she can’t get away. I easily navigate the dark woods, wary of the underbrush and careful not to let any tree branches I push past snap back to whip against her.

  I’ve walked through these tall evergreens so many times that my body has formed a muscle memory. It’s almost become a reflex to know when to hop or duck. The night makes it more difficult to navigate, but after countless operations carried out in darkness in the military, my body and my eyes have gotten used to it.

  I don’t know what my plan is. I’m just trying to put as much distance between her and that rapist as possible. The helplessness I saw in her eyes as he tried to strip her, the desperation I heard in her voice as he tried to force his cock on her, it awakened a sleeping beast inside me. One I thought I’d left behind. That fucker is lucky I struck him with the dull side of my axe. I’ll admit, I briefly considered letting my sharp blade bite into his skull, ridding the world of another terrible man it would never miss.