“Dammit!” I growled as I pulled over to inspect the front left tire. Throwing out a few more colorful words, I slammed my door and stomped off to grab the jack and lug wrench. Too bad the tire had blown after I’d turned off the main highway. Not a single car passed by as I undertook the half-forgotten art of tire-changing. This damsel was on her own. Unless, of course, one factored in the damn mosquitoes. And the gathering clouds. “Great,” I muttered, feeling the first of the drops slap my head ominously.
The jack was left abandoned as I escaped into the SUV just before the deluge hit with full force. The hazards were on and the car was idling comfortingly. My sullen eyes followed the wipers, back and forth, swiping furiously at the sheets of water. I gave a miserable groan and settled back to wait it out. I must have fallen asleep because when I woke up again it was to realize that the rain had finally stopped and my headlamps were on. Dusk had long since settled in. Shit.
With my flashlight angled on the running board, I made fast work of swapping the deflated tire for the skinny spare. By the time I finally tightened the last lug, it was completely dark out.
For a brief moment, I thought about turning back to Bear Lodge, but I was already almost at the cabin. No matter how much my nerves protested, it seemed stupid to turn back. Ignoring my better sense, I continued on. A good playlist was what I needed to listen to. Some upbeat rock anthem would steel my nerves. I flipped through my iTunes, eyes darting back and forth between the quiet road and the phone screen.
A violent gasp erupted from my lips as something dark flashed across my headlights. My boot slammed the brakes. The black streak had barely missed the Yukon’s monstrous chrome grille. I was white-knuckling the steering wheel as I stared, wide-eyed, into the dark beyond where the creature had disappeared among the trees. It was eerily quiet except for the Yukon’s discreet purr. A bear maybe? It had certainly looked big enough.
I checked the rearview mirror where my scorched tread marks had blackened the wet asphalt, but I could see nothing in the red glow of my tail lights. Nothing. Still, my heart hammered with disquiet. With a deep breath, I pulled my foot off the brake, transferring it to the accelerator. The Yukon began inching forward again, but my gaze seemed drawn to where the creature had fled. Finally, I forced them to the road ahead.
The fiery green eye-shine of a large animal appeared unexpectedly in the peripheral of the light beam. My heart stilled instantly. The retinas flashed, eerie and unblinking, through the trees. But the animal vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.
I was pretty sure grizzlies, after reading about them since my encounter, had that exact shade of tapetum lucidum that I’d just seen. I depressed the accelerator a little further, eager to get out of there.
The silence in the SUV felt oppressive, adding to that creepy feeling that I was being watched. But I didn’t dare try and mess with my iPhone again. It had been thrown into the footwell with my backpack earlier, when I’d hit the brakes, and was now far out of reach. Pulling over was not an option. Whatever was in the woods had looked big enough to bash my window open. Anyway, I told myself sternly, the engine was more than equal to the task of drowning out the sound of my petrified heart. I was not stopping for anything!
The little cabin finally appeared in my headlights like a sleeping troglodyte, the windows dark and the eave frowning low over the door as though the light had angered it. Not even the moon’s full glare dared to breach the tree canopy, and all had been painted black before the headlights had obtruded the hush.
I shifted the SUV into park and remained in my seat, hesitating. It occurred to me suddenly that I’d forgotten to ask Alison where the breaker panel was. Great. I freed myself from the seatbelt and climbed over the console to reach for the flashlight that had also been hurled into the footwell earlier (my iPhone flashlight had broken ages ago with repetitive dropping).
“Stop being a wuss.” I’d hoped the sound of my own voice would steady me, but the words came out like a precarious whisper.
I obediently killed the engine. The front of the house was still basked in light from the Yukon’s reassuring glare, but the silence was peculiarly hair-raising. My furtive gaze scoured the heavily wooded perimeter where the darkest of the shadows choked even the light from my steady headlamps. I hooked clammy fingers around the silver handle. The click of the opening door was like a crack of thunder in the stillness of the forest, but I pressed onwards.
This is how horror movies start, Ev. “Shut up,” I murmured nervously. I was alone in a dark rainforest with nothing more than a measly little torch—just another doomed horror heroine walking towards an abandoned cabin in the woods. My ears strained to hear over the sound of damp leaves beneath my boots.
The snap of a branch froze my blood. My flashlight followed, lightning fast, searching for the lurking culprit. But the trees only facilitated the nocturnal whispers echoing like shadows till I was no longer sure where to look. Another odd sound soon followed the first, this one much closer than before. I yelped and sprinted for the front porch, the torchlight beam jerking erratically. The porch steps I took in one leap, scattering pine needles and leaves as I went. I shoved the torch under my arm and fumbled with the keys, my gaze fixed and frozen over my shoulder. In my desperation, I dropped the keys. Slamming my back against the front door, I aimed the beam towards the driveway and slowly knelt down, my movements painstaking. I felt around in the leaves for the errant keys as I probed the dark with my light.
There, to my horror, within the arc of yellow light, I suddenly caught sight of a blinking set of iridescent orbs. And then another set appeared beside its fellow, too high off the ground to be anything but large and predatory. Liquid terror gushed hotly into my gut as my index finger finally brushing cold iron. The rest of my fingers swiftly curled around the keychain. I sprang back up, shoving that large bronze key into the slot so hard I nearly broke the blade. As soon as the lock flipped I yanked the door open and fell inside, slamming the door with a hard kick. I bolted it with numb fingers and collapsed back against the door to sob in relief.
It was a long time later before I managed to calm my ragged breath. I realized with a sickening feeling that I’d left my backpack and phone in the car. They were both probably still lying in the passenger footwell. But there was no way in hell I was going out there again, not without daylight at my back. Not even for the torch still lying uselessly on the abandoned porch.
19
Man Meat
There was a loud hammering in my head that threatened to crack my skull. My joints hurt. I gave a sniff and shivered, convinced that I was getting the flu or something. No, wait, the pounding was at the door! My head jolted up from the linoleum floor. I sat up, disoriented, hissing with discomfort as the blood rushed like steel nails into the cold veins of my dead arm. I’d lain awake till dawn, my teeth chattering with fear, exhaustion, and cold.
The knocking seemed to echo my pounding head. I stumbled awkwardly towards the front door and checked the peephole. A rangy woman stared back at me with ascetic grey eyes. Her blonde braid—bleached white with age—jostled on her shoulder as she hammered the flat of her palm imperiously on the door.
I snapped the bolt free and unclenched my jaws as I swung the door open. “Can I help you?” Even my voice sounded hoarse and congested.
“Good, you’re alive,” she said, stomping leaves from her boots before pushing past me into the mudroom, an impatient waft of thyme following her in.
“Last I checked.” Do come in, won’t you?
“Thought the wolves might have dragged your carcass into the woods.” Her tone matched the stoic lines of her face, so I was unsure whether or not she was joking.
Was that what I’d seen last night? Wolves?
“Don’t know what Alison was thinking letting a city girl stay up here alone,” she continued.
“I’m guessing you’re Sarah Dinwiddie,” I said, holding a terse hand out to her.
Her grip was leathered and strong. “A
lison asked me to check in on you.” She raised an admonishing brow. “I drove by last night to make sure the car was in the driveway.” Her eyes narrowed skeptically. “People go missing in Alaska all the time, so I hope you’ll excuse our concern.”
I felt my cheeks burn under her chiding gaze.
“You might want to be a little more conscientious about checking in. Ali is, after all, responsible for you.”
Oh shit! “I forgot my phone in the car.” The excuse sounded lame even to me. “I got a little spooked last night.”
She gave a succinct nod as though unsurprised by the answer. Her brown cotton sleeves were dirt-stained, rolled up above the elbows as though she’d been interrupted from her morning routine (probably milking a moose or something) to babysit me.
She cocked her ear to listen. “It’s too quiet in here.” Then, testing a light switch, to no avail, she said, “Did you lose power?”
“Not exactly.” I avoided her gaze. “Do you happen to know where the fuse box is?”
She gestured towards the other door in the mudroom. “In the garage.”
I could have face-palmed myself just then. No wonder she was looking at me like I was a naif. The garage was the first place I should’ve looked. “Right,” I muttered, opening the garage door. There was sunlight struggling through a dusty windowpane, and I easily spotted the distinctive metal box on the wall. Once I’d flicked all the fuses on the instantaneous thrum of beautiful electricity coursed through the cabin. The white noise was instantly calming. It had been too quiet up till then, even with Dinwiddie there.
“There’s wood in the shed out back.” She was back to inspecting me again, a hand perched on each hip. “You should go start a fire, your lips are blue. You do know how to use a wood stove, right?”
“Yes,” I lied. I could figure it out, I didn’t want her, and therefore Alison, to think it’d been a mistake to send me here.
To distract her, I asked Mrs. Dinwiddie if she was staying for tea.
“Sure,” she replied, following me into the living room (where she eyed the wood stove dubiously) and then into the kitchen.
I forced a smile that was probably more of a grimace than anything remotely confident and filled the kettle with water. The stove, however, was not cooperating as I twisted each knob in growing frustration. I felt like crying. “Now what?”
“Out of gas, huh?” Dinwiddie gave a long-suffering sigh. “Should be a spare bottle in the garage.” And off she went.
I was seriously questioning my ability to function effectively on my own.
“I’ll stop by again this evening,” she said later, as she was leaving.
“You don’t need—”
“Wanna make sure you’ve figured out the toilet.” Once again, there was no sign she wasn’t serious.
Was that a joke? I gave her a tight smile.
She scribbled her mobile number onto a scrap of paper from her pocket and placed it in my hand. Then she reminded me again to text Alison. “Which reminds me,” she added, trotting down the porch steps, “don’t bother trying to text her from here, the cabin’s in a dead zone. You’ll have to hike up the hill over there—” pointing to the sloping road from which I’d come “—if you want any signal.”
It seemed I just couldn’t catch a break. “Wonderful.”
The tail lights of Mrs. Dinwiddie’s old diesel glowed with censure as she turned a corner. Sighing, I gave a last wave and headed off to find the washroom. My bladder was about to rip a seam. But, of course, there was none to be found inside. I did, however, finally hunt down the outhouse. “What fresh hell is this!” I glared at the sky and shook my fist. Overcome with desperation, though, I dropped my jeans and heeded nature’s call. That done, I hurried to the Yukon to grab my bag. There was no way I was going to brave a shower just yet (not till the water heater had had a chance to thaw the water), and I was too wide awake to bother taking my fluey body to bed. Instead, I busied myself stowing my meager groceries away, and after I’d fortified my blood with hot tea and oatmeal I got back into the car with my wayward phone, resolved to drive myself up ‘signal hill’ for some dutiful texting. But when I turned the key in the ignition the starter only sputtered weakly. I’d left the battery on all night.
I slammed my palm on the steering wheel. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” My eyes prickled with the heat of frustration. Well, I couldn’t do much about a dead battery until Mrs. Dinwiddie returned, so I stalked from the SUV. I wiped angrily at my tears, imagining Dinwiddie’s silent derision as she jump-started the Yukon for me.
Armed with my phone and bear spray, I hiked purposefully up the hill towards the summit, checking constantly for the signal I’d been promised. Hallelujah! I had two whole bars by the time I stood panting on the knoll. My phone lit up with a bunch of missed calls and worried texts. Without wasting a precious bar, I made quick work of shooting a conciliatory text off to Alison.
Alison’s response arrived instantly. She’d known I’d gotten there safely because Dinwiddie had seen the headlights in my driveway last night. The second half of the message was to remind me to please check in every day and to call her if I needed anything.
My mom, on the other hand, had sent only one text earlier this morning. It was a picture of a rainbow over our weatherbeaten backyard with an inspiring caption: “See, there’s always a rainbow after a hurricane.” It seemed the storm had diverted into the ocean overnight, with nothing but a few outer bands to ruffle the trees in the yard.
I grinned, swatting bugs out of my face, absorbed by the phone. It took a moment before I finally became aware of distant laughter on the wind. Then loud voices trickled faintly through the trees on my left. Curious, I left the dirt road and picked my way gingerly over the bracken and mud. Over red toadstools that clung hungrily to the damp rot of a nearby fallen log. There was a brisk wind stinging my cheeks, slapping my hair behind me. I inhaled deeply. The woods seemed saturated with dark mystery, ripe with verdure. A murder of crows squawked overhead as they passed, and then an eagle, drawing my gaze up towards the treetops only for a moment. I noticed them all distractedly, drawn by the voices; beckoned sweetly by the susurration of a flanking stream leading me deeper into the woods.
I don’t know what I expected—certainly not what I found. The source of the laughter turned out to be five naked bodies in varying stages of undress. They noticed me almost immediately, seemingly undaunted by my shocked staring. My first thought was that I had stumbled in on some strange orgy.
“Like what you see?” The voice came gruff and unexpected beside me.
Jolted from my stupor, I whipped my head to the left to see a bare-assed Dean glowering down at me. He’d somehow managed to sneak up soundlessly as I’d stood distracted by three penises and two sets of large breasts.
Before I could stop them, my eyes dropped to the junction of his thighs, popping wider still. Make that four penises! Deeply mortified, I abruptly turned my head. “I…I’m sorry!”
“Why are you sorry? This is technically not my land…yet.”
I didn’t know where to look. Stop thinking about penises! “Yes. Well”—swallowing loudly—“in that case, I’m not sorry.” I peeked back down briefly, just in case he’d magically produced some underwear. Nope. Penis! “Uh, aren’t you cold?” Shit, now he’d think I was belittling his… “Shouldn’t you put some clothes on?” Why did even his penis have to look so damn threatening?
“What for?” That hyena smile appeared again. “You’ve already taken a good look.”
“Yeah, and now I feel like washing my eyes out in holy water.”
He gave a genuine bark of laughter. “I don’t know whether to be complimented or insulted.”
“While you figure that out,” I sniffed, turning on my heel, “I’m just gonna head back—oof!” I found my face planted solidly in a very bare and very sinewy chest. “Tristan!” Realizing that each of my palms was pressed firmly to each of his pecs, I snatched my hands back as though he’d scorc
hed them.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how I chose to look at it—he’d managed to throw some jeans on. But the golden expanse of naked skin above his waistband told me that he’d been just as nude as his comrades only moments ago.
He raised his eyes from my burning face to his brother, the green lit with irritation. The brothers always seemed to communicate without speech.
Unwilling to stick around a moment longer, I mumbled another apology and scrambled away. I was eager to escape the pack of nudists, and Dean’s impressive junk, now forever seared into my brain, but even more desperate to avoid Tristan. If I thought for a second I’d seen the last of Tristan, I was very much mistaken. Though he’d let me go initially, I soon heard him giving chase, calling my name. I threw a furtive glance over my shoulder to see that he was plowing after me, barefoot, with frightening agility.
“Will you wait a second?” He grabbed my arm to stop me, his tone exasperated.
I pulled it curtly from his grasp. “Look,” I said, holding my palms up to ward him off, “there’s no judgment here, okay.” Liar. “So you’re in a penis col—” Crap! “I…I mean nudist colony. Whatever.” That’s definitely not as creepy as a cult.
“What?!” he sputtered, two deep clefts forming between his brows. “We’re not nudists. Nor am I in a penis colony.”
“I’m confused.” I pointed back to where we’d just come from. “What was that then?” If he admitted to some kinky cult ritual I was absolutely going to mace him in the face and run!
He followed the direction of my condemning finger with a raised brow. “That’s called being one with nature.”
“Well, don’t let me stop your communion with nature.” I promptly turned away, leaving him staring after me.
Thorne Bay Page 15