by D M Shepard
“Ulrik and Dick probably cleared off the porch when they came out and... cleaned up,” Rose whispered. She flexed her fingers and squared her shoulders. Increasing her stride, she crossed the clearing to the main log cabin. Using her poles, she clicked off her skis. Dragging the sled up the short flight of stairs, she heaved a relieved breath when she reached the porch. The ancient beams creaked under her feet as she eased off her pack. She sighed, more frost collecting around the mouth of her face mask as she set her heavy burden on the bench next to the door.
She rubbed her aching shoulders and looked back at the Snowcat trail. I made it before dark, she assured herself, trying to assuage the unease tickling at the back of her mind. She pulled her revolver from its holster and tugged her headlamp on, over her balaclava. The stiff buttons on the combination lock made her curse under her breath as she struggled to manipulate the code. Turning in the freezing air, the decrepit hinges screeched in protest as she wrenched the door open. Holding her weapon high, she entered and searched the gloomy interior. Creeping through each room, she listened for sounds of intruders, either animal or otherwise. Satisfied that nothing was disturbed, and everything was still securely boarded up, she went back into the living area of the lodge. The vintage Coleman lantern hanging by the cast iron stove gave a hiss in the silence as she lit it.
The lamp glowed to life, casting warm orange light and shadows around the room. She assessed the pile of wood in the steel box by the door.
Enough to heat this room for tonight if I close all the other doors off. I’ll need to melt water too, she thought. I should collect more before it gets too dark. Who knows how much the temperature will dip later? Tomorrow could be even worse. And I’ll need more when I ski out to the service cabin near Dan Creek. May as well get started now. I’ll bring my stuff in and get a fire going.
She dragged her skis, pack and toboggan inside. The grating sound as the sled scraped across the floor frazzled her nerves. She unlashed her Winchester .306 from the rest of her gear. Thinking of the creepy feeling she had while she skied in, she clicked the safety, “off,” and placed the rifle on the rack adjacent to the front door. She unloaded the dry goods and her packages into the cupboards in the kitchen, emptying the sled to haul wood. Next, she wandered over to the other side of the cast-iron stove to the bed platform set back in an alcove. The weathered bunk of hewn birch and diamond willow creaked beneath the weight of her pack.
Her gut sank as she spied a sleeping bag with familiar initials embroidered at the bottom: BSC. Alongside the platform sat an empty bottle of cheap, generic whiskey. She picked it up with the tips of her fingers and carried it back into the kitchen. The loud, clunk as she chucked it into the waste bin made her jump. She looked around the vacant lodge, skin prickling.
Rose thought back again to the letter Penny had written on her deathbed, tucked into her journal.
“Wow, Bryan was here,” she said aloud to herself, her voice echoing in the desolate dwelling. “I wonder why Penny thought I could find him when the troopers couldn’t.” She chafed her arms at the lonely sound.
I can—if his remains are still salvageable, and out at one of the remote cabins, she assured herself. They don’t have the resources to search such an expansive, remote area. And we all grew up out here. I know the places he might go, especially with the help from the information in Penny’s letter. So would Ulrik. Maybe I should have asked him to come along.
Her body warmed at the thought of spending the nights alone out here with the tall, handsome, dark-haired man she’d idolized since she was a girl. She shook her head, a laugh escaping her lips, as she glanced at the trash bin once more.
“No, Ulrik hated Bryan even more than I did,” she muttered aloud. Then she added in her head, he would try to talk me out of going. But even he would agree with me, this is the best time of year to cross the spruce bogs and rivers. But do I want to go up the Nizina, aka: “Headless Ravine,” alone?
Stop that, that’s just a story Ulrik’s Nana used to tell us when we were kids. The only bad things out in the woods are the moose, wolverine, wolves and bear. I know how to deal with those.
She eyed the bottle of alcoholic gut-rot again, thinking of Bryan’s constant run-ins with the Troopers and Penny’s desperate wish for him to stay sober. She swallowed hard. She saved so many of us, me included, but she couldn’t save her own son from his addictions. She deserved so much more. I should have told her how much I loved her.
Her thoughts swirled as she contemplated her situation. She studied the weathered logs and chinking as she ran her fingers over the smooth granite countertop. She noted the cast iron pots, still hung from their familiar nails set into the logs. The cabinets that Miss Penny’s father had made by hand still stood against the far wall. She had come here just two or three summers ago to help re-paint them the olive-green color. The door to the downstairs bedroom was shut, but she knew that room by heart, having slept many nights there, being rocked to sleep by either Penny, Ulrik, or Karen after being rescued from her own broken home. She turned back toward the door. Her guts clenched at the sight of the dark stain visible in the lantern light on the middle of the floor.
Penny, that’s where she...
Rose put her hand to her mouth, then she squared her shoulders. “Build a fire with what’s here,” she ordered herself. “Then bring in wood and buckets of snow before I lose all the light. The last thing I want to do is flounder in the dark, through those deep drifts, with a head lamp on. I can think about Penny, how she died, and Bryan and the plan to find his remains later. I can even clean this mess up tonight, if I melt enough snow. Not like I’ll have anything else to do other than read a book and sleep once night falls.”
A pale, evanescent cloud rose in the air as she expelled her breath, reminding her that it wasn’t getting any warmer while she stood there. Turning her attention to the potbelly stove against the wall, she focused on building a good fire.
Log and kindling loaded into the hearth, she struck a match, and sat back on her heels. The old, dry, logs crackled and popped as the orange flames took hold. She smiled and rubbed her arms once more, adjusting the vent to draw smoke up the flue. Her skin prickled, and she looked around the room, almost as if expecting to see something watching from the shadows.
“Stop that!” she told herself, throwing up her hands. “You checked everything. Get wood before the temperature drops further.”
She clicked her headlamp back on and grabbed an old pair of wooden snowshoes from the downstairs bedroom. Re-attaching her sled to her waist, she dragged it through the deep drifts to the woodshed on the south side of the lodge, hauling two loads. She paused once or twice in her work; certain she heard a noise coming up the trail. All she could hear when she focused was the distant howl of a wolf, or the gentle breeze rustling through the forest. Otherwise, all was still.
She deposited one load of wood in the box adjacent to fireplace, then the other outside the door to the cabin. She filled buckets with snow and set them on the stove to start melting. She went back out onto the porch, hanging the snowshoes on a hook attached to the outer wall.
Her eyes scanned the vacant clearing surrounding the homestead. The copse of spruce and birch made convoluted shapes in the gloom. They glistened like opaline gems from the faint starlight that twinkled in the clear, cold, night above. The faded, antique Coca-cola thermometer next to the door already read 15 below in the beam of her headlamp.
Damn, I’m in for a chilly night, -15 and it’s only six o’clock.
She bolted the cumbersome wooden door behind her, attempting to lock away her unease. Clumps of ice clicked against the floor as she kicked off her boots on the mat by the door. Tugging off her balaclava, headlamp and goggles she hung them on the sturdy bronze hooks embedded in the log wall. Her parka and snow pants crinkled as she removed them as well, dusting off the moisture and remnants of icy powder. Steam rose in slow, ghostly waves, as she draped them over a chair near the fire. She readjusted her
belt holding her handgun over her fleece leggings. She pulled bulky, wool socks from her pack along with a clean, dry T-shirt and sweater.
Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air. A sickly-sweet stench of rot, permeated the room. She searched the kitchen and living area, trying to find the source of the putrescent odor.
Probably just a dead vole or marmot. Now that the room is warming up, I can smell it. I hope the cans of disinfectant are warm enough. I don’t want to have to deal with that smell the whole time I’m here. I’ll find it after I change. I need to get out of these sweaty clothes, she thought, shivering in the still chilly cabin. The fire had warmed things substantially, but it would be some time before the room got warm. She dipped a finger in the pots of melting water.
Still cold. I want to wash up before I put on a fresh sweater. She crouched down to throw a few more logs into the stove. She paused, log halfway into the flames, goosebumps rising on the back of her neck.
“There is a noise coming up the trail,” she said aloud as she shoved the wood into the fire and slammed the iron door shut. Dropping her hand to the gun at her waist, she scrutinized the front window.
“Why didn’t I think to remove the boards?” she asked herself as she rose to her feet, eyeing the rough plywood covering the glass on both the inside and out.
Her heart pounded faster as the thumping, sliding and heavy breathing got closer. Hand trembling, she pulled her pistol. Footsteps clunked on the porch and the doorknob twitched.
“Who’s there?” she demanded, gripping the revolver. Aiming at the door with both hands, she planted her feet, bracing herself if she needed to fire. “Identify yourself!”
“Open up, Rose! It’s me, Ulrik,” a deep voice bellowed.
Her jaw dropped. She re-holstered her .44 and sprinted to the door, hands clumsy as she rushed to unfasten the deadbolt. Ulrik stood on the threshold, kicking the snow off his bulky winter boots and gaiters. His two hulking malamutes sniffed the air behind him as they wandered the clearing, investigating scents in the silvery blanket of white in the yard. She stepped back, heart fluttering, breath coming fast now as she gazed up at the mountain of a man, ebony eyes blazing as he looked her over through his cold-weather gear. She backed into the kitchen, crossing her arms over her chest. He stomped across the threshold, powdery snow flying in a fine, shimmering spray as he threw back his hood and tore off his face mask.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Coming all the way out here? Alone? This time of year?” he shouted as he gestured with his hands. His bronzed, high cheekbones turned scarlet.
At first her heart sunk at his words. Then her pride flared at the implication in his comments. Putting one hand on her hip she poked the air with the other.
“What do you mean? You say that like I’m clueless. I’m as capable in the backcountry as you are. Hell, you taught me everything I know,” she shouted back. “I have my .44 and my Winchester. I can defend myself against any predator, four or two-legged.”
*****
Ulrik caught his breath at her retort, taking in her flashing hazel eyes and golden hair in front of the fire as she stood her ground, defiant. “I—I’m sorry. You’re right. I sometimes forget you’re different, Little Besiini,” he conceded, running his hands through his thick, black hair then scratching his chin, rough bristle of his short beard tickling his fingers. Her porcelain skin flushed a deep rose at the use of his personal nickname for her. She pursed her lips; eyes narrowed as she glared back at him.
The hair prickled on the back of his neck. A pair of yellow eyes blinked from the open doorway leading to the darkened bedroom behind her. His blood ran cold as he made out sharp claws in obscurity.
“Rose,” he said, dropping his voice. He eased his rifle off his shoulder. “Don’t move. Stay perfectly still.”
Her bright, hazel eyes widened, but she froze in place. He closed the distance with a steady slow stride as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. The Savage .338 made a loud click in the silence as he drew back the bolt and chambered a round. He could now make out a shaggy, hulking shape silhouetted in the room behind her. It crouched in the shadows, glittering blade-like nails catching the occasional flicker of orange flame. He placed the barrel of the .338 over her left shoulder, aiming for where the baleful tawny eyes still blinked out of the dark recess. The cold steel clung to the sweaty, pink fleece fabric of her sweater.
“When I count to three,” he whispered, gazing directly into her eyes, “drop to the ground. Pull your .44. Roll to your right, okay?”
She inclined her head slightly; her full coral lips formed the word, “okay”.
“One...Two...Three—”
CLOSE ENCOUNTER
Ancient wood floorboards creaked as she dropped to the floor. She rolled against the rough planks and drew her gun. The only thing louder than the crack of gunfire was the nerve-grating screech from the back room. A hulking form tore past them out the front door in a dark blur, screaming the whole way. Loki and Thor snapped and snarled as it streaked through the clearing. Powder flew in a spray of brilliant crystals as they chased the beast into the brace of trees. Ulrik sprinted to the door, noting the glimmering trail of black blood in pristine snow. He scanned the copse of spruce and birch around the homestead, eyes adjusting in the obscurity. Brilliant white stars twinkled overhead in the velvet navy sky. Snapping branches and the howls of his dogs crackled in the darkness.
He heaved his pack from the sled and slung it over his shoulder. His shrill whistle cut the night as he summoned his furry companions. Heeding his call, both animals came bounding back through the snow. Their tongues lolled from their gaping mouths as they dodged between his legs and into the cabin.
He slammed the door and threw the bolt, mind reeling. Rose stood at the threshold to the bedroom, lantern in one hand, .44 in the other. The steel barrel of the revolver shook as her hands trembled. She pointed it at the black splatter mark oozing down the bedroom wall. The lantern swayed as she shook her head.
“What—what was that Ulrik? It wasn’t here when I got here—I—I checked. All the doors were shut,” she stuttered, lips pale. She put a quaking hand over her mouth. “When I got wood. I left the front door open so the fire would draw—when I brought the first load in. And the buckets of snow.” She motioned to the fireplace behind her with the lantern. “But what was it?”
“I don’t know,” he said. He tossed his pack down and crossed to where she stood. Her eyes darted back and forth as she searched the room. She clutched her .44 in one hand, shaking as she tried to slide the weapon into the leather holster. He helped steady her hand then held her by the shoulders. “Possibly some kind of wolverine, a deformed one.”
She shook her head, braid flipping behind her, then gazed down. His eyes followed hers. Loki and Thor sniffed and pawed at the blood stains left by the creature.
“But—but,” she stammered, “That animal had a long tail. Even though it was hairy, it almost looked like—a person.”
He squeezed her shoulders, “I don’t know,” he reiterated, “but it’s gone now. We can track it if we want to in the morning. But for tonight we should rest.”
She sighed and nodded, head sagging. “I’m not sure I can sleep after that,” she said. Her eyes widened as she shuddered, “Penny! That thing! Do you think that thing is what hurt her?” she exclaimed as she pointed to the dark stain. She didn’t resist as he pulled her back from the door and closed it.
He placed his fingers under her chin, “There’s no way to know if that’s what mauled Penny. But try not to think about it anymore. Things will be fine, Little Besiini. Loki and Thor will stand watch. Nothing gets past them.” At the mention of their names the malamutes stopped their examination of the trail left behind by the creature and perked up their furry ears, listening attentively for a command from their master.
She cocked her head to the side as she rubbed her neck, “Little Bessini—why do you always call me ‘Little Owl’, Ulrik? I’m not a scrawny girl
anymore.”
“I know you’re not,” he said with a grin. He reached out and ran a hand over her hair, smoothing the wisps that escaped her braid. “Mrs. Iverson told me you came out here by yourself.”
“No wonder she kept stalling when I was trying to leave this afternoon. She ratted me out.” Rose said, coral lips turning up at the corners.
“She did indeed,” Ulrik said, continuing to hold her gaze. “She called me as soon as you got there.”
“Why didn’t she tell me that she talked to you?” she asked, hands on her hips.
“Who knows,” he lied. He added in his head as he shuffled his feet, Because I told her not to. Because I knew if she told you, you would get angry and leave without me anyway. I was hoping I could catch you and talk you out of going. God I’m so glad I got here in time, before that thing could hurt you. Whatever that was. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you.
He stood there staring at her silently, touching her chin with his fingers, he drew a long breath and let go.
“When I told her I was coming after you, she sent me along with some of her bear chipotle chili and homemade fry-bread. They’re in my pack. Can you heat the food on the stove while I make sure everything’s secure for the night? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
Her cheeks turned scarlet and her eyes sparkled. “Sounds like a deal. Better than the crappy, canned goop I picked up in Los Anchorage on the way here,” she said. Her eyes slid to the wooden sleeping platform, scanning the shadows. Ulrik observed her as she adjusted the gun on her belt, trying to collect herself.