by Roh Morgon
I smile in spite of myself. Maybe I did miss her a little.
The wind blows her kinky hair across her face, and as she raises her hand to push it back, she looks up and sees me. Grinning, she bends and stuffs the book into her backpack, swings it up onto her shoulder, and starts toward the car.
She looks much healthier than when I last saw her. Her hair is sun-bleached, almost blonde now. Her skin carries a summer glow under her freckles, a vast improvement over the pasty white she was a couple months ago after she almost bled to death.
Blood. Concern suddenly whips through me. Whatever it is about her that mutes the beast, I certainly hope it’s still working or this will be a very short visit.
She stops by my side of the car a moment, looking at me quizzically. I raise my eyebrows at her, not sure what she wants. She frowns, shakes her head, and walks around to the passenger side. After dumping her pack in the back seat, she climbs into the front.
“Hi,” she says, faint traces of the frown wrinkling her forehead.
“Hi.” I carefully take a shallow breath. No reaction from the beast.
Good.
Shifting the car into gear, I turn and head for the exit.
“What’s wrong? Are you that pissed off that I’m here?”
“What are you talking about?” I glance at her, puzzled.
“I haven’t seen you in two months, not since the day you rushed off, and you couldn’t even get out of the car to give me a hug?”
Oh.
“Sandy, do you recall me being much of a hugger? Cuz, I don’t. And I’m not.”
Especially if I think I might kill you.
“Yeah. Okay. Whatever.”
I slam on the brakes and look at her.
“All right. I’m… sorry. I forgot.” Her tone softens.
“Forgot what?” I frown.
“Forgot that you’re not… like everyone else.” She pauses.
Damn right I’m not.
“Can we just start over?” She looks at me hopefully.
“Okay.” Easing the car out of the driveway, we head down the street.
“So how’ve you been? Anything exciting going on in your life?” she asks lightheartedly.
We talk every week on the phone and I always tell her the same thing.
“Fine. Nothing in particular.”
Shaking my head, I pull into a driveway half a block from the truck stop.
“Hampton Inn?” Sandy asks, puzzled.
“Sure. Thought it would be a treat. They’re usually nice.”
“But what about the cabin? Can’t we stay there?”
“It’s pretty rustic. I don’t think you’d like it.” Parking the car, I shut it off and look at her.
“But it sounds so cool, out there in the forest and the mountains. I was really looking forward to a change in scenery.”
“Sandy, it’s actually more than rustic. It’s primitive. There’s no heating, no electricity, no running water. And the bathroom is an outhouse behind the cabin.”
“Cool! That sounds awesome. You didn’t tell me that you were doing the pioneer thing! What a fun way to live!” She grins at me.
“I don’t think you’ll like it. There’s no TV, radio, or internet. I’m afraid it’ll be pretty boring.”
“Well, what do you do?”
Besides hunting, killing, and drinking blood? Not much.
“I read and hike a lot.”
“That sounds like a perfect vacation to me. I really don’t want to stay in some stuffy ol’ hotel.”
Neither do I, but at least I’d have my own room and privacy.
“It’s a three-mile hike from the cabin to the car and an hour drive into town. So we really can’t run to the store if you need something.”
“Then I’ll just have to do without. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
No, probably not.
“Come on. It’ll be fun. It’ll give me a chance to figure out what to do about Danny.”
Good luck with that. Hasn’t helped my situation at all.
I take a big breath—one last check on the beast. It doesn’t bat an eye at her scent. I suppose this could work. But the food thing will be a little awkward, both hers and mine.
“We’ll have to do some shopping then. I don’t really have anything to eat. And as I mentioned, there’s no electricity, so there’s no refrigerator and no microwave. You’ll have to make everything from scratch and cook it on a wood stove.” Hopefully this will discourage her.
“Great! Sounds just like camping, only with a roof over our heads. It does have a roof, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it has a roof, and four walls and a door. And that’s about it. So, yeah, it’s a lot like camping.”
“Well, let’s go. We can stop at the Albertson’s across from the truck stop.” She grins.
Shaking my head, I start the car and head back the way we came.
“Can I ask how long you were planning on staying?” I try to suppress my irritation.
“About a week. School starts on Monday the twenty-seventh.”
A week? Cooped up in one room with her? Well, if the beast doesn’t want to now, it’ll likely be ready to kill her by the end of the week. And if it doesn’t, I probably will.
Our last stop is the sporting goods store to get a large pack so I can haul her food to the cabin. The sleeping bag she brought looks warm enough for our chilly nights, but she’ll need a thick sleeping mat to insulate her from the cold floor.
Her enthusiasm hasn’t dampened at all. If anything, it’s only increased, and I can tell that I’ll need to take a run once she gets settled in the cabin.
We make the long drive back into the mountains to the sounds of her exclamations at the scenery along the way. I really start looking at it for the first time since arriving here. She’s right. Flathead National Forest and Glacier National Park are quite breathtaking. Guess I just hadn’t lifted the veil of death long enough to notice them before.
Arriving at the lodge where I leave the car, we park and get out. After lashing Sandy’s sleeping mat to her backpack, I fill mine with the food and supplies we bought. I tie the saucepan and the small frying pan to the outside of my pack, then glance over at Sandy.
She’s staring up at the small peak that overlooks the lodge, a look of wonder brightening her face.
“You ready?” I ask as I close the trunk and lock the car.
“Oh yeah. This is going to be so fun.” She turns to me smiling, then leans down to my pack. “Here, I’ll help you put this on. I think we bought too much stuff, as usual.”
“No, that’s fine. I don’t need any help.”
But I’m too late.
She grabs the frame with both hands and can barely get the pack off the ground.
“Holy shit! You can’t carry this three miles. I can’t even lift it.”
Giving her a sidelong glance, I pick it up with one hand, slip my arm into the strap and sling it around onto my back, then slide my other arm through. With a big shrug, I settle it into place and fasten the buckle across my chest.
“Oh my God, you did not just pick that up like that. That’s some crazy shit!” Her green eyes are as big as silver dollars.
Snorting, I turn and head up the trail.
CHAPTER 24
Sandy surprises me with her lack of complaints as we make our way up steep slopes and through dense brush. I forgot how tough she is.
It’s nearly dark when we reach the cabin. I’ve been testing the air for the last mile or so, checking for any sign of bear, but all seems to be okay. I’ve cleared out most of the bears within a few miles of the cabin, partially from dietary preference, but also for territorial reasons. I really don’t want them hanging out anywhere close to where I sleep.
“Here we are. Home sweet home.”
“Wow… this is awesome! A real log cabin!” She pauses as she looks it over. “Well, I’m glad we finally made it. I was starting to wonder if you were lost or something.”
&nb
sp; Not likely. That only happens when I’ve let the beast run amok in a feeding frenzy. Then I wake up in the morning not knowing where the hell I am or how I got there. Kinda like a drunk having a blackout. Fortunately, that doesn’t happen very often.
Unlocking the padlock, I open the door and walk in, Sandy right behind me.
“Stay here. I’ll light the lamps.”
“Good, cuz it’s frickin’ dark in here. I don’t know how you can see anything.”
Unfastening the cross straps, I ease the pack to the floor next to the cupboard. I walk back across the room and take down the bear-claw necklace hanging on the wall above the headboard, then slide a box out from under the bed and drop it in there. I don’t feel like answering her questions about it.
Picking up the lighter, I quickly go around the room and light all the lamps. A soft amber glow brightens the room.
“Wow, this is really… cozy. It’s not much bigger than my bedroom.” She surveys the room as she slips her own backpack off and sets it on the tiny two-person table that shares the wall with the cupboard.
I walk over and, opening the wood-burning stove, stuff it with newspaper and kindling, then light it.
“You can hang your backpack on that.” I point to the large nail in the wall that’s next to the little free-standing closet at the foot of the bed, then continue.
“You have your choice. You can either sleep in the bed or in the sleeping bag on the floor in front of the stove. You’ll be much warmer there, but the bed will be softer. It’s up to you.”
I start to remind her of my odd hours, then frown as I realize she’s going to be right here with me every morning while I’m dead to the world. I can’t handle that. Looks like I’ll be spending the week sleeping in trees. Crap.
She looks at me funny and I realize she’s had the same thought about my strange sleep.
“I’ll just take the spot on the floor. That’ll be fine,” she says somewhat awkwardly.
This is going to be a weird week.
Shaking my head, I add a couple chunks of wood to the stove. I’m going to be doing a lot of wood chopping over the next few days. I don’t usually run the stove except for right before I go to bed. She’s going to need it all night.
“You can unpack the food and put it in that cupboard. I’m going outside to get more firewood.”
As I shove the last few logs against the wall to make room for more, I hear her open the cupboard door and take a sharp breath. Glancing up, I see her staring at the empty shelves.
Shit. I didn’t think about that.
“Uh, Sunny?”
“Don’t ask,” I snap. “Just put everything away except what you want for dinner.”
I walk across the room and out the door.
Damn it. She probably thought I was just low on food when we were shopping, and that I was getting disposable dishes and utensils because I only had enough for myself. Can’t imagine what’s going through her head right now.
Picking up the axe, I grab a log and set it on the stump to split it into smaller pieces.
THUNK!
I toss the chunks into a pile and pick up the next log.
THUNK!
When the pile has become a small mountain and I feel I can no longer delay going back inside, I grab an armful of wood and walk through the door.
Sandy is stirring what must be soup in the saucepan that’s on top of the stove, and the smell triggers faint rumblings of nausea. She steps aside as I come in and set the wood down. Wrinkling my nose, I open the stove door, stir the coals, and add a couple more logs.
Without looking at her, I walk across to the table to put the battery in the new lantern I bought for her. Flickering lamp light doesn’t cause me any problems when I read, but I wasn’t sure how well it would work for her. Yet, when I pick up the lantern, its weight indicates she’s already put the battery in. She’s done the same with both the big and small flashlights.
Good. She needs to be self-sufficient while she’s here, because I don’t think I’m going to be able to stick around much. I really don’t want to be under the microscope, even hers.
I feel her eyes on me as I walk back over to the other side of the room. Opening my closet, I pull out a dark turtleneck and a pair of black jeans, then keeping my back to her, quickly change. I turn around as I’m adjusting the collar and see that she has two bowls with spoons on the table.
“I’m going out for a while, but first I need to show you the outhouse. Bring a flashlight and a roll of toilet paper with you.”
Setting the hot pan on a folded dishtowel in the center of the table, she nods.
“Let me get my coat,” she says quietly.
I nod and wait for her by the door.
She shrugs into her jacket and grabs the toilet paper and flashlight. Opening the door, I go outside and she follows me out. As I automatically test the air, I become aware of another complication.
Shit. This is turning into a real pain in the ass.
If Sandy comes out here in the middle of the night to use the outhouse, what if that bear is nearby, and I’m not?
Gritting my teeth, I walk behind the cabin to the outhouse, Sandy shining the light ahead of me. I open the door and step back so she can see in.
I brushed all the webs and dirt out of it earlier when I came out here to chop wood, but it’s still creepy and gross. She may have no problem heeding the warning I’m about to give her.
“Wow. Real pioneer style. Maybe I’ll just use the woods.” Sandy peers inside, grimacing.
“Not where I might step in it.” Of course, I’d smell it first, but the idea is revolting. That’s one thing I don’t miss about being human.
“Not for that. I’ll… I’ll get used to the outhouse. It just looks… scary at night.”
“Well, that leads me to an important point. There are bears out here, and you need to be very careful when you’re outside, especially if I’m not here. And I would strongly suggest that you not step out of the cabin at night—at all—unless I’m with you. Understand?”
“Bears? Yeah, no problem. I can’t imagine coming out here at night by myself. If it wasn’t bears, I’d be waiting for Jason or Freddy or someone to get me.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“They’re serial killers from horror movies.” She laughs. “You know, Friday the 13th, Nightmare on Elm Street?”
“Oh. Well, I don’t go to the movies much anymore, and when I did, I didn’t like horror.”
And now I am one.
Holding my hand out, I glance at the toilet paper and she hands it to me. I quickly string it onto the little rope and hook the looped end back over the bent nail.
Pointing to the large nail protruding halfway up the wall, I put my hand out for the flashlight. It takes her a second to understand, then she hands it to me. I slide the short lanyard hanging from it onto the nail.
“Oh, okay. Got it.” She nods as I hand her back the flashlight.
I turn to walk back to the cabin.
“Uh, Sunny? Do you… mind waiting out here for a few minutes?” Embarrassment deepens the color of her cheeks.
“No problem. I’ll be right over there.” I point to a tree a short distance away, then head in that direction to give her as much privacy as possible.
“Thanks.” She disappears inside, then closes and latches the door. The flashlight clanks against the wall as she hangs it.
This is… much more difficult than I imagined. I realize that we only spent a couple days together while settling her into the apartment. I was gone much of the time and could claim that I’d eaten elsewhere without question. I didn’t have to worry about her being eaten by a bear. And the lock on the bedroom door secured my privacy as well as my belongings.
The door creaks open and Sandy steps out, the beam of the flashlight bouncing on the ground ahead of her. She shines it in my direction as I push off the tree and start walking back to the cabin. Pulling open the cabin door, I follow her as sh
e walks inside.
“Sandy.”
Unzipping her jacket, she turns to look at me.
“I need to leave for a while. You should bolt the door after I’m gone.”
The look of disbelief and hurt on her face forces me to hesitate a second as it registers in my dead brain. Shaking my head, I reach for the door.
“Wait,” she says with a catch in her voice.
Taking a deep breath, I turn to face her.
“Can’t you wait a little while? I mean, I just got here. I thought we could talk and spend the evening together. I even made soup for dinner.”
“I’m not hungry. Knock yourself out.” As soon as the words escape my lips, I realize how harsh and unfeeling they sound.
Tears begin to fill her green eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like that. Thanks for making dinner. I’ll… I’ll stay and have some soup.”
Sandy nods, wiping away the tears, then takes off her jacket and hangs it on the peg next to the door. She walks over to the table and scoops up a ladleful of soup from the pan.
“That’s enough for me,” I tell her after she pours it into a paper bowl.
She tightens her mouth and fills the second bowl, then sets the bowls, plastic spoons, and napkins at either end of the tiny table.
This is going to be really weird. I walk over and sit down as she takes her place in the other chair.
“It’s minestrone. You said you like minestrone when we were picking stuff out at the store.”
I nod. I probably did say that, not expecting that I might actually have to eat it.
“Oh, I forgot the bread. Do you want some?” She bounces up and turns around to the cupboard.
“No thanks. I’m not much of a bread eater.”
She gets a slice out and puts the rest back. There’s not even enough room on the table for the loaf.
Sandy sits back down and takes a spoonful.
“Ooh, it’s really hot,” she says as she blows on it.
I study the reeking bowl in front of me. I’m not sure how to handle this. I guess the best way is to get it down all at once and hold it for as long as I can before heading outside to the “bathroom.”