“Waiting and praying.”
“Waiting and praying for what?”
My arm had once again followed a mind of its own and was wrapped around Michelle’s waist. Her forearm was folded over top of mine . . . her fingers curved around my hand and squeezed gently.
“I’m waiting for this dream to end, and praying that it won’t.”
I felt her long hair brush against my neck as she leaned her head on my shoulder. “It’s not just your dream Eric, so let’s make sure it doesn’t end, OK?”
“Deal.” I squeezed her even tighter. She tilted her lips to my neck and gave me a soft, nibbling kiss.
“Besides,” she murmured, “I need to keep you around long enough to answer a biology question for me.”
My eyebrows rose as I turned to look at her questioningly.
“It’s about birds. I know that wasn’t your specialty in college, but I was hoping you’d still be able to help me.”
I could sense that I was being set up, but I couldn’t see where she was headed just yet.
Michelle continued, “I’ve heard through a reliable source that you were able to photograph one of the rarest avian species in existence.”
My eyebrows crunched together in confusion. “Huh?”
She pushed back and held meet at arm’s length. “My source told me that you have a picture of a species known as the ‘flying Owens.’ It’s a rare creature that is known for its ability to crash land on hard surfaces. They tell me that the only picture known to exist of this creature is in a field guide to western birds.”
The wheels all clicked together. My uncle was the only one who knew about that. He and Michelle had just spent, what, almost two or three days together. And he ratted me out.
“So, the old man sold me downriver, did he?”
“He couldn’t resist my charms. It only took a few minutes before I had him eating out of my hands.”
“I see. I’m guessing that the both of you spent the entire trip talking about me, at least when you weren’t invading military bases or escaping from ghouls in the back hallway of your office.”
“Most of it. You were a pretty interesting topic of conversation.” Her smile beamed so bright with reflected firelight that I almost blinked. “Besides,” she added, “I ratted you out to him as well.”
“With?”
“I told him about the ill-fated Saint Patrick’s Day keg party.”
Memories of being covered in frozen green slush jumped to the forefront of my mind and I began to chuckle. She joined in, and a moment later we were bumping shoulders and holding our guts with laughter. When we finally settled down, the stew was bubbling, so I split it between two large plastic bowls that I had swiped from the kitchen. The second can of stew was emptied into the pot and set near the fire. Michelle and I traded eager looks for almost three seconds before digging in. Both of us ate like we were famished, and before long the sound of our disposable sporks scraping the bottom of the bowls ricocheted off the rock wall. The second can soon joined the first one, and we mopped up every last morsel with slices of the squashed rye bread. A quick trip to the spring fetched enough water to clean our dishes. A second trip brought back another canteen full. It got warmed up and added to Max’s dog food, turning it into his own version of stew. He didn’t waste any time and chowed it down. After he finished, I reached into my backpack and got out his Barney blanket. With a slight groan indicative of my now full belly, I stood and helped Michelle to her feet. We walked over to the dragon rock, and I nosed toward the large hollow spot next to one of the jagged “eyes.” It was large enough that I could have scrunched underneath it for a partial shelter. “This is his favorite spot to sleep when we come up here,” I said as I unrolled the giant purple towel into the recess.
“More room in the tent for me.” Michelle’s voice came out with a barely detectable tremor of insincerity.
“You mean ‘us,’ don’t you?”
“Well, I don’t know. I mean you did give me a ring,” she moved her head in a semicircular motion, looking at the darker shadows that indicated the wall around the clearing, “and I guess you kind of took me out for dinner . . .”
The teasing was now evident in her voice tone as she continued. “But we haven’t gone to see a movie yet, or even out for drinks.”
“We’re going to catch the early movie—the real early movie—starting at sunrise on the flat rock. And I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I believe I might have seen a bottle of peach schnapps that tagged along in the food sack.”
Her eyes reflected the starlight as she looked up at me and attempted another southern drawl. “Why sir, I dare say that you’ve thought of everything.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for over twenty years.”
She leaned against me and pulled my lips down to hers. In a moment she was kissing me fiercely as we stood in the night shadow of the dragon rock. The intensity and passion of her lips’ caresses left trails of tingling vibrations with each feathery touch. It took all of my concentration just to stand upright. When she finally pulled away, I practically collapsed against the boulder that sheltered Max’s towel.
“I don’t suppose my fairytale castle comes complete with indoor plumbing, does it?”
“Sadly, no. But if you’ll follow me, I happen to know of a special oak tree down the hill that is in desperate need of company.”
We walked through the passage and down the hill with Max trailing behind us. When we were finished, we returned to the campfire. With the exception of the schnapps, I condensed all of our remaining foodstuffs back into the bag, and hung it from a length of firewood that I wedged into a crack between the boulders of the wall. It was just high enough to keep any wandering rodents out. Max would take care of anything larger. Michelle took out her contacts, and slipped on a pair of gold framed glasses. It was only the second time since eighth grade that I’d seen her wear glasses that weren’t designed to block out sunlight. The combination of red hair, green eyes, and firelight danced around the wire frames as she looked my way.
“Do I look like a geek?”
“You look like a teacher. A really, really hot teacher.”
“A teacher, huh?” She stood up, took my hand, and pulled me into the tent. “Well, in that case, anything that you do wrong, I’m going to make you do over.”
Once inside, we unzipped and smoothed out the sleeping bag and poncho liner. I stood on my knees and reached up to the top center of the tent, clicking on the miniature keychain light that I kept hanging from the nylon loop. It bathed the inside in a soft white glow that was bright enough to see by, but too dim to read a book. I didn’t have a book with me, anyhow. Our gun belts both came off and were pushed to the side. My boots and Michelle’s hiking shoes followed next. We slid back to the center of the tent, both of us on our knees this time, and just spent a moment looking at each other. I ran my left hand through the thick, loose tangle of her hair as my right hand slid underneath her sweatshirt and against the small of her back. There was no second layer of flannel. Her hands reached up to the back of my neck, and I caught an impish smile as it passed across her face.
“What was that smile for?”
She reached up and planted a pair of firm but gently searching kisses on my lips, triggering another cascade of excited butterflies in my stomach. And other places. When she pulled back, her eyes were closed, but her face displayed a huge, satisfied smile. She accompanied the smile with a long, deep breath.
“What?” I laughed.
“Just double checking.”
“What…”
“One of my own prayers has just been answered.”
“Mine too,” I cut in quickly with a wink.
“No, not that . . . I mean yes . . .” she stumbled over her words before shaking her head. “What I mean is that for as long as I’ve waited for this moment to happen, there was always this little fear in the back of my head that if, or when, it finally did—because we’ve been friends for so long�
��well, the fear was that I would just burst out laughing and ruin it all.”
“Laughing?”
“Because of the absurdity of it all . . .”
I knelt there, quiet and curious as she searched for the words.
“I mean,” she started, “we’ve both been dancing around this our entire lives, and short of that time at the conference when we were both plastered, there’s been nothing but roadblocks and SNAFU’s that get in our way each and every time we’ve taken a step—even a baby step—towards something more. We flirt, and then we flee. That’s been our pattern . . . our safety net.”
“And the laughter?”
“I guess it’s always been buried somewhere in my mind as a last ditch defensive wall. Kind of like if things didn’t work out or felt weird, I could just burst out laughing and we’d look at each other and say ‘ha ha . . . that was a good one.’”
I waited for a second before asking, “Well, did those kisses make you feel like laughing?”
“Definitely not . . . and for you?”
“I’m not entirely sure just yet. Maybe after a few hundred more I’ll have a better idea.”
“We better get started then.”
She dropped her hands to the hem of her sweatshirt, and with a single, fluid movement, peeled it up and over her head. Her long, slender torso was bare, with the exception of a green lace bra.
My face lit up at the sight of the delicate lime-colored fabric. “Oh my goodness, are you wearing . . .?”
She interrupted me with another kiss, and then slowly dropped backwards until she was lying on the camouflage poncho liner. My heart was pounding as the soft light revealed her fingers undoing the top button of her jeans.
“Why don’t you find out.” It was a statement, not a question.
I dropped to my hands and took over, slowly tugging the denim pants down her lean, muscular legs. It didn’t take long to reveal the cartoonish face of a goofy, brown dog. Shortly after that I got to her tattoo, and then my own goofy, black dog began to echo the panting and howls that were coming from the tent.
So that’s where we are. Sunrise is about fifteen minutes away, and the hot chocolate is simmering. I’ve got the biscuit dough mixed up and ready to bake, and the eggs are mostly thawed, with the exception of a few chunks still partly frozen in the center of the carton. Max is stretched out beside me here, and he’s in the process of enjoying some long overdue bonding time, which, from his point of view, is wholly devoted to me rubbing his tummy. I can hear some stirring inside the tent, so I’m going to stop recording for now. Later.
Chapter 36
“Hey there, sleepyhead.”
Michelle’s yawning, stretching form materialized next to the tent. “Mmmm.”
I stood up—involuntarily yawning in response to hers—and handed a cup of the liquid gold chocolate into her outstretched hands. “Don’t sit down yet,” I said, “I’ll be right back.” I disappeared into the tent and came out a moment later with the foam ground pad and the poncho liner. “Time for our movie.”
We walked down to the rock shelf, and I laid out the pad for us to sit on—long ways with Michelle sitting in front of me and reclining against my chest. The camouflage blanket was then wrapped around us, and we watched toward the southeast as the first blood-gold rays of sunlight reflected off the layers of clouds above the horizon. I don’t think either of us said a word for the next thirty minutes.
When the sun was fully up, I rubbed her shoulders underneath the blanket, enjoying the purrs of contentment that vibrated through her skin with each pressure point that I hit. “As much as I’d like to stay here, oh . . . forever . . . we’ve got a pretty full day ahead of us.”
“I know,” she sighed, chasing it moments later with another exhaled, “I know.”
We walked back to the campsite and cooked breakfast—biscuits with honey, mostly done scrambled eggs, and halfhearted attempts at toast on a stick. Max got the pieces that matched his fur. It was all washed down with copious amounts of hot chocolate, and then we both pitched in to clean up. I made another trip to the spring for enough water to put out the small fire, stirring the wet ashes with a stick to make sure they were all cold, and then stacked the wood we hadn’t burned against the wall for next time. When I turned around, Michelle's long arm was thrusting out of the tent’s zipper. Her finger was beckoning in a silent “come hither” motion. Who was I to argue?
It was almost 9:00 AM by the time we made it back to the cabin. The wind was picking up a little bit, bringing the distant scent of moisture as it came from the northwest. If I had to guess, I’d say that our unseasonably warm temperatures were going to evaporate rather quickly. We unloaded the camping gear from my truck, including the still unopened bottle of peach schnapps, and then gloved up. It took us almost an hour to move the bodies out to the far edge of the cleared area around my uncle’s garden, even using the front end loader on his old tractor. Most of that time, though, was filled with Michelle telling me about her encounter with Samantha, Garrett, and Melissa. After the bodies were moved, we hooked up a trailer to my truck, grabbed a come-along hand winch and retrieved the Gator. The rest of the time before lunch was occupied with cleaning and scrubbing the cabin. Both of us pitched in, and before long, the air inside positively reeked with the smell of bleach.
“Open the windows and let this place air out,” Michelle said as she emptied the last mop bucket full of gray water down the drain.
I went around and opened the windows, all three of them, and then followed it up by propping both the front and back door open. The generator was silent, obviously having run out of gas sometime during the night, so I filled it again and got it started. Inside the cabin, I kicked on the switch that activated the water pump, listening as the slight hum indicated that the tank in the ceiling was being topped off. A check on the status of the solar system’s battery bank showed they were charged and holding at ninety-eight percent. We stripped all the linens from the bed and added them to the pile of bloody towels and other filth from the cabin that was not worth the effort, or memory, to try and clean. I went out and torched it while Michelle claimed the first rights to a hot shower. The sheets and blankets went up in flames quickly, so I came back inside to wait my turn under the water. I stood in the living room; unintentionally focusing on several scuffs and marks in the wooden walls that I knew to be bullet holes. A glance upward brought the thick section of rope into view. It was still looped over the heavy rafter—a glaring reminder of Michelle’s captivity. My old Buck knife quickly severed that unwelcome token. Moments later it had joined the smoldering pile of cloth. A little diesel fuel and several large chunks of oak were added to the mound, guaranteeing its fate.
I went over to my laptop and turned it on, watching as it booted up to the desktop screen. My background image was a snapshot I’d taken last summer. It was a close-up view of the snarling face of an angry badger. One of my coworkers had used an editing program to make the badger’s eyes bulge out. I kept the resulting image because it accurately displayed my feelings after years of working with the “slap on the wrist, revolving door” court system. As I waited for all of the startup programs to load, I caught the pale scents of jasmine and vanilla. They were accompanied by a smoky-musky undertone, and I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, imprinting the aroma of Michelle’s perfume once again into my mind.
“Shower’s open,” she said as she pulled up a chair and sat next to me at the kitchen table. Another laptop computer was in her hands, and she plugged the power adapter into the same outlet that mine occupied. My questioning look was answered with a slight downturn of her lips.
“It’s Samantha’s. Maybe she was able to find something out before . . .” her words tapered off, fading into silence as she stared at the charcoal colored machine that rested, still clamshelled shut, on the table in front of her.
“Turn it on and let’s see.”
Michelle steadied herself with a few deep breaths, and then opened the laptop and
pressed the power button. A series of lights flashed above the keyboard, and then the black screen blinked twice. Instead of the normal startup screen or request for the owner’s logon, blocky green type bannered across the dark display.
FULL SYSTEM ENCRYPTION ENABLED
TYPE PASSWORD TO CONTINUE OR PRESS TAB + F3 FOR ASSISTANCE.
We both stared at the scrolling marquee; the dumb looks that mirrored on our faces confirmed that neither of us knew a whole lot about computers. I pointed at the chunky lettering as it slid across the computer screen. “Do that.”
Her finger deftly hit the tab button, and then moved up to press the F3 key. Nothing happened.
“I think you have to do them both at the same time. Hold down the tab button while you’re pressing F3.”
She did it again, using two fingers this time, and the flying print changed.
Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending Page 38