Winter Prey

by T. M. Simmons

  One thought did struggle through: this would be a special season.

  Even that sensation was swallowed quickly as It reached for a choice inner organ….

  Chapter 5

  After a morning walk, keeping to the roadway she'd traveled in on, then a vigorous shoveling session, Kymbria began settling in. She stored away her supplies and cleaned the dusty cabin. She even moved a pile of wood from the garage to beside the back door and built a blazing fire in the immense stone fireplace in the living room, something her family had always done even on cool summer nights.

  She also attempted to call Len Skinaway twice, shaking her head in frustration when his voice mail picked up the second time and she had to resort to leaving another message. She didn't know much about the maintenance man, but from the little she recalled, he lived alone, his family grown, his marriage a divorce casualty. If he didn't return her call soon, she'd call Amber to see if she could give her the name of someone to at least start the snowmobiles for her.

  Or maybe Keoman could help her out, whenever they decided to meet. Her call to him had gone to voice mail, too, and she hadn’t left a message. He wasn't expecting her for a day or so yet, and she was benefiting from the healing solitude right now. Enjoying what she hoped was a chance to allow her emotions to ready themselves for the next phase of restoration.

  She hadn't mentioned Len's negligence to her mother when she called to check in — again. When the conversation started to veer toward the shape things were in, Kymbria asked to "speak" to Risa. No sense adding to her mother's worries. She could handle things like this herself.

  Late that afternoon, Kymbria bundled up, and she and Scarlet ambled down the road once more, a somewhat boring trek this time despite the beauty of the snow-covered landscape. In the morning, she would dig out a pair of snowshoes and take to the woods. The setter might wallow in the drifts, but maybe she could find a game trail that wouldn't be so hard on her dog.

  As she and the setter reached the junction where the private road leading to the cabin connected to the county road, Kymbria frowned. Even with Scarlet along, she should have seen another animal or two, maybe even a few deer this time of day. On the walk back, she made a point of watching for tracks in the snow. She recognized plenty of bird tracks, and now that she was looking closer, saw a deer trail cross the road. A large buck, according to the tracks, and it appeared to be moving at a run, given the length between the prints.

  Then snow showered her, followed by a chittering sound high up in the trees. Kymbria stared upward and laughed at a squirrel traveling through the treetops. She grabbed a handful of snow, packed it tight, and threw it, with no hope of actually hitting the furry gray squirrel. When the snowball fell, it never touched the ground. Scarlet jumped high and snatched it, then stared at Kymbria with as much a look of puzzlement on her face as a dog could have.

  "Silly," Kymbria said around her giggles. "That's not the same as the ball we play catch with at home. No wonder it fell apart in your mouth. Here."

  She packed another snowball and tossed it ahead of her, laughing in joy as the setter raced after it, trying to catch it before it fell. They alternated between walking and racing each other back to the cabin. Once there, she lingered outside on the high bank beside the lake to watch the sunset, her favorite part of Northwood days. Shots of brilliant orange, magenta and yellow peppered the western sky with a fiery show that matched Kymbria's mood of contentment. Already the wilderness was starting to heal her. Her body was pleasantly tired after a day of physical labor and isolation far from civilization's stress.

  She desperately missed Risa, though. But she kept reminding herself what she was doing was even more for her daughter than herself. She needed to be a mother Risa could count on, look up to, hopefully pattern her own life after. Yet she'd already decided she could in no way stay here the entire two weeks Keoman had told her to plan for. She'd have to return home for at least one overnight trip.

  When the sunset faded, Kymbria called Scarlet into the cabin. While Kymbria removed her heavy clothing, the setter curled up on the thick braided rug near the hearth. Kymbria re-stocked the fire with fresh logs, replaced the fire screen, then entered the kitchen. A few minutes later, hot brandy toddy in hand, she walked through the high-ceilinged room to the sun porch her father had enclosed along the front of the cabin. There, she opened the heavy curtains wide.

  Kymbria settled in a comfortable stuffed lounge chair beside the vast windows that overlooked the immense lake, now iced and covered with snow. The moon was rising, and its light offered a scene nearly as stunning as the sunset. She sipped her drink as the light played with shadow, black and various shades of gray.

  Tomorrow she would call Keoman. Tomorrow she would worry about the snowmobiles. Tonight she would keep the unpleasant memories at bay in favor of replacing the space in her mind with recollections of the fun and enchantment of summers and short winter vacations at the lake. Years with her family during her childhood, and later, her teenage companions.

  One summer would remain a buried memory, however, not unveiled for examination.

  Something far across the lake drew Kymbria's attention. She couldn't see the cabin over there due to the thick trees bordering the lakeshore, just a plume of smoke curling into the night sky. Someone else was up here, also. No surprise. Lots of the summer people slipped away now and then during the winter to escape their stressful city lives. At the moment, she didn't recall who owned that cabin. Growing up, she’d known each and every family, every kid her own age, around the lake. Things had changed over the years.

  Things always changed.

  For the better…for the worse.

  Tonight is for good thoughts.

  She stood and headed for the kitchen to renew her toddy, then flinched when the weird shrill of the Northwood phone system echoed through the high-ceilinged room. Forestalling a stab of preliminary fright, which could possibly deteriorate into an episode that released contained memories, she hurried to answer. The old-fashioned Northwood system had no Caller ID, but only one person knew she was already here, and she was late checking in.

  "Sorry, Mom," she hastened without a preliminary hello and before the anticipated scolding began. "Calling you was the next thing on the top of my to-do list. Honestly."

  "At least they turned on the cabin phone, as promised," Niona said, proving Kymbria’s instinct as to the caller's identity correct. "I would have tried your other phone next."

  "Sorry to have worried you," Kymbria apologized again. "Scarlet and I are fine, the same as we were this morning. It's gorgeous up here, and I'm so glad I came."

  "Things are in shape, then? You haven't found any problems at the cabin now that you've been there a while?"

  Better not to dodge that bullet again. If her mother found out, she would be hurt by Kymbria's dishonesty, perhaps even angry.

  "Well, now that you mention it," Kymbria said with a sigh of submission, "what's happened with Len? It doesn't appear he's been here since the last snowfall."

  A frown in her tone of voice, Niona replied, "That's not like him. I called him a week ago and said we'd be using the cabin soon." Kymbria caught the hint of criticism when Niona went on, "When I thought all three of us would be there. But I led Len to believe it would be a couple days from now before we arrived. I'm sure he'll be around. His phone number is in the little book in the drawer beneath the phone. Call him right now and tell him you're there right now."

  She already had, but she would call again to keep from totally lying to her mother. "All right. And I'll be fine until he gets here. My hands still fit a snow shovel, and I've got four wheel drive on the SUV. Is Pete in town or is he traveling?"

  Niona's voice rose in motherly concern. "Your brother left on a late flight this evening, and he's traveling until the day after tomorrow. What do you need him for? Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

  Kymbria chuckled, then stopped. What on earth was bothering her mother? "Nothing, Mom, really. I was ju
st wondering what I needed to do before I used one of the snowmobiles. But if Len's late, I'm sure either Keoman or Amber's husband Bob can help."

  "There was a problem with one of the machines last fall," Niona said. "I don't remember which one or exactly what it was. Pete said he'd wait until another trip to take it in to be repaired. So be sure you have Len, or whoever, thoroughly check out whichever machine you decide to use. I'll make a note to ask Pete which machine was giving him trouble, just in case."

  "Mom?" Kymbria said. "Are you worried about something? More than usual, I mean?"

  After a few seconds of silence, Niona responded, "How soon will you see Keoman?"

  "I'm calling him tomorrow."

  "Will you promise me something?"

  "If I can."

  "If…if Keoman changes his mind and thinks you should wait until spring for his help, will you come on back here immediately?"

  Kymbria sighed. "I need to make my own decisions, not have them made for me. I've had to follow orders for too many years. Orders from too many people and without question. It's time I took control of my own life."

  "That doesn't mean you can't listen to the advice of others, Kymbria. Please. Right now might not be the right time — "

  "Now is the right time," she interrupted. "Things aren't going to get any better unless I work on them. I have to do this my way. Listening to the so-called powers-that-be didn't accomplish anything. I wasn't just a combat nurse. I've counseled soldiers suffering from PTSD for years now. I've had an awful lot of training — and experience — in exactly the sort of problem I'm having myself. Each situation is individual. By-the-book doesn't succeed with everyone."

  "Are you still taking your meds?" Niona asked.

  Kymbria bit her lip. "I'm taking what I need to," she evaded. "Now, can I chat with Risa?" The child had no idea what a telephone was, but hopefully, she would recognize Kymbria's voice and react to it, as she had this morning. And — Kymbria couldn't deny the thought that she hoped her tiny daughter would miss her just a bit.

  "She's sitting here in her high chair waiting to talk to Mommy," Niona said, the joy in her voice as she probably gazed at her granddaughter clear even across the miles. "But — "

  A whine in her throat, Scarlet rose from the rug by the fireplace and stared toward the front of the cabin. The whine disintegrated into a growl, and Kymbria laid her hand firmly over the mouthpiece. That's all she needed, for her mother to hear the dog growling at a night-wandering animal passing by and worry a wild animal might attack them.

  She'd protected the phone too late. The sound had carried.

  "What's upset Scarlet?" Niona asked. "What's out there? Kymbria — "

  Kymbria removed her hand and lied, "An owl landed on a tree limb outside the window. You know Scarlet's not used to the wilderness. Shhhhh." She stroked the setter's head with her free hand. "It's all right, sweetie. I won't let the big bad bird in."

  Instead of calming, Scarlet jerked away and raced to the windows, a mixture of growls and sharp barks erupting.

  Niona chuckled and said, "Bet the owl's gone now."

  "It is," Kymbria lied again. Despite her need to hear Risa coo to her, she couldn't deny that something was upsetting the dog. "But Scarlet's still barking. Let me call you back to talk to Risa in a bit, Mom. I need to calm Scarlet down."

  "Don't forget to call back. Love you. 'Bye."

  "'Bye, Mom."

  With a sigh of relief, Kymbria replaced the phone. Then Scarlet's barks ceased. Kymbria walked over to the window anyway to peer out. Nothing disturbed the placid scenery in the stark gray, white and black landscape.

  She picked up her drink glass and carried it into the kitchen. After a brief hesitation, she refilled it from the teakettle on the stove, then added spices and liquor. Only two, she promised herself. With the meds leaching out of her system, the alcohol would help her sleep.

  She sipped the new drink as she called her mother back and, this time, spent the call with Risa. She cooed and baby-talked for several minutes before Niona reclaimed the phone.

  "You call me in the morning," her mother said.

  "I'll call as often as I can, Mom. But I'll be busy with Keoman some of the time." She decided to temper her sternness. "I'll tell you this, though. I've already decided to come back to Duluth for a night this weekend. I'm missing Risa too much to stay the entire time without seeing her. And holding her."

  "I understand. See you Friday or Saturday, then. Night, love."

  "Night, Mom."

  Back on the porch in her chair, Kymbria frowned. In that earlier call, her mother had seemed to be talking all around something. Of course, that was also Niona's style at times, Kymbria contemplated as she tipped her toddy glass up for a swallow. Her mother swept things under the rug rather than confront an uncomfortable situation head-on, unless it pertained to one of her children. She always insisted things would work themselves out the way they should, despite any attempts to thwart someone else's free will.

  Part of that was her heritage, which encompassed generations of beliefs more existed in the world around them than was visible. The belief this other realm factored into and impacted their lives in vital ways, ways Kymbria had come here to soak up. All during her trip here, she clutched hope close; hope the healing would take effect as it had twenty-three years before.

  For that matter, these ways were the entire family's heritage. Although they lived in the white world — had for two generations — Niona, as well as Kymbria's deceased father, Hank, were both nearly full-blood Chippewa, or Ojibway, as the tribe preferred to be called. Some white blood had crept in now and then over the years; Kymbria recalled a great-great-grandmother on her mother's side had been white, a great-great uncle on her father's.

  For her entire younger life, summers were spent at the cabin with her mother, their father driving up on weekends, and a mixture of wilderness and Native American lore intertwined into their days. Her parents had raised her and Pete to be aware of their special heritage, to revere it.

  And that had stood her in good stead in her teens when her world fell apart the first time. Would stand her in good stead now. The white-world medicine hadn't helped. It was time to give the Old Ways a chance.

  Just then she realized Scarlet was crouched on the floor beside her chair, tail curled beneath her in a fearful stance. Kymbria rose and hurried over to the window to stare out again, but nothing caught her attention. Light shone through the glass to the ground outside, but it illuminated nothing of interest, not even any tracks that indicated an animal had indeed passed by. She scanned the trees, and no owl eyed her back.

  The cabin was built on a rise above the lake, and a set of steps in the bank led downward. In summers, after ice-out, her father and brother rolled a dock on huge aluminum pontoons into the water. During winter, it was pulled up onto the bank. She flipped on the security light on the shoreline and could see the mound of dock outlined by drifts.

  The moonlight appeared brighter now, and she could examine the lake clearly, all the way out toward the middle. Nothing disturbed the vast distance, not even snowmobile tracks made after the most recent snowfall. On her side of the shoreline, tall pines on either side of the area cleared for the dock hid the lake from view for ten or twenty feet out. Whatever had bothered the dog could have gone by near the shore.

  Kymbria started to pull the curtains across the windows, then froze when something whispered in her mind. Before she could attempt to analyze the words, one or two of which she thought she recognized as Old Words, goose bumps spread up her arms. Fingers clenched around two handfuls of bunched curtain, she continued to stare out the window as though caught in a thrall until Scarlet growled again and surged to her feet.

  The dog's barks sharpened, the noise beating against Kymbria's ears. A deep rage abruptly stole over Kymbria, accompanied by an urgent desire to shut the animal up. She stared down at Scarlet and shouted, "Shut the fuck up!"

  Immediately horrified at what she'd sai
d, Kymbria jerked the curtains closed, then knelt to pull Scarlet into her arms before the setter could escape.

  "It's all right, sweetie," she reassured the setter. "Oh, god, I am so sorry. I don't know what got into me."

  Scarlet whimpered and tried to move away, but she stroked her silky head. "Please, sweetie. I'm sorry. Please. I don't know what was out there." She frowned, recalling the eerie sensation, but pushed the thought away. "Maybe there was a wolf. We've still got a few of those up here. It won't bother us. I won't let it."

  But wolves don't talk. What the hell was that? Oh, god, don't let it be another PTSD episode.

  Whatever it was, Scarlet had experienced it, also. At least, part of it. She had no way of knowing whether or not the dog also heard those faint, garbled sounds that appeared to be words. And even knowing it might not be a good idea, given her previous flashbacks, Kymbria rose from comforting her dog and went into her parents' bedroom. There, she retrieved the key from the drawer of the small desk her mother used. Back in the living room, she unlocked her father's gun cabinet and loaded one of the rifles. She wouldn't shoot a wolf, but she was good enough with a firearm to place a warning shot close enough to scare the animal off.

  Wolves don't talk!

  Then she hesitated as she recalled again that flash of rage and her shout at Scarlet. The anger had been so deep. What if she'd had that rifle loaded a few minutes ago? Would she have grabbed it and raced outside to confront whatever had been out there? Used the gun to lash out, as a few soldiers had told her during counseling they felt like doing whenever a PTSD episode overcame them?

  That had been one of the problems with working with these emotionally disturbed men. They were trained to protect themselves and their comrades, which sometimes meant killing without questioning why. Many of them could handle that once back in The World. Some couldn't.

  Would she have killed her dog?

  Would she have killed her mother at the gun club that day?