The cabin, p.20
The Cabin, page 20
The shortest distance to the hallway was over the downed man, but Devon couldn’t make himself step over Rico. He’d seen one too many thrillers where the dead villain sprang to life as soon as the hero was within grabbing distance. Instead, he limped around the coffee table through the dried vomit and hobbled into the hall, past Caleb’s room and into the larger bedroom.
His pack still leaned against the wall where he’d left it. It was probably gone. Rico had removed almost everything that could be turned into a weapon, but Devon began removing things from inside the pack anyway, searching.
He found the bear spray in a side pocket. He’d forgotten where he’d hidden it and had almost given up, but there it was. Relief spiked through him. Okay, maybe relief was too strong a word. It was more like a lessening of dread. The spray was a good weapon. If it could take down a bear, it could take down Rico.
He chose not to think about about the fact that it had been there all this time, that he could have disarmed Rico the first day. That kind of thinking wasn’t productive, not at the moment. He’d beat himself up when all this was over.
Devon retreated from the room, walked quietly through the house, and slipped out the front door. It was fully night now. A half-moon brightened the snow in front of house and made eerie shadows with Caleb’s snowman. Caleb. His son was his first order of business, but which way?
Devon descended the porch steps, looked up and down the dirt road, thinking his son may have taken the main drag, but changed his mind and rounded the house instead. Caleb would’ve headed for the woods. He felt sure of it.
The snow was littered with boot prints in all sizes and going in all directions. It was impossible to read. As he reached the end of the house, he paused. If Rico came to, what would he do? Would he head out the back door? He’d been carrying Caleb that way.
Devon felt a stab of regret. Perhaps he should have killed Rico, but he wasn’t a murderer. If Rico was dead, Devon was responsible since he’d been the one to grab the lamp cord. He’d certainly wished Rico was dead. However, wishing and dumb luck weren’t against the law. Murder was. Killing a man who was knocked out cold was murder in any court of law.
Devon flattened himself against the cabin and peered around the corner. A person was posed to climb the back steps, one foot on, one foot in the snow. It took him a moment to recognize the person. He’d never seen her like this before, wild eyes, tangled hair surrounding a face smudged with the war paint of dirt and blood.
“Fiona,” he rasped.
Her head snapped toward him, and the heavy-looking branch she held flew to her shoulder like she was readying herself to hit a home run.
“Fiona, it’s me,” he said with more strength.
“Devon?” She dropped the stick and ran at him. Her hands found his face, felt it all over as if she’d gone blind. Once she was convinced it was him, she kissed his eyelids and cheeks and lips.
Tears welled into his eyes. When she was finished with his face, she threw her arms around him, or maybe he threw his around her. He wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter. The embrace didn’t last long.
They pulled apart and spoke at once.
“Where’s Rico?”
“Did you see Caleb?”
Fiona answered first. “Caleb is safe. Where is Rico?”
“In the house. He was unconscious when I left him. We need to go while we can,” Devon said.
She gave him a quick nod, grabbed his hand and dragged him around the back of the house. She darted under the steps and opened the door to the woodshed. Crackers and Caleb emerged together.
Fiona raised Caleb onto one hip. “I think I left my keys in the car.” She spun and headed around the other side of the house.
Caleb’s legs wrapped around his mother’s waist. He was getting so big. Too big for her to carry for long, but Devon couldn’t take him from her. He didn’t have the strength.
They reached the car. Crackers ran to the rear door on the driver’s side and stared at it as if willing it to open. Fiona tried the driver’s door, but it was locked. She set Caleb on his feet and peered into the window. “Not there. He must have taken them.”
Devon turned to view the cabin. “I could go—“
“No.” Her voice was sharp. “Nobody’s going in there. We walk. Town isn’t that far.” She picked up Caleb and stomped toward the road. The dog gave a last longing look at the car and followed. Devon did the same.
When they reached the road, he took her arm. “Not the road. He’ll see us if he comes after us. Besides, it’s a shorter distance to the lake that way.” He jutted a chin toward the trees on the far side of the road.
Fiona gazed in the direction he’d indicated, then at him again. “We won’t get lost?”
“The lake is a pretty big target.”
7.6.4
DEVON
The first five minutes of the hike weren’t bad. Devon took the lead through the thinly treed area. The land sloped gently and was easy to navigate. Ten minutes later, he struggled through the underbrush, holding back branches so they didn’t slash Fiona and Caleb.
There was no path, and the trees grew wherever they pleased. Manzanita bushes and other flora he couldn’t name huddled in the spaces between them. Devon had to veer right at times and left at others to find a way through the increasingly densely packed brush. Before long, he lost all sense of direction.
He stopped. Fiona, who’d seemed lost in her own thoughts, walked into him. “What’s wrong?” There was fear in her voice.
“I don’t know where we are.”
“I thought you said the lake was up ahead.”
“Where’s up ahead?”
Fiona set Caleb down and stretched her back. “The way we’re walking.”
Caleb toddled to his father and held up his arms. “I can’t, buddy. Daddy’s injured.”
His son dropped his arms and sat on a rock next to Crackers. He seemed to have reverted to more childish ways, but Devon guessed that was to be expected in the circumstances. Children were malleable. That’s what everyone said, but they still felt fear and stress, and it took its toll.
Fiona straightened. “We’re lost. That’s what you’re saying.”
“I don’t know. We’ve made so many detours, I’m all turned around.”
His wife closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. She was taking Pilates’ breaths. Not a good sign. It generally meant she was trying to pull herself together, so she didn’t scream.
“What are we going to do then?” she finally asked.
Devon lifted his palms skyward then let them fall.
Fiona mimicked his movement. “That’s all you got?” She sounded angry now.
“That’s all I got,” he said.
“Okay, I’ll pick a direction.” She turned in a slow circle. “Let’s go,” she stopped and pointed, “that way.” Sarcasm saturated her words.
She held out a hand to Caleb. He took it, and she began threading her way through the bushes. The dog bounded behind her. Devon took up the rear, thinking hard.
He knew she expected him to have a logical solution to their problem. That was his role in the family—Mr. Logical. He did the research. She intuited. But there wasn’t anything to research here in the woods. He had no GPS, no phone. He couldn’t even see the stars.
Stars.
He tripped over a tree root. “Fi, stop.”
She spun around, anger, exhaustion and fear printed in the lines of her face. “What?”
“If we could find a clearing, we could look at the stars.”
“And?”
“Then we’d know which direction we were going.”
The tension left her expression. “I saw the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt earlier, but they move, don’t they?”
“Yes, but they’d still give us the general direction.”
“Okay. Okay, that makes sense. There was a small clearing a little way back, wasn’t there?” She shivered, and Devon realized she had no jacket. He unzipped his and handed it to her.
“No, you’re wounded.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Right, and I think it’s infected. I’m overheating.”
She looked at him for a long moment, then slipped it on. “I guess I won’t be any good to anyone if I get hypothermia.”
“Okay, this way.” Devon turned and retraced their steps. They walked longer than he’d thought they’d have to, but still the clearing didn’t materialize. He kept on, primarily because stopping didn’t seem to be an option. He needed to move if he was going to keep warm.
After about fifteen minutes, the trees thinned a bit, and black sky began to show in larger and larger patches. This must be the clearing; it had just been farther back than they’d thought. He walked faster, encouraged. “Just up ahead,” he called over his shoulder. A moment later, he burst through the trees and onto a dirt road.
7.6.5
FIONA
Fiona hurried after Devon as fast as Caleb’s legs could carry him and stepped onto the road. “Where are we?” she asked.
He looked at the sky without answering. She followed his gaze and saw Orion’s Belt. “Orion. So which direction?”
Devon massaged his forehead. “The lake has got to be on the other side of those trees.” He pointed the way they’d come. “I’m guessing this road runs parallel, or almost parallel, to the road the cabin is on.”
“Or it is the road the cabin is on,” she said without emotion. She had no emotions left, she was depleted, freezing, and exhausted.
“It can’t be.” Devon tried to sound confident, but she heard the doubt in his voice.
“Either way,” she said. “I’m not going into the woods again. I can’t. I’m not even sure I have the energy to walk on the road.”
“If he comes looking for us... ”
Fiona closed her eyes. “I thought you said this wasn’t the road the cabin was on,”
“I can’t be sure.”
Frustration threatened to break her. She wanted to scream, stamp her feet, lay down on the hard-packed dirt and cry, but she didn’t do any of those things. Instead, she lifted her son onto her hip again. “If we see a car, we’ll hide.”
They stumbled down the snow-covered road in the direction of the lake. At least, they believed they were headed to the lake. They passed two houses, a log cabin like the one they’d rented and an A-frame. Nobody had been home at either. There were no lights, no cars in the driveways, but to be sure, Devon had banged on the front doors. Apparently, the snowstorm had kept many skiers and vacationers away from the mountain. Maybe the news stories about escaped cons had kept them away as well.
Caleb lay his head on her shoulder and gradually grew heavier. He’d fallen asleep. Fiona’s march became a shuffle under his weight. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could carry him, but when she put him down, she felt the bite of cold in the air despite Devon’s jacket. She needed his body heat.
She glanced at her husband. He looked like one of the walking dead. His brown skin had an ashen sheen. A line of blood ran along the side of his head and hardened into rivulets on his cheek. He held his rib cage with one arm and a red rose, the blossom of yet another wound, decorated the other. He needed medical attention, soon.
They’d walked—or perhaps staggered was a better word—for at least fifteen minutes when they heard the engine. Devon grabbed her arm. “A car,” he said.
They hobbled off the road, slid down a step bank, and huddled against the snowy berm. Caleb cried out in his sleep but didn’t wake. She shushed him, her eyes scanning their surroundings for the dog.
Crackers wouldn’t go far without them, but she didn’t want the driver of the car to see him. She was about to call out, when he trotted through the brush and scooted between her and Devon.
The rumble of the engine grew louder, and the beam of headlights lit their hiding place. They stayed still until the crunch of tires could no longer be heard, then Devon stood and offered his good hand to Fiona. She refused it, not wanting to break open any of his wounds.
“That could have been help,” he said.
“Or it could have been Rico.”
He acknowledged her comment with a tilt of his head. “No way to know.”
Fiona had to wake Caleb and pull him up the bank by the hand. She couldn’t manage the steep climb with him in her arms. He sleepwalked through the process and nestled into his place on her shoulder again as soon as they were on the road.
“How much farther do you think it is?” Fiona asked.
“Can’t be more than a few miles.” Devon’s voice held pain.
A few miles sounded impossible. She had to get her mind off the distance. “What happened back there?” She was referring to the time he spent alone in the cabin with Rico.
“I bought you time.”
They continued on in silence for a long minute, but the details weren’t forthcoming. He didn’t want to talk about it, at least not yet.
Devon broke the silence. “Where did he take you?”
“He had a car way out in the woods.”
“Was he going to drive off with you?” Devon asked.
It was her turn to watch her words. One day, she’d tell him about Rico’s delusion, the smell of gasoline, the umbrella that had saved her, but not now. “I don’t think so,” she said.
Devon must have sensed her reluctance to talk about it, either that or it took all his concentration just to keep moving. He stopped asking questions. It was a relief, although now she had nothing but the endless road ahead to think about.
Another mile passed, and Fiona’s foot hit something hard. She stumbled, and Devon put out a hand to stop her from falling. She leaned against him for a moment to regain her balance. When she stepped away, she examined his face, taking his measure. He was a study in self-control. How much longer could they go on?
“Look,” he pointed to the ground. “Asphalt.”
Hope, as tiny and tired as a mouse newly released by a playful cat, limped into her heart. “We’ve got to be close, right?”
“Yeah, we’ve got to be.”
They moved quickly across the blacktop. There were more houses here, but all were dark and without cars in the driveways. Fiona paused, an idea forming in her mind. “Maybe we should break into one of the cabins?”
Devon didn’t stop, just shot the reply over his shoulder. “It’s illegal.”
She strode after him. “I think this is an extenuating circumstance.”
He halted so abruptly, Fiona almost walked into him. He spun to face her. “How?” he asked.
“What do you mean how?”
“How do you intend to break into a locked cabin? Do you have any tools? Crowbar handy?” His voice was laced with anger.
She’d never broken into anything in her life and fumbled for an answer. “We could break a window,” she finally said.
“And what would we do when we got inside? What’s your plan?”
Fiona set Caleb down. She didn’t have the energy to hold him and argue at the same time. “They might have a phone.”
Devon shot his palms toward the night sky. “Nobody has landlines these days.”
“How about a computer? Internet connection?”
“Who leaves computers in their vacation cabins?”
Fiona stared at him. His jaw was set in a stubborn line. He didn’t know what he was saying. He was hurt, exhausted. She’d have to do this herself. “Watch Caleb.” She stomped toward the closest house.
It was an extended A-frame with a small front porch. Fiona opened a bug-filled screen door and grasped the handle of the wooden door behind it. It was locked as she’d expected. She moved to the picture window next to it and peered inside—too dark to see anything.
She stepped down from the porch and searched the ground for a rock. Her gaze wandered to Devon and Caleb. They’d collapsed onto a fallen tree that lay next to the road. Devon’s good arm encircled his son. He really wasn’t going to help her.
Fiona kicked harder than necessary at the snow until her foot rammed into something hard. She dug through the ice with half-frozen fingers and unearthed a baseball-sized rock. After pulling her sweater sleeve over her hand, she gripped the rock, climbed the porch, and smashed it into the picture window. The sound of tinkling glass was her reward. She pulled long shards from the frame, then climbed through the opening into the house. Two minutes later, she climbed out again. Devon had been right. There was no landline and no computer.
They didn’t speak when she returned to the road. She lifted Caleb onto her hip, and they set off again. Soon, they reached a true neighborhood. Paved streets crisscrossed one another, homes came in regular intervals. Fiona searched the sky for tendrils of smoke, for lights, but saw nothing. It was graveyard quiet, and she was too deflated to break into another home. The lake now glittered with promise in her imagination, an oasis in this desert of fear.
Get to the lake. The words became a chant. Her feet marched to their rhythm. Suddenly, the road bent left, and her imaginings became reality. Just ahead, between a stand of trees, black water sparkled with moonlit diamonds.
“Look.” Devon pointed, with something like excitement in his voice.
That excitement carried them the distance. What seemed seconds later, they stood on a sandy beach and looked across the water and ice of Big Bear Lake. Fiona laughed and set Caleb on the ground. He plopped onto his bottom, too drowsy to share in his parents’ happiness.
“Look, Caleb, the lake,” Devon said.
“Why we here?” he answered in a sleepy voice.
Cat claws descended on Fiona’s hopeful mouse. Why were they here? Nobody was fishing or boating at—what, 1:00? Or whatever time it was. There was no more help here than there’d been in the empty houses. She sank down beside her son and rested a cheek on his head. Devon seemed to have the same revelation at the same time. The joy faded from his eyes, and he sank onto the sand as well.
