Chapter 6
1915 Words
6
My sweet dreams were interrupted at a god-awful hour by the bay of a large dog. I sat up and my bleary eyes refused to open. My first thought was one of my apartment neighbors needed to shut their dog up. Then I opened my eyes and remembered where I was. My new thought was that I needed a gun because I didn’t have any neighbors that close and that sure as hell didn’t sound like a chihuahua howling at a fire siren.
I flung aside the heavy multitude of covers and tiptoed across the cold, bare floor to the window. It looked out on the left side of the cabin toward the path leading up to Smith’s place. I peeked through the panes, realized they were too dirty to see through, and wiped my hand across the glass. That gave me limited visibility, but I could see the dark shapes of trees and brush outside. Nothing stirred, not even crickets. I was trapped in the Silent Zone again.
The air was so cold I could see my breath. It puffed out in small wisps of clouds that drifted past the cleaned pane, and blocked my view for a second. One particularly puffy cloud from my mouth fogged over the pane, and I reached my hand up to clean off my breath. I swiped my hand over the glass and behind my palm, a foot from the window, stood-something. It had soft yellow eyes and a brown snout. Its terrible breath poured over glass and blocked my view.
That was just fine with me. I didn’t want to see any more. I screamed and stumbled away from the window. The creature ducked beneath the window and I heard something crash through the brush. I dove into the bed and mummified myself in the thick covers. Suddenly gang wars and high-rises looked better. My teeth chattered from the fear and the cold, but thankfully that was the only noise I heard. My scream must have scared the beast off.
I don’t know when I fell asleep, or how I managed to do it sitting up, but I awoke with a start and a crick in my back. The morning sun shone through the dirty window and cast its warm glow on the bed. I could still see my breath, but I threw on some clothes and stepped into the living room with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and ready for the world.
What I wasn’t ready for was the mess in the kitchen. The towel in the corner lay atop the cabinets, and half the cabinet doors lay open. Their contents were strewn about the counter tops and shelves. There were torn cereal boxes, cracker boxes, and even my chocolate bar had a nibble on the corner.
That did it. Nobody messed with my chocolate and got away with it, especially when the culprit stared back at me from the counter with its squinty little devilish eyes. The squirrel had a piece of my chocolate bar between its little paws and was in the process of consuming it when I entered. He looked miff at my intrusion. I let out a screech and dove at him. The squirrel let out a high-pitched squeak and dove for its hole. I dove for him and the tips of my fingers brushed against his tail. He had soft fur for a demon from hell.
The squirrel slipped from my grasp and I heard him scuttle across the attic beams. I jammed the towel into its place, did a quick clean of the counters and shelves, and grabbed my purse. If the squirrel wanted war then war he would have, and I would be the victor. First, though, I needed the right ammunition. That meant I needed traps, poison, and a small ladder.
I stepped outside and was calmed by the morning air. There was a chilliness that warned of winter, but the sun stood over the tops of the trees and shined down to warm me. I heard the sounds of birds and squirrels scurry their way to breakfast. Whatever dark cloud hung over the forest was gone.
I got into my car and bounced my way along my driveway and past the gate. It was eight in the morning when I dropped over the hill and glanced down at the Vandersnoot mansion. Someone exited the house, and I wrinkled my nose when I saw it was Mrs. Vandersnoot and not her better half. She clopped her heels on the paved driveway and slid behind the wheel of the corvette. I pressed my foot on the break. There was no way I wanted that vehicle with that driver in front of me. My choice turned out to be the right one as she tore down the driveway and out into the main road. I was close enough her dust cloud drifted over my car and obscured most of my vision.
I drove through the cloud and saw her dust disappear around the next corner. My little car puttered around the bend and I was just in time to witness her harass my current Enemy Number One. Adam Smith walked on the right side of the road with his back turned toward me. He had his arm out and his thumb extended in the universal pick-me-up signal. A backpack lay across his back. Clara in her corvette cruised past him and covered him in dust. He didn’t even pause as the thick layer of dust settled on his person, turning his dark coat and jeans to a tan color.
I came up on him and for a moment my foot hovered over the gas pedal and I thought about leaving him in my own dust. Unfortunately, the Good Samaritan inside me told me to stop or she’d never forgive me. Also, I didn’t want to look in the mirror and see a clone of Miss Snooty staring back at me.
I pulled the car over and rolled down the passenger window. Smith turned in my direction and his eyebrows shot up. “Need a lift?” I asked him.
Smith’s face was covered in dust, but his smile beamed through the dirt. “And a bath. You don’t happen to have one of those in your trunk, do you?”
“No, but I have a pond I can throw you into,” I offered.
“I’ll risk the dust, at least for now, but I’ll take the lift.” He opened the door and slid in.
I drove the car onward and my eyes flickered to my guest. “Did your car break down?” I asked him.
“I don’t have one. I don’t even have a driver’s license or a driveway,” he told me.
“You haven’t clear-cut one for yourself?” I wondered.
He chuckled. “No, not yet, and I don’t plan on making one. I only cut the trees around my cabin because most of them were dead and ready to topple onto my roof. You might think about thinning some of your own dead.”
I raised an eyebrow as we cruised down the long, winding road to the lower valley. “I’ll risk it, but if you don’t have a car how do you get to town, or even the general store?”
He set his bag on his lap and rubbed one of his shoulders. “I hitchhike when I can, and walk when I can’t.”
“What do the neighbors think of that?” I wondered.
Smith shrugged. “They probably think I’m a little strange not to have my own car and that I’m squatting on someone’s property.”
I frowned. “Haven’t they talked to you or picked you up?”
The smile didn’t slip from his face as he shook his head. “Nope. Most of them probably don’t want to get dirt on their leather seats, so I’m a bit of a nobody around here.”
“Lucky dog,” I mumbled.
“So where are you headed?” he asked me.
“To the general store. I was robbed of some food last night by a persistent and possibly demonic squirrel. I was also thinking about getting some traps to catch it,” I told him.
He shook his head. “Don’t get traps. Just smoke him out and watch where he escapes. That way you don’t kill the creature and you learn where the hole is so you can board it up.”
I snorted. “Coming from the one-man deforestation machine.”
Smith sighed. “Listen, I know I cut down a lot of trees, but they were dead. You have to clear out the dead to make room for the living.”
Unfortunately, his logic was sound even to my stubborn ears. “I guess that makes sense,” I mumbled. I glanced over at him and saw the corners of his mouth twitch up in a smile. “But don’t get any ideas that I agree with your way of caring for your land, Mr. Smith.”
“Call me Adam. I don’t always answer to the name of Smith, and it’s a little common a name to be using in the general public,” he pointed out.
“And you can call me Miss Monet,” I replied.
He grinned. “Miss? No man in your life to open your pickle jars?”
“Or give me my spankings,” I added.
He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Shame, but if I recall your first name is Christina, and not Monet. Now, Christina is a little long and my tongue doesn’t always obey my commands, so don’t mind me if I slur in a couple of ‘Chris’ and ‘Chrissy’ names.”
“Miss Monet will work just fine,” I insisted.
Adam bowed his head. “As you wish, Chrissy.” I ground my teeth, but seeing as my car insurance wasn’t that great I couldn’t side-swipe the passenger side of the vehicle into the nearest tree. “But if we’re on the subject of men and their usefulness, might I volunteer myself to help you in your squirrel war? I have some experience with furry rodents and repairs, and I have the old cabin as an example of my work.”
I frowned. “I didn’t get a good look at the cabin.”
“Well, provided it’s still where I left it then the cabin still shows I have the experience to help you fix up your house,” he insisted.
I snorted. “I’d take a look at it, but I don’t have any money to pay you.”
Adam furrowed his brow and stroked his beard. “Well, how’s your cooking?”
“Edible, but I don’t see what cooking has to do with carpentry,” I countered.
He smiled and turned his face toward me. “I’ll make a deal with you. If your cooking is edible then I will do the work for food, and maybe a few dollars on the side. Deal?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Depends on the carpentry. I don’t want to contribute to the obesity in the country without knowing if the nails are going to stay put.”
Adam laughed. “I won’t promise they’ll last a hundred years, but they should hold for what’s left of your lifetime.”
“Yes, but think of the children. What will they do when the whole thing collapses?” I argued.
He grinned. “So you plan on having children?”
I straightened and blushed while my eyes focused on the road and away from the handsome man beside me asking about children. “Well, maybe someday, but not until the cabin’s fixed.”
“Then I promise to make the nails sturdy for a thousand years for your children,” he promised. “So what do you say? Is it a deal?”
I gripped the wheel with both hands. “I won’t shake on it right now, but I guess you’ve got yourself a job.”
He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Good! Now we just need to get the supplies at the stores and I can start this afternoon.”
- Writer
