SNOWFEST

Thursday, February 2, 2011

My story for roh Morgan's Snowfest blog hop.  (my Insecure Writers Support Group post is here.)

December Retreat


The cold stillness amplified every sound that wasn’t there. If he stayed still enough, Brodie was sure he'd hear something of his ghostly follower; but stopping left him vulnerable to the freezing temperatures. He poled forward a few more feet, and stopped again as that slooshing echo sounded from all sides of the forest around him.

After several minutes, the only sounds louder than Brodie's breathing were the cracking of the snow under his weight. It hadn't snowed in over a week, but the unnatural freeze had endured. Brodie brushed the fog off his tinted goggles, sidestepped and slowly turned to survey the surroundings. Again, the only sound was the breaking ice, his rapid breathing, and a slight whistling as the breeze assaulted his ears.

He strained to hear the drip of a melting icicle, a drift of falling snow, the rustle of a waking squirrel in a lofty nest. Peering at his backtrail, Brodie stepped backwards, shaking his feet to reposition the snowshoes and not caring about the increased noise. If his stalker thought he was on the move, perhaps the person, or beast, would reveal themselves. Brodie's skin crawled with the sense of being watched, but nothing besides himself moved.

“Damn,” he whispered, hurrying to turn as cautiously as possible.

He was sure his stalker was a coyote or a wolf – the stinking, dead raccoon strapped to his back must surely be attracting the appetites of any denizens that still prowled these woods – but he couldn't believe he'd been out here eight months and still hadn't encountered a single other human. It'd been two months since he saw any game not caught in his traps too. He shifted the weight of the coon to give his injured right shoulder a brief respite, then trudged in a semblance of a sprint towards the cabin 300 yards across the clearing.

A feeling of being chased overwhelmed him at the steps, and instead of stopping to slip out of the snowshoes, he stamped his way up the four steps and raced the last few feet to the front door. Fumbling with the door knob, he kept his eyes turned towards the treeline, sure that any moment he'd spy a shadowy figure or demonic eyes lurking just out of visual range.

The door suddenly opened and he crashed inside with a yelp of pain and surprise as he landed heavily on his throbbing shoulder.

“Shut it quickly Mary,” he rasped, rolling to his feet to help his wife with the heavy metal door.

The barely audible thud and beep, beep, beep as the alarm was reset calmed Brodie's taut nerves as he leaned against the door to catch his breath. Laughing at his own paranoia, he stared at the 10 inch monitor that served as a window and watched the perimeter camera perform a sweep of the front porch, then continue on its panoramic journey to reveal the emptiness between the house and the forest.

“What's out there?” Mary asked from behind him.

"Nothing,” he answered, still focused on the monitor.

The view cycled three times before Brodie was finally convinced that nothing followed him back to the cabin. Suddenly the weight of the coon was too much, and his knees buckled. He steadied himself in a crouch and slowly pulled his right arm out of the back packs strap. He sat on the floor as the burden was deftly removed, and began unlacing his snowshoes. Mary gagged as she drug the pack across the floor and into the kitchenette to the left.

“How long's this been dead,” she inquired as she patted the waterproof canvas.

“Not that long,” Brodie answered, hauling himself upright as he unzipped his parka and let it slide off his shoulders and onto the floor. “Need to get it skinned and soaking.”

“I'll do it,” she said, but didn't open the flap. She kept her face averted, messy brown hair hiding her eyes.

Brodie bit back angry words as he crossed to the wood stove in the far corner of the designated living room. Long ago he'd taught her with his fists not to question him. That life seemed so long ago to him. He hadn't hit her in months, hadn't even cussed her or raised his voice. Something had changed within him after secluding them in these woods; and now he couldn't believe he'd ever been that angry, hateful man. He hoped she'd forget in time.

“I slid down a hole,” he answered her unasked questions.

She looked up immediately, her face scrunched up with worry.

Brodie rolled his shoulders, wincing as the right one burned in pain. “Wrenched my arm trying to hold onto a tree. My side and arm is bruised too. Nothing to worry about.”
She started around the counter, but he waived her off before she made it to the table.

“That coon needs more attention than I. I'm just cold, tired and sore; nothing a hot bath won't cure.”

“I'll heat some water,” Mary stated. She hadn't stopped at the table, and when her soft fingers touched his frozen ears he was glad she'd ignored his command. Her gentle touch sent shivers down his back and warmed his heart.

That old habit of only showing how tough he was had asserted itself before he could stop it.

“The sun was out today; the tank will have hot water.” He kissed the top of her head as she started to unbutton his shirt. “No,” he whispered, pushing her hands away. “The coon, honey. I skinned it, but soon it will be inedible. Don't want to waste my effort today.”
Mary nodded and returned to the kitchen, humming a tune under her breath.

Brodie sneezed, and wiped his nose on his arm. As he looked up, he thought he saw movement in the door monitor. He glanced at Mary; her back was to him as she ran cold water in the sink to wash the coon. He hurried silently back to the door and taped the arrow key on the console to turn the camera back to the forest area he thought he saw movement.

Whatever followed him home was gone now. Or hiding. He bent down and picked up his shoes as he heard a grunt of effort from Mary. He didn't want to worry her. He sneezed again, and decided to trust the steel walls to protect them while he was in the bath.

His great grandfather had built the cabin to protect his family in case of a nuclear attack. And Brodie wasn't convinced there was an actual threat out there in the snow crusted woods. It could just be his imagination playing tricks. As long as the doors remained sealed, they'd be safe from whatever the post December world could throw at them.

Brodie glanced at Mary as he headed towards the bedroom at the rear of the house. She looking at a spot in the wall that should have a window, her hand absently caressing her belly.

The one thing he hadn't figured into their 2012 plan was baby.

***