Chapter One Hundred–Sixty
DELILAH
After pacing back and forth in front of the cabin for the last hour, while trying to get my brother to answer the phone, I’m on the verge of having a meltdown. That fucking shit left me out here by myself, with no farken transportation, no firepower, and not a damn thing but a few cams of soup to eat. I am not a facking Wilderness girl!
Grabbing my hair on each side of my head, I pull as hard as bloody possible and scream at the top of my lungs. The high pitched, childlike screech that trembles through the forest echoes in every direction. Proof that I am well and truly alone.
Okay you little son–of–a–bitch!” I hiss, stomping inside to grab the hammer from last night and a shorthand shovel. I head straight for the traps on the west side of the cabin first, careful to use my shovel as a plow so that I don’t accidentally step into one and lose a foot. I’ve counted nine of these damn things around the cabin. Nine! Its a wonder those idiots didn’t set them off last night, by themselves. Charlie and Cane are not exactly stealth shooters.
After facilitating a clear path all the way around the cabin, I begin the daunting task of releasing the springs with my hammer, Bitching and moaning at Cane the entire time I work, regardless of the fact that he cannot hear me. “I’m going to gather each and every stupid fucking trap you set out here around this place you little fuck, and then 1 am going to dig a very large, very deep hole… right in front of the goddamned entrance. Next, I’m going to dump alf of those barbaric contraptions inside of it, along with a bramble or two of thorns as an added token of my love. Then finally I am going to cover the damn thing up with a loose tarp and just enough dirt to hide it from your puny, trigger happy brain. Shit… I might even be able to find a beehive, cut it down, and place it gently inside, just for you all because I know how much you like your honey. After all, what are sisters for?
I finish with a huff, all of the traps now sprung and useless and a satisfied smirk turning up one cheek. With a little more pep in my step. I dump the tools back in the cabin and grab my backpack. Making sure that all of my things are accounted for, I throw it over my shoulders and send Cane a quick text letting him know that not only is he a poor excuse for an older brother, but that he is also an Inconsiderate piece of shit. Heading back outside, I slam the door to the oversized shed of a house a touch too roughly. The entire thing trembles for a moment, and then the front door suddenly tilts off its hinges. Only staying upright because it remains latched.
“Oopsie,” I whisper, stepping gingerly onto the dirt road that leads to the creek. It’s at least three miles to the nearest general store- which also just happens to be the only store in the immediato vicinity. But I remember seeing a town on the map when we first drove up. Its not too far from Blackjack Creek. At least, it’s not if you’re driving. On foot it is bound to take quite a bit longer to get to, but I’d much rather see the sights in an actual beach town then I would like to birdwatch in the do–it–yourself cabin on the ass up side of the creek. So with a deep breath and a quick glance around, I take off down the dirt path that leads to salvation and twinkies.
to the
The nicer cabins are all on the other side of the water. We saw them when we first drove in. They’re closer to each other and closer! general store, I also get the feeling that they’re well guarded and the woods around them are closely supervised. In fact, I’m sure they are because I can remember seeing a sign that read, Leave the hunting to the animals‘ and another with the warning, Poaching is a Felony. At the same time, I also get the distinct impression that the creek serves as a divider of sorts. Separating the safe and the lawful from the immoral and unprotected. For instance, the old man Fred Dobson (or Dobkins or Doberman or Don’t really give a fuck) that we rented the cabin from, had a very large lion head mounted over his fireplace and more than a few smaller animals, like squirrels and chipmunks – that he set up to look like they were having a still life picnic (for fucks sake) – draped about his living room. According to his own admission, he was unmarried and the little stuffed critters were the only friends he had in all the world. Fucking psychopath The man was creepy to say the very least. But even so, he made sure to war Cane and Charlie that hunting was outlawed in the area and then in the very same breath, told them that if they needed his taxidermy services before the end of the week he would give them a fifty percent discount. All on account of them renting a cabin. He also went on to suggest that they take the backroad out of town in the event that they caught one of the local wolves. The entire experience had me curious to say the least. Come to think of it, wolves were the only animals Dobson didn’t have posed for us in his living room.
Heli.
As I approach the decline in the dirt road, I can finally see the glorious creekbed up ahead. Yest That means I’m only a mile away from twinkies and diet sodo
A sudden rush of sound in the trees to the right of me has me freezing in my steps. My eyes strain against the limitless expanse of evergreen trees, trying like hell to catch sight of whatever it was that just head running. My eyes narr
row as a familiar blur of what appears to be dark brown and gray fur, darts back and forth between the thickest line of trees.
1/2
Chapter One Hundred–Sixty
Could it be the wolt from last night? Maybe. Immuan, this is obviously his berritory and it shouldn’t be too unusual for me to sight him again, vem that bars injured. Before I think better of it, I resume walking and shout, I’m heading into town Wolfie! Not sure if 111 be coming bark this way or not, let it I do, I’ll be sure to pick up some peroxide and bandages to tend to your paw!”
i know how ridiculous I sund, but I don’t care. That wolf and I connected last night. I saved his enormous ass and he freakin‘ licked my face with his long pink tongue. Wir bonded in a way. I guess you could say, I’m kind of like that kid from that movie White Fang. A
fucking wolf whisperer or some shit.
I chuckle as I step toward the shallowest end of the creek and prepare to cross. There’s a bridge, but it’s further along the shoreline,
extra half mile or so to my trek. I don’t mind getting a little wet if it gets me to my soda faster.
Stepping over a large gray stone and into the water, I nearly scream as a sudden rush of water pushes me deeper. The water is frickin‘ cold and suddenly my breaths are coming in large gasps,
“Holy crap,” I complain, shivering as I decide to cross along the deeper side where the creek is calmer and holding my phone up high and away from the water.
nd fifty
feet to my left when I suddenly hear the very–deep
For almost to the other side the general store looms a mere two hundred And growl of an apex predator.
That does fat sound like a fucking wolf
The growl sounds again, this time a bit closer, I don’t stop walking, but I do move a bit slower. I am now torn between what presents itself as two options. One heed the sage advice of the many experts that appear on Animal Planet, by holding my ground until the threat lins passed. Or two ignore the wisdom they so generously bestowed upon me, just to turn around and catch a glimpse of my killer, before I give in to the urge to flee and maybe make it to the shore before im übble.
Suddenly, a streak of golden fur stretches over
lose enough to have me swallowing my tongue.
Oh my God it’s a fucking mountain lion.
rainbow and then lands gracefully upon a large dry boulder. This time the growl
