Chapter 7 Cam #2
No wonder he hadn’t frozen. Cam sat for a few minutes, deciding what to do.
Though exhausted, he needed to investigate.
He stuffed his sleeping bag into his pack and repacked his belongings.
If his plan didn’t work, he could at least come back.
But the clock was ticking on his survival.
He had to go now before he grew too weak.
He took a breath, bracing himself for the icy roar of the storm, and slipped outside onto the covered front porch.
The icy wind sucked his breath away. He adjusted his beanie and scarf.
Before he changed his mind, he limped across the front of the house toward the possible source of the warm wall.
If someone had a fire, they could have water or the means to melt snow. It was worth the gamble.
While snow had drifted onto the porch floor, he remained close to the wall, where the powder wasn’t too deep. He navigated along the front of the house to the far end and a second set of stairs. This was where it would get tricky.
Even with his candle lantern, visibility was total shit beyond six or eight feet ahead.
Everything was white or dark gray. Using the railing and his crutch, he eased down the stairs into the deeper snow and off the porch.
The accumulation was higher than the top of his lone boot and created a fiery sensation where the snow melted against his injured foot dragging in the snow.
The cold relieved some of the throbbing.
He wanted to laugh. Maybe he should have been icing his ankle.
He shuffled forward, bracing against the wind, one hand trailing along the outer wall of the house, the rough stone snagging against his woolen gloves. Icy pellets stung his face despite his covering scarf. He couldn’t stay outside for long—even for pain relief.
He also couldn’t leave the safety of the house. If he lost touch with the building, it would be easy to get turned around or lost. His flame blew out, leaving him in near darkness.
Cam rounded the corner, fumbling along the width of the house, searching for another entrance.
Already, he was exhausted from fighting the wind.
Before he reached the far corner, he bumped into an outward jog in the wall.
He followed it to his right. After only a few yards, he came to another corner where he groped along the wall.
It seemed like another porch, this one enclosed. He stumbled farther, the wind striking even more strongly. Cam pushed ahead until four stairs intersected his path. He almost passed them—piled high with pristine snow—but took a chance.
Even though nobody appeared to have used this entrance, he brushed off a section of snow with his arm and hopped up the stairs.
When he twisted the knob, the door swung inward, scraping something forward along the floor.
He couldn’t see far, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he made out neat stacks of split firewood—wood stacked to the ceiling on both sides of a tall aisle.
Relieved to be out of the wind again, he inhaled.
The air had the fragrant, pitchy smell of fresh wood.
Someone had recently collected this stock.
His heart racing, Cam stumbled farther inside, closing the outer door behind him.
He struck a match and once more lit his lantern.
The light flickered, casting a steady yellow glow that pushed back the frigid gloom.
Cam hobbled forward, his light swaying. The door into the main house was locked.
He exhaled. Shivering, he knocked on the door and waited, but no one answered and it was too cold to keep waiting.
He’d have to break in. Setting his lantern on a waist-high pile of chopped wood, he swung off his pack, located his tools, and set to work.
Even with clumsy, stiff hands, it only took a couple of minutes to pop the lock.
Inside, he took in the sight of a completely barren kitchen.
Disappointment zinged through him. Had he imagined the heat on the wall?
This room was chilly and appeared as uninhabited as the rest of the house.
Except…he rotated, eyes narrow as he surveyed the room again.
Except for the lack of cobwebs and dust. He moved forward as quietly as possible.
Someone kept this place clean.
Still on a mission for water, he checked the taps.
Nothing. He tried the interior doors, jiggling the handles.
One opened onto a set of steep wooden stairs, descending into the pitch black.
Navigating them with his awkward crutch was a last resort.
If he struck out on the main floor, he’d try down there next.
While he hesitated, another cat, this one striped, scuttled through the kitchen, appearing as if by magic.
It headed for the far side of the room carrying a fat mouse in its mouth.
With only a furtive glance in his direction, the cat disappeared through another cat door on the far left.
Cam hobbled, following. In the poor light, what he’d taken for a dark wall was a thick green comforter covering the wall beneath. Insulation?
With shaking hands, he swung the green quilt aside.
A door, with another cat door at the bottom.
Heart hammering, he stood in front of the entrance and tried the knob.
Locked. Someone could be on the other side right now.
Intuition told him he’d found someone’s home.
Cam held his breath and then let it out as he knocked.