Chapter Seventeen
Abby didn’t know what felt worse. Her throbbing knee, or her anxiousness over telling Whit that she couldn’t go on. Her body answered for her when her knee gave out and she collapsed.
“Oh, my God, Abby!” Whit knelt next to her and helped her to sit up. “Are you okay?”
Abby laughed, bemused, and a bit hysterical, she was so exhausted. “I’m just a little dizzy is all.” She slurred her words and Whit held her face, making her all the more lightheaded. “You’re gorgeous,” Abby declared, her wits depleting quickly.
“You’re delirious.” Whit’s grave concern for her melted Abby’s heart and here she was, letting her down.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t make it to the end of the day.”
“Don’t be silly,” Whit said. “You did amazing. And obviously too much. Shit, I should’ve insisted we stop hours ago.”
“Not your fault,” Abby said. “I would’ve argued with you.”
“Yeah, well, I need to do better. Pay closer attention. Otherwise you’re not going to be able to walk at all.”
“Maybe I can hop.”
Whit cracked a smile. “You think? Like your hare?”
“Yes, like Matilda.” She felt her face cloud. “I hope she’s okay.”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Whit said, rising.
Abby tilted her face skyward as cold, plump drops of rain began to fall. “I think we’re in trouble,” she said, holding out her hands to catch the downfall.
Whit glanced up with her. “I think you’re right. This is bad news.” She offered Abby her hand. “Can you stand? We need to move over to that cedar for shelter until I can build us one.”
Abby allowed her to lift her up and she half-hopped, half-walked over to the nearby tree. But just as she was getting ready to slouch back down onto the ground, she saw something dark through the increasing streaks of rain and heavy brush. “What is that?” she said, pointing.
Whit followed her line of sight. “I don’t know. It looks like…” She began to trot toward the faded brown structure. “A cabin.” She glanced back at Abby. “I’m going to go check it out.”
“Be careful,” Abby said. “Someone might be holed up in there.”
Whit retrieved her knife and then set off for the cabin, which, from what Abby could tell, was all weather-worn dark wood, the bottom overgrown with foliage.
She prayed that it was habitable though, even if only for the night.
She could use the warmth and a secure place to rest without having to worry about Boyd or someone else getting to them easily.
“Please,” she said. “Let it be okay.”
Whit returned with her knife sheathed and her hair glossy and flattened with rain. “It’s doable,” she said, wiping her damp face. “Someone’s been using it off and on, keeping it up to par.”
“You sure that someone isn’t coming back anytime soon?”
“No way to tell for sure. But there’s a beam we can lock the door with from the inside and there’s no one in sight.” She held out her hand. “Care for a tour?”
Abby took her hand, already chilled from the raindrops seeping through the branches above her.
She relished how Whit’s palm felt in her own, regardless of it being cold and wet, and she shuffled with her through the trees to the rustic cabin.
Whit assisted her up the two makeshift steps to the slightly warped porch and helped her in through the open door.
The building was tiny and sparsely furnished, with a single window, a twin mattress on a spring frame, a two-chaired table, a splintered bookshelf full of various odds and ends, and a wood stove in the corner nestled next to a depleted pile of wood.
An old, yellowed map of Alaska was pinned to the back wall next to a calendar from 1983, and the lingering scent of must and damp tickled her nostrils.
But the walls were intact and the roof was seemingly good, so she was satisfied.
“Looks like a four-star joint to me,” Abby said, hands on hips.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Whit led her over to one of the chairs.
“Check this out.” She sifted through the dusty items on the bookshelf and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey.
“We even have cups.” She brought the goods to the table and poured them both a shot in the chipped, green ceramic mugs.
“This will warm us up,” she said, toasting Abby. “Cheers.”
Abby winced as the liquor burned its way down her throat, causing Whit to laugh. “Want another?”
“No, thanks.” One was enough. God, it tasted awful and it reminded her of her college days when she used to get drunk with her friends on Jack and Cokes. Nausea slushed around in her gut. She pushed the mug away and belched softly.
“Yeah, you’re right. We should probably save it,” Whit said, replacing the bottle on the shelf.
She picked up some books. “Hey, we’ve got stuff to read.
” She flipped through them. “Mostly old westerns, but at least it’s something.
And…” she said, bringing an old hurricane lantern over along with a handful of small candles. “We have light.”
“Great. Looks like we’ve got most of what we need here.” Abby blew dust off the table and settled.
“Why don’t you rest while I go gather some wood?”
“You sure you don’t want some help?” She knew she couldn’t offer much, but she could try.
Whit gave her a look. “Don’t even think about moving.”
Abby consented and Whit was out the door in a flash, leaving Abby alone in the cabin.
As she studied her surroundings, she saw what appeared to be two marks on the worn map, so she stood to examine it closer.
Her heart lifted as she saw a spot identifying what must be their current location.
But then it fell to her stomach as she saw just how far they still had to go to get to the nearest town.
And Cozy may as well be a far-off dream.
The other mark was farther northeast, and she wondered what it was.
It wasn’t close to a road or any civilization that she could see.
She resettled on the chair. “At least we’re safe for now.” She debated if she’d be able to make the trek out after all. Tears formed in her eyes as she thought about the little cabin being her final destination, but she quickly wiped them away when she heard Whit clamoring up the steps.
“Got some wood,” she said as she breezed inside, smelling of the fresh rain and woodsy earth. “And…” she said as she straightened and dug in her pockets to pull out some dried brush. “Some kindling.”
“Excellent,” Abby said.
Whit frowned. “Have you been crying?”
“Of course not.”
“Abby, please. I can tell.” She shoved the kindling in the stove, next to the dry wood that had already been inside, and knelt before her. “What’s wrong? Is it your knee? You hurting that bad?” She rubbed the moisture from her face and blinked.
Abby fought back more tears. “I’m afraid I’m not going to make it out.”
“Oh, Abby. Please, don’t think like that. You’re going to be fine. We’re going to be fine, and we’re going to reach help.”
Abby wanted to believe her, more than anything. But more than wanting to believe her, she wanted to reassure her that she was okay and that she was going to keep trudging along. “I’ll fight,” she said, willing herself to do so. “I will.”
“You don’t have to fight right now, okay? Right now we rest. And we rest until you feel well enough to leave again.”
“But we—”
“No arguing,” she said as she rose. She put a finger to her lips. “Just rest.”
Abby once again acquiesced and Whit, seemingly satisfied, wriggled her fire starting kit out of her back pocket and squatted in front of the stove.
She leaned in and struck the ferro rod, creating sparks that Abby could see, and then blew gently until a flame came to life.
She closed the clunky-sounding door and stood.
“That should get hot in no time.” She slid out the accompanying chair and sat. “Ready for some fish?”
“Ugh,” Abby let out before she could stop herself.
“I see you’re excited.”
“Totally stoked,” Abby said.
“I could go look for other things to munch on. If you’re okay being alone for a while?”
“I don’t know, Whit.” What if whoever had been here came back? What would she do?
“I need to go get more firewood anyhow, to last us through the night. I found a dry patch not far from here.” But she’d obviously picked up on Abby’s trepidation.
“Just keep the door locked. I’ll let you know it’s me when I return.
” She dumped the dried fish on the table and readied the pot to take with her.
Abby felt that nausea slosh around in her stomach again.
Whit showed her the big wooden beam that slid into place to block the door from opening. It seemed secure enough.
“Okay,” Abby said, wanting to appease her.
Whit smiled. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Abby stood and braced herself and followed her to the door. Whit trotted down the stairs and turned to give her one last look of reassurance. “See you soon.”
Abby smiled, though she knew it didn’t fully reach her eyes.
She was apprehensive and anxious at being left alone, but it was what had to be done.
She closed the door and latched it, and then sat on the hand-crafted chair.
The mattress, which rested on a metal frame, looked appealing, but she just couldn’t imagine sleeping where Boyd had, regardless of how exhausted she was.
So she settled in as best she could in the chair and rested her head in her arms on the table.
In no time at all, as the stove began to warm, she was fast asleep.
She dreamt of the ocean, thick and heavy with white-capped waves of which she was bobbing, alone, and in a small boat.
She was crying for help, searching desperately for shore, when she heard knocking.
She searched desperately for the source, unable to locate it, until the boat hit something, jarring her.
The knocking continued and grew louder as the waves pummeled the vessel relentlessly into the rocks, until the hull began to break apart and the water rushed in.
She cried out and sat straight up, looking around at the tight quarters of the cabin, heart in her throat.
She got control of her breathing and wiped the sweat from her brow.
She was still alone, save for the crackling of the fire in the stove, which was producing good heat now.
Knocking came from the door, bold and forceful.
She stiffened. Was that the knocking in her dream?
She stood and twisted her fingers in her hand, still feeling like she was aboard the rickety boat in her dream. Was the dizziness from sheer exhaustion? Or something else?
Someone knocked again at the door, bringing back her focus. She took a step toward the rapping but then stopped. Would Whit knock that boldly? Maybe she would if she’d been knocking awhile. She took another step. “Whit?”
Nothing.
More knocking. This time from the wall to her left. She called out again, pulse pounding. “Whit? Is that you?”
More noise, this time banging from the back wall. She froze, looking at the window, afraid to approach it. Whoever was out there would be able to see her if she did. And they’d see that she was alone. She slunk back against the wall out of sight, terrified.
Someone was out there. And by the sound of it, they were angry.
She clenched her eyes. Where was Whit? Was she okay? Had whoever it was gotten to her?
She stood very still, too frightened to move.
She searched the cabin for a weapon, a stick, a stone, anything.
She was alone and helpless with her bad knee and nothing to use for protection.
Whit had taken the spear she’d left outside with her.
Abby eyed the chair, then slid it closer to her.
If worse came to worst, she could use it to strike someone.
She clung to the back of it, praying for peace. After a few long minutes with no further noise, she relaxed a little and edged toward the window. With a big breath of courage, she turned and snuck a look outside, panning hurriedly from left to right. She saw nothing but the darkening woods.
Then another knock came from the door, startling her. She turned with her hand on her heart and nearly collapsed with relief when she heard Whit call her name.
“Oh, thank God.” She wobbled over and lifted the beam to open the door. Whit bounded in with an armload of firewood and the pot dangling from the rope over her shoulder. “Have you been knocking?” Abby asked, with the hope that maybe it had been Whit trying to wake her after all.
“You mean other than just now?” She deposited the load next to the stove and rested her hands on her hips, breathless. Then she walked back to the porch and brought in her spear to lean against the wall.
Abby nodded.
“No, why?” She grabbed Abby’s hands. “You’re trembling.”
“There was knocking,” Abby said, trying to calm herself. She didn’t like the fact that she was shaking, nor did she like the panicked concern in Whit’s gaze. “Before you came. All over the walls.”
Whit’s brow furrowed. “Knocking?”
“And banging.”
Whit stole a glance outside. “Did you see anyone?”
“No.”
Whit drew out her knife. “Lock the door. I’m going to go look around.”
Abby seized her by the arm. “No! Don’t go out. Please.” She was still trembling, terrified Whit would walk out and disappear, never to be seen again. Besides, it was pouring rain. She could hear it slamming onto the roof, see the silver sheets of it falling through the open door.
Whit fell silent, taking her in. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.” She released her to gather the remaining wood and bring it back inside. Abby quickly bolted the door as Whit dumped the pile on the floor.
“Thank you,” Abby breathed.
Whit sank down into a chair and wrung out her rain-soaked hair. She was trembling slightly as well, but Abby knew it was from the cold and not fear.
“Someone really banged on the walls?”
Abby dragged her chair over to the table and joined her. “The door, the walls, everywhere. Scared me to death.”
Whit seemed to think. “Had to be Boyd. He’s messing with us.”
But Abby wasn’t so sure. The knocking, the banging, was so loud and forceful, it sounded like someone bigger than Boyd. Someone angry. Really angry.
“I don’t know, Whit. I’m not so sure.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I was asleep and having this dream—”
“Whoa.” Whit leaned forward. “You were dreaming?”
“Yes, but—”
“Could you’ve dreamt the noise?”
“No, I—”
Whit slid some fish over and toyed with the pieces. “Let’s not worry about it,” she said. “Let’s just focus on dinner.” She passed some chunks to Abby. Then she retrieved some for herself and popped a sliver in her mouth. “Okay?”
Abby flushed, feeling brushed off. “I didn’t dream it, Whit.”
“Okay.” She chewed. “But let’s try not to think about it. For now anyway. Sorry, I couldn’t find anything else to eat.”
Abby stared at her dismayed. Whit had an uncanny ability to shut off when things bothered her. Abby wished, at the moment, that she could do the same.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t, and she wondered just what had happened to Whit to make her be able to do so so easily.