Chapter 3
Chapter Three
I eyed the sleeping lizard snuggled in the blanket and wondered what the fuck. If I hadn’t been stone cold sober I’d have thought myself delusional when it mimed wanting food. Could its human mannerisms be a sign it belonged to someone and had escaped?
When it scooted into the house I’d imagined myself chasing it with a broom, destruction happening as it evaded capture. I blamed childhood cartoons for that visual. However, rather than go nuts trying to get it out, I ended up feeding it.
A lot.
How the fuck did something the size of a cat eat so much?
And why did I allow it to snooze on the couch?
Probably because outside was too damned cold and the reptile was kind of cute.
Not to mention, it would act as research since I’d given my book hero a pet lizard.
Funny how the addition of a sidekick had unlocked my brain and the words had flowed until my coffee ran out.
Speaking of which, I prepped myself a fresh cup and went back to my desk, my fingers flying as Brett, locked in a cell, befriended the scaly visitor and somehow taught it to undo the latch on his door.
I finished that chapter with them fleeing amidst a hail of bullets. The lizard, whom I’d name Percy, perched upon Brett’s shoulder.
Would my fans like it? Who knew. It just felt good to suddenly have inspiration again. At worst, my editor would demand I remove Percy, but at least I’d have a finished manuscript to work with if that happened.
With dawn approaching, I headed to bed, cracking a giant yawn. I might have slept right through to dinner if not for the nightmare.
The same one as every night. Me, lying atop a roof, flat on my belly. Eye pressed to my scope. Finger on the trigger. Waiting for my orders.
“Shoot.”
The robed figure that entered the room never stood a chance. Only after I fired did I realize something was amiss. The target is too short. Our informant had been fooled. The decoy I took out turned out to not be the terrorist we’d been after, but a boy dressed and veiled to look like him.
It appeared the terrorists had been tipped off about the hit.
As the other soldiers and I fled, racing on foot for the rendezvous point, the ambush struck.
Explosions. Gunfire. Screams. Blood. Pain.
So much pain and not just from the chunk torn out of my leg.
My fellow Marines, friends, brothers, falling like dominoes.
I could still taste the acrid dust of desperation as I crawled for cover.
I made it only seconds before I passed out and woke buried in a pile of bodies.
With faces I knew.
Flesh rigid in death. The bugs already swarming like something out of a horror movie.
The tiny slaps on my face had me shaking my head, muttering, “No, no, no,” until I woke abruptly, sweating like a pig with my heart racing, my leg aching, and staring eyeball to eyeball with the lizard.
A lesser man might have screamed. I’d seen worse.
Its paw remained on my cheek as if to calm me.
I offered a gruff, “Thanks for waking me up.”
The lizard cocked its head before patting its belly.
“Hungry again, eh? Let’s see what we can wrangle.” The distraction proved welcome.
The little creature stiffened when I scooped it from my chest and rose, holding it tucked against me. It relaxed when I placed it on my shoulder then clung to me as I headed downstairs, proving that the scene that I’d written in my book would actually work.
We hit the kitchen, which glowed with sunlight, the late morning sun beaming through the windows. A peek in the fridge showed a few eggs and a rasher of bacon left, which, along with some toast, made a nice breakfast. The lizard got most of it.
Since I’d suspected it might be a bottomless pit again, I’d cooked seven eggs, nine slices of bacon, and toasted the rest of the loaf of bread.
The little bugger dug in and put my three eggs, two toast, and three crispy slices to shame.
When I brought out the jam and slathered some on a piece of bread for both of us, it didn’t take a genius to figure out the lizard liked it because, next thing I knew, it tried to stick its head in the open jar.
When it didn’t quite fit, a long tongue emerged to scour the glass.
Guess I’d better add jam to my next grocery delivery. Might have to double my food order if the bugger stuck around. Had to say, I kind of hoped it did.
I leaned my forearms on the table and stared at it. “You need a name,” I declared.
It chittered in reply, the cadence reminding me of words. An insane comparison to make. I must be more starved for companionship than I realized. Then again, I used to talk to Buster, who used to woof back in reply.
“I called the lizard in my book Percy.” I pointed to it and repeated, “Per—cy.”
It shook its head and held out its paws, once more talking in reptile.
“Don’t like that, hunh. We’ll figure something out if you stay. But first thing, I should probably wander into town and see if anyone’s reported a lizard missing.” Because I knew the heartache of losing a beloved pet.
I headed to the bedroom and dressed, but as I put on my boots and coat by the front door, the lizard suddenly clung to my leg and chattered in agitation.
“Whoa. What’s with all the drama?”
The critter suddenly climbed me like a tree until it sat on my shoulder. “I take it this means you wanna come with?”
No reply. Of course not. Lizards didn’t speak but apparently, I was so desperate for any kind of interaction I expected this one to.
Thankfully it didn’t, or I’d have been questioning my mental state. Life already sucked with the nightmares and panic attacks. I didn’t need to add hallucinating talking reptiles to the list of things wrong with me.
“Let’s go see if there’s a kiddo missing you.
Think I’ll grab some groceries too. Forecast says we’re going to get blasted later today.
” A few inches at the very least, possibly more, depending on the winds.
The chalet might be snug and warm, however, the owner had advised me even a hint of snow could make the road unusable until a snowplow came by and they sanded the treacherous stretch—which apparently could be a few days after a dumping since the more remote homes that used the road weren’t considered a high priority.
I headed for the Fiat Panda I’d rented, a far cry from the pickup truck I drove back home. Soon as I made the driver’s seat groan—because apparently it didn’t appreciate my six-foot-five ass—the lizard hopped from my shoulder and began to explore. On the dash. Passenger seat. Into the back.
It screeched when I started the motor and fled to my lap. “It’s okay, Percy. Just the engine.”
A glance down showed it looking at me warily then eyeing with even more suspicion the dashboard beyond which the puny four-cylinder, 1.3-liter turbodiesel chugged.
Whatever anxiety it had fled by the time we started driving. It stood on my thigh, its paws flat against the window as it stared outside. A few times it turned its head to chitter at me as if exclaiming over the scenery.
Or so I imagined. Might be a fun thing to put in the book. The lizard and Brett having conversations which would show off my hero’s softer side.
When we arrived in town, it seemed busier than usual, especially the grocery store. Soon as I entered, Enzo—a balding Italian with the most impressive mustache, who usually brought my groceries—lifted a brow at the sight of me and in heavily accented English said, “No pets.”
I glanced at the reptile on my shoulder. “Sorry. It wouldn’t stay home. You don’t happen to know if anybody lost a reptile? I found this one at the place I’m renting.”
“Lost?” Enzo frowned. “No.”
“If you do hear of someone looking for a lizard, let me know, ‘kay?”
“Si.” Enzo nodded. “You food need?”
“Yeah. Thought I should grab some stuff what with that storm coming.”
“Grande tempesta!” Enzo exploded his hands. “Niente elettricità. Need candela?”
My Italian sucked but I grasped enough to figure out the warning. Power failure possible, grab some candles.
Good advice. I also loaded up on toilet paper—because this wasn’t a war zone and I would wipe my ass with something soft.
Boxes of cookies. Canned goods. Meat. Lots of it.
Even if the power went out, I could stick it outside and keep it cold until I cooked it.
If the propane stove ran out of fuel, I’d grill it in the fireplace.
Percy—despite the lizard’s dislike of the name, it had kind of stuck with me since I began writing about it—remained on my shoulder, garnering looks, one shriek and a pointed figure by an old dame, as well as a few kids giggling.
But no one claimed the lizard. Good. The little bugger was already growing on me. Who knew a lizard could have so much attitude and be just the thing a lonely grump like me needed?
As I was standing at the checkout, a crying child caught my attention.
A glance behind showed a woman trying to calm the tyke perched on her hip.
She wore huge sunglasses despite being indoors and wore a scarf that wrapped over her head and loosely tucked around her neck.
Despite the mom’s soft murmurs, the child wailed louder and reached for the cart. Make that the box of biscuits on top.
“Why don’t you give her a cookie?” I rumbled.
She stiffened and in a heavy accent replied, “I have not paid for them yet. I apologize if we are disturbing you.”
“Bah. I’ve heard worse.” I turned away and pulled out my wallet to pay. Percy took that moment to start gibbering.
Loudly.
The cashier, a young female, gaped at the lizard.
The kid stopped crying and in a high-pitched baby voice exclaimed, “Dinosauro. Mio.”
My Italian sucked but I understood that. My dinosaur. Damn it. Was I about to lose Percy?
I flipped around to face the lady again. The child stretched her arms, flexing fingers in Percy’s direction.
I asked, “Is the lizard yours?”
She recoiled. “No.” So she claimed but the kid kept repeating, “Mio. Mio.”
“Shh, Zaza,” the woman hissed. She went on a quick barrage of words I couldn’t follow that led to the kid’s face crumpling again.
Before the waterworks could start, I slammed the filled grocery bags into my cart and raced them out to my car. I didn’t do well with kids. Probably for the best, considering I couldn’t make any.
I hit the hardware store next, a small place unlike the big box stores I was used to back home.
They had the basics I needed. Flashlight and batteries.
A sturdy shovel that barely fit in the trunk.
A few bags of sand. Lantern—because candles would extinguish if I took them outside and there was even a hint of a breeze.
By the time I’d loaded all my purchases and headed out, the promised storm darkened the sky and the first white flakes began to fall though it was hours before expected.
The hardware store clerk claimed the weather had been updated and we were going to be slammed.
Good to know, and good thing I already had chains on my tires because my Panda lacked four-wheel drive.
As my chugging little car made the trek back up the winding, narrow road, the snow thickened to the point I could barely see in front of me.
The road also became icy, making me happy for the chains as they gave me the grip to keep climbing.
Apparently, the person who’d skidded off the road and smacked a tree should have done the same.
I slowed down to see if they needed a hand because, while not in the mood to be a good Samaritan, even I wouldn’t leave someone stranded in this kind of weather.
“Stay in the car where it’s warm,” I told Percy, sliding on my gloves before exiting the vehicle.
The lizard climbed to the dash and watched me with, might I say, disapproval.
Yeah, I didn’t want to be out here either, especially since the more time I wasted the worse the drive would get.
At least I wasn’t too far from the chalet now.
I studied the status of the car as I neared it. The engine still ran despite the mangled bumper and crumpled hood. However, what made it undriveable? The passenger side tire had torn loose.
Someone hunched over the steering wheel and when I knocked on the window jumped hard enough, I thought they’d concuss themselves on the roof.
The window lowered and I recognized the woman from the store, minus the glasses, which it turned out hid a very shiny black eye.