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“Right.” He waited, listening and watching, but nothing moved, so he walked up the road. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too much farther. His back couldn’t take the big load for very long, and Deb didn’t seem like a hiker. But the farther they went, the less chance they’d be spotted, so they trudged onward.
Chapter 8
The heavy plastic bags cut into Deb’s hands, and despite her best efforts, she fell behind Michael. Her shoes were perfect for the bakery’s sealed concrete floors, but they provided little traction on the icy drifts covering the road. She hadn’t gone down, but she’d come close, slipping and sliding over and over.
The sun had risen, but that deepened the shadows in the ruts and reflected off the ridges in the snow, making it even more difficult to stay on her feet. She’d worry about bears or mountain lions, but she didn’t have the energy. If an animal jumped her, at least she’d get to rest for a few seconds before she was put out of her misery permanently. Michael hadn’t even glanced back at her; he didn’t care if she got eaten.
A thud and a groan made her look up from the unending white expanse. They’d reached the cabin! Michael put his hands just below his waist and stretched backwards, his face a rictus of pain. If she had been able to raise her arms, she’d smack her forehead for her uncharitable thoughts. Michael hauled a heavier load; his injured back probably hurt. He undoubtedly cared, but could barely manage to endure his pain.
Michael had done more than enough getting her away from the threat. She had to pull her own weight and more. She trudged faster so he wouldn’t come back. But he didn’t even glance at her. He turned to the front door and lifted a padlock. Pulling a sheet of paper from his pocket, he did something to the lock, pulled out his gun, opened the door, and walked into the darkness beyond.
Deb took the opportunity to stop, pant, and inspect their hideaway. An unimpressive hut of bare plywood, topped by a steep, slightly rusty metal roof, with a small window beside the front door, it didn’t inspire confidence. She plodded on. Wire mesh covered the windows and door frame—probably to keep mice and rats out—and the tiny front porch planks looked rotten. When Tom had said “cabin,” Deb had pictured a cute log house. But a nicer structure would probably get broken into; no one would bother a beat-up shack.
She reached the porch and dragged her feet up the wobbly steps to the porch and peered into the dim interior. A card table with two chairs sat in front of a plywood counter supported by plain lumber. The counter held a bar-style sink, with bare pipes showing below, and a two-burner propane stove, the kind that used small canisters. Clear plastic bins filled with canned food, paper plates, and other camping gear were stacked below the counter. Plastic plates and a few mugs, along with more canned food and gas canisters, rested on shelves above the counter. The floor was bare plywood, too. Michael stood with his back to her in a doorway beside the counter.
Deb stepped inside, dropping her bags on the dusty table. To her right, a metal futon frame held a large black bag; hopefully it contained the cushion. A lantern sat on an end table next to the futon, and a small rickety bookshelf held a few paperback novels under the front window. A larger window let in light above the futon, and the rising sun highlighted a beautiful view of the valley below. A black wood stove sat in the corner on a small tile platform. The wood rafters above them were dusty and cobwebbed and cheap wood paneling covered the walls.
Michael turned. “Better than it could be. I’ll have to clear the solar arrays I spotted out back before we have enough power to run the water pump and clear the winterization, so don’t use the water. I hope there are larger propane tanks behind the house, but they could be empty. There’s no refrigerator, but it’s cool enough that we can hang things outside at night or maybe there’s a bear box. Or maybe Tom and Wiz will bring us an ice chest.” He walked to the end table and picked up the lantern, looking at the top. “Solar. I’ll put this outside, then we can use it tonight.” He ran a finger over the bed frame. “I think there’s some cleaning stuff in one of those bins under the sink. You can clean while I get the water going.” He left, taking the lantern with him.
Deb crossed to the doorway Michael had been standing in and shivered; the back room was colder and darker than the main area. On her left, a tiny window let in enough light to see the toilet with pink liquid in the bowl below. Directly in front of her, a pressure tank for well water, a bank of batteries, a breaker box mounted on the wall above, and a larger box containing an on-demand water heater next to it. On her right, a small shower enclosure with a rust-stained white curtain; in front of it, a shelf held another black plastic bag, with hooks screwed into the wall below. The bag might have linens and towels.
She returned to the kitchen area and found a bin containing paper towels and cleaners. Taking a disposable duster out, she started on the bed frame. She’d like to get the rafters above, but she couldn’t reach them. While she’d hoped for the cute log house, a shack with no running water and an outhouse had been more than possible. Still, the shadowed box was rather gloomy. It would brighten as the sun rose.
Michael stomped on the front porch, then entered. He strode to the bathroom and opened the breaker box, then returned with a broom. “Before you do that, let’s dust the beams above a bit. Take those bags back outside.” He raised the bristles over his head.
“Sure.” Scowling, Deb grabbed the plastic bags and dropped them on the porch next to Michael’s duffel. Saying please, or even asking rather than demanding must be against his personal code. At her feet, the bag of flour mocked her. Half the things she’d bought were useless without an oven. Maybe she could make pancakes.
The swish of the broom was interspersed with sneezing. Deb rubbed her arms. When she stopped moving, it was chilly. She marched in place to stay warm. Michael emerged, still sneezing. He closed the door, and trotted down the stairs, bending over to brush dust out of his hair, then pulled off his shirt, shaking it off.
Intricate decorative lettering in elaborate patterns interspersed with colorful military patches covered his upper arms and chest, but he was too far away for her to read them. He pulled his shirt back on, covering his impressive musculature, and dusted off his pants. She’d like to see what hid beneath those…
Michael stood, raising his brows at her stare. She turned away to hide the heat rising in her cheeks, gripping the duster like old lady Cust clutched her pearls. She should know better; she didn’t like men gawking, either. Although if Michael’s glare ever turned to a more pleasant expression, she wouldn’t mind his gaze. But that would never happen. And it didn’t matter, she had work to do.
“Don’t go inside yet. Let the dust settle. Are you cold?” His voice got closer.
There was no point in denying it, even if there was nothing she could do. “Yes, it’s chilly.”
A zipper sounded, material rustled, then a jacket settled over her shoulders. “I told you I had a jacket for you. Why didn’t you get it?”
“I’m not digging in your things.” That would be rude, and she didn’t want to see his personal items.
With his hands on her shoulder, he turned her around. “Look, Deb, I know this is all new to you, and you don’t want to be here. But modesty, manners, and niceties take time and effort. Get past it. Our lives are at stake. My things are yours, and yours are mine, because we’ll have to work together to stay alive. This valley isn’t that big in the scheme of things. If these people coming after you are organized crime, Russian or American or whatever, they have money and resources. They can hire a plane and look for us, or launch drones, and then send people out on ATVs. We should probably stay here until Wiz and Tom come, then go on to Idaho or Wyoming if it’s still dangerous.”
Despite the jacket warming her shoulders, Deb shuddered. “But we can’t run forever.”
“You’re right. Eventually, they’ll stop looking, but by then, you won’t have a business to return to.”
She closed her eyes. She’d worked so long, so hard, and was finally tasting success. Then some selfish jerk tries to take it all away, simply to hoard more dollars, influence and power.
Michael growled, then arms closed around her, holding her close. “I’m sorry, Deb. It’s not right, but it’s reality. Your friends are working on a solution. None of them hold a lot of power, but they all have strengths, and they’re working together. They’ll come up with a plan. Even if they don’t, we’ll come up with one, okay? You have to believe. Nothing will kill you faster than giving up. Despair isn’t helpful. Determination makes survivors.”
She sagged into his comforting embrace and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”
“Don’t be. Nic can handle the business. I’m uniquely suited to help you survive, and I’ll do my best.” His arms dropped and he stepped back.
Deb closed her eyes for a moment. Sympathetic Michael was too appealing, but he’d offered the hug out of practicality, not because he was attracted to her. “Well, I’m sure your best at survival is better than mine. The best I can do is offer free cupcakes.”
He scowled. “Stop putting yourself down. You’re a smart business woman. Don’t let your past prevent you from using your best asset.” His mouth twisted, probably because she’d glanced down at her body. “Your brain. Negativity kills.”
