Shadows danced among the orange and yellow hues that illuminated the inner walls of the small cabin. Raven sat on the couch eating a cup of yogurt she’d pulled from a snow bank, just outside the back door, only moments before. For now the snow cover was acting as her refrigerator and the fire as her lighting system. A pair of candles were flickering on either side of her laptop, which was now drained of power and sitting on the tabletop. A second day without electricity had brought her story to an abrupt halt. Some progress had been made the day before, but writing by hand was difficult and her wrist ached from the hours she’d spent completing the most recent chapter.
The display on her phone indicated less than 10% battery power. She cussed herself again, wishing she’d spent the extra $15 and gotten the car-charging accessory. The writer debated calling Smugs but felt she better save what little power was left in case a real emergency presented itself. The night before she’d sent a quick note to Mick, downplaying the situation, as not to worry her friends but tonight, as she sat looking into the flames, her heart ached for some companionship or news of the outside world.
The last bite gone, she ran her finger around the inside of the plastic container and swept the very last morsel into her mouth. She contemplated what state she’d be in had it not been for the stack of firewood her uncle had chopped and placed alongside the cabin. Earlier in the day, Raven had tried to make it to town but when she’d slipped sideways on the narrow road and almost plummeted down a steep incline, she’d returned to the cabin and decided to wait for help to arrive. Surely, she must not be the only one without power and the utility company was working to restore it.
Unable to sleep in the bedroom, it being too far from the warmth of the flames, she curled up on the couch and slept lightly, hoping the morning sun would restore the electricity, along with her optimism. Hours later something woke her. Raven bolted upright, the embers still glowing but no flame as she listened for the sound that snapped her from a dream. She pulled the blanket around her and strained to hear what it was that had startled her. Bzzzzz, Bzzzzz, the sound sent Raven to her feet shrieking, before she realized it was her phone reporting an incoming text message. “Idiot,” she said, reaching for her phone. Great, she thought, as she responded to the message from Bobi, telling her that they were on their way. ‘No POWER – steal a generator!’ She smiled as she sent the text, wondering if Bobi would take her at her word.
More awake and clear-headed she listened again, thinking perhaps the night's sounds or a vivid dream had yanked her from her sleep. Nothing . . . no wait . . . there it is again. In the cold of the room, sweat formed on her upper lip as the distinct sound of someone or something walking across the back porch reached her ears. She held her breath and closed her eyes, focusing every ounce of energy on hearing what was happening on the other side of the wall.
Suddenly, something heavy slammed against the back door, shaking the wall and sending a fishing rod and picture frame clattering to the floor. Raven screamed and jumped back, distancing herself from the door. She knelt next to the fireplace, almost crushing the phone in her fist. A single candle twinkled in the dark of the room, providing the only light, as Raven looked about for a weapon.
There’s a shotgun, somewhere there’s a shotgun. Where . . . where? Raven tried desperately to remember where she’d seen it on a previous visit. On her hands and knees she scooted to the table and lifted the small candle with its lingering glow. The orange flame flickered and bent against the air’s faint resistance. It trembled and feigned being snuffed out but recovered quickly, dancing as she shuffled across the floor. Hot wax ran from a small, molten pool at the wick’s base, covering her fingers and numbing the tissue. “Bedroom, has to be in the bedroom,” she whispered under her breath, the sound of her voice calming her briefly. Outside on the landing she heard the squeaking of planks as they rubbed against each other. She stopped and whispered a quick prayer, before the sound of something against the door sent her flying into the bedroom.
Inside the room, she looked under the bed but found nothing except dust balls and a stack of old puzzles. A large upright armoire stood against the wall, where only days before she’d unpacked her belongings. It’s not in there, then she remembered and jumped to her feet. Raven dripped some wax from the base of the wick onto the nearest bedpost and secured the shortened candle to free her hands. Standing on her tiptoes she ran her fingers over the top of the furnishing, first across the front, finding nothing, and then the back where her hand touched something cold and metallic.
Encircling the steel of the shotgun, she wrenched it from its hiding place and swung it toward the door. Sweeping her left thumb across the weapon’s release, the chamber pitched open as the double barrels angled downward, exposing the brass ends of two shells. With her right hand she bent the rifle back into alignment, closed the breach and cocked the hammers. Her faint shadow, cast by the fading light of the vanishing candle, stretched out before her as she moved through the bedroom's entrance to the single window that would provide a view out the backside of the cabin. Shaking, but trying to muster her courage, she used the end of the gun to move the floral drapes away from the opening. She squinted into the darkness but could see nothing.
Raven moved to her right, keeping the material swept back so she could see through the window and onto the back porch. Moonlight, glinting off the newly fallen snow, provided some contrast and it immediately became apparent to the shaken young woman that something had disturbed her groceries. Wrappers and partially ingested food items littered the ground but the culprit was nowhere in sight. Without warning, the door shook, almost giving way, as something pressed firmly against it. The author’s attention was drawn to the door, but only briefly, as seconds later, a couple of quick steps brought the creature directly in front of the window, where it stood inches away and growled at Raven’s image.
Teetering on the edge of hysteria and with adrenalin coursing through her veins, Raven pulled back on both triggers, sending a hundred lead BB’s through the window and into the foraging black bear. It wailed and crashed a paw through the broken window before it dropped onto all fours and ambled away from the cabin. Raven peered through the shattered glass, a marked trail of blood that appeared black in the moonlight lead away from the porch. “Damn! What have I done,” she yelled.
Taking a couple of deep breaths she tried to clear her head. What do I do? What can I do? she thought. “What if it comes back? Oh man, what if it comes back?” She hurried through the almost pitch black of the cabin to the bedroom where she felt for a box of shells she knew must be on the top of the armoire. Finding it, she pulled it down and extracted a couple of live rounds, which she used to reload the shotgun. She returned to the main room and stood near the broken window, holding the barrel in such a way as to deliver another blast, if need be. Twenty minutes passed, then an hour, before she had the courage to cover the window with some cardboard, duct taping it into place. She spent the remainder of the night clutching the gun and trying to stay warm. No sleep would come but anguish and fear helped her to stay alert.
In the early morning hours she was relieved to see the first stray lights of morning filter through the air and into the cabin. The realization that she’d likely killed something in the night weighed heavily on her heart, but it would not be the last or the most difficult. Life, as she knew it, was over and kill or be killed would trump all, as sane men were driven to monstrous acts in an effort to save themselves and their families.