a scrambling rat.
Andrea awoke abruptly. She had heard it, or dreamed it — she couldn't be sure. She raised her head and listened.
The wind whistled, and the wood crackled in the stove. No sound of scampering feet came to her ears. She peered into the darkness around her, searching the floor for a glimpse of the creature. She saw nothing. But something else struck her — the smell. The stench from the cellar had seeped up through the wood floor, suffusing the musty cabin with the effluvium of death.
A sense of uneasiness crept over her, an anxiety that drove out any thought of sleep.
Andrea's leather boots stood upright on the floor beside the stove. She reached into the left one, pulled out her wristwatch, and held it in the dimmed light of the lantern.
11:46 P.M. She'd been asleep for barely an hour.
She wiggled out of her bag, opened the metal door to the stove, and slipped in three more sticks of cordwood. Then she pulled on her boots.
Erin stirred. "Mom?"
"Go back to sleep, honey."
"What time is it?"
"It's almost midnight."
They were whispering. Kris was still asleep.
"Where are you going?" asked Erin.
"I'm going out to the Cherokee to see if I can get a radio report." Andrea put on her parka.
"Mom — the ranger said to stay inside."
"He said to stay close to the cabin. I'm just going to the car. Now go back to sleep." Andrea pulled on her gloves, raised her hood over her blonde head. Erin was watching her. "I'll be back in five minutes," Andrea told her.
She picked up the lantern and stepped to the door. When she opened it, a brisk blast of wind swept into the room. At the threshold, the snow had blown into a three-foot drift. Andrea stepped out over it and quickly pulled the door shut behind her.
The Cherokee was parked twenty yards down the hill on the edge of the road. She could barely see it in the swirling snow. Andrea stepped off the porch and made her way down through the deep powder one step at a time, her boots plunging in nearly to her knees. The wind lashed her face and grabbed at the lantern. Andrea continued her descent until she reached the road. Then she stopped dead in her tracks.
There were fresh prints in the snow.
Andrea raised her lantern. The light revealed a track of huge footprints, crossing perpendicular to her own, diagonally across the road. It was impossible for her to tell which direction they were headed, but they were definitely human, probably made within the last half hour.
She followed them toward the woods. She tried to step in the prints with her boots, but the spread was too far between the plunging holes. At the edge of the trees, she held up her lamp and peered into the dark snow-laden forest.
"Hello!" she called, "Is someone there?" Her voice tore off in the wind. "Curly?" she shouted.
She heard no reply, and after a moment, turned back. She followed the footsteps up to the road, then followed them in the other direction. They brought her directly to the Cherokee, which lay buried in a deep drift of snow. The footprints made a half-circle around the vehicle, then appeared to head up the hill past the cabin. Andrea walked a ways up the hill. She called into the wind, "Is anybody there?"
She waited, then shouted, "Ranger Tom!"
She heard nothing.
Suddenly she remembered the weather report, and headed back to the Jeep. It was close to midnight; she hoped she'd be able to pick up something from the airwaves.
The Cherokee was a mountain of snow in the dark. Andrea poked her way through, pulled open the snow-caked door, and climbed inside, setting the lantern on the seat beside her.
She was in a cave of snow. The windows were covered with a thick layer of powder, and the space in the car felt cramped and close. Andrea's foggy breath filled the air and clung to the windows. She fished the keys out of her pocket and turned on the ignition. The engine, deadened with the bitter cold, took a moment before it finally turned over. Then it idled fast and loud, cold
Andrea awoke abruptly. She had heard it, or dreamed it — she couldn't be sure. She raised her head and listened.
The wind whistled, and the wood crackled in the stove. No sound of scampering feet came to her ears. She peered into the darkness around her, searching the floor for a glimpse of the creature. She saw nothing. But something else struck her — the smell. The stench from the cellar had seeped up through the wood floor, suffusing the musty cabin with the effluvium of death.
A sense of uneasiness crept over her, an anxiety that drove out any thought of sleep.
Andrea's leather boots stood upright on the floor beside the stove. She reached into the left one, pulled out her wristwatch, and held it in the dimmed light of the lantern.
11:46 P.M. She'd been asleep for barely an hour.
She wiggled out of her bag, opened the metal door to the stove, and slipped in three more sticks of cordwood. Then she pulled on her boots.
Erin stirred. "Mom?"
"Go back to sleep, honey."
"What time is it?"
"It's almost midnight."
They were whispering. Kris was still asleep.
"Where are you going?" asked Erin.
"I'm going out to the Cherokee to see if I can get a radio report." Andrea put on her parka.
"Mom — the ranger said to stay inside."
"He said to stay close to the cabin. I'm just going to the car. Now go back to sleep." Andrea pulled on her gloves, raised her hood over her blonde head. Erin was watching her. "I'll be back in five minutes," Andrea told her.
She picked up the lantern and stepped to the door. When she opened it, a brisk blast of wind swept into the room. At the threshold, the snow had blown into a three-foot drift. Andrea stepped out over it and quickly pulled the door shut behind her.
The Cherokee was parked twenty yards down the hill on the edge of the road. She could barely see it in the swirling snow. Andrea stepped off the porch and made her way down through the deep powder one step at a time, her boots plunging in nearly to her knees. The wind lashed her face and grabbed at the lantern. Andrea continued her descent until she reached the road. Then she stopped dead in her tracks.
There were fresh prints in the snow.
Andrea raised her lantern. The light revealed a track of huge footprints, crossing perpendicular to her own, diagonally across the road. It was impossible for her to tell which direction they were headed, but they were definitely human, probably made within the last half hour.
She followed them toward the woods. She tried to step in the prints with her boots, but the spread was too far between the plunging holes. At the edge of the trees, she held up her lamp and peered into the dark snow-laden forest.
"Hello!" she called, "Is someone there?" Her voice tore off in the wind. "Curly?" she shouted.
She heard no reply, and after a moment, turned back. She followed the footsteps up to the road, then followed them in the other direction. They brought her directly to the Cherokee, which lay buried in a deep drift of snow. The footprints made a half-circle around the vehicle, then appeared to head up the hill past the cabin. Andrea walked a ways up the hill. She called into the wind, "Is anybody there?"
She waited, then shouted, "Ranger Tom!"
She heard nothing.
Suddenly she remembered the weather report, and headed back to the Jeep. It was close to midnight; she hoped she'd be able to pick up something from the airwaves.
The Cherokee was a mountain of snow in the dark. Andrea poked her way through, pulled open the snow-caked door, and climbed inside, setting the lantern on the seat beside her.
She was in a cave of snow. The windows were covered with a thick layer of powder, and the space in the car felt cramped and close. Andrea's foggy breath filled the air and clung to the windows. She fished the keys out of her pocket and turned on the ignition. The engine, deadened with the bitter cold, took a moment before it finally turned over. Then it idled fast and loud, cold
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