Cold Wind

by Paige Shelton

  But it took me someplace else altogether. One second I was with Gril, thinking how safe I felt, and the next I was transported back in time, back to a place I was working so hard to stay away from.

  Silver. A silver earring had dangled from my captor’s ear. My mind’s eye could see it shimmer in the light that came through the van’s windshield. It was a silver feather. My captor, still faceless, but with blue eyes that I had, in fact, remembered. He had looked at me and said something, and as I looked over at him, I noticed the flash of light on his ear.

  I didn’t answer him.

  “No,” I muttered in the here and now.

  “Beth?”

  As if I’d been in a tunnel, I was sucked back to the present moment.

  “What?” Gril asked.

  I shook my head, glad for the quick return to real time and not willing to tell even someone I trusted so completely what had just happened. “Sorry. I just hope we figure out who the girls are.”

  “We will. Eventually, at least.”

  A twinge of pain started marching around my scar. I gritted my teeth. Now was not the time. I couldn’t close my eyes and meditate the pain away while I was in the truck with Gril. I couldn’t talk it out. I swallowed hard and hoped I could stay in the moment.

  “Lookee there,” Gril said, no amusement in his tone.

  I swung my gaze in the direction Gril was looking, glad to have something to take my mind off … my mind.

  There was an obvious opening in the trees. It was only about four feet wide—a truck couldn’t fit through it—but there was no question that it was a purposely made passageway.

  Gril turned off the truck and looked in the rearview mirror. Though the road we were on was wide enough for his truck, it was only just wide enough. The only way to go anywhere was either to back up or continue forward and look for a spot where you could do a three-point turn without hitting a tree. It was a tight fit in every direction.

  “I have to walk down there,” he said as he looked at the opening in the trees. “Lock yourself in the truck, and hightail it out of here if you see anything that doesn’t look right. If I don’t come back in an hour, get out of here.”

  “No,” I said, the pain in the side of my head still on the move. Not now!

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I’m not waiting in the truck and I won’t leave without you.”

  He looked at me. “You have to follow my orders.”

  “No, Gril, I don’t. There’s no way I’m sitting in this truck, not knowing what’s going on. I’m going with you.”

  “You said you’d do what I said.”

  “Well, not this time.”

  “Beth…”

  “I don’t care what you think. I really don’t care at all.” I gave him the most level gaze the pain in my head would allow. “Shoot me if you don’t want me to go.”

  “Stay out of my way, then,” Gril said angrily as he pulled the door handle and got out of the truck.

  “I will,” I muttered to myself as I did the same on my side.

  Gril wasn’t young, nor was he trim and fit, but he could move well, and I had to quicken my pace to keep up with him.

  He simmered as he continued to look around. I hoped he was more focused on searching for something that would help him solve the mysteries of the two silent girls and the dead, frozen body than on being angry at me. I followed silently.

  These woods were much denser than those by the storage shed, more like the Alaska woods I’d become used to, the trees close together, the foliage under our feet thick and difficult to maneuver—though there was less mud here and no real smattering of snow. Gril moved through it better than I did, but I did okay. When he stopped walking and put a hand on the gun holstered at his waist, I was grateful for the rest.

  He put his other hand out and told me to stay behind a tree. There were many to choose from, but they were all skinny. I did as he commanded, though, and then peered around a narrow trunk.

  A home. A cabin. It wasn’t leaning like the storage shed had been; it looked solid and just big enough to be cozy and comfortable, isolated enough to be disturbing. It was set in a clearing, but the trees hugged a close perimeter around it.

  “You don’t know who lives there?” I said, keeping my voice low.

  “I have no idea,” Gril said. “I’ve got no record of anyone living out here. This land belongs to the State of Alaska. No one should have built a home on it, but that doesn’t stop folks.”

  The building definitely looked lived in. There was even a rocking chair sitting out on the narrow front porch.

  “It looks like a nice home,” I said.

  “It’s illegal,” Gril said. He turned to me. “Stay here. I mean it, Beth. I’ll shoot you in your leg if you try to come with me. I will signal you if I think it’s okay to join me, but stay here or run back to the truck if things get ugly.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulled his keys out, and handed them to me.

  “I will,” I said, taking the keys.

  Gril kept his gun holstered as he took a step.

  Suddenly, something became very clear. “Gril!” I said in a loud whisper.

  He turned around again. “What?”

  “I just thought of something. There was a small graveyard near the storage shed. I mean, when I saw it, Stonehenge was the first thing that came to mind. Suddenly, that seems stupid. It was a graveyard, I bet. Did you see it?”

  “I did. I think it was a graveyard, too, but I don’t know how many people are buried there.”

  “People have just been living out here on their own, burying their dead. How?”

  “I’m going to try to find out.” Gril turned again and continued toward the house.

  When he stepped out into the clearing, he said, “Hello! Benedict police. I’m Benedict police chief Grilson Samuels. I’m armed, but I haven’t drawn my weapon. Come outside.”

  No one came outside, and I held my breath as Gril started walking forward again, repeating the words.

  The pain was still in my head, but I was hyperfocused on Gril and hoped nothing bad would happen. Maybe I could somehow move the pain to another spot, a place where I knew it was still there but not a priority.

  Please let him be okay, I thought.

  He took another step, and then another, and then one more. He kept repeating the words of warning, each time becoming slightly more adamant.

  But then all hell broke loose and Gril went down. I forgot my promise of staying put and ran directly to him. I got there just a moment too late.

  Eight

  It wasn’t Gril’s yells that seemed out of place; it was the other noises, the clanging, that didn’t fit. If I’d stayed behind the tree a little longer and watched, I would have seen what was causing the cacophony, but when I lost sight of Gril, I took off without thinking.

  “I’m okay, Beth. I was trying to look out for some sort of trap, but I missed it.” He glanced up at me from the bottom of a dug-out hole in the ground. He was probably about eight feet down. “You can probably just give me a hand up and out, but you might need a rope.”

  “You’re not hurt?”

  “No. Didn’t even sprain my ankle.” He forced a smile up at me. “Did anyone come out of the cabin?”

  I’d fallen to the ground on my stomach. I twisted my neck around and looked back at the house. The clanging noise had come from pots and pans strung up on a rope, hidden underneath the awning over the front porch, that had fallen when Gril had tripped a wire or string or something else I couldn’t immediately spot. A hillbilly’s trap and home. I’d seen one or two even less sophisticated setups in backwoods Missouri. I also knew that guns attached to angry property owners were usually an integral part of this sort of security system. I became hyperfocused again and inspected the house and the woods surrounding it.

  I looked down at Gril. “I don’t see anyone.” My heart was beating so hard that I could feel it bouncing off the ground and back into my chest, but on the pos
itive side, my head didn’t hurt as much.

  “All right, let’s get me out of here. Can you give me your hand? If I can get purchase, I can climb up.”

  I reached down and our fingers touched, but just barely. I moved closer to the edge of the hole. Gril stood on his toes. It wasn’t going to work.

  “I have a rope in the truck. Go grab it,” Gril said. “Unless you can see something we could use that might have been holding up the pots and pans.”

  I still didn’t see the tripping mechanism. I calculated how far away we were from the truck. It wasn’t far, but Gril would be out of my sight when I got there. I didn’t like that idea, for either of our sakes.

  I moved up to my knees and realized how filthy I’d gotten. The clearing hadn’t been as protected by the weather as the walking path had been. I was now covered in mud. But that was the least of my worries. I looked at the house.

  “No one came out,” I said. “There’s no smoke coming from the chimney. I don’t think anyone is here. We’d probably both be shot dead if there was.”

  “Or someone is hiding inside,” Gril said.

  “I’m going to look.” I stood and started toward the front door.

  I was scared and angry, and I knew those two emotions were infusing me with a good dose of stupid topped off by some false courage. But I had to get Gril out of that hole, and it wasn’t going to happen without a rope or a ladder.

  “Beth!” Gril called from the hole. “Don’t go in the house!”

  “I’ll be right back, Gril.”

  I marched to the house. My boots struggled some in the mud, but I made it to the porch. I climbed the two short steps and kicked away the pots and pans that were in the way. I noticed they were the generic kind, the kind I’d seen sold in Benedict’s mercantile. The ropes that had been used to hang them were tied in tight knots around the handles. I could use the ropes if I took the time to free them from the noisemakers. I didn’t want to take the time if I didn’t have to. The door opened with a latch, not a knob. I lifted it easily and pushed open the door.

  “Hello! We need some help. I need a rope or a ladder,” I said into the front room. “We’ll get out of your way soon.”

  There was no answer, and the air that reached my face felt cool.

  I hadn’t considered it much, but any idea that this might be some sort of vacation cabin was squelched. This was not a modernly furnished place, someone’s temporary retreat. It was a simple home, made with someone’s own hands, as far as I could tell.

  “Hello?” I called again.

  No answer.

  Had it not been a real emergency, I would not have just gone into this unexpected house with the trap out front, but I had to get Gril out of that hole. I stepped inside.

  The front room was similar to a great room in that the living, kitchen, and dining areas were all part of one big space. The living room furniture—a couch, two rocking chairs, and a coffee table—were all handmade, but not with any sort of designer flair. They were strictly utilitarian, put together with wood planks and burlap-sack cushions that looked dingy and flat. A long dining table—a picnic table with two benches—was also handmade, as were a kitchen worktable and a few shelves attached to the wall. The large fireplace appeared to serve as the cabin’s source of heat as well as where food was cooked. A spit was rigged up over a hanging cauldron, but there wasn’t currently a fire underneath. It was cold inside, but there was something about the cold that made me think it hadn’t been that way for long. I scanned the shelves on the wall and saw a couple of apples. I walked toward them and grabbed one. They were fresh. Whoever lived here shopped at a grocery store. The mercantile had apples; so did Tochco’s, a store supplied by frequent ferry trips to the Juneau Costco. I put the apple back.

  I scanned two doors on a side wall. They were closed, but I walked over and opened both of them. Two bedrooms, again with furniture someone had made.

  Inside one bedroom was an almost full-size bed and some shelves that held folded items of clothing. There were also pegs on the wall where other clothes hung. The clothes were as utilitarian as all the furniture, and I thought they probably belonged to a man. I didn’t take a closer look.

  In the other bedroom were two beds, almost twin-size. That was it. There were no bed linens, just two burlap-sack-covered mattresses atop ragged frames. There were no clothes inside the room, no personal items, nothing to hint at who the room belonged to. Still, I couldn’t help but think of the two girls.

  I closed both doors and made my way around to the back of the house, where a short hallway led farther back and to another door.

  I lifted that door’s latch and went inside.

  From the front of the house, you would never know there was a room like this attached to the back. It was the size of the front room, but filled with lots more stuff.

  Traps of all shapes and sizes hung on pegs on the walls or were stacked on shelves. I saw two brown pelts, but I didn’t know from which animals they came. Knives were lined up on one shelf. A steel worktable sat in the middle of the room, with a drain system underneath. It might have been interesting if I didn’t know what really went on in there.

  The good news was that there were no animals inside, no blood anywhere, but it didn’t take real-life experience to know what this room had seen. No matter what Donner said, I wasn’t sure I could ever be open-minded about such a thing. I could try to ignore it, though.

  My eyes landed on a rope on one of the many packed shelves. I grabbed it and hurriedly left the room of horrors, running back outside. I was glad to find Gril still in the hole and no worse for wear.

  “I found a rope,” I said.

  “Good.” Relief lined that one word. “What else?”

  I told him about the interior of the house as I threw one end of the rope down into the hole.

  “No one inside? Dead or alive?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Okay, haul me out.”

  It wasn’t easy, but I wrapped the rope around me and then a sturdy tree, and I levered Gril up. He went into the house, following the same route I had taken inside, but didn’t say a word, then stood on the porch inspecting the tripped alarm.

  “Want to try to re-rig it?” I said.

  “There’s not enough time, and it’s getting too dark. I need more people on this. Whoever lives here will notice the tripped alarm, the exposed trap, and the mud we left in the house. I don’t much care, but it would be better to have more official folks with me.”

  Gril stood back from the house and rubbed his chin as he looked up at the chimney and around the clearing.

  “Do you have to have licenses to trap?” I asked.

  “You’re supposed to. There are also trap seasons. Something tells me whoever lives here might not pay attention to such things.”

  “No, probably not.”

  Something moved in the woods to the side of the house. I noticed it out of the corner of my eye just as Gril said, “Hey, who’s there?”

  He took careful but hurried steps to the perimeter. I followed behind.

  Twilight was beginning to settle in again, and the dense forest made it difficult to distinguish shapes, but there was no question that there was something out there. Not too big, but a shade darker than the other dark all around.

  “A bear cub, teenager?” I said as we watched the dark spot move farther away.

  “I don’t know.” Gril crouched as if he could get a better line of sight.

  I did the same, but couldn’t make out anything. A moment later, there was no movement to see.

  “It left?” I said.

  “I think so, but…”

  “What?” We stood straight.

  “It didn’t move right.”

  “Right?”

  “Like an animal.”

  “A person watching us?”

  “I don’t know.” Gril looked into the woods again and then turned around. “Let’s go.”

  We hiked back across the property,
toward the truck.

  Just as Gril and I made it to the edge of the clearing and the entrance to the walking path, we were halted in our steps. I flung my hand up to my mouth to keep myself from screaming; a squeak still came from my throat.

  In the deepening gloom we were met by a beast of a man—both in size and in the clothes that covered his body. He appeared before us like something from a Viking-themed video game, tall and wide, covered in a coat of animal pelts and wearing a hat with hooked horns. A gun was slung over his shoulder, and he carried a staff. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a human skull atop the staff, but there wasn’t one.

  Gril and I froze as the man filled the width of the walking path about ten feet in front of us. We stared at him for a good long moment before Gril put his hand back on his still-holstered gun and took a step to one side so he was standing all the way in front of me.

  “Can I help you?” the man said.

  I was pleased to hear that he was only a man, not something unexplainable.

  “I’m the Benedict police chief…” Gril started.

  “I know who you are,” the man said.

  “I need to ask you some questions,” Gril said.

  “All right.” He bent over slightly to remove the horned hat. He moved as if it was heavy but he held it as if it was light. “Come in, please.”

  “I need you to come with me,” Gril said, but he removed his hand from the gun.

  “Why?”

  “I’d like to talk to you at my office. Would you come with us, please?”

  “Do I need an attorney?”

  Ah, yes, definitely human.

  “Honestly, I don’t know yet. I have some questions. If you want an attorney, we’ll get you one,” Gril said.

  He might have been in his forties, but it was difficult to tell in the dark. I could, however, recognize that he was glaring at Gril. “I don’t want to come with you, but I will.”

  “That would be good.”

  “I don’t want any trouble. I don’t bother anybody.”