Christina opened the suitcase, only to discover that most of its contents were wet. She went through her things and placed her sneakers on the counter. “Oh my, if I’d known everything was wet I would have cleaned them too, but I’d never go through someone else’s things,” Claire said a bit defensively.
“No worries—you’ve been the perfect hosts. I should have gotten a newer and better suitcase before I left. It’s just that whenever I go on a trip that isn’t work-related, I use this old thing. No big deal. The handle broke, and I’ll have to get a new one anyway.”
Frank looked at the sneakers and gave them a disapproving glance. “One moment. I’ll be right back.”
When he returned, he had some thick socks and a brand-new pair of black boots; they looked military. “These are Original S.W.A.T. CLASSIC 9 boots,” he told her. “They’re real soft, so you won’t be getting any blisters from them, and they’re perfect for hiking…unlike your other footwear. I placed some insoles in them, because these are our smallest size.”
He handed her the socks and boots. Christina put them on; they were very comfortable. A little too big, but she could always wear one more pair of socks. As if Frank could read her mind, he placed another three packs of socks on the counter, two of them extra-thick. He also laid a large military-style duffle bag next to her.
“It can get cold in the mountains, Miss, and fall has just begun,” he said, and then he left the kitchen.
“Wait! What do I owe you?”
Frank ignored the question and moved on.
Claire answered for him. “Nothing, dear, it’s my absent-minded husband’s way of apologizing.”
“Well, thank you,” Christina said, a little flustered.
“Mr. Billing said if you liked it here, you might stay for a while, and would get whatever you needed eventually anyway.”
Christina gave Claire a friendly smile. “Only if you let me pay for whatever I purchase in the future, if I want to stay.”
Claire smiled back. “You’ll stay, if you’re looking for a nice, beautiful, quiet place.”
“There was quite a bit of commotion on the road.”
“That’s the loggers and miners. They’ve descended on us like a plague of locusts recently. For what it’s worth, Skull Creek is a really nice place with friendly folks. Business is booming these days. Our beautiful town had almost died, but now that business is increasing, the economy’s better.”
Christina smiled at the sales pitch, and hid her thoughts while finishing her hot, black coffee. The start of her getaway had been a nightmare, but she really liked her new hosts, and decided to leave her long walk from the airport behind her where it belonged.
Christina also received a care package from Claire: a basket loaded with food. When she stepped outside, she got a better look at her surroundings. The night before, she hadn’t cared about the sights; she only wanted to get to the store and meet her new landlords. For a moment, she felt as if she had stepped back in time. The entire town, from what she could see, still reminded her of the Old West—with the exception of all the cars and trucks, naturally. She remembered a job she’d had in Deadwood, South Dakota; it was a lot like this, but this place seemed smaller.
Later, Frank drove Christina through town in a shiny blue Dodge King Cab pickup truck. Nugget and Hunter had joined them, while Winston stayed with Claire at the store. While driving, Frank gave her the nickel tour, pointed out the various locales and sights, warning her about some business owners, and so on.
“So,” he finally asked, “what brings someone with your background to our little community?”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.
“Oh, don’t worry, Claire and I promised Mr. Billing to keep your stay a secret, and we think we understand why. Sorry if I’m a bit nosey. It’s just that I thought being a famous movie star and all, you’d would want to go to a five-star hotel on a beach somewhere.”
Christina chuckled. “Oh, that sounds nice, but no…staying in a hotel on a beach is the last thing I want right now. I do love beaches and the ocean for occasional visits, and back in California I live near the beach, so that’s something I can see whenever I’m home. No, I want to see real nature, just like this.” She made a gesture with her right arm towards the surroundings as they left the town in the background, heading up into the mountains on a narrow but paved road.
“You do realize that most parts of this region are wilderness, and we do have a lot of wild and sometime dangerous animals around here,” Frank cautioned. “Mountain lions, lynx, the occasional bear. Even grizzlies every once in a while.”
“That might not help your sales pitch,” Christina joked.
“Well, selling this property is important, and being honest about it is even more important. A lot of folks watch those reality shows about the wilderness and gold miners on television, and get caught up with the romantic side…but the truth is that it’s a lot less romantic than it looks. For the most part, it means work—hard physical labor, mind you—and sometimes it can get dangerous. Not that I’m saying you’re not up for it. I’m just saying.”
“Thank you for the heads-up, Frank, but I think you’ve only made me more interested in this place than I was before.”
Both of them laughed, and that triggered the dogs to start barking. Nugget and Hunter were fighting and playing each other for the standing place between the driver and passenger. Once in a while, Christina petted whoever managed to get his head near her.
They passed a large warning sign bearing the words SLOW DOWN! DEADMAN’S CURVE.
“By the way, we’re entering a tricky part of this road,” Frank noted. “If you look over here on the left, you’ll see a vertical cliff. Right here it can get treacherous, because there’s a blind bend in the road here. Always drive slow here, it’s called…”
“Deadman’s Curve, I saw the sign,” Christina said, concentrating on the road.
Frank pointed at the cliffside on the sharp turn. “This straight road will become a serpentine road in order to get up the mountain after this hellish curve, so be especially cautious when driving at night. Too many good people have died here.”
Christina turned her head to the right and noticed that several trees bore scars as if they had been hit by something, probably cars, before they fell into the valley below.
Suddenly, another truck came at them at full-speed, driving too fast, and Frank had to make a hard right to the side of the road, almost driving off it and down into that valley. He hit the brakes, then the horn. “What did I just say?” he grumbled. “Look at that fool! You all right, Christina?”
Christina, having lived part of her life in L.A. and having become used to the mad traffic there, barely lifted her eyebrows. “I’m fine, but that idiot shouldn’t have a driver’s license.”
Frank nodded in agreement.
Christina noticed that Frank never seemed to curse. Nor did he take his eyes off the road like most people—like she herself—would have done whenever they met an idiot behind the wheel. Frank continued on in his calm voice, like nothing had happened, informing her about the last survey of the land while pointing once in a while, but Christina only listened with one ear, because she’d begun to think about her own life, and why she’d ended up here.
After having failed to be cast in three major motion pictures that she would have killed to be a part of—Should have brought my kneepads to the bloody auditions, she thought morbidly—the death of one of her parents had sent her into a deep depression, unlike anything she’d experienced previously. The icing on the cake had been the break-up with her long-time boyfriend, which had occurred almost at the same time. Typical; when you need someone the most, suddenly it’s over. Christina had fallen deeper into depression.
Through sheer strength of will, and without a single headshrinker’s help, she had pulled herself out of it. She had a degree in psychology, and it would be a cold day in hell if she ever spent a dime on one. However, she desperately n
eeded to recharge her batteries before she took another run at life. She also had to get away from all the glamour, and the fake lifestyle that she had lived most of her life.
But thinking that made her feel guilty and fake herself, because that lifestyle had once been a dream, an opportunity for her to succeed where countless others had failed. She had never become an Ivy League star, but she had been close. Now the thought of being a has-been seemed like a nightmare. She was mentally exhausted, and knew she had to pull herself up out of the gutter once and for all.
Hollywood had been great to her as a child star; and unlike most child actors, she had been able to find work almost constantly as she grew up. She realized that some nude, provocative, and sexy scenes in a few movies, once she had matured, had helped her career as she learned the ropes in Hollywood. In the beginning, it had been fun and games, doing something millions could only dream about. The parties had been wild, her friends crazy, most of them young actors too. She had been strong enough to stay away from the heavy drugs, and that helped her stay sane. But after a friend and fellow actor had committed suicide, nothing had been the same. A part of her had died that day along with him.
Even though the death of her friend had been a long time ago now, it had been the beginning of the end. Fewer good parts came her way. Now she worked as little as possible, because even though she had some wealth, she was by no means financially independent.
This journey had started out badly, but perhaps now there was some light at the end of the tunnel…or so she hoped. If she decided to buy this home and land, it would be a steal. She almost felt guilty about it when she thought of her nice landlords. Business might be booming in the small town, but the real-estate market was pretty much dead all over the country; it was definitely a buyers’ market.
An hour after they had set out on the journey, after taking some extra side-roads—Frank had insisted on showing Christina some “shortcuts” and rest areas—they turned onto a small, unpaved road that wound up towards a clearing on a plateau. The dogs’ whining fast, heavy breathing, and typical eager, nervous behavior made Christina smile, since it indicated that the road trip would soon come to an end.
Frank parked outside what looked like a small lodge, not at all like the pictures she had seen; it was bigger than she expected. She had finally arrived at her new home, and if she liked it, she would stay here for several months, perhaps longer. Who knew? She might even purchase the place. She knew that was what Claire and Frank hoped for. Apparently, they had had the place up for sale for over two years, with no takers for some reason. When Christina had seen the pictures of the home and landscape, she had instantly fallen in love with them; however, while a picture might say a thousand words, that meant nothing until you experienced the real thing.
The log home had two buildings near it: a detached garage, and large storage building that almost looked like a barn, similar in build to the main house, using the same type of cedar logs. The rustic appeal was very strong, and almost provocatively beautiful. With the buildings came hundred acres of land, including a stretch of a wide river, as well as several creeks with waterfalls and two small lakes. Otherwise, the mountainous terrain was covered with trees. There were valleys with a few small grassy fields at the bottom. Christina hadn’t paid much attention to most of the pictures, because there had been so many of them; she just needed a new place to start her life all over.
Now she thought that maybe, just maybe, she’d found the perfect place.
Brooke ran for her life, and death followed after. She could hear the sound of the beast behind her, as it pursued her like a predator craving a kill. She tried to scream again, but she was exhausted and in shock. Whatever had attacked her boyfriend earlier was coming up fast from behind, gunning for her life.
She cried and kept running from the danger, until finally she couldn’t hear anything from behind anymore. She made a quick stop and turned her head, searching her surroundings as far as she could see, but the deep, dense forest was silent. Not even the birds sang. She was sweating profusely, and her heavy breathing was the only thing she could hear except for the wind. Her lungs ached badly, like a thousand needles were piercing them.
She turned again, and hurried on at a slower pace, trying to catch her breath and locate the sound of her pursuer—and that’s when she heard the truck engine. The new sound gave her hope, and immediately a new surge of power went through her tired body. She headed towards the sound, hoping for safety, dashing up a rough hillside studded with large rocks and trees. Branches whipped at her body and face, leaving bruises and cuts as she stormed through the thick brush. She didn’t care; all she wanted was to be safe.
She stopped just in time, teetering back and forth on the edge of the 50 foot drop above the road, until she fell back on her rear to temporary safety. She looked around in desperation for a place to descend…just as she heard a twig snap behind her. She trembled, and started to run along the cliffside in search for a place where she could get down onto the road: an animal path, a notch, a slight slope, anything. She turned her head and listened for the engine sound from the vehicle she had heard before, but there was nothing.
Brooke had to slow her pace, because the terrain was too treacherous. The sound of another vehicle approaching made her stop completely, and there it was: a shining blue Dodge King Cab pickup. She saw a clearing a few hundred yards away where she ought to be able to climb down almost to the road; and then, hanging from the ledge, she could jump or simply fall to the road. As she hurried toward it, she realized she wasn’t going to make it before the truck vanished. The truck was just below her, not going very fast, and she could see two people in the cab: a man sitting in the driver’s seat, pointing at something on the side of the road to a woman sitting on the passenger side. She waved desperately, her hands over her head, and jumped up and down while screaming at the top of her lungs. Tears covered her dirty face, and she screamed again, louder and more desperately now, as she realized her safety was driving away without having noticed her.
Suddenly, a realization cut through her panic mode: if she kept this up, she would attract the monster chasing her. She turned in a slow circle on the spot, trying to locate her pursuer, but she could see no one.
There was a sudden change in the wind, thought, and with it came the foul odor of death. That’s when Brooke sensed something behind and below her; she felt a razor-sharp cut into her left ankle, made by a paw with deadly claws, the very same that had torn Diego to shreds. She jumped and screamed even louder, then threw herself towards safety at the clearing below. The blue truck had passed, but she didn’t care. The road was her safe haven, all she had.
She turned her head and saw something dark behind her, something that made her run again, faster than she ever had in her life. Inevitably, given the uneven terrain and her sheer terror, Brooke tripped and fell, scraping her knees badly, the pain instantly shot through to her spine; but the pure, raw fear kept her crawling on all fours until she got on her feet again, limping and wobbling. Blood poured from several gashes on her left ankle, but she didn’t care; she was far too afraid to feel the wound. Her tears had made a muddy mask of her face.
Just as she reached the clearing, where there was only about a ten-foot fall to safety, another truck came from the opposite direction of the Dodge, this one a dirty old Ford. Instead of climbing down and then dropping onto the road, she lunged over the side of the cliff toward safety, because there was no time left; and as she fell, she saw something large, dark, and hairy where she’d just been. The ground came at her fast, and she hit it hard, losing her breath as she landed on her back. She blinked her eyes rapidly while trying to regain her breath, until finally she begin panting again; and that’s when she saw the monster just standing there on the cliff’s edge, staring at her with dead eyes.
She didn’t understand what it was. She slowly got to her feet, never taking her eyes off the beast, which did nothing but stand and stare at her. A sharp pain from her
right ankle told her there would be no more running. Completely helpless, she turned away from the beast, knowing she was beaten.
She looked up, the last thing she would ever do in her life.
Donny Hill drove the company truck with his knees while texting on his phone. He wasn’t supposed to do that, but he had important business to take care of. From the speaker boomed the Charlie Daniels Band, burning through The Devil Went Down to Georgia. More than once, he cursed out loud at the bad reception on his dumbass smartphone.
The sound of a honking horn got his attention, and at the last moment he swung back to his side on the road, barely looking at it. He missed the blue truck with only an inch or so to spare, and completely ignored the other driver, who almost went off the side of the road and down into the valley. He didn’t even look in his rearview mirror to see if the other driver was okay. Instead, he went back to more important matters. Donny wasn’t going to let his girlfriend have the last word, no sir.
“Stupid bitch don’t know what’s coming—Ima slap the shit outta her once I see ‘er again!” he shouted himself while finishing the text. He hit the accelerator with the rhythm from the song and increased his speed; after all, he knew this road like the back of his hand. There would be only one more sharp turn, and then the road would go straighter than his dick on a Saturday night. He was just about to hit the Send button when, suddenly, his truck hit something very hard. He looked up from his phone just as the window shattered into thousands of crumbs, and something shot through the newly empty space, striking Donny right in his face. He felt something break with a sick, wet crack, and then everything went black.
The Lumberjack Page 3
