by Molly Wens
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Excessica Publishing
www.excessica.com
Copyright ©2008 by Molly Wens
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Shelter from the Storm
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
ABOUT MOLLY WENS
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WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author's imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Cover Design: Joey Walnuts
Shelter from the Storm © 2008 Molly Wens eXcessica publishing
All rights reserved
Shelter from the Storm
By Molly Wens
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 1
The frigid air lashed her face. Carissa James glared at the useless cellular phone clutched in her hand. If the damned thing had not cost her so much, she would have smashed it on the asphalt at her feet. There had to be a way to get a signal in this god-forsaken wilderness, she decided as she walked a little farther up the road. The steep incline and the thin air of the lofty altitude had her wheezing in short order as she climbed higher, searching for a spot that would allow the device to find a signal. She reached the top of the crest only to discover that she had wasted her time.
She let out another frustrated growl between panting breaths and staggered back down the sloping highway to her equally useless rental vehicle, a foreign-made four-wheel-drive hunk of junk that refused to crank. The sun was sinking lower. Carissa cursed the day for dwindling and her corporate offices for sending her on this fool's errand. She cursed the rental company for having rented her the defective vehicle and the cellular company for not having a stronger signal. She cursed the mountains for the frigid air that sliced through her thin business jacket and she cursed the garment for not being warmer.
Upon reaching the dead SUV, she wrenched the door open and fairly collapsed onto the seat. Pain wracked her lungs as she struggled to regain her breath. She wondered once again what had made her decide to take this particular assignment. Thoughts of her two small children eating supper, hundreds of miles away, made her homesick. She would have given her right arm to hear their sweet little voices over her phone right then.
As Carissa sat contemplating the calamitous turn her day had taken, it finally dawned on her that she had not seen another car or truck on the narrow highway since her vehicle had sputtered and died nearly two hours earlier. Glancing out at the pavement, it was easy to see that the road had been long-neglected. Her breathing was finally slowing to a more normal pace as she unfolded the map and studied the directions she had acquired at the car rental counter. Trying to make sense of it all was a daunting task in the waning light.
There was nothing on the map that appeared remotely similar to the road that stretched out before her. Visions of Bugs Bunny intoning that he should have taken that left “toin” at “Albuquoique” came to mind, making her snort derisively at her own absurdity. She had known the moment she had boarded that plane in St. Louis that she was making a mistake.
Looking at the hostile terrain around her and the worthless cell phone still clutched in her shivering hand, two questions crossed her mind for the hundredth time since arriving in Wyoming. Who in their right mind would build a television station here? How could they expect to broadcast? The car radio would not even pick up static. She shook her head and hunched her shoulders to protect her fading body heat.
She wondered why she was chosen for such a trip. Surely, she thought, there have to be others more qualified to judge whether the station was worth purchasing. Then, ruefully, the realization dawned on her. She had been the only one stupid enough to accept such an assignment, to give the property a preliminary inspection and report back to the corporate big shots. Now she could not even do that, stranded as she was.
The sky outside the car was turning gray, but not because of the receding sunset—clouds were gathering as the temperature continued to drop. Another pang of homesickness clutched at her chest as the sweet faces of her children flashed into her mind. She missed her babies, missed the flat stretches of her own front lawn, the even planes of the horizontal roads in her home state. She even found that she missed her ex-husband, for all his miserable, moody ways. These treacherous mountains were no place for a flat-lander such as she was.
As the first snowflake fell upon the windshield of the broken-down SUV, panic took hold of her heart. Getting out of the relative shelter of the vehicle would be a foolhardy action. She was not appropriately attired in her business suit and overcoat. Her overnight bag did not hold anything warmer than her flannel nightgown. Staying might prove to be just as dangerous if the road were closed due to snow. She would likely freeze to death long before anyone found her.
The middle of October and already it was snowing in the mountains. Carissa knew that this was not going to be like an early snow back home. An early snow in the mountains meant deadly conditions and treacherous roads. Back home the first snow disappears with the first rays of sun the next day, but here it could become a blizzard that left inhabitants snowbound for weeks. Real fear started to take root as she huddled down farther in the car seat.
Carissa nearly gave in to her despair, almost let the threatening tears spill over. You are made of sterner stuff than this, she reminded herself. If you can survive eight years of marriage to that abusive butthead, you can surely survive this. Forcing herself to sit up a little taller, watching the unwelcome snow flakes as they fairly coated the windshield in a thin blanket of white, she searched her memories of the lessons her grandmother had taught her about the wilderness and survival in the rocky bluffs of the family farm. But nothing in those memories was going to help her out of this mess.
Turning the key in the ignition to the on position, Carissa hoped there was enough juice left in the battery to keep the windshield clear. She flipped the switch and watched as the wiper blades hesitantly moved upward to form a curving opening to her view. Turning them off again to conserve her limited
resources, she kept a vigil on the stretch of abandoned highway in the slim chance that someone might actually come along.
The thought that she needed rescuing was disgusting. Always self-sufficient, Carissa hated timid, weak-minded fools. Being reared by the most stubborn and independent segment of American society—the American farmer—she was loath to admit that she needed help. It went against every fiber of her being.
Within minutes the windshield was covered again. The wipers moved slower this time, a testament to the dwindling power of the battery. Soon she would need to step outside the car to clear the glass. A violent shiver traveled through her at the unpleasant thought. She was going to get very cold.
Before long, having a clear windshield would no longer be an issue, judging by the fading light. Night was descending in rapid order. With the clouds obscuring any possible light from the moon or stars, the darkness was going to be blinding. Again she felt the temptation to desert the useless vehicle and search for any shelter that this backcountry could afford her. She squelched the notion, forcing herself to remain calm.
The front glass was nearly obscured again when a twinkling light caught her attention. At first, she thought it was merely a trick of the graying dusk, playing against the sparkling snowflakes. Then she saw it again, glittering through the layer of frozen slivers of water that clumped together on the windshield. It was growing brighter, reflecting shards of brilliance into her eyes. The wipers, when she turned them on, refused to offer assistance. Opening the door and planting her black pumps on the crunching snow-covered asphalt, she could see a pair of headlights approaching.
Carissa slipped and nearly fell as she stepped out into the road, waving her arms wildly and screaming for the driver to stop. The sluggish vehicle slowed even more as it advanced, coming to a stop just a few feet from where she stood. It was a large van and to her it looked like a golden chariot. The driver's window opened and a man stuck his head through the opening.
"Looks like you could use a little help, missy,” the head voiced. “Whatcha doin’ out here? Dontcha know there's a blizzard bearin’ down on ya?"
"I do now. My car won't run. Can you give me a ride into town?” Carissa was apprehensive, remembering all the horror stories that her mother had fed her about taking rides from strangers. She did not see how she had a choice, however, and hoped the man would help.
"Sure, hop in. I can't leave a woman to freeze to death. Let's get going."
The man seemed pleasant enough, older, estimating from his graying hair and the lines that traveled over his face. Retrieving her purse, briefcase and overnight bag from the rental car, she hurried to find the warmth and relative comfort of the stranger's van. Her feet were freezing in the thin leather of her business shoes, the snow clinging to the tops of her nylon-clad insteps. A shiver ran through her as she rubbed her hands together under the heat vent on the van's dash.
"You ain't from around here.” It was a statement more than a question. The man looked at her with watery blue eyes. “A grown woman ought to know better than to climb up into these here mountains without a proper outfit. You'd a-froze to death if I hadn't come along."
"I know. Thank you so much,” Carissa responded, eyeing the man carefully.
The man looked at her with what could only be described as irritation. “Whatcha doin’ up here, anyway?"
"I'm here on business. I think I took a wrong turn. Then my car stalled out and I was stuck. I tried to call for help but my cell phone wouldn't work."
"Them things'r useless up here,” he snorted.
"So I gather. I really appreciate your help. How far is it to the nearest town?"
"'Bout fifty miles, twenty, as the crow flies. Where was you goin’ dressed like that?"
Wishing she had brought her map and directions, Carissa tried to think of the name of the town where the television station she was to inspect was located. “I can't remember the name—Jackson, I think. I'm supposed to take a look at the NBC station there, KJWY. Do you know where that is?"
The man snorted again. “Woman, you are hell and gone away from there.” He turned to fix her with a calculating expression that had her feeling as if he had just undressed her. “I gotta turn off up here and pick up someone. S'posed to give him a ride down the mountain. It won't take a few minutes."
The mild nervousness that had nagged at her since accepting the assistance of this man suddenly turned to a deep feeling of apprehension. A dark chill began to curl outward from the pit of her belly. That extra sense that everyone has, but so few listen to, was warning her of some unseen danger. That warning grew louder in her head to the point of screaming as the van left the meager blacktop for a narrow strip of gravel that looked to lead nowhere.
Carissa's fingers fussed with the lapel of her coat. Her mind raced, trying to find some way to escape. She was trapped and she knew it. Bailing out of the van would mean frostbite and possible death in this inhospitable environment—staying meant facing the unknown. Sucking in a long, slow, steadying breath, she tried to calm her splintering nerves. Even as her eyes scanned the front of the van for a feasible weapon, her mind tried to tell that inner voice that she was overreacting, that her imagination was getting the better of her.
The van kept on its path, creeping along the winding, skinny trail of snow-covered crushed rock. A small house materialized out of the thickening snow, and the driver slowed to a stop. He turned his head, looking at her with another lewd appraisal. “You stay here, I'll just run in and get ‘im."
"Does your friend have a phone I could use?” Carissa had her fingers crossed as she waited for his answer.
A blast of icy wind and swirling snowflakes slapped her face as he opened his door. “Kyle ain't had no use for phones long as I can remember ‘im.” The man hunched his shoulders against the cold wind, pulling up the hood of his parka and wrapping his muffler up around his face as he stepped out of the vehicle, slamming the door.
The apprehension that had taken hold disappeared, replaced by real fear as she spied a telephone pole just a few yards from the house. Squinting her eyes to see through the driving snow, she could just make out where wires from the pole attached themselves to the side of the old house in the dim light of the outdoor lamp.
A quick glance at the ignition of the van told her the man had taken the key with him. A wave of nausea swept over her. “Fool!” she heard that inner voice scream. The man disappeared inside the house leaving Carissa searching for an avenue of escape.
The thick, whirling snow made seeing anything beyond the old house all but impossible. There was no way of knowing if this Kyle had any neighbors that might be willing to lend a hand. Running blindly into the storm would be foolhardy, at best. With her arms enfolded about her shivering body, she wracked her brain in an attempt to come up with any way out of this mess.
There had to be something in the van, she decided, that she could use as a weapon. Figuring that most men carried tools in their vehicles, it was just a matter of getting out of her seat to have a look around. Quickly moving about the vehicle, it did not take long to realize that this man was not like most guys. No toolbox was to be located. She was dismayed to discover that there was very little of anything in the van, as if it had been swept clean.
As Carissa made her way back to the front of the van, the toe of her soft leather shoe encountered something small and hard, sending it rolling from under the back seat. With a small cry, she seized the object, a screwdriver, and stuffed it into her coat pocket. Her fingers curled spasmodically around the handle as she made her way back to the passenger seat.
Within moments, two men walked out the door of the house. Carissa could barely make out their features through the wet, falling snow. One was the man who had been driving the van; the second was a taller, darker man. He appeared to be younger but harder in appearance, more sinister-looking.
The men moved slowly, inching their way closer to the van, arguing about something. As they drew near, Carissa opened her w
indow just a crack in an attempt to hear what they were saying. With her ear pressed close against the opening, she could just make out most of their conversation in the muting snowfall.
"I still don't get why not here,” said the driver.
The dark man looked irritated. “'Cause we don't need witnesses. She might be my sister, but she can still be forced to testify."
The driver shook his head. “You ought to be able to control your women better'n that. We'll go up to Tanner Road, then. We'll use the old shack."
As the men separated, with each heading to opposite sides of the vehicle, Carissa quickly rolled the window up and settled back into the seat, a chill running the length of her spine that had nothing to do with the frigid weather. She said a silent prayer that they had been discussing something other than what their plans were for her. The screwdriver in her pocket gave her some small glimmer of hope as her fingers continued to caress its handle.
The driver's door opened with a cold blast of winter air as the driver pulled himself into his seat, shoving his hood back off his head. Carissa tried not to look at him, afraid that her eyes would betray her fear. A moment later the sliding door behind her opened as the other man entered.
"Girlie,” the driver spoke scornfully, “That's Kyle. We'll get you to town now."
Liar, Carissa thought as she turned her body in order to see the dark man in the back seat. The glittering force of his stare drove her backward against the van's door. The smile on his face could best be described as a leer as his chilling gaze swept over as much of her body as he could see. Her stomach roiled and threatened to heave. Every fiber of her being was screaming for her to run, to throw herself out of the vehicle as it backed out of the craggy drive of the decrepit old house.
After a few minutes, they pulled off the narrow gravel road and onto the blacktopped highway again, going back the same direction from which they had just come. This was all the confirmation her suspicions needed. She clutched the screwdriver tighter in her pocket, facing both men as best as she could with her back against the door of the van while the vehicle climbed higher up the mountain.
