Chapter Three
Steve paused, listening. What the heck was that? He hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether to continue to the bedroom or make his way to the front door to look - finally decided that he needed the flashlight to explore further anyway. He felt the doorframe in front of him and lowered himself to his knees, feeling for his Dad's duffel bags. His palm smacked into what he thought was the smaller one and he fumbled for the end of the zipper. It dragged open fairly easily and he stuck his hand inside, hoping he didn't mess anything up too badly. After rooting among what felt like a shaving kit, a few personal toiletry items and a lot of boxer shorts, his hand curled around a solid cylinder. From the weight, he could tell the batteries were inside. He thumbed the switch and saw a beam of brightness appear inside the bag. Eureka. It was about time something went right.
Standing more confidently and wincing a little at a slight complaint from his knee, he turned the beam on the front door. A faint trill sounded in the darkness. His cell phone. He jumped automatically, playing the flashlight over the room. He'd left it on the table, hadn't he? He focused the light on the tiny kitchen table and hurried toward it, leaning against the edge to snatch at the phone before it could stop ringing again. The leaning turned out to be a mistake. The rickety table seemed to disappear underneath his hand, sending him straight to the floor, the air leaving his lungs with an audible whoosh and his bad knee smacking painfully against the boards. For a moment he saw stars.
He lay still for a second, letting his head clear. Gradually he became aware of two things - of the discomfort of the table edge beneath him digging into his ribcage and of the continuing shrill of the cell phone. He swore under his breath. He needed to answer that before…somehow the phone had stayed with him in the fall. He slapped it against his cheek and blindly found the respond button with a practiced thumb, gritting his teeth as his knee complained a little more loudly, wondering where he had lost the second flashlight.
"Yeah," he snapped into the phone.
Silence.
He waited a moment, scrubbing at his forehead as the silence stretched over the line, suddenly embarrassed by his cryptic greeting. "Sorry," he amended sheepishly. "Dad?" The silence didn't change. Steve frowned. That was odd. Bad connection, maybe? "Hello?" he tried again, more formally. The silence dragged on a little longer, then there was the sound of a dial tone. Huh.
Slowly, he hit the off button. That was strange. Maybe just the connection, though. A cell connection would be pretty unreliable here. Or, with his luck, he had just taken a swan dive to answer a telemarketer trying to sell him insurance or something.
Sighing, he pushed himself up on his elbows, then his knees, gave an absent grunt of pain as the one protested. He saw the beam of the flashlight he'd dropped in his return trip to the floor shining in the corner and reached over to retrieve it. At least that one hadn't gone out. Maybe his luck was changing. He ought to try and find the other one…he looked at the collapsed table under his hand. And do something about that table.
It came to him, as his hand curled around the flashlight, that the handle was wet. He felt the floor around it and, sure enough, there was a growing puddle there. Couldn't be the leaky window - that was over on the other side of the room. So what…? He felt a drop hit the side of his face and looked up, turning the flashlight to follow his gaze. There seemed to be something moving on the ceiling, and he braced himself against the wall and shoved himself to his feet, trying to get a better look. There was something odd in that corner of the…no, wait, now that he had a better view…he played the flashlight over the dark cluster there, pushed his brows into a frown. He could almost swear that he'd seen it move. In fact, it looked just like a tree branch. Was that some sort of decoration, or…? The object shifted again and a spray of moisture pattered against his face. Oh, no. He had a sudden, sinking feeling that he knew exactly what had made that crashing noise. He rubbed a hand over his face. There was more canvas in the truck…maybe he could get up on the roof…? Even as he thought it, the scratching noise started up again, more frantically, followed by a peel of thunder, followed by a flash of lightening that illuminated the room just long enough for him to clearly make out the broad, leafy branch that had thrust its way through the corner of the roof. A gust of wind blew through, pelting him with rain.
All right, that did it. He was going to go to the car. He was going to get enough canvas to do a temporary repair. But first he was going to see what was making that darned scratching sound!
*
Mark put his pen away with a smile of satisfaction. There was something so rewarding about the challenge of diagnosis. He wasn't positive that he and Del had worked out a perfect course of treatment, but he felt pretty comfortable that they were on the right track. He wouldn't mind keeping an eye on this case. Maybe he would ask Del to…
"Mark? Is that you?"
Mark looked up, startled at the sound of Amanda's voice. "Amanda? Are you here early? I didn't think your shift started for - oh, my. Look at the time." He blinked at the clock on the wall in surprise, wondering if it could possibly be right.
"I'm halfway into my shift. And I thought you were supposed to be up in the mountains, fishing with Steve."
"I was. I mean, I am. I was just a little delayed - I told him to go ahead and I'd meet him there. Guess I was delayed a little longer than I thought."
Amanda smiled. "That certainly happens around here. Do you have time to join me for dinner? I sure could use the company."
Mark hesitated. "Well, I'm already so late…on the other hand, I don't know about driving there in the dark when I'm so tired. I don't really think Steve would want me to."
"I'm sure he wouldn't," agreed Amanda with conviction. "And from what I hear of the weather report up there, it would be a rough ride, too. Maybe you'd better wait, Mark."
Mark sighed. "Well, if the weather's bad then Steve certainly wouldn't want me to make the trip in the dark…how bad is it? Maybe I'd better check on him and see how he's doing."
"Oh, you can bet he's fine," Amanda chuckled comfortably. "You know Steve - loves that outdoor stuff. He's probably all settled in front of a fire, or else he's standing thigh deep in a river, fishing in spite of the rain."
"That's true." Mark smiled for a second at the image. "And he should have plenty to eat - he's probably finished off the sandwiches he made for me by now. I always thought he'd outgrow that teenage appetite, but I'm still waiting."
Amanda grinned and wrinkled her nose. "He made you sandwiches?"
"Oh, yes. All my favorites."
Amanda slipped her arm through his. "Well, I think that's sweet. I wonder if CJ will ever do that for me?"
Mark patted the hand on his arm. "I'm sure he will. Now, where would you like to eat?"
"Aren't you going to call Steve?"
"Oh, if it's storming up there then the connections are probably terrible - they're bad enough when the weather is good. I'll give him a try later. Besides, you're right - weather or not, he's no doubt braving the elements and having a great time."
*
Steve was half-idly trying to remember when he'd had a worse time. There was the time he had come down with chicken pox while he was away at summer camp when he was nine. That had been pretty lousy. And there had been that four hour stakeout that he had spent crouching in an alley in the pouring rain with only the rats for company. He hunched his shoulders deeper into his jacket as he rounded the corner and the rain suddenly seemed to hammer him from every direction. The beam of his flashlight was thin and insubstantial against the darkness.
And, of course, who could forget the time he'd wiped out on his dirt bike in the hills when he was about seventeen and had had to haul himself and his smashed up bike home in slow but steady increments, dragging an injured leg behind him? For a second he remembered his father's cryptic words on that occasion - something about abandoning the bike under such circumstances, and he half smiled. He wondered what his father would have to say about what he was doing right now.
Thunder rolled again and he ducked instinctively. A second later a flash of lightening came on its heels, giving him a good, quick view of the broken section of tree leaning against the small cabin and insinuating itself through the roof. He let out a low whistle. Wow. He was lucky it hadn't crushed the roof in all together. He moved closer, using the flashlight to try and get a better look at it. It sure was big. He wondered if there was any danger of it taking out a chunk of wall yet. The wind picked up suddenly, lashing at the tree, pushing one long branch so that it rubbed against the cabin wall. He smiled at the resulting noise. Oh. Shaking his head, he bent down and reached inside the tangle of foliage, trying to see if he could break that branch off and put an end, at least, to the annoying scratching. It was funny, though, because he could have sworn that he had heard that same scratching even before the crashing that had meant the tree…he let out a sudden yowl of surprise as his questing hand pressed against something soft and slick and warm and yielding - something that let out an answering hiss as it clamped small, sharp teeth tight around his palm. He tumbled backward, crying out in surprise and pain, landing with a wet thwack on his back in the mud. He had a quick glimpse of a broad, flat head and a thick ringed tail, then the round body was swallowed up by the darkness.
He lay still for a moment, more surprised than hurt, until the cold mud seeping into his clothes at his back and the wet, steady peppering of the rain at his front reminded him of where he was. He sat up with a groan, trying to get a look at his hand. Ouch. Damn it. He couldn't make out much in the dark and he glanced around, trying to locate the beam of the flashlight that he had once again lost in his tumble to the ground. His third tumble, he reminded himself grimly. And that darned knee was really starting to hurt, too.
He saw the faint glow of light that indicated the flashlight a little ways away in a crop of weeds and reached for it, stopped abruptly at the throbbing in his fist. He took a moment to suck at the wound instead, tasting blood and dropping the hand again to try and shake the pain away from it. That really hurt. And with his luck, the darned thing had had rabies. He paused. Actually, that wasn't all that funny. Raccoons weren't exactly attack animals, and…and you stop this right now, Steve! Of course it doesn't have rabies! It attacked you because you leaned on it and probably scared it half to death - it wasn't a random attack! You watched Old Yeller one too many times is all - now get that out of your head!
He scooped up the flashlight with his uninjured hand and hefted himself wearily to his feet. He'd find something to wrap around his stupid hand and when his father got here, he would tell him what to do about it. Probably he'd have to have a rabies vaccination when he got back to LA, just to be safe, but there wasn't any rush about it. Of course, he'd have to put up with an awful lot of ribbing about being attacked by a raccoon…he groaned softly, and not with the physical pain this time. Because of course his Dad would never be able to resist telling Jesse and Amanda…and probably anyone else who would listen…he sagged against the cabin wall and closed his eyes for a second. He could hardly wait. He could hear them now…
The rain washed over him and so, suddenly, did an almost overwhelming wave of homesickness. He was lonely, he realized with surprise. Generally he was happy enough in his own company, but that hadn't been the plan for this trip and he had a sudden, burgeoning need for company. Keeping hold of the wall as a guide, he made his way back to the front of the cabin, limping more decidedly this time. Suddenly, he didn't want to be here all alone in the cold and the dark and the wet, wrestling with raccoons and fallen trees and broken windows. He wanted a hot meal and a cold beer and other human voices, even if they weren't talking to him. He wanted some brightness and comfort and companionship.
He patted at his pockets with his free hand, hissing a little because it hurt. He had his car keys. Maybe, if he drove really carefully, he could at least make it as far as the nearest town. They must have a bar or a diner or something. He could spend the evening there and then make his way back for the night. He took in the drenched, mud soaked state of his clothing and smiled grimly. Maybe he could even rent a hotel room with a shower and clean up a little. No point in trying to shower here in the dark. He was tempted to crawl into the truck, grungy as he was, and try to make the trip that way, but admitted reluctantly to himself that he'd better at least change clothes first. He'd get the first aid kit out of the car, though, and try to fix up his hand. And maybe try to call his dad about bringing some more clothes for him - at the rate he was going through them, he was going to need them.
He reached his truck and slid the key into the door lock, opening the door and crawling inside for the kit. Something felt off when he climbed into the seat and he sat for a second, enjoying the brief respite from the rain and trying to decide what it might be. Shaking his head and deciding it was his imagination, he pulled the kit out from under the passenger seat and climbed back out of the truck, circling around behind it to re-enter the cabin. He slowed his steps. And stopped. Holding on to the side of the truck to support his uncertain knee, he lowered himself for a better look. No mistake - the passenger side rear tire was flat.
He ran a hand over his face, trying to clear it of some of the rain. Now how had that…? He had just had the car serviced before the trip. Had he picked up a nail or something…? He pointed the flashlight at the tire, but didn't see any immediate damage. Then he noticed something odd. The tire's valve cover was missing. He would never be so careless as to not replace it. Of course, the mechanic may have left it off after balancing the tires at the shop…if so, he would have to have a talk with them. That was pretty careless when they knew he was prepping the car for a long trip.
He felt a funny frisson down his spine and glanced around involuntarily. All he saw was the darkness and the wind and the rain. He shook his head again. Being alone out here sure was doing things to his imagination. And one thing was certain: for now, he wasn't going anywhere.
