Chapter Four
Steve couldn't believe how badly things were going for him, and they seemed to be getting worse. There was a spare tire in his car, but the chances of him being able to change it with his injuries, and in the dark, seemed minimal. He would just have to admit defeat and try to make himself comfortable for the night. His plans for a pleasant and relaxing vacation had vanished, and his hopes of a nice warm hotel room were washed away as he made his way back to the cabin. He was cold, soaking wet, sore and fed up. Even if his father turned up before morning, as far as he was concerned the vacation had become an unmitigated disaster. Swearing softly under his breath, he sank down into the uncomfortable sofa. He knew he should treat the bite before he did anything else, or even before he changed his clothes. He wasn't sure how he would manage as it was his left hand which had been bitten. Naturally, he thought to himself grumpily. Everything seemed to be designed to make his life as difficult as possible. Placing the flashlight on the sofa next to him, he rather awkwardly with his right hand opened the first aid kit and removed the antiseptic cream and bandage.
Great! He thought as he inspected the bite. Even in the poor light, he could see it was red and swollen. One good thing about the rain was that it had washed the blood away, he thought to himself. But he persisted with opening the antiseptic cream tube hoping this would protect him from an infection. He rubbed it liberally into the wound, wincing as the cream started to sting. As he did so, he found himself wishing, again, that his father would arrive. He didn't enjoy feeling vulnerable, and he that was how he was feeling. Cut off from the world, stuck in an unpleasant environment, and with slight but problematic injuries. A sudden clap of thunder, and the increase in volume of the howling winds made him change his mind about his father. Despite his extreme discomfort, he didn't want his father risking the difficult drive to the cabin in the steadily deteriorating weather and it was growing late. Concentrating on trying to wrap the bandage around his hand, he stopped as he heard the distinctive scratching noise again. He felt the strange shiver of fear run through him. It really sounded like someone or something was out there. He reached for his cell phone again, but there was no dial tone. Steve threw it down in anger, but the anger stemmed from his growing unease. He was trapped.
*
Mark and Amanda decided to eat at a new Italian place that had just opened near the hospital.
Amanda noticed Mark looking a little pensive as he sat down. "What's wrong, Mark?" she asked, although she suspected he was thinking about Steve.
"I'm sorry, Amanda. I guess I'm just feeling a bit guilty about Steve. I know he'll be having a wonderful time in the great outdoors, but I feel like I let him down as he was really looking forward to our vacation," Mark admitted.
"But Mark, you haven't let him down at all. You just delayed your trip. He'll understand, and you'll make it up to him. In fact, you'll end up enjoying yourself more because you won't be worried about your patient." Amanda spoke firmly.
"You're right, of course. I know I shouldn't worry about him being out in the wild weather for he loves it so much. I'll head out at dawn tomorrow and I'll make sure I pack his favorite sandwiches!" Mark grinned and cheered up at the thought. "Now let's order dinner. Steve is probably cooking the fish he caught right now!"
*
Steve knew he had to pull himself together. He'd changed into dry clothes and was trying to look at things more brightly. I'm just being stupid, he thought. This isn't so bad really. I've camped in worse conditions….but as he looked around the ramshackle cabin, with canvas roughly pinned up to keep the rain out, he wasn't convinced. His hand and knee were throbbing happily, and he didn't have the feeling of well-being which he usually had when camping. Sure, he loved the great outdoors, but something wasn't right with this trip. Disappointment that his father had stayed behind, combined with the pain from his hand and knee and the cold, meant he was finding it difficult to remain positive, although he decided he had to. Maybe a couple of painkillers, and an early night would make things seem better. He didn't feel much like cooking but he would be able to finish the sandwiches he'd made and then head to bed. Although the scratching noise had continued, he felt little inclination to investigate. Bed did seem the best, and possibly, safest, place for him at that time.
After eating the sandwiches and taking the painkillers, he grabbed the blanket off the second bed and crawled in without bothering to get changed. He was dry and warm and he wanted to stay that way. He managed to fall asleep, despite the various noises.
Steve wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep; he heard a loud crash, and the unmistakable sound of a human voice swearing. He shot up out of bed, dazed and confused at first. The room was in complete darkness, and he was unsure where he was. The sudden burst of pain from his knee and hand and the cold air reminded him, and he reached with difficulty for the flashlight. It fell out of his hand and he reached down for it, wincing as he did. He stood up too fast, and he was off balance as his knee gave out under him. He hit the ground again, almost seeing stars as the pain from his knee shot through him. It took him a few minutes to regain control before he pulled himself up. This is getting beyond ridiculous, he thought.
"Dad, is that you?" Steve asked hopefully, trying to bite back the pain still shooting through him. He didn't think it was his father, it was so dark and obviously the middle of the night. His dad would not have tried to find the cabin at this time, and the voice had not sounded familiar to him. He limped forward cautiously, hoping he was wrong and that his father had arrived. "Dad?" He spoke again, more firmly and flashing the light around the room. He knew he'd heard a voice, he couldn't have imagined it. Walking forward very carefully, he flashed the light towards the window and noticed the canvas had come away from the window. There was a steadily growing pool of water forming and he groaned. No way was he going to try to clean that up until the morning. He ran the light around the room again, but there was no sign of any life. Fighting back his unease, he decided to head back to bed, but then he heard it again. A slight noise coming from the kitchen area. Bracing himself, he limped forward slowly, falling back as a shadowy figure jumped out in front of him. He stepped backwards with shock, as he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Without a moment's hesitation, Steve threw the flashlight down and turned to the front door. He ran and limped to the door, hoping the intruder couldn't see him in the darkness.
"Stop!" The gun fired after him, but Steve was lucky as he reached the front door and pulled it open. Not giving himself any time to think, he ran as quickly as his injured knee would allow into the darkness.
