Chapter Two
The cottage by the sea was a hell of a lot more attractive in the brochures than it was in person. But Red hardly cared at this point. It was cheap. It was remote. It was available. And she was too tired to do more than shove the sticky, ancient key into the door and shoulder it open. It was raining outside, a freezing cold kind of rain that spat down from the sky and insulted her flesh. She shuffled in, shut the door behind her and opened her coat. A disgruntled black and white cat tumbled out, thumping down on the chilly floor with a soft sound of disapproval. He glared up at his human and she pursed her lips, sighing.
"I know, alright? But it's all we've got. Go on now. Explore. It's supposed to have two bedrooms and a bathroom. That should keep you busy for thirty seconds."
The cat wandered over to the empty fireplace, sniffing at the puddle of sooty rainwater that lay beneath the open flue. Red glanced around, setting the keys down on the stained Formica table. She took off her coat and sat down in a cheap folding chair. Cold, alone, hungry, and damn near penniless.
"Well," she grumbled, "I'm home."
There wasn't much time to give over to the luxury of self-pity. Annoyed but determined to make the best of it, Red opened the backpack she'd brought from the car and drew out a bag of cheap cat food, a few cans of soup, a few candles, two books and a single bar of soap. And that was it. She was done unpacking. Everything else had been left behind. The cat heard the promising rustle of the food bag and trotted back into the quickly darkening room. Outside, a peal of thunder rattled the windows and shook the ground. A gust of unpleasantly cold, damp air puffed through the thin wall. Red winced, rising to her feet.
"I'm sorry, Bandit. Sorry for all of this. You deserve better, honey. But hell, we're here. We've got each other and that's what counts. I'll find a way to feed you and keep a roof over our heads even if we have to live in a dumpster behind a Petsmart."
As she spoke, she opened up the cupboards in the pathetic hope that the previous occupants might have left something behind. The search was not completely in vain. A few chipped bowls, some plates, two badly water-spotted glasses and some jelly jars. The drawers revealed a can opener and an assortment of rusty silverware. And in the very back of one of the warped, rickety cupboards stood a lonely can of cling peaches in light syrup. Red drew it out as though it were the Hope Diamond and set it in the center of the table to admire.
"Little miracles, eh Bandit?" She sighed softly, feeling disproportionately better, and set about trying to make herself comfortable.
An hour later the cottage was beginning to take shape. Red lit a candle and began to move about, finding everything and anything she could use to provide comfort, to make it livable. The first priority was heat. She could not afford to have the lights or the gas turned on yet, and it was cold and wretched inside and out. She knelt down by the fireplace, mopping up the puddle with a filthy towel she found under the sink.
Wood. She needed dry wood and plenty of it. On a dark, cold, wet, stormy night…she needed dry wood.
"Hell." Red muttered fatalistically, and gave up the idea of a cozy night by the fire. Wrapping herself in a thin silvery emergency blanket from the car, dressed in her warmest clothing and her jacket, she sat at the table in the shivering candlelight and consumed her first meal in the new house: stone cold soup right from the can, a few gulps of rusty tap water, and a can of cling peaches in light syrup. Then, taking Bandit's warm bulky body inside her coat for comfort, she lay down on the sagging sofa and petted him, gradually falling asleep.
The next morning, Red was awakened by the sound of gunfire. It was unmistakable. How? She was in the middle of nowhere! On the coast, in a cottage with no listed neighbors for miles in any direction. But she'd lived in the city before, and her instincts reacted to the sound.
"Mehhuhh!" she grunted sincerely, a sound she had never heard herself make before, and rolled gracelessly to the floor. Bandit scooted from her arms and whisked away under the sofa. Red crawled to the window, bleary-eyed and shaking, and peered over the sill.
At the top of the hill to the east, a figure could be seen standing against the sky. In his hand he held a weapon, some kind of automatic rifle whose make and model were impossible to discern at such a distance. Red stared at him, stunned. He wasn't in police gear or military fatigues, no riot shield or bullet-proof vest. Nothing about the distant figure looked official. In fact, he looked like a good old boy in jeans and a loose white t-shirt. He shot off another burst of staccato gunfire, then turned as though listening to someone. After a moment, he vanished over the rim of the hill again, and was gone.
Red stayed on the floor for a little while, feeling annoyed and nervous. Who was that man? Why was he on the hill so close to her cottage with a machine gun? Did he know she was there? Where the hell was the property line? Was he a trespasser? A neighbor? Someone hunting on public lands?
"Who the hell hunts with an assault rifle? Are there rhinos here?" Red demanded of no one in particular. Shaking, she got to her feet. She had no weapons…a fork, maybe, in a pinch. Bandit was useless of course. He wasn't exactly a Rottweiler. Who was that man, damn it? Red had come to this place to get AWAY from people!
She wanted to go over the ridge. She wanted to see what was up there. A hidden militia base, maybe. A shooting range. Anything. She paced a bit, looking out at her battered car in the driveway. That man up there…he had to know she was here. He was gone now though. At least, he wasn't at the top of the hill any longer. Still, it bothered her all morning.