Fourteen : Cabin

Tommy POV

Newt limped just ahead of me, seeming to favor his bad leg more than usual. Minho limped on my right side, his face set as he anxiously watched the man. Michael walked about 20 feet in front of us, his Husky, Shiloh, trotting happily next to him. We'd been walking for about 20 minutes and so far, Michael hadn't given me any reason to suspect he was lying. Part of me desperately hoped he was telling the truth, while the smarter part wanted to turn and run.

I looked at Newt again. He had been off since falling through the ice. More quiet, distant. I was worried about him. While the cold and lack of food was difficult for Minho and I, it seemed to be hitting Newt the hardest. He just wasn't built to withstand it. I knew deep down that he probably couldn't hold out much longer.

"Just a little farther!" Michael called out, not even stopping to look at us. Shiloh had run off further ahead, running towards home. Minho let out a tired sigh next to me and I met his gaze. He was prepared to fight if he needed to.

5 minutes later we crested the hill of snow and came upon a small clearing. In the center was a large log cabin. It was beautiful. An A frame style with a large front deck and sliding glass door. A chimney billowed white smoke and I could imagine the large fireplace attached to it. Shiloh was already at the glass door and staring back at us, a paw impatiently scratching at the edge.

"Some place you have here." I said as Michael walked up the snow covered steps of the deck. He opened the door and let Shiloh inside. We all stopped at the edge of the steps, nerves making us hesitate. Michael gestured towards the open door, a warm smile on his face.

"Please, come in." He said and stepped inside. I could see the interior of the cabin from where I stood. Golden wood floors and walls, several large, blue couches facing the massive fireplace, a blue rug just in front of it. Shiloh was already laying out on it. I could feel the warm air through the open door. After one more pause, I finally stepped onto the deck. Minho and Newt followed behind me.

Stepping through the threshold of the cabin felt too good to be true. From -10 to 70, the temperature change alone was enough to make me dizzy. Minho shut the sliding glass door behind us, abruptly cutting off the frigid air. Michael was standing by an open closet next to the fireplace removing his coat and snow pants. Underneath he was wearing dark jeans and a red flannel shirt. Up close, I could see his wavy brown hair and a full beard. He took off his boots and slipped on some sneakers.

"Please leave your shoes by the door there, and follow me." He smiled but Minho took a step forward.

"Follow you where?"

"To the main bedroom. I can get you better clothes there." He walked away and down the hallway straight ahead.

"Put the launcher away." I whispered to Minho who hesitated but obeyed. "I think this is the real thing. We don't need to mess it up." Newt was walking forward already, his wet socks squelching on the wood floor.

Michael led us to a large bedroom at the end of the hall. A queen bed sat against the left wall facing a large glass window with navy blue curtains. Another small hallway led to a walk-in closet. Michael was inside it digging through drawers and other smaller compartments. He pulled out several pairs of black sweatpants, sweatshirts, and socks. Each set was folded carefully. He brought them over and handed one to each of us.

"I know you're freezing," He said softly. Newt was shivering so badly he had to grip the clothing to keep from dropping them. "But there's only two showers here. One of you will have to wait by the fire."

"Thomas, Newt, you guys go first. I can keep an eye on things." Minho said immediately, not giving me a chance to argue. Michael smiled and nodded, gesturing back out the door.

"The showers are in the same hallway, one on the right, one on the left."

…

After walking through snow and freezing temperatures for nearly a week, the hot, steaming shower felt like I'd died and gone to heaven. The grime had rinsed off a long time ago, now I was just savoring the heat. I was about 80% sure Michael really was just a kind man trying to help people. He had come across 3 half dead people in the forest, how could he just leave them behind? The other 20% was my anxious thoughts about WICKED. They could plant moose and orchestrate our car crash. Could they really have planned for Michael to stumble upon us?

I finally turned off the hot water and stepped out of the shower. The bathroom was steamed up and the mirror was foggy. My fresh clothes waited for me on the sink counter, my filthy ill fitting coats and jeans lay in a pile on the floor. The sweatpants and sweatshirt were large and baggy, a one size fits all style. They were soft and smelled like fresh laundry. Stepping out of the bathroom, I saw Minho standing in the bedroom, his arms folded over his chest as he talked to Michael.

"Wow, you look better already." He smirked. I smiled, relieved to see him more relaxed. If Minho was feeling okay about our stranger host, then it put me a little more at ease. Minho picked up his new clothes and stepped past me towards the bathroom.

"I gather you're Thomas?" Michael asked. He stood with his hands in his pockets, casual. I nodded. "You three have been through a lot."

"You could say that." How much had Minho told him?

"It's a miracle you survived the wreck, let alone a week of being stranded in the forest." Michael sighed. I nodded and slowly sat down on the end of the bed. "Your friend's knee doesn't look so good."

"He dislocated it." I said quietly.

"I'll look at it when he gets back. I have some knee braces he could borrow." Michael smiled and I blinked in surprise.

"That's awfully nice of you."

"Like I said, the world needs more kindness in it. Ahh, Newt, right?" Michael looked towards the door as Newt stepped through. He wore the clean sweatpants and sweatshirt, his blonde hair stringy and damp. His dark eyes carefully watched Michael, flicked over to me, then back.

"Yes." He said and walked to stand next to me. His sleeves were pulled up to the elbows and I could see some of the numerous cuts. Michael had spotted them too. He took a step forward, reaching out a hand towards Newt. Newt tensed next to me but didn't move, allowing Michael to take his wrist and turn his arm over.

"What happened?" Michael asked, his voice soft and low. He carefully looked over the cuts, stopping on a particularly deep one.

"I fell through a frozen pond."

"I have some antiseptic in the bathroom." Michael gestured towards the small hallway with the walk-in closet. Newt hesitated but then followed him with me close behind.

We turned left into a large, mostly white bathroom. A long double sink counter sat against the left wall with a huge mirror above it. The shower was across from it. Michael was looking through one of the drawers.

"Could you remove your shirt?" He asked and Newt nodded. I had to stop myself from inhaling too quickly. His back was clear, but his chest and stomach were covered in long gashes and bruises. A long bruise ran diagonally across his chest and right collarbone; the seatbelt. He was also thin. Thinner than I had realized. Newt was already a naturally skinny person, but a week out in the brutal conditions of winter had done a number on him. Almost every rib was visible.

Michael stepped closer and had Newt rest his arms palm up on the sink countertop. He began applying antiseptic and wrapping bandages around them.

"You're lucky. I don't think any of them are infected." Michael wrapped the last bandage. Newt didn't say anything, just watched with tired, shadowed eyes. When Michael had finished, he gingerly pulled his sweatshirt back on. It was baggy on him, hiding just how thin he was.

…

I sat on the biggest couch in front of the fire. Newt lay next to me on his back, his head propped up on one of the pillows. His hands were folded over his stomach and he watched the fire with half closed eyes. Michael was in the kitchen behind us preparing chicken corn chowder. I'd never had it, but it apparently was excellent for cold days. Chicken, cream, beans, corn, and peppers, it sounded great. It smelled even better. I kept stealing glances back towards the kitchen as the smells began wafting over to us.

Minho walked into the room wearing his new clothes. He walked over and crouched down in front of us.

"What is he making? It smells amazing."

"Chicken corn chowder." I whispered back. Minho glanced over at Newt, who looked like he had fallen asleep. He reached out and gently shook Newt's knee. "You alright there, buddy?"

Newt opened his eyes groggily and looked over, nodded slowly, and closed them again. He looked exhausted.

"Let him rest." I said, remembering the gnarly bruises and cuts. Minho leaned back and sat, crossing his legs. Shiloh still lay on the rug behind him. He was stretched out on his side.

"So you're Shiloh…" Minho muttered to himself. He patted the dog's back gently, but Shiloh didn't react.

"Food's ready!" Michael called out from the kitchen. Minho and I stood right away and Newt slowly sat upright. Food, actual food.

30 minutes later we were back on the same couch, but felt like sacks of wet cement. We had eaten as much as we could of Michael's amazing soup. It was probably the best thing I'd ever eaten. Minho sat on my left, Newt on my right, both about to fall asleep right there. But Michael was in another bedroom getting it ready for us. We had agreed to share the one room, as none of us really felt comfortable being split up.

"Ok, it's all set." Michael walked into the room quietly. I forced myself to stand. Everything felt heavy and distant as my mind tried to remain conscious for a few more minutes. Minho was already padding towards the bedroom, following Michael's directions. I looked down at Newt as he slowly got to his feet. He swayed slightly and I grabbed his wrist.

"Come on," I whispered, gently guiding him forward. He looked up at me and gave me a small, weak smile.

"Thanks, Tommy." He followed Minho, his limp ever present.

The bedroom was smaller than the main one across the cabin, but was still rather roomy. The bed sat in the far left corner, new sheets and blankets pulled on and ready. Minho was already laying on it, positioning himself against the wall. Michael stopped at the doorway.

"Let me know if you need anything else. Sleep well." He said and quietly closed the door, flicking the light off as he went.

"This is great." Minho groaned as he stretched out on the bed. Newt carefully climbed into it, his movements stiff like he was in pain. He flopped himself onto his back with a sigh.

"Just keep an eye on him." I breathed, taking my spot next to Newt. The mattress was extremely comfortable and the blankets soft.

"I think he's a very nice man." Newt said sleepily. He had already pulled the blankets over himself.

"That's because he fed you." I got under the blankets. "We still need to be careful. Who knows what kind of tricks WICKED could be pulling. He could be one of them."

"Even if he is, we couldn't stay out there much longer." Minho yawned. "Just sleep, Thomas. We'll deal with things in the morning…"