“Hmmm.” David stepped into a pair of insulated Xtratuf rubber boots, the toe of each decorated with a smiley face drawn on with a Sharpie. He threw a wool jacket over his shoulders before scooping up the rifle beside the front door. Sarah didn’t know what was more ridiculous: the sight of David in his shorts and calf-high rubber boots, or the sight of him holding a gun. It was astounding that she’d not noticed what a child he was before she’d married him. He’d grown up in Alaska, but as far as she knew, he’d never shot a gun until they came to Chaga.
The noise of the horn was deafening, but at least it obscured the moan across the river.
David opened the door and peeked out, aiming his rifle downhill toward the meat shed. “Maybe it really is bears. You wait here and I’ll go check.”
“Not a chance.” Sarah grabbed the shotgun from the corner by the door. It was only loaded with birdshot, but was better than her fingernails—which were chewed down to the quick anyway. “I’m coming with you.”
He nodded. “Probably a good idea.”
“Don’t shoot Rolf,” she said.
“Another good idea,” David said, dripping with condescension.
* * *
There was no moon. The wind blew harder now, coming off the freezing river and adding a sinister layer to the darkness. Lengths of split spruce reflected like bleached bones in the harsh beam of David’s headlamp as he took tentative, creeping steps down the hill. Sarah stayed close behind him, playing her flashlight back and forth. She carried the shotgun down by her waist, her hand wrapped around the action. Rolf was out there somewhere, and it was beyond dangerous to go aiming into the darkness without knowing where he was—even if there were bears.
The meat shed was a relatively flimsy affair, its screened sides held in place with scrap two-by-fours and weathered plywood. It did little to protect meat from bears, but that wasn’t the point. The shed was meant to allow air to flow freely around hanging meat while keeping flies at bay.
David flipped the toggle switch to turn off the alarm and then lowered the rifle.
“Good,” he said. “No bears.”
Sarah frowned, though David didn’t see it in the dark. “Isn’t there supposed to be a caribou shoulder in there?”
“Son of a bitch!” David stomped a rubber boot, making a dull thump on the frozen ground. “Rolf must have taken it for himself.”
“An entire shoulder?” Sarah wasn’t buying it. “Why would he do that?”
“Beats the hell outta me,” David said. “I think he’s been out here by himself so many years he’s lost it. Why do you think they hired us?”
Sarah moved her light across the concrete floor, catching her breath at what she saw.
David gave a low whistle. “Well, that’s creepy as hell.”
A perfect, circular design about a foot in diameter, like a maze or a miniature crop circle, had been drawn in blood on the concrete.
Sarah forced herself not to stare too long, looking up to make sure that whoever had drawn the strange pattern and stolen their meat wasn’t lurking anywhere nearby.
“Almost looks like that Aztec calendar,” she said. “Or some kind of code.”
“I guess.” David gave a grim chuckle and then kicked an empty plastic R&R whiskey bottle that was just inside the door. “It’s code for Rolf’s drunk again and trying to screw with our heads.”
Sarah relaxed a notch at the simple explanation. They’d been warned that Rolf liked to tip a few back now and then after the guests had gone—and even when they hadn’t. It was weird that he’d taken the caribou shoulder, but hey, guys did a lot of odd things in the name of practical jokes.
“You go start the generator,” David said. “I’m going to kick the shit out of Rolf.” He obviously didn’t realize how stupid that sounded with his bony legs sticking out of gym shorts, and rubber boots with smiley faces on the toes. Rolf Hagen was built like a Viking.
Sarah stopped cold, pointing her flashlight at the rusted tin generator shed. Even following her brainless husband was preferable to going out there by herself. “I . . . I don’t think we need the generator tonight.”
“I want a shower,” David said. “Even if you are gonna abandon me in my time of need. Just start the damned generator.”
He marched into the night before Sarah could argue.
* * *
Sarah sniffed, shining the light over the frozen mud. She’d walked the section of land between the river and the lodge hundreds of times over the last few weeks but there always seemed to be some new rock or ice clod to send her sprawling. The cold made her nose run. She started to wipe it with the wrist of her fleece but stopped, chuckling to herself despite her fear. She’d heard one of the elders in Stone Cross joke that he and his friends had been called The Silver Sleeve Gang when they were children, because of all the frozen snot on their parkas.
The river hissed in the darkness to her left. For the time being, the current was stronger than the cold, but that would soon change, probably overnight. Even now, she could hear the telltale gurgle of air bubbles trapped under newly formed ice. The wind lulled, leaving the trees beyond the far bank strangely silent. Sarah picked up her pace, wanting to get back to the lodge before the awful moan started again.
The interior of the shed smelled of diesel fuel and grease. Spare parts and tools overflowed the wooden shelves along both side walls. The engine had only been out for a few minutes and was still warm. Sarah checked the fuel, made sure the switch that controlled power to the lodge was turned to the off position, before turning the ignition key. The engine sputtered, coughed like it was going to start, and then fell silent. She tried again with the same result—one-handed because she didn’t want to give up the shotgun. A gust of wind popped the tin siding, making her jump. She turned the key to the off position and stepped back.
“Screw this,” she whispered, already moving to the door. “He doesn’t need a shower that bad.”
She hustled back up the hill toward the lodge, stumbling twice on the frozen mud, cursing, but catching herself before she rammed the shotgun into the dirt. She expected David to step out of the darkness at any moment, berating her for not trying hard enough to get the generator started. The thought galled her, and she found herself looking forward to the confrontation. She’d tell him what he could do with his stupid shower, and this lonely shithole of a lodge for that matter.
The beam of a headlamp flashed around the corner. Spoiling for a fight, she turned and strode toward the light. It would feel good to get some things off her chest. For one thing, David had better never forget to tell her when company came by again.
The sudden boom of a rifle carried through the cold air. The sound was so sudden, so out of place, that it stopped her in her tracks as surely as if she’d been the one to get shot.
The light still came from around the corner of the lodge. David must have seen a bear.
“Hey!” she said. “Where did you go? David! Where are you?”
Maybe it was Rolf.
She kept walking, madder than scared now. Shooting into the darkness was dangerous. She’d almost reached the steps when she saw it. Someone was sprawled out on the ground around the corner with one stockinged foot visible around the wall.