Page 46

CHAPTER 46

REDLEY

There’s one more Little property that I don’t share with anyone. Hell, I avoid thinking about it when I don’t need to. I ditched the truck well over a mile out. If Wolf or his father find it, it’s still highly unlikely they’ll find me. My moonshiner great-uncle built it to hide his money, and he never showed a soul until he was too old to get out here himself. Only then, when he couldn’t get his money, he told my daddy, and not long before he died, Daddy showed me. No one else ever knew.

Something is happening up on the mountain, and an insidious dread snakes through me as the smell of smoke grows and rolls down to this lower elevation. The night doesn’t seem quite as dark as normal. I approach the little cabin, being very careful. Uncle Terry was crazy, and I wouldn’t put it past him to have left some trap he forgot about, but I don’t find any.

The faint brightness I’ve been trying to put my finger on grows, and there’s a slight warmth to the night as I put my hand on the old lever. The door opens easily enough, just a latch holding it closed, but the metal’s rusted, and the hinges snap as I push, dropping the door flat against the ground.

“Shit,” I comment to myself as I move it off to the side. From the smell in here alone, I know I don’t want it closed yet anyway.

A sob climbs in my throat as a warm orange glow becomes distinct up on the top of the mountain, and the only things up there are my home and the trees. It’s only getting bigger and more out of control. And if my cabin isn’t the epicenter, it will be burned soon. I clear cobwebs and animal debris off the floor. Tears start to fall as I grow more certain what’s going on. Why it smells like a house fire and not a forest fire, and how many forest fires do we get in the wet early spring? When I finish, the floor is cleaner, and I feel confident anything staying in here has scurried out.

The smoke rolling downhill and over the mountain is so thick I can barely breathe as I stand outside and watch. I wonder if the fire department boys will try to put it out or assume it will all be gone by the time they get up there. Are my belongings and I worth the trek to the top? The smoke and flame billow in the distance as I prop the door closed.

I don’t hear sirens, and even if they tried, they wouldn’t be able to stop Wolf or his dad now that they're set on their path of destruction. No one who wants to can help me, and no one who can help me wants to. I am on my own in a way I’ve never been, not even when I went away because I always had a home to come back to.

At least I have one last stronghold. My tiny cabin on the far side of the mountain from Wolf is no more than one room and an outhouse, but I know for certain no one will find me here. Still, my skin crawls, and I shake in my terror. My gun is the only thing keeping me company, and I decide to never miss again. I was playing with Wolf, but I won’t be anymore.

I cry for another few minutes before deciding it’s time to make the best out of a shitty situation. I’m a Little, and that’s what I do best. I’ve never quit for the Wolf before, and I’m not about to start now. A pile of supplies sits in the corner, and I dig through them until I find the old flint start and the kerosene lamp. It’s not going to light off a spark at this temperature, so I press the small tank to my body until the gas and wick start to warm.

I’m vibrating by the time it’s ready, and my hands shake so badly as I try to spark the lamp. I almost give up, but one last try takes. I turn the knob down low not just to conserve resources but to keep myself hidden. There’s very little chance anyone will see me with the smoke so thick, but I’ll be careful or dead, I’m sure of that now.

Once I can see, I take a better look at my supplies. There’s a camp stove, a couple of pots and pans for cooking, some dry bits of cotton for starter, and a few other survival items I thank my daddy for. The old walls creak with the wind, and the flooring gives just a little as I move. It’s cold tonight, and normally, I wouldn’t dare to start a fire or light the lamp, but I think Wolf and his dad are fully occupied for the moment.

I wonder how his father is doing. I know some of the shot hit him. He’s got to be hurt at least. If he’s off ruining my stuff instead of getting the wound treated, maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll die of his own stubbornness. The idea of ending Wolf doesn’t sit nearly as well or easily with me, but I realize how definitive a line has been drawn now. I tried to kill his father, shot him, and he’s burned down my home. What’s done is done.

We are done.

A stack of wood sits next to the stove, and while it’s got a smell like animals have been pissing on them, they’ll burn. I open the woodstove, fully prepared to stack the wood and get the fire started, but I’m shocked to find something inside. I lift the lamp to cast a beam of light deeper, and a rectangle sits in the back of the stove.

Reaching inside, I try to avoid the sides of the stove as I pull it out. Old, soot-coated, and rusted, it’s a metal box. What the hell is this, and why is it in here? I’m curious, but not enough to worry about it with my life burning in the distance and my fingers and body aching with the cold. I set it on the wood pile, then grab a few pieces to stack and get them started.

Memories of my father showing me this place run through my head. I was young, the first time we came out here, only eight, and he told me this was a secret between us. No one could ever know about this place, not even Mom or Corey, and I never understood why he trusted me, but it didn’t matter because I felt special.

As soon as the fire catches, I put out the lamp. If anyone was going to find me out here, the tip-offs would be the light and the smoke. Well, the light is out, and with my livelihood burning down in the distance, no one will notice one tiny spiral of smoke out here.

I leave the door open so the fire can catch and grow, and to offer myself a little light. A slight glow won’t catch the eyes from a distance like a lamp meant to throw light. I’m not sure what to do. I don’t have a coat with me, or anything that will make me comfortable. There wasn’t any bedding stored here, and if there was, it would have been long destroyed by the animals.

Exhaustion crushes me. I’m More tired than I’ve ever been in my life, and sit on the floor of my tiny hunting cabin to cry as I watch everything I care to own burn and billow into the sky through the filthy window. I prop my body up against the wall because I’m too scared to roll into the wood stove if I lie down flat, but I’m so cold I can’t stand to be too far away. It takes a little time, but the heat gets rolling, and I soften. I haven’t fallen asleep like this in years.

Something changes inside me as I drift off, and my daddy’s most important lesson floats through my head. Never aim a gun at someone you don’t intend to kill. I’ll mean it from here on out.