HYBRID KILLERS Page 2

  I drank greedily of the hot coffee, but I couldn’t bring myself to eat the raw bacon and runny eggs on the plate in front of me. Just the thought of them in my stomach made me gag.

  Before sitting silent for too long and drawing attention to myself, I made my apologies to her for not eating and excused myself from the table. Her husband, Fred, who hadn’t looked up since I sat down, but had instead just concentrated on his plate without eating either, mumbled something about us leaving in a few minutes and not to wonder very far or he would leave without me.

  “I’m just going to make sure that I haven’t forgotten anything,” I said as I went back into the makeshift bedroom that wasn’t any bigger than most people’s hall closets.

  “I took the liberty of putting your luggage in the sled last night,” he said gruffly, before adding as an afterthought, “If you find you need anything special at the cabin, you’ll just have to wait an extra month for it, is all. Providing I can get it for you, that is. It won’t do you any good to request odd stuff.”

  “I’m sure I won’t be in need of any odd stuff that you won’t be bringing on your regular trips,” I casually replied.

  I had no interest in making conversation with these people, and I didn’t want to give the impression that I was. When they realized that I wanted no more to do with them then they wanted to do with me, the tension in the air dissipated almost immediately. The lifting of the weight felt almost physical in nature. They had my money for the remainder of the year and in exchange, all I wanted was to be left alone with my thoughts in a rural cabin.

  Among my personal effects, I had packed away my old typewriter and a ream of twenty-pound paper. I wasn’t sure what had motivated me to do so, since I hadn’t written anything since the tragedy. Several times, I’d found the courage to sit down in front of it, each time thinking that I would make an attempt. I thought that a new book would be the equivalent of a new start. Yet, each time, my thoughts drifted back to Amy, and I would find myself running from them in a cold sweat.

  Pulling my nylon snowsuit from the duffel bag that I’d kept separate from the rest of my belongings, I hurriedly stepped into it, anxious for the warmth that the athletic sales clerk had promised. Before zipping it up, I double-checked that everything else was still intact. Everything else, that is, from the used toothbrush that would have to last me another thirty days, to the .357 magnum and its box of related shells. No one mentioned anything about needing a gun up here, so I decided not to mention having one. It just seemed like common sense to me. I’d never been into hunting wild game, or any other wilderness activities, for that matter. I was not a seasoned survivalist! And yet, in the last minutes before leaving the city, it seemed to make perfectly good sense to me that anyone going into the wilderness, especially alone and for an extended period of time, would carry a gun for protection. Maybe I’d just read too many books about cowboys and Indians.

  Just a day earlier, before I’d met my new landlords, if someone had asked me if I had one, I wouldn’t have denied it. However, now for some inexplicable reason, I felt better knowing that my landlords weren’t aware of it. I knew what I was feeling was completely irrational, especially since all they had to do was neglect to bring my supplies one month and I would probably die. But there was something about Fred and his wife that gave me an uncharacteristic feeling of mistrust. What exactly it was about them, I couldn’t put my finger on, and that made me even more nervous.

  Yet, I was relishing the feelings of nervous anxiety, even if it was my new landlords and not just the anticipation of the forthcoming journey that was causing them. Since Amy’s tragedy, I hadn’t experienced much in the “feelings” department, as I seemed to be going through life in a numb state of mind.

  After checking myself over thoroughly to make sure that I hadn’t missed any of the multitudes of snaps and zippers on the suit, I closed the duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder. I took one more quick look about the room and under the bed, which I immediately regretted, and headed out through the main room for the front door.

  “I’ll wait for you outside,” I said as I passed by the table.

  “Like I said, don’t wonder off. I’ll be right there,” he answered as I closed the door behind me.

  If I thought it was cold in their cabin, it was definitely cold outside. The air bit sharply into my lungs, momentarily freezing the moisture in my throat and forcing an involuntary gasp. As I stood still, holding my breath in and waiting for them to adjust to the frigid air, I couldn’t help but notice the scene unfolding before me.

  It was magnificent! With the rising sun casting a rainbow glow over the frosted horizon, everything looked fresh and clean. It was the most beautiful sunrise that I’d ever seen as I stood in awe of it. I was momentarily taken aback; for the moment forgetting all about the cold and the ice. In the city, where I’d spent the better part of my life, mornings were drab and dreary; it was considered a good day if it wasn’t raining.

  Maybe if I wrote best sellers instead of mid-list books, I could afford a penthouse suite that furnished me with a sunrise view. Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not disappointed with my writing career by any means. Overall, I’ve made a very good living writing mid-list books. If I implied otherwise, it wasn’t what I intended.

  Stepping off the open porch that was barely large enough for one person, my boots crunched loudly on the brittle snow as I slowly made my way toward the snow tractor. It was an older model in desperate need of a new paint job. Hitched up to the rear was a cargo sled of comparable condition. Going around to the passenger’s side, I swung the door open and casually threw my bag up on the floor. As I did, I was vaguely aware of dogs barking off in the distance.

  The sound had just registered on my consciousness when the cabin door suddenly swung outward. Fred, dressed in a heavy parka with a fur-lined hood, stepped out. In his left hand, he was carrying a small package wrapped in traditional white meatpacking paper. It had all the earmarks of containing raw meat; I could distinguish the blood-soaked edges even in the dim light. Under his other arm, he held a metal thermos that probably contained the left over coffee from this morning’s pot.

  “Go ahead and climb in,” he said when he saw me standing by the open door. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  He walked past the tractor, his boots crunching loudly on the hardened snow, and went down the side of the machinery shed to a small door near the back. After fumbling with a ring full of jingling keys for a minute, he finally found the one he wanted and unlocked the frozen padlock securing the door. Before entering, from a long-formed habit, he looked furtively to the left and then to the right. Suddenly aware that I was watching him, he hurriedly ducked inside, quickly pulling the door shut behind him. He brought to mind visions of a penny-ante burglar about to enter someone else’s premises illegally.

  A minute later, he re-emerged and, after stopping to re-secure the padlock, came at a brisk pace towards the tractor. It didn’t escape my attention that he no longer had the small bloody package in his possession. Furthermore, my studious attention made him even more nervous than his usual demeanor.

  “I thought I told you to get in!” he angrily barked at me as he neared the tractor.

  Even in the glittery dawn light, I could see how visibly upset I’d made him just by watching him instead of getting into the tractor as he’d instructed earlier. There was no disputing the fact that he was afraid that I might have seen something I wasn’t supposed to. What that could possibly be, I didn’t have a clue. And judging by the way he jumped in and fired up the engine, I knew he wasn’t about to give me any time to think about what I may have or have not seen either.

  Before I could even slam the door shut behind me, he’d turned the defroster fan on high. A cold blast of roaring air struck me full in the face, making it impossible to talk. And though it would keep the windows from fogging up, it would remain cold until the engine had time to warm up. Within moments, the draft found its way past the collar on my
suit, creating a chill that ran down my spine and setting my teeth to chattering and my body to shivering. The chill quickly settled into my bones, and even though the air slowly grew warm, I couldn’t seem to shake it. I knew now why Fred had the thermos of hot coffee with and even though he could see me shivering, there was no offer forthcoming. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he would just as soon have left me behind, especially if I didn’t demand a full refund.

  Although he set off towards the west, he quickly jumped onto an old route that wound back around toward the north, and then slowly angled toward the northeast. Within minutes of having left the cabin, we’d left the distinct rut marks behind and were headed across a broad expanse of flat tundra. At least, it appeared flat to a city boy like me. But in all reality, it gradually sloped upwards toward the mountain peak.

  We were crossing at a slight angle to the mountain’s face. Because of this, we were completely bathed in stark sunlight. To my right, grew a harried line of conifers, the snow lying heavy on their limbs. To my left was nothing but snow-covered rock, the shear face of the mountain. The transformation from woods to tundra happened so fast it was like driving forward out of a garage. The deep shadows of the trees having been left behind and abruptly replaced by the stark glare of the sun reflecting off an uninterrupted expanse of virgin snow.

  The combination of bright light and heated air made my eyes water and blur. Digging into the duffle bag between my feet, I retrieved a pair of sunglasses. My information regarding snow blindness was only secondhand, mostly offered by good-intentioned friends. Yet, I knew it was possible to go blind without looking at the sun directly.

  The tractor traveled at about twenty miles an hour, all the while emitting a deafening roar that echoed within the close confines of the cab. However, it wasn’t so loud that you couldn’t carry on a conversation, if you were so inclined.

  Fred wasn’t so inclined, which was not surprising, when I considered his earlier behavior toward me. Staring straight ahead, his eyes riveted to the white expanse before us, he weaved a path across the tundra. Not until several hours later, when we picked up a winding trail that dipped southward through a large stand of trees, did he say anything.

  “We’re coming up on the first of my stops,” he said loudly over the sound of the engine. “When we get there, I want you to wait in the warmth of the tractor while I deliver her supplies.”

  “Her?” I blurted.

  He ignored my remark, if indeed he even heard it. I was stunned by the idea that a woman would commit to a secluded sabbatical up here. In fact, I was so shocked by the idea that the way he’d told me hadn’t immediately registered. He hadn’t asked me to wait in the tractor; he’d ordered me to!

  While I pondered his instructions, their meaning suddenly made sense to me. When people are on sabbatical, they don’t want strangers intruding in their space, namely, me. Moreover, there wasn’t any reason for women to need sabbaticals any less than their male counterparts did. If she ran into difficulties, or grew tired of the experience, she could always catch a ride back down with Fred. “Just the same as I,” my mind suddenly reminded me.

  With no warning, he suddenly veered sharply to the right. I grabbed the support bar in front of me to keep from sliding across the seat and into him. Just as suddenly, he jockeyed around a dead stump that rose above the height of the tractor, and then straightened it out.

  Lying directly in front of us, less than a thousand-yards distant across a gently sloping meadow was a beautiful log cabin. It had been carefully constructed so as not to disturb the existing landscape, taking full advantage of the shelter offered by an existing stand of old growth fir trees. It was a typical one-room cabin, and even from this distance, I could make out a faint tendril of smoke rising from its chimney.

  Fred gave a short blast on the air horn to announce our arrival, and then backed off on the accelerator. When I gave him a questioning look, he simply stated, “Gives them time to get ready for me.”

  He drove straight up to the cabin and then steered sharply to the left. With practiced movements, he stopped so the cab of the tractor was just past the front of the cabin; I was in a position where I couldn’t see who came out of the door, if anyone did. Although it appeared as though he had done this to make it easier to carry the supplies into the cabin from the sled, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done it for my benefit. He not only didn’t want me to meet the inhabitant of this cabin, but he didn’t even want me to see them, if he could help it.

  He jumped from the cab almost before it even stopped rolling and without shutting the motor off, quickly headed back to the sled, a contraption that was actually nothing more than a small, high-sided trailer that rode on skids instead of wheels. The frozen supplies were simply packed on the back of the tractor on a makeshift roof rack where the ambient air temperatures kept them frozen. They mostly consisted of different meats, vegetables, and citrus concentrates for making orange juice and the like. The dry goods, like coffee, sugar, flour, and what not, was packed in proportioned containers inside the sled. Each cabin was allotted a certain number of pounds of each, depending on the individual’s requirements. Extras were apportioned accordingly and charged against your account. With Fred, there were no freebies!

  Hurriedly, he set himself to undoing one of the lashes that held the tarp over the top of everything. Although I knew it wasn’t what he wanted, I jumped from the cab on the other side and acting innocently enough, volunteered to help him with the lashings. He was about to protest my being out of the cab and order me back into it, when the tenant of the cabin came out. I wasn’t prepared for what my eyes beheld. It was indeed a woman, a very beautiful woman!

  Even wearing the heavy parka and padded ski pants, I could see that she was of a small and slender build. She gave me the impression that she was much too fragile to be out here on her own. She had short blonde hair that stuck out around her face from under the hood that she had only half pulled over her head. Upon seeing me, a smile immediately lit up her face. Yet, despite her warm glow, I sensed a deep sadness. Like me, she too had suffered tremendously. But it didn’t detract from her beauty, it only added depth; she was much more than simply beautiful.

  “Hi,” I said awkwardly under her appraising look.

  She pulled her heavy mitten from her right hand and held it out to me as she said, “Hi to you too. My name’s Sandy, who might you be?”

  Before I could answer, Fred roughly interjected, as he lifted a box off the sled, “His name’s John. He’ll be living in the next cabin over from you. But don’t either of you get any ideas about visiting each other, because you’ll never make it on foot.”

  She continued staring at me as the landlord brushed past her, heading into the cabin with the first box of her supplies. I felt speechless under her gaze, yet found it impossible to look away. We stared at each other, oblivious of the world around us. Though I felt I should be doing something, anything, maybe even helping Fred with her supplies, I couldn’t move. Unknowingly, she’d trapped me in her gaze, and I suddenly wanted to stay there forever. No woman had ever made me feel so vulnerable, and yet, so masculine, and done so little to make it happen.

  “I’m sorry,” she suddenly blurted, putting her hand up in front of her mouth to hide her embarrassment. “You must forgive me. It’s been more than two months since I’ve seen anyone besides Fred. I’m afraid I forgot my manners.”

  “It’s quite alright,” I quickly assured her, noting how her smile lit up her already lovely features. “It’s been even longer than that since I’ve seen anyone nearly as beautiful as you.” I suddenly stopped short as I realized that I’d just spoken my private thoughts aloud. Blushing and equally embarrassed, I apologized. “I’m sorry, did I just say that?”

  For a long moment, she held her breath, fiercely trying to contain the emotions that suddenly bubbled up within her. When she couldn’t any longer, she burst out laughing, tears seeping from the corners of her eyes. Her laughter was both
genuine and contagious, and within seconds, we were both laughing hysterically. Subconsciously, she reached out and put a hand on my arm to steady herself. For the first time since the tragedy, I let my feelings go enough to forget the pain. And though it felt extremely good, it scared the Hell out of me.

  Though I didn’t want to, I flinched and pulled back. She immediately let go of my arm and stepped back, giving me room. Sadly, I recognized the sober expression that quickly masked her face; I’d seen it many times before in the mirror.

  “If you two are finished, I have a lot of distance to cover before nightfall,” Fred grumbled impatiently as he pulled the tarp back over the sled and retied it.

  Without another word, he turned and headed back to the cab of the still idling tractor.

  “My ride is leaving,” I said anxiously, unable to hide the regret in my voice. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

  “Likewise,” she answered, trying to force a smile that quickly faded to disappointment. Then, to my surprise and delight, her face suddenly turned bright again as she added, “Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

  “I’d like that,” I honestly replied. Then, I quickly added, “So long,” before hesitantly turning away. When I realized Fred was about to leave, I hurriedly ran to the cab. I reached it just as he threw it into gear and it lurched forward.

  With an agility that I’d forgotten I had, I leaped up onto the track and let it carry me forward. Just before reaching the door, I swung back and waved to the most beautiful woman that I’d ever met. To my enormous delight, she was still watching me. Immediately, she smiled and returned my wave.

  Grabbing the latch, I jerked open the door and slid into the seat, pulling it shut behind me. Spinning around, I looked anxiously out the rear window; she was still watching and waving. Almost sadly, I returned her wave. In the back of my mind, I wondered if Fred would have left me behind had I not jumped aboard when I did. Yet, even more importantly, I wondered if Sandy would have allowed me to stay.