I turn it off disgusted.What to do?
My phone feels heavy in my hand. Usually the spot where I find answers, but I have no internet out here. Just the research I did before leaving and the hope that I can catch a satellite internet signal on my router.
The rest of the day devolves into a fight with nature, the cabin itself, like it’s testing my resolve, showing me I don’t belong here. A raccoon in the back bedroom, which results in a hilariousvideo captured on my tripod. I think that after the fact, shivering in the cold of the cabin.
The lights don’t work, though I won’t let that deter me. I’ve packed well for every contingency, with lanterns, candles, matches, a tent, and a sleeping bag if things get really bad. Heck, I can even sleep in my car if it comes down to that. Probably will, considering the cabin does little to keep nature out or me in. An active wasp’s nest in one bathroom. Overgrown brush in another space.
The Wheeler cabin dates to the nineteen fifties, an old hunting lodge. But between the broken glass, the endless signs of pest invasion, and the lack of basic amenities, I’m starting to second-guess this cabin challenge of mine. I film another video as evening approaches, feeling lonelier than I ever remember feeling, though I give myself a pep talk. Try to remind myself that this experience will strengthen me.
If only I could have a hot shower. Maybe some tea. I can’t get the stove to work no matter what I do. But I heat water in a small camping kettle with my handy-dandy portable stove. Then, I cross my fingers. Turn on the water again. At a bare minimum, I want to wash my face.
This time, the walls knock, straining. It sounds like something’s about to give. The water stops. A massive groan shudders the house. It reminds me of the scene inTitanicwhen the ship starts fully sinking beneath the waves.
Then, it happens.
The faucet jerks and sputters. A shriek of pressure, then the spoutsnaps loose—a geyser blasting against the wall. Pipes groan and hammer beneath the floor, water gushing from every seam. Metal and rot flood the air, dirty water showering the cabin.
I pause for one moment—ashamed at the conflict between wanting to catch a viral video and actually do somethingpractical to head off disaster. This content creation stuff has rotted my brain. Currents of mud seep between the boards, swirling and snaking along the floor until it flows in currents.
“Okay, enough!” I yell, waking myself back up. Sprinting for the pump house, I fight to turn off the water. But the switch I turned on breaks in my frantic attempt as the cabin overflows. I go for the generator. Finally, a reprieve. I lean against the pump house wall after its growl goes silent, catching my breath.
Only in the thick of the silence do I remember my luggage is in the house. My gear. Everything I counted on to make this work. Wet, muddy, wrecked. Dammit!
Cold seeps into my bones as I survey my drenched clothes. I don’t have a change. My teeth chatter, the ridiculousness of my drastic drop in temperature nearly as comical as this entire situation. I head to my car, shuffle through my gear for my flashlight.
I have two choices. Either leave the cabin and the challenge behind or head to the neighbor’s cabin. The speechless, gruff neighbor. At least he has a cute dog. Okay, an adorable dog who pulls a cart. Does it get any stinking cuter? Can the man behind all this really be all bad?
I think of Maya—how she’d laugh at me right now, soaked and swearing, but proud I tried. “Guess I’ll need a little help living, after all,” I whisper.
I take a deep breath, start the trek to his cabin. Somewhere out there, an axe hits wood in steady rhythm. I follow the sound. The path between our two properties too narrow even for an ATV to pass. On the way, the sky opens up, an icy drizzle drenching me as I walk somberly towards his address. “Please let him be an okay guy. Not a creep.”
Chapter
Three
DENVER
Don’t know what I hear first—the knock or her teeth chattering—over Bear’s barking. I open, grimace, consider slamming it shut with a grumpy “No solicitors.”
Habit. But habit won’t work here.
And Bear isn’t having this plan. He darts toward her, shamelessly nuzzling her hand and rubbing against her leg. Never been so jealous of a four-legged friend.
I sigh, long and low. I knew this was coming. Still doesn't prepare me forher. Heard the generator all day, groaning and rushing. The old Wheeler cabin—wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
“Come in,” I mutter.
The woman pauses wide-eyed, shivering like a newborn foal despite Bear’s lavish attention. A messy bun of damp dark curls, lashes beaded with rain, breath fogging white in the cold.
“Come in,” I repeat, standing back and sweeping my arm. “Warm up at the fire.”
Her pensive face tells me she’s weighing her chances of being kidnapped, raped, or killed. No trust for strangers left in this world. No sense of hospitality, either. I go for plainspoken. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would've. Nothing's stopped me today.”
She giggles, cheeks flushing, head nodding like my logic is welcome. “You have a point. Not like I did much to protect myself.” Her hand drops to the small of her back—a tiny tell. She’s armed.
Fine by me. At least she’s smart enough to carry.
I gesture, and she accepts. We walk over to the hearth with its glimmering amber flames.
