Voracious - Alice Henderson [62]
Turning where she stood, she took in the meager possessions of the ranger: a small wooden table where he ate; two wooden chairs, the finish worn off on the seats and backs; a small bookshelf overcrammed with books. She approached the latter, taking in some of the titles. Many were field guides, the Golden Guide to Birds, the Audubon Society Field Guide to the Night Sky. But a lot were fiction, mostly mysteries and thrillers. So many books sat on the bookshelf that they were crammed four-deep in some places. On top of the bookshelf, next to a painted, wooden katydid, books teetered and loomed in precarious stacks, readying to topple at the slightest movement of the bookcase.
“You like reading?” she called into the other room, trying to make polite conversation.
“How’d you know? I love it.”
She smiled at the teetering books. “Just a guess.”
“Just about ready.”
“Okay.”
A minute later, Steve appeared, threw a backpack down on one of the wooden chairs, and then disappeared into the bathroom.
As she listened to him brushing his teeth, an unsettling feeling crept up on her. She started pacing. Suddenly the windows felt too close, like the creature was out there, peering in through the gauzy curtains, and only had to stretch its hand through the screen—
In the center of the room she stopped, staring at the windows. Part of her wanted to open the curtains and stare out, but she feared that as soon as she pushed one aside, she’d find a hideous dark face with red saucer eyes staring back. But she remained transfixed, as if it were calling her to the window, daring her to see if she was right. The room continued to creep in on her, the windows growing closer.
“Well, I’m ready to go,” Steve said, appearing from the other room.
“Great.” She was already moving toward the door. The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet as she moved. Glancing back, she scanned over Steve’s outfit to see if he wore a gun. He didn’t.
“Don’t you have a gun?” she asked.
Steve shook his head. “I’m not a law enforcement officer. I’m an interpretive ranger. I don’t have professional weapons training. But I do have my own shotgun in the car. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. About different ranger categories,” she fumbled, lying. She knew the shotgun wouldn’t kill the creature, but if it came down to it, the fiery pellets probably wouldn’t feel too good. At the very least it might slow the creature down.
She paused before the door as Steve grabbed up his bag from the chair. Reaching out to turn the knob, she felt reluctance wash over her. And then Steve was opening the door, and they were outside, the cold of night sneaking in through the collar of Noah’s fleece jacket. She zipped it all the way up, turning while Steve locked the cabin. She scanned the shadows clustered at the bases of trees.
“My Jeep’s in the lot down the drive here,” he said.
Together they walked toward the vehicle, Madeline rushing slightly ahead, starting at every night bird rustling in the bushes, and each laugh or shout from loud campers. She wondered if she should tell Steve about the four guys who tried to attack her. There were no bodies, and nothing Steve could do except notify the families. She decided that when she got home, she’d write an anonymous note describing the incident. At least then the families would know. She wondered how many missing people had disappeared without a trace at the hands of the creature.
“You okay?” Steve asked.
Madeline nodded. “Just anxious to get to my car. I really appreciate your taking me.”
He smiled, a kind smile. “No problem.”
Soon they reached the parking area, and Steve pointed out his vehicle, a green Jeep Cherokee, which waited among five other park service vehicles. He unlocked the door for her and went around the other side. Carefully she opened the door and peered into the cab, then into the back of the vehicle. It was clear. Exhaling sharply, she climbed in, closing and locking the door after herself. Steve got in the other side, fired up the car, and they were off.
“So, the Loop trailhead?