Chapter 4 - The Sentinel of the Woods
The toolshed was fifty yards behind the cabin, built against the side of a steep granite ridge that rose toward the highway.
It was a small, windowless structure made of rough-cut cedar boards that had turned gray with age. The air inside smelled of old gasoline, rusted iron, and the dry, sweet scent of cedar shavings.
I set Lily down on a stack of folded tarpaulins in the corner, then turned around to lock the heavy wooden door from the inside with the rusted key Marcus kept in the drawer.
The wind outside was rising, rattling the loose shingles on the roof.
Through the small cracks in the cedar walls, I could see the lights of the cabin. They were still on, casting a warm, orange glow across the pine needles.
For ten minutes, nothing happened.
Then, the sound of an engine drifted down from the gravel road.
It wasn't the smooth, quiet purr of my Honda. It was the loud, rattling rumble of an old diesel truck.
The engine died.
Two car doors slammed in the distance.
I pressed my face against one of the cracks in the shed wall.
Through the trees, I saw two figures walking toward the cabin porch. One was tall and thin, wearing a heavy winter coat with a fur-lined hood. My mother. The other was broad-shouldered and moved with a heavy, slightly rolling gait. Rick.
In his right hand, Rick carried a large, roll of silver duct tape. In his left, he held a heavy, professional-grade video camera with a small, glowing red light on the side.
"Emily!" my mother’s voice called out through the trees. It was loud, cheerful, and completely devoid of any maternal warmth. "Open the door, dear! We know you’re in there. Your car is in the drive."
There was no answer from the cabin.
"Come on, Emily," she called again, her footsteps clattering onto the wooden steps of the porch. "Don't be difficult. We just want to finish the video. It’ll take ten minutes, and then we’ll leave you alone. We'll even give you half the money. Think about what twenty-five thousand dollars could do for Lily’s medical bills."
She knocked on the heavy timber door of the cabin.
"Emily!"
The knock became a kick.
"Rick," my mother said, her voice dropping but still audible through the wind. "Break the window."
There was a sharp, explosive shatter as Rick used the butt of his heavy flashlight to smash the glass pane of the kitchen window.
I heard him reach inside, turn the latch, and slide the window open.
"We’re in," Rick said, his voice flat and professional.
They disappeared inside the cabin.
Beside me, Lily began to tremble. She had tucked her knees up to her chest, her small face buried in the fox-print pajamas, her hands over her ears.
"Mommy," she whispered, her voice a tiny, frightened squeak. "They’re going to put me in the box again."
"No, they're not," I said. My voice was no longer shaking. It had gone perfectly cold, perfectly still. "They are not going to touch you, Lily. I am going to make sure of that."
I looked around the dark toolshed.
Marcus was a park ranger, but he was also a man who lived alone in the wilderness. He had tools for clearing trails. He had tools for dealing with wild animals.
On the wall above the workbench hung a heavy, yellow steel canister with a black nozzle.
BEAR ATTACK DETERRENT.
It was an industrial-strength pepper spray, designed to stop a eight-hundred-pound grizzly bear in its tracks at thirty feet. The active ingredient was a three-percent capsaicinoid solution—a chemical agent so hot that a single drop could blister human skin.
I reached up and pulled the canister from its bracket.
It was heavy, cold, and smelled of synthetic grease. The safety clip was a bright orange plastic ring that hung from the trigger by a small wire.
I pulled the safety clip free.
Through the crack in the wall, I saw the front door of the cabin open.
My mother and Rick stepped back onto the porch. They looked angry. Rick was shining his flashlight into the surrounding trees, the beam of light cutting through the rain like a white sword.
"They're not here," Rick said. "The beds are cold. They must have run into the woods."
"She’s fresh out of surgery, Rick," my mother said, her voice shrill with frustration. "She can't run. She’s probably hiding in the old shed behind the house. She knows Marcus keeps his gear there."
They stepped off the porch, their boots crunching through the wet pine needles as they walked directly toward the toolshed.
The beam of Rick’s flashlight swept across the cedar door, the light leaking through the cracks in the wood, illuminating Lily’s pale, terrified face in the corner.
"Emily!" my mother called out, her footsteps getting closer. "We see you! Open the door!"
I stood in the center of the dark shed, the heavy yellow canister held in both hands, my finger resting on the black plastic trigger.
The pain in my stomach was gone.
The fear was gone.
There was only the cold, mechanical sequence of the target.
The footsteps stopped outside the door.
"The door’s locked from the inside," Rick said. "They’re definitely in there."
"Get the crowbar from the truck," my mother said.
"No need," Rick muttered. "The hinges are old. One good kick should do it."
I stepped back, positioning myself three feet from the center of the door.
"Lily," I whispered without looking back. "Close your eyes. Hold your breath. Do not open them until I tell you."
"Okay, Mommy," she said.
Outside, Rick took a deep breath.
BOOM.
The heavy cedar door shuddered, the rusted lock groaning in its housing.
BOOM.
The wood around the deadbolt splintered, a long crack appearing in the center of the panel.
BOOM.
The door burst open, swinging back on its rusted hinges to reveal the dark silhouette of Rick standing in the rain.
He held the video camera in his left hand, the red recording light glowing like an angry eye. In his right, he held a large, roll of silver tape.
"Alright, kid," Rick said, stepping through the threshold with a wide, professional grin. "It’s time to—"
May you like
He didn't finish the sentence.
I pressed the black plastic trigger of the bear spray.
