path that led to the
cabin. Skidoo tracks veered to the right through the trees, but the trail she
and Thomas took only minutes before was yet untouched this winter. All that
threatened the pristine snow today was a good melting from the warm day.
Warm? It hadn’t been this warm out a
moment ago.
And that tree! With determined steps,
she plowed through the soft snow until she smacked the tree trunk and looked
up. She squinted against the bright sky as she scanned the century-old timber.
This tree was far too old...
Her skin crawled. One wicked storm had hit
yesterday, but the tracks around her were still well-trampled by snowmobiles. Two
nights ago, she couldn't find this trail because the snow was so pristine. Now
it was packed hard and crystallized from late winter thaws and freezes.
What was going on?
A shivering fear scraped the length of
her body like claws on a chalkboard. Her gaze flashed around, but the trees
were unfriendly, laughing at her as they bent in the breeze that had suddenly
whipped up. For one absurd moment, she thought they'd stolen Thomas, like evil
Wendigos stealing lonely hunters. Above her, tree tips pirouetted rhythmically,
their rustlings like heavy, hypnotic wheezing.
Nausea roiled again, this time borne of
panic. Her heart pounding, she leapt on her snowmobile and without looking back,
she raced down the trail that would take her to the village.
Chapter 8
"Need a place to stay?"
At the mechanic’s words, Waneeta jumped.
She was standing near the small door beside the big bay door. She spun. "I’ll
need a place?"
The guy shrugged. "Yeah, unless you
can find someone to come get you, but that storm that’s been forecast is still
on its way. I’ll have to get a ski delivered here, and my parts all come from
Ottawa. They'll deliver it in the morning if the weather holds." He eyed
her coolly before adding, "My sister runs the inn. It's closed till
spring, but she may put you up for the night. Want me to call her?"
She hadn’t been able to get through to
anyone in Pembroke except her work to say that she couldn’t make it in. No one
was able to come out to pick her up.
Her parents were out, so she left a
message, and Kevin was at work according to his roommate. At least he was safe,
though he hadn't appeared to show any concern for her, from what she gathered
from his roommate. Waneeta lived alone, without even her own roommate from whom
she could beg a ride. No one was up to the hour and a half long drive. Those at
work were now short-handed, thanks to her.
Vaguely, she found herself nodding at
the mechanic’s offer. "Um, what day is it today?"
"The 17th, all day. Saint Patrick's
Day, isn't it?"
The day after she'd wrecked her Skidoo?
How could that be possible? She'd spent two nights with Thomas.
Her head aching, Waneeta wandered to the
window. Stafford Village was a tiny hamlet nestled in the hills southeast of
Algonquin Park. It was solely supported in the winter by snowmobilers like
herself. In the summer, people fished the stream that crossed under the
village's only street. This place boasted the garage and gas station now
holding her snowmobile, a restaurant, general store, and an inn. A few old
houses and cottages filled the rest of the village.
Stafford Village. Thomas Stafford.
"She'll be here in a minute,"
the mechanic cut into her muse after he’d hung up the big black phone she’d
just used.
"Thanks, Mr.—"
"Derkson." He returned to his
parts manual and continued to write down out some numbers.
Waneeta swung back to the window. All
around the village the trees threatened to swallow up man's presence. She half
prayed Thomas would appear, right in this garage, to take her back. But a
deeper part of her knew he wouldn't come. How she knew it, she couldn’t explain.
It had settled in her like a lead ball.
Thomas felt like a dream now.
Waneeta gave herself a mental shake.
What nonsense! She could still feel his warm touch, his smooth lips on hers, and
her
cabin. Skidoo tracks veered to the right through the trees, but the trail she
and Thomas took only minutes before was yet untouched this winter. All that
threatened the pristine snow today was a good melting from the warm day.
Warm? It hadn’t been this warm out a
moment ago.
And that tree! With determined steps,
she plowed through the soft snow until she smacked the tree trunk and looked
up. She squinted against the bright sky as she scanned the century-old timber.
This tree was far too old...
Her skin crawled. One wicked storm had hit
yesterday, but the tracks around her were still well-trampled by snowmobiles. Two
nights ago, she couldn't find this trail because the snow was so pristine. Now
it was packed hard and crystallized from late winter thaws and freezes.
What was going on?
A shivering fear scraped the length of
her body like claws on a chalkboard. Her gaze flashed around, but the trees
were unfriendly, laughing at her as they bent in the breeze that had suddenly
whipped up. For one absurd moment, she thought they'd stolen Thomas, like evil
Wendigos stealing lonely hunters. Above her, tree tips pirouetted rhythmically,
their rustlings like heavy, hypnotic wheezing.
Nausea roiled again, this time borne of
panic. Her heart pounding, she leapt on her snowmobile and without looking back,
she raced down the trail that would take her to the village.
Chapter 8
"Need a place to stay?"
At the mechanic’s words, Waneeta jumped.
She was standing near the small door beside the big bay door. She spun. "I’ll
need a place?"
The guy shrugged. "Yeah, unless you
can find someone to come get you, but that storm that’s been forecast is still
on its way. I’ll have to get a ski delivered here, and my parts all come from
Ottawa. They'll deliver it in the morning if the weather holds." He eyed
her coolly before adding, "My sister runs the inn. It's closed till
spring, but she may put you up for the night. Want me to call her?"
She hadn’t been able to get through to
anyone in Pembroke except her work to say that she couldn’t make it in. No one
was able to come out to pick her up.
Her parents were out, so she left a
message, and Kevin was at work according to his roommate. At least he was safe,
though he hadn't appeared to show any concern for her, from what she gathered
from his roommate. Waneeta lived alone, without even her own roommate from whom
she could beg a ride. No one was up to the hour and a half long drive. Those at
work were now short-handed, thanks to her.
Vaguely, she found herself nodding at
the mechanic’s offer. "Um, what day is it today?"
"The 17th, all day. Saint Patrick's
Day, isn't it?"
The day after she'd wrecked her Skidoo?
How could that be possible? She'd spent two nights with Thomas.
Her head aching, Waneeta wandered to the
window. Stafford Village was a tiny hamlet nestled in the hills southeast of
Algonquin Park. It was solely supported in the winter by snowmobilers like
herself. In the summer, people fished the stream that crossed under the
village's only street. This place boasted the garage and gas station now
holding her snowmobile, a restaurant, general store, and an inn. A few old
houses and cottages filled the rest of the village.
Stafford Village. Thomas Stafford.
"She'll be here in a minute,"
the mechanic cut into her muse after he’d hung up the big black phone she’d
just used.
"Thanks, Mr.—"
"Derkson." He returned to his
parts manual and continued to write down out some numbers.
Waneeta swung back to the window. All
around the village the trees threatened to swallow up man's presence. She half
prayed Thomas would appear, right in this garage, to take her back. But a
deeper part of her knew he wouldn't come. How she knew it, she couldn’t explain.
It had settled in her like a lead ball.
Thomas felt like a dream now.
Waneeta gave herself a mental shake.
What nonsense! She could still feel his warm touch, his smooth lips on hers, and
her
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