Page 35 of Craving Chaos

“Just because no one showed up yet doesn’t mean no one saw it,” Shae says aloud, though I have a feeling it’s more for her own benefit.

“Absolutely. And we can always try again.”

“Yeah,” she agrees quickly. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“I’m beat. Let’s get some rest.” I bump her shoulder and lead us back to the cabin, a cloud of dense emotions as thick as the smoke from our fire following us inside.

CHAPTER 18

SHAE

Hope and wariness wage an epic battle in my empty gut from the moment I wake. We need our traps to have caught something edible in the night, and a part of me feels like I can will it into reality if I manage to believe with enough conviction. My other half fears the devastation that will engulf me should that not be the case.

I reassure myself that I have good reason to be hopeful with so many more traps in place.

Renzo must be grappling with the same emotions because we’re both up and going not long after the first hint of sunrise warms the cabin. We share the broth that cooked overnight, then head out with minimal conversation. Neither of us even glance toward the circle of charred remains that used to be our bonfire.

While anxious thoughts about our traps are a challenge, the uncertainty of a rescue effort is almost too sensitive to touch. It feels safer to focus on the snares, the same as buying into a few scratch-off games rather than hoping to hit the mega ball jackpot.

Flurries fall gently around us, creating a peaceful setting beneath cloudy skies. The possibility of heavy snow or even a storm adds to the existing tension coiling in my shoulders and back. I’ve been so focused on whether we’d find more game on our snares that I haven’t considered the weather. We’ve been lucky so far, but that won’t last forever. A storm will come through at some point—will we still be here when it does?

The uncertainty is the worst part. We can’t check the weather on our phones or listen to the forecast on the evening news. All we can do is wait and see.

A tiny fissure of the pressure releases when I see a fat bird at the end of one of our lines. “Look at that! What is it?” I try to think of what birds live on the ground like turkeys. “A pheasant?”

“Couldn’t say. When I hunt, it’s not birds I’m after.”

“Ba-dum psh.” I mimic hitting the drum and cymbals. I can’t help myself. The line was too much to pass up.

Renzo cuts his eyes over to me, and I think he might be irritated with me, but then he huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “Go check the others while I get this guy unhooked.”

Farther down the creek, I find another rabbit on a snare and pump my fist in the air.

Hell, yes!

I take our catch by the ears and display it proudly to Renzo. “Look who’s eating good tonight!”

“Nice, though I’d suggest we only eat one today and save the other for tomorrow, just to be safe.”

“Probably a good call.” I’m surprisingly not disappointed. Knowing we have meat for tomorrow is a relief. “It would be nice to stockpile a little. How exactly does that work? It’s plenty cold outside for the meat to keep, but I don’t want to attract Old Smokey or any other nasties.”

“I’m not really sure. Guess there’s the outhouse.”

We lock stares, then both shake our heads.

“No shit-flavored meat, no matter how hungry we are.”

“Agreed.” Renzo nods, leading us back to the cabin. Before we make it all the way, he finds a log to sit on and starts plucking feathers from the bird.

“Grouse,” he says out of nowhere. “I think that’s what they call these things.”

“Sounds familiar. Don’t think I’ve ever eaten it, though. Never plucked anything either.”

“I sure as hell haven’t. You think there’s some sort of system to it?” He holds it up, and we both stare.

“Probably,” I say. “You should google it.”

When he shoots me a wry stare, I give in to a laugh.

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