Page 3 of Out on a Limb

Worst-case scenarios aren’t helpful right now. Not when I’m already homeless.

The nearest curtain feels stiff with dust, and as I yank it open, sunshine spears through mottled glass and lights up the room. Need to wipe down those windows. And wash the curtains, and dust and vacuum, and set out a welcome mat on the deck—and yeah, Flint is right.

The adventurer’s not coming back. Not when he let his cabin get into this state of musty neglect.

Meanwhile, after six years of being a model tenant, I’ve been kicked out of my precious rented apartment so the landlord can overcharge tourists for one weekend at a time. And I’ve looked and looked, touring complete dives and scanning the town listings every day, but there’s nothing right now. Nowhere for me to live—not that I can afford, anyway.

I got comfy for a few years, and in the meantime, prices went crazy. For the last six weeks, I’ve been pitched up at the campsite outside town, but summer’s fading and pretty soon the tents will be frosted over at daybreak.

Meanwhile, this adventurer guy left his cabin to gather dust. So crazy.

The deck creaks beneath Flint’s knees as he works, his forehead creased in concentration. He glances over when I finally get the window to judder open a crack, a warm breeze rushing inside and setting dust motes spinning. My boss frowns around the shadowed cabin, then nods once.

With fresh air rushing in, I can finally drop my arm away from my face. I pick my way carefully through the rest of the room.

It’s all one big space, with a double bed in one corner and a kitchen set up along one wall. Two sofas cluster around the log burner, a dusty rug splays over the floorboards, and that door over there must lead to the bathroom.

Floorboards squeak beneath my hiking boots as I walk slowly around the space. I figured it might be overkill putting these boots on this morning, but after hiking up the trail, I’m glad I did. Gonna need a flashlight for trekking back here after late nights at the bar. Maybe some pepper spray, too.

Pausing by a table lamp, I flick the switch to see what happens. Shock zings through my body when the bulb glows to life, and I go rigid.

“Flint! It’s still hooked up!”

My boss barely glances over. “He forgot, that’s all. Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

“I asked around, Jana.” Flint sets down one tool with a clank and picks up another. His tone is bored, but the fact that my antisocial boss went around asking questions is actually kinda sweet. “No one’s seen this guy for years, and even when he was here, he never stayed long. Never settled. He didn’t take to Starlight Ridge, and now he’s gone for good, or probably dead from one of his record-setting stunts. But if he does come back—”

A panicked squeak leaves my mouth, and Flint gives me a look before he keeps going.

“If he does come back, we’ll say I’m the one who changed the locks. That this was all my idea. Alright? Now pipe down so I can concentrate. Electricity is not a problem.”

…No. No, I guess it’s not. If anything, it’s a gift, though one I feel extra guilty about taking.

Because how do I pay someone for using their generator? How does that even work? And if he’s really gone for good, wouldn’t the adventurer at least sell all this stuff and make some money back?

But… years, Flint said. The guy’s been gone for years, and he might even be dead. An unexpected sadness pangs through me at the thought.

After breaking into his cabin, I feel weirdly close to this guy.

So. Okay. I don’t need to stay here for too long—just until I can find another rental. And I’ll make amends for the changed locks, somehow. I’ll leave the new key under the mat, and a note with money for expenses. I’ll scrub this cabin from floorboards to rafters, and I won’t be any trouble at all, if I can only have a roof over my head…

Guilt pinches in my belly, but I push that feeling down and march to the kitchen cupboards in search of a cloth.

Bad idea or not, this is already happening. Time to make the best of it.

Three

Stig

Present day

The bathroom window is open by a crack. I gust out a sigh of relief when I see it, circling around the cabin, then turn to creep closer.

The crack is barely an inch wide, but that’s all I need. Wedging my fingertips in the gap, I hold my breath and listen for a moment. Silence drifts from inside the cabin, and there’s nothing but the soft whispering breeze out here.

Alright. Go time.

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