Page 6 of Cabin Fever

I went back to the opening in the floor and removed the remainder of my things. After finishing up in the bedroom and putting everything back where it belonged, I grabbed a torn piece of cardboard I usually reserved for my wet boots and a towel.

Slipping the cardboard under her neck and wrapping the towel around her head and neck, I gently lifted her, doing my best to keep her head from moving. I expected her to be heavier because of all the fabric encasing her body, but there wasn't much effort needed to move her.

Once she was on the bed, I tucked her in and waved at Kitty, who had followed me into the bedroom.

"Come here, Kitty. I'm going to shut the door now."

She didn't budge. Her legs and paws pulled together as she sat to keep an eye on our patient. I smiled at how my dog cared for the injured woman.

But then I witnessed my dog lean her head on the bed and start to lick. When I moved closer, my dog's tongue was slithering over the woman's bean-stained fingers.

"You are unbelievable. She's lying here, maybe fighting for her life, and all you care about are the remains of beans. Get out." I pointed to the door, but my dog didn't move.

I resorted to bribing her with her true love.

"We're having sausages for dinner tonight."

My dog hopped up. Her paws had left the ground, she jumped with such excitement, and scurried out of the room.

After a filling meal of sausage and peppers with a side of my potato hash, Kitty and I rested. Actually, she curled up outside the door to the bedroom while I hunted for anything that would explain who this woman was and why she was in my home.

I took a flashlight outside and found footprints in the snow that I assumed were hers. They didn't come from the driveway but from the woods.

She couldn't possibly be a hiker. Not in her outfit. The boots she had on were nice, expensive, but not designed for trekking in the mountains.

The more I searched for clues to explain her presence, the more I was left with questions. If my father were here, he'd know what to do.

I miss you, Dad.

It's been two years, but it still felt like yesterday. I gulped at the biting air and stared into the dark woods. The noise from the animals was the only thing that reminded me of him. He worked hard to make our life comfortable, especially after the nightmare we ran from. My dad and I were a team. He taught me how to be a man, how to survive on my own, and how to enjoy the little moments.

Turning back, I walked up the three short steps to the porch. Knocking the snow from my boots, I stepped inside and removed them. Kitty was still curled up outside the bedroom.

"Don't get too attached, Kitty. She isn't staying. Remember what Dad always said. 'Everyone always wants something from you and most of the time it's not good. They'll hurt you the first chance they get. Trust in family.' That's you and me, Kitty. We don't know her and it's best if it stays that way."

THREE

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