The Long Dark by B.J. Farmer (reading women .TXT) 📕

When I had trouble sleeping as a child, I counted. I allowed my head to fall back into the headrest. God, I was tired. I last number I remembered was 222.

***

“Wake up, son.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. “What the hell, Sam!”

“Didn’t mean ta scare you.”

I wiped a gooey mess of slobber off my face. “Yeah, I bet.”  I yawned and then began taking in what I could see of our surroundings. “Did the North Koreans nuke this place?”

“It’s safer ‘an ‘at air force base.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s all good. I still got your back.”

“Speaking of back. Mine’s killing me, but so is just about every other part of my body.”

“Get yer ass down here, and let’s find some shit ta make a fire. That’ll loosen you up.”

I half jumped half fell off the track. I tried to stretch a bit, but the pain was severe. I accepted the fact that I was just going to hurt. It wasn’t going away anytime soon.

I took another look at the surroundings. I’d awoken to the most forlorn, derelict, and foreboding looking places on earth. It wasn’t doing much at all for my mental state, that was for sure. I mean, imagine giving your kids a pile of junk wood -- crates, plywood, wooden boxes, etc. – and telling them to “Go build a cabin.” I’ll be honest, though, aesthetics didn’t mean a damn thing when you were as tired as I was. I couldn’t wait to rest my weary bones on the hard-ass floor of one of those janky cabins.

“Where the hell are we?” I asked, still trying to fully awake.

“A friend of Jim’s…” Sam shook his head at the thought of Jim. The sadness of our lost friends crept up at every turn.

“It’s all a nightmare,” I said.

He nodded. “Jim asked me if I wanted ta go huntin with him ‘is comin summer. He said we’d have ta stay at the cabin ‘cause our rotation would done be over, but his friend said it’d be okay. I ask him were the cabins was, and he told me. Jim wasn’t shit fer directions, but luckily Barrow ain’t very large.”

“Well, we can thank Jim for what will hopefully be a safe place to sleep tonight.”

Sam tugged on his mustache and tried to smile.

“I am sorry for what happened… or what could’ve happened. We got lucky again.”

Sam slapped me on the back. “We needed to know.” His smile faded. “We all in ‘is tagether, ‘ough.”

I nodded, but could tell something was eating at Sam. I waited for it. It came quickly.

“If we in ‘is tagether, we gotta make calls tagether.”

“I love Avery, Sam. I’d do anything for him, but he’s not ready to make calls like the ones we’re making. Titouan is better, but he hasn’t earned a spot at the table --”

“I don’t like Tit, neither. What he thanks, matters, ‘ough. We a group. You wont ta keep ‘is group tagether, you have ta ‘clude everbody. Just sayin son.”

I sighed. “I’ve been doing this boss thing for a long time.” I stopped myself. I didn’t like what I was saying.

“Runnin a rig is a whole other damn thang ‘an ‘is. The decisions we makin are killers. Anyone can die at any minute. Everybody gets a vote ‘cause of ‘at. Just the way it’s gotta be.”

“I agree.”

“Do you?”

“Of course. I mean what the fuck,”

“Don’t gum up your panties, son. I’m just tellin you.”

He gave me a playful slap on my back. He made his dire point, though. “We’re on the same page here.”

I saw one of the windows in the largest cabin lit up with lantern light. “How long did you let me sleep?”

“We been ‘ere ‘bout an hour, I’d guess.”

“I told you I was exhausted.”

Sam smiled an earnest smile this time. “Yep. Sleep time’s over, ‘ough. Time ta earn your keep.” He then walked around to the back of the Ripsaw and produced two hatchets. “We need some heat. We gonna break up some kindlin.”

The first three cabins were completely bare of anything we might break up and use as firewood. The next one we came to was locked. That was a good sign as far as I was concerned. Seemed to me, you wouldn’t waste time putting a lock on a door if you weren’t afraid of losing something.

“You thank we should break the door in?” Sam asked.

“Do you really think anyone is going to care at this point?”

Sam waved his hands in an arcing motion towards the door and said, “You wanna do the honors, Bubba.”

Smartass.

I wacked the door handle a couple times with the hatchet before saying fuck it. I took a couple deep breaths and somehow managed to kick the door in on the first try. Apparently, I was a natural. About time I was good at something. I heard Sam stifle a laugh as I massaged a cramp out of my right hamstring.

There was furniture inside; well, furniture in form only.  The table was constructed from a skid and sat on top of two crates. The chairs were made from two-by-fours and plywood. Not the essence of style or comfort, but I imagined they worked for intended purpose. They sure as hell were going to make good kindling.

We began to break down the chairs. Sam slammed one of them on the floor, and pieces of wood flew everywhere. “Easy. You about impaled me,” I told him.

With a very un-Sam like seriousness, and from a clear departure from just moments earlier, he apologized.

“What’s got your panties all gummed up, all of a sudden?”

He smirked. “Everythang.”

Breaking the furniture was therapeutic. Well, not for my injured shoulder, but otherwise, it felt good to get out some anger. I slung a chair against the wall, making a hell of a racket in the process. Cathartic as it was, it dawned on me that I shouldn’t be doing that, especially since my sleepy ass had left my rifle in the truck. I was sure my real old-world habits were going to eventually get me