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

Robinson R44. The only reason I knew that was because I got to fly (and crash) in one during one of my early trips to the Patch, and the pilot nearly killed me in the process. All I remembered was bells and whistles and him shouting over the radio to “brace for impact.” I passed out on the way down. When I awoke, the first thing I got to see was his one-tooth smile, followed quickly by a huff of his rancid breath as he said, “It got a little hairy, didn’t it, feller?”

“What the hell is ‘is place?” Sam asked.

I nervously shrugged my shoulders. “A place to rest, I hope.”

The snow-covered path diminished as a frozen brown dirt and gravel one took its place. With the way having been cleared as far as it had, someone to had to have been there. Fifty yards ahead lay two large, gray, rectangular objects. Before I could know for sure what I hoped I was looking at, Avery loudly confirmed it for me: “Generators.” That explained how there were working helipad lights. It also explained how the whole damn place was lit up as it was.

Sam glided the Ripsaw to a stop in front of a building that had an old rough-cut board with “Community Building” painted on it. To the south of the community building were several small, green, tent-like structures. The place was speckled with several buildings, all of which were of different sizes, shapes, and materials. Some were outdated and old, like the community building. In contrast, others looked modern, by most standards, but especially for that part of Alaska.

Sam clicked the gear shifter to park and began checking over his rifle.

“I take it you think this place is too good to be true, too,” I said, following suit.

“Don’t know.” Sam pointed his finger at an approaching figure. “Looks like we ‘bout ta find out.”

I told Avery and Quill to stay put while we felt out the welcome party.

“Whoa… whoa, fellas. What’s up with the guns?” the man said as he walked towards us.

“Who are you?” I yelled, much louder than I meant to.

He stopped and put his arms in the air like it was a traffic stop gone wrong. “This is my place, or at least this is where I work. Maybe you should be the one telling me who you are.”

“I’m William, and this is my friend, Sam. Yours?”

“Daunte, Daunte Green. What are you all doing all the way out here?”

“Well, Daunte, we just wanted to pull off the road a bit and rest,” I said.

“This isn’t exactly a rest spot, you know.”

“Yeah, but with the way things are at the moment, the rules have changed a bit--”

“Those things must be bad if they allow you to show up on private property with rifles?”

Sam let out a nervous laugh. “You don’t know ‘bout what’s goin on?”

Duane nervously shook his head. “Apparently not.”

“You gotta place we can sit down and talk? I got a teenage girl and another friend in the truck who would like nothing more to stretch their legs and use the bathroom,” I said.

He ventured an untrusting glance towards the Shining before speaking again. “Yeah, well, I don’t know. I’m not supposed to let people come here who don’t have reservations.” He looked back towards a row of cabins, “Since no one else showed up, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

I offered my hand for a handshake, but he wasn’t having it. Finally, I awkwardly said, “We would appreciate it.”

“I need you to put up the weapons, though. They aren’t allowed.”

“That’s not going to happen. Not until we know this place is safe and that you are on the up and up,” I said, “And you can put your hands down. We’re not here to hurt anybody.”

“Easy enough for you to say. Where I come from, you don’t bring guns unless you’re going to use them.”

“I assure you we won’t use them unless you make us. Take us someplace we can talk, and we’ll make you understand why we’re carrying these. I promise you.”

“I guess I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?”

I smiled. “We could tell you here, but we’re cold and tired. We don’t mean you any harm.”

Duane thought a second. “Yeah, alright… just follow me, then.”

***

Duane showed us around the community center. “Bathroom is over there. Water and a few snacks in the fridge. Lots of places to sit over there. Make yourselves at home,” he said, not overly enthused about any of what he was saying. If it weren’t for our guns, we’d been out on our asses. I was pretty sure about that.

“Thanks,” I said, walking over to one of the walls. “Huh,” I said to myself. I rubbed the God-awful ugly wall covering. Bad memories seemed to greet me at every corner. The paneling on the walls of the community center was the same, even down to having the weird black faux wormholes as the single-wide trailer I grew up in. It was a 1979 Starlight single wide. I remember mom talking about how the guy who pulled the trailer to our lot marveled about how heavy it was. “Damn solid trailer you got there,” he’d said.

The clank of a serving tray broke my reminiscing. I grabbed one of the cups and poured it full of hot tea. A few sips and a couple minutes later, in the comfortable recliner, and I forgot about the damn horrible paneling. That was some of the best tea I ever drank.

Not everything was as good as the tea and recliner. By the way Duane nervously stared at Quill when he thought no one was looking, it was as apparent to him, as it was us, that something was wrong with her. That she had found a Miley Industries trucker hat in the Ripsaw and had it pushed down low over her brow trying to block light from her eyes only made things worse. At least with the trucker’s hat pushed down