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I tried the kitchen water. There was a shrieking brwAAAMP for a second, and then water began coming out of the tap.
“At least there’s water,” I said.
“Freezing cold, too, I’ll bet.”
“Yeah, but at least you don’t have to go in an outhouse in the woods.”
“This is the outhouse in the woods,” she snapped.
The stove was electric, so neither it nor the range worked.
There was no food in the house at all – just plates, glasses, and cutlery.
Since we didn’t have electricity, I didn’t want to waste the charge on my phone – so I looked around for a flashlight. I found one in a kitchen drawer. The batteries were weak, but it gave off enough of a yellowish beam to see the house’s darkened interior.
There were three separate bedrooms – one queen-size and two with double twins. The comforters kicked up a cloud of dust when I slapped them, but the sheets looked clean.
“See? You can have your own bed tonight,” I said.
“Wonderful,” she said sarcastically. “Can we at least start a fire? I’m fucking freezing.”
There had been a stone fireplace in the main room but no wood.
However, there was a canvas carrier folded by the hearth – and an ax and small hatchet lying on top of it.
“Stay here, I’ll go find something,” I said as I took the ax, hatchet, and carrier outdoors.
I headed for the barn first to see if there was any wood stacked inside.
No luck. There were some empty feed bins, a loft, and assorted odds and ends – but no stacked wood.
I thought about chopping off some of the crumbling wood structure but decided I didn’t want to be an asshole. It was bad enough that we were using the property for shelter; no need to destroy it, too.
There wasn’t any wood stacked outside the barn, either – but I still hit the jackpot, in a way.
A small oak behind the barn must have fallen over years ago. The owners had cut it into circular cross-sections with a chainsaw. Now the wood was seasoned and ready for the fireplace.
I just had to chop it first, so I set to work.
I picked the most manageable-looking cross-section, about two feet tall and two feet in diameter.
Then I raised my ax and swung.
THOCK.
I pried it out of the wood, raised it up in the air, and swung again.
THOCK.
Would’ve been easier with a sledgehammer and maul, but beggars can’t be choosers.
And though I could have looked for the chainsaw to see if it was still around, I didn’t bother. I hadn’t seen any sign of it in the house or the barn.
Even if I could find it… and even if there was oil and gas… the ax was fine by me.
I was used to chopping wood like this because I did it at my cabin. Not because I needed to, but because I enjoyed it. The physical activity was a kind of meditation.
Now it helped get my mind off of Lucia and the mess we were in.
