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THE STORM RAGES OUTSIDE.
I’m restless, pacing back and forth across the cabin. Sideways rain lashes against the already cracked windows, and I wonder if the glass will hold. I have no idea how long the cabin has been standing, and I figure it’s probably seen storms as bad, or even worse than this one, and remained upright, but it’s still a concern.
The rain on the roof sounds like a giant’s fingers drumming. The roof is only corrugated steel, and the volume is insane—like constant roar filling my ears. It’s too loud for us to even talk.
Hours have passed, and the storm shows no signs of abating. I think of the tall trees surrounding us. If one of those is brought down by the wind and lands on the cabin, it will cause some serious damage.
The walls feel like they’re closing in. The space isn’t big, and with four of us now trapped inside it, it seems to be getting smaller with every passing minute.
Just the presence of the others is frustrating me. They all seem to be taking up too much space—even Laney, who probably only weighs a hundred and twenty pounds. Though I’m the biggest by a good couple of inches, my brother and father seem too broad and tall.
I want to go out onto the porch, if only to breathe some fresh air, but opening the door will only allow the horrendous weather into the cabin, and I’m concerned that I might not be able to get the door shut against the wind.
Instead, I leave the living area and go into one of the bedrooms. There are only the wooden structures of the two single bedframes in the room—minus the mattresses, which are on the floor in the living area—so I perch on the edge of the one closest. I put my elbows on my knees and exhale a long breath, tipping my head back.
Something catches my eye, and I frown.
Is that a hatch in the ceiling?
It certainly looks like it. There’s even a small hook that’s keeping it shut.
Happy to have a distraction, I stand on the bedframe so I can reach the ceiling. My height means I can reach it easily, and I unhook the hatch. It drops open, and instantly the noise of the rain on the corrugated roof becomes deafening. I even find myself ducking, as though it’s a violent force that could strike me.
I jump down off the bedframe and go back into the living area and find one of the candles. With no electricity, and the batteries on the flashlights having waned a long time ago, it’s the only light we have.
Reed says something to me, but the storm drowns out his voice. I ignore him and take the candle back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. Holding the candle, I climb back onto the bedframe and slide the candle up into the roof space. It illuminates the iron roof, but I can’t see much else. If I’m going to get a better look, I need to go up there.
I’m strong and physically fit. The time we’ve spent stranded in this place and the lack of food means I’ve also dropped some weight. My jeans already hang off my hips. I’m not sure what I hope to find up there, but I hope it’ll be supplies of some kind. With no sign of us being rescued any time soon, we need as much help as we can get.
I hook my fingers over the edge of the hatch, brace myself, bending my knees slightly, and jump. My momentum allows me to hook my forearm onto the roof space and then the other, and then I’m pulling myself up, hauling my body into the space. I hope the ceiling is strong enough to hold my weight. I’d prefer not to go crashing through it, though I imagine the others’ faces as I make my arrival into the living area that way. They’d probably think I was a tree crashing through the roof or something.
I pick up the candle from where I’d placed it and use it to peer around. Something white is reflected back at me and I lean closer...
“Oh, fuck.”
I jerk back again, hot wax spilling from the top of the candle and hitting my fingers. I barely feel it.
Is that what I think?
My heart beats faster than I’d like to admit, and even the candle flame flickers as my hand trembles. I get a hold on myself. The combination of the dark and the storm, and the thing I believe I’ve just seen has spooked me, and I’m not the kind of man who gets spooked.
I take a breath and look again.
The smooth curve of a white skull greets me, twin hollows where its eyes used to be. Its jaw is slack, the teeth still in position. It’s lying on its side, the long bones of its arms out straight, the smaller bones of its finger lying on the boards as though uncovered by a paleontologist.
Who the fuck is he? Or whowashe?
Above, the rain continues to pound and the wind howls around the eaves. It’s just me and him, confined in this low, dark space.
The candlelight wavers, and I’m suddenly gripped with the fear that it’s going to go out and I’ll be left here in the dark with a dead fucking body, but then it grows steady again.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I jump at my father’s voice. He’s had to shout to be heard over the storm.
“Fucking hell. You just scared the shit out of me.”
“I thought you’d vanished. What are you doing?”
