Cabin in the Woods, Part I (Granger and Morrison)

[Dvokr chim Hok 0]

Several days ago Cass had materialized a good five miles from Morrison’s cabin and had begun to weave her way toward it, SOP for anyone playing it safe. She didn’t know him well enough to trust him, but it took more than casual acquaintance for trust. But he’d given her these coordinates for a reason. She wanted to know why.

 

 

The area around the cabin was dotted with broad, mature evergreens: comfortable and good cover. Balsam was her tree of choice, its sap useful for survival and its branches soft and pliable. Easy hide. And there just happened to be a tall balsam on a hill a half mile from the cabin. Shielded by digital camo and traveling light, she had no problem settling into its broad branches. The wildlife didn’t seem to mind her being there. A few birds and squirrels had decided that her nutrition bars were easy pickings until she trapped one for dinner. Then they left her alone.

 

 

She scouted the area for a few days, checking out the wildlife, neighboring cabins, and access points... and anything that would raise a red flag. The cabin was fairly remote. A few buildings huddled together formed a town about 14 clicks away. There were few neighbors and he seemed to be alone. Still, she was off the grid completely; he may not be.

 

 

The man was a creature of habit; Cass could set her chrono by his movements: waking, sleeping, walking to town, cooking. He used a wood stove, a fireplace, or both. With no signs of plumbing he probably had an in-house or chemical toilet. The squeegee-clunk of a water well hand pump carried all the way up the hill.

 

 

On the fourth day, the weather changed. Cass could feel it, smell it in the wind. Animal behavior changed: some disappeared, others hunkered down in culverts, bushes, and dense undergrowth. The forest around her grew eerily silent and the clouds ominous.

 

 

She had provisions for surviving a week or so in just about any weather but the prospect of perching in a balsam didn’t quite suit her when there was a warm cabin with a wood stove and she had two fresh-killed rabbits to divvy up. Add snow made for deep tracks that would blow her cover anyway.

 

 

Within a half hour Cass had gathered her kit, erased all evidence of her bivouac, slid down the trunk, and crept to Morrison’s cabin - rabbits trussed over shoulder, her grand-dad’s vintage M16 slung over the other.

 

 

After a long pause to listen, she stepped to the door and knocked.

 

 

As surely as a clap of thunder had come within mere meters of hitting him, Morrison jumped. He cursed something in an off-world language he learned on a mission years ago. His personal sidearm lay in a drawer across the living room. He tiptoed over to it and primed the charge. The high-pitched whine made him feel a little better, but the issue of the knock still unanswered. With a little less caution he went to the door, primed old phaser on one hand, his coffee in the other. He bend down and looked into the peep hole. He heard something against the floor outside.

 

 

It wasn’t so much the creaking floorboards that made Cass withdraw; the whine of the phaser sealed the deal. “Commander Morrison?” she called from behind a tree, “it’s Cass.” She dangled the rabbits outside her cover with one hand, shouting, “I brought dinner.”

 

 

Morrison popped his head up, now visible through the door window. “Who? What? Cassie?” He assumed she turned his offer down mere seconds after getting the crystal. Now he blinked in actual puzzlement. He disappeared for a moment. The door opened. He just stood looking at her, holding animals she caught. His phaser pointed at his side.

 

 

“Aye, Commander,” she shouted back, “and last time I looked, phaser isn’t exactly the best way to cook rabbit.”

 

 

“I...I have a stove,” he said, still standing at the door. “Um, won’t you please come in?”

 

 

“How about you power down that phaser first, sir?” she said, still mostly hidden by the tree. “Think it might hurt you worse than me with it pointed at your hip like that.”

 

 

“Oh, sorry. It doesn't work anyhow,” Morrison said sadly. He switched off the phaser and placed it on the table next to the door. “It’s off. I can’t claim to know how to cook rabbit, by the way.”

 

 

“No worries, sir,” she said, checking around the tree with her scope before stepping out. “I’ll have them skinned, cleaned, and on a spit in about ten minutes. Roasted sound good?” she approached the door, holding the rabbits out like a peace offering.

 

 

“Just not raw, if that’s a thing,” he replied, moving aside to let her through.

 

 

Cass tossed her kit through the door, propped the rifle on the porch, and pulled her KBar from her boot. “Raw is for when you’re hiding and don’t want a fire; think we may need a fire come morning. I’ll clean ‘em out here; it’s easier, less messy, but I need a bucket for the guts so we don’t draw predators.”

 

 

After a few minutes, Cass came back to the door, spits in one hand, inedibles in an old bucket in the other, and the skins draped over one arm. Morrison let her in, not wanting to join in the skinning process.

 

 

“That did not take long. Had you wanted to cook this over the fireplace?” He had no idea how to prepare rabbit per se, but if it was anything like chicken he could muddle through it. He moved into the kitchen presuming she’d do the same.

 

 

“I’ll leave that up to you, sir, but I’d guess you’d like it roasted.” After placing the bucket next to his small sink, she pointed the spits at the fire. “You want to do the honors, or should I?”

 

 

“By all means,” he gestured with his hand, pointing the way. “So, have you been here long? Surely you did not stay on the ship for days.”

 

 

Her back turned to him as she arranged their dinner over the fire, she smiled to herself. “Been here a while. Not long. Took me awhile to find your place.”

 

 

Morrison seemed puzzled. “They should have placed you at the foot of the path up. Did you alter the coordinates, or did I get it wrong?”

 

 

‘Oh, you didn’t get it wrong.” She stoked the fire. “I just prefer to hike a ways and got off the trail once or twice.”

 

 

“You could have told me...I thought you...just decided not to come.” He swallowed as we watched the fire. “It would not be the first time I’ve been stood up, and I wouldn’t blame you.”

 

 

The rabbits well on their way, Cass turned as she stood and gave him a quizzical look. “Can’t imagine someone not wanting to visit a place like this in one of the most beautiful places on the planet.” She decided to drop the sir. “And as for the telling, I had things to do that took me off the grid. No way to communicate.” Her smile was genuine; she moved to set her boots by the door and stripped her jacket to hang it on a nail that served as a coat hook.

 

 

He smiled back. “This was my parent’s place, a while back. The contents fell into disarray over time.” He watched her cook for a moment then thought how rude he had been. “Do you care for something to drink?”

 

 

“Something warm, thanks. I’d say we’re in for a good storm tonight. Wind’s picking up. Temperature’s dropping. Need anything brought in? Extra wood?” She turned the rabbits and rearranged the coals after checking the cabin’s interior for supplies.

Morrison thought for a moment. “There’s wood lined up along the side of the cabin, should be dry enough. Refrigeration is pretty good.” He smiled. “Guess you’ll be staying. Of course you can always signal the Challenger for a beam up.”

 

 

“Beam up’s not an option for me, Commander. Boss wouldn’t like it since I’m supposed to be wilderness training,” among other things. “I’ll be good on the floor - if it’s okay to stay, that is?”

 

 

“Stay yes, but the floor? Are you nuts? There’s a small guest room down the hall, or the couch.” Morrison should have known, though he expected perhaps a nearby tree as well.

 

 

“Couch it is. That way I can keep an eye on the fire.” And the door. And the windows. And the approaches to the cabin.

 

 

“Very well.” He looked at the fire and the roasting rabbit. “You are more than I expected and a welcome break from the silence here.” He felt odd saying that, but his mouth moved before his mind. Out the window the wind started to sway the evergreens as far as he could see. She was right, of course, about a storm brewing.

 

 

As the storm continued to gain strength outside the rabbit roasted nicely over the fire. The fireplace was built for heat, not cooking. Cassie made it work. Morrison a day earlier had gathered green beans and potatoes from a market those 14 clicks away. He cooked them over the stove in a large pan. Neither of them spoke as they worked on their respective parts of dinner.

 

 

Morrison had a thought. “Before I forget, let me get a blanket and a pillow from the closet in the main bedroom. I’ll be right back, watch the vegetables for me.” Cassie nodded, or at least he thought she did. Within moments he returned with a white pillow and blanket, threw them hastily onto the couch, then returned to cooking.

 

 

Several minutes passed. The air filled with noises and smells of a cooked meal. Morrison tossed the beans and potatoes onto plates, gathered silverware, then grabbed two cold beers. With delicate balance he placed them onto the table sitting in front of the fireplace. She in turn removed each rabbit from its spit and placed each over the open area of the plates. Dinner was ready.

 

 

They both ate. Morrison seemed a bit skittish at the thought of rabbit, but after seeing her dig in he did the same. He ate happily and struck up a conversation about impressions of a 1969 Earth and career history (at least what each was willing to divulge). Soon their plates were clean and their drinks empty. Cassie had wrapped herself in the blanket earlier and let out a yawn. Morrison got up.

 

 

“Hand me your plate. I clean them in the morning. If you have been tromping around my cabin like you say then it’s time for bed.” She handed her plate over and he took them all to the sink. Without passing into the living room Morrison said goodnight then closed the bedroom door behind him.