Marcus Pelegrimas - Blood Blade

“Jesus,” Cole muttered to himself. “This’ll teach me to buy a vacation without a real travel agent to yell at once I get back.”

The lodge turned out to be much better on the inside. A large fireplace took up a huge section of the wall opposite the front door. That way, the breeze from the door fanned its flames while providing immediate comfort from the cold. There was also a kitchen supplying food to three large tables set up in the main room. Seated at one of the tables was a woman with shoulder-length blond hair and a thick sweater that hugged her figure like a second skin. Another man stood next to the coatrack, bundling himself up before heading back into the cold. The two of them glanced at the front door and halfheartedly waved at the new arrivals.

“Beds are in there,” Sam said to everyone who walked into the lodge. He pointed to the only other room, which was to the right of the entrance.

Having served time in summer camp in his youth, Cole instinctively went into the other room to stake his claim on one of the beds. There were only six to choose from, and the frat boys had already picked theirs out. Cole dropped his duffel onto the bed at the opposite end of the room from the younger men and headed back toward the smell of food.

Brad made himself comfortable at the blonde’s table. Her legs were curled up beneath her, so she leaned one elbow on the table and used her free hand to play with some of the curls dangling from under Brad’s cap.

The cook was a burly man with a bald head and full beard. At the moment, he was setting up a row of wooden bowls in front of him. After the neat row was completed, he used a dented ladle to fill them. The smell drifting through the air told Cole that whatever was in those bowls was hot and tasty.

The quiet guy headed for the other room and stayed there.

“Come and get it while it’s hot,” the cook said.

Cole didn’t have to be asked twice, so he walked over to claim a bowl for himself. “What is it?” he asked.

The burly man replied, “Just beef and potato stew. It’s from my ma’s recipe, so if you got complaints, keep ’em to yerself.”

After taking a bite, Cole looked up and replied, “No complaints here. I just hope there’s more.”

The cook slapped Cole on the shoulder and walked back to the stove. “I got enough to feed a pack of wild animals in here.”

Cole went to a table and didn’t look up until he’d devoured half of his second helping. When he glanced around, he saw everyone scattered among the tables eating their meals. Naturally, the bros with the funny hats settled in at his table to regale him with stories of how many different ways they could drain a bottle and then fall down afterward. Looking around for a beam to hang himself, Cole realized that not everyone from the truck was there after all. Brad was still making good time with the blonde, but Gerald was nowhere to be seen. Cole pushed away from the table before his new buddies could start in on tales from spring break. After dropping his bowl off at the kitchen, he stepped out through the front door.

Gerald was outside, sitting beside an oil drum that contained a crackling fire. His hood was pulled up and cinched tightly around his face to protect him from a cold wind that cut like sharpened steel. In defiance of the fierce elements, Gerald remained focused upon a task that monopolized every bit of his attention. No matter how hard the wind howled, the older man kept his hands moving and his head low.

As far as Cole could tell, he was carving something into his walking stick. It had to be the same walking stick that Gerald had before, but Cole only now noticed the groves worn into the wood. Flickering light from the fire played across the intricate carvings along the thinnest section of the staff.

“It’s a lot warmer inside,” Cole said.

Gerald didn’t look up, but he did nod.

Cole took a few steps closer until he was able to reach out and warm his hands by the fire. “This fresh air is doing wonders for my sinuses. I’m from Seattle, so it practically takes a miracle to clear out the smell of coffee grounds from my clothes.” Laughing reflexively at his own joke, he noticed that his was the only voice drifting through the air. “That one usually goes over a little better.”

“Not with someone who was born in Seattle, I bet,” Gerald said sternly.

“Oh. Were you born there?”

Gerald kept his eyes fixed firmly upon the small knife in his hands as he smirked and replied, “Nah. Just keeping you on your toes.”

“Heh. Good one.”

Gerald ran coarse fingertips along the wooden staff that lay across his lap. Despite the beefiness of his fingers, he handled the jackknife the way a surgeon used a scalpel. While rolling the staff along the upper portion of his knees, he carved into the wooden surface in a constant flow of motion. Considering how thin the wood was on top and how hard he was working, it was a wonder to Cole that he didn’t slice the staff into bits.

After a few seconds of working quietly, Gerald asked, “You saw it, didn’t you?”

Cole kept his arms stretched toward the fire and looked around. “Saw what?” he asked.

“During the ride on the truck. You saw that thing that was following us.”

“I did?”

Gerald nodded and flipped the staff around so the clean end was closer to his jackknife. Probably because of the flickering firelight, that end now looked thinner than the one with all the carvings. “I saw you watching it. You were probably wondering how a thing that big could move so damn fast.”

Just as he was getting uncomfortable with the conversation, Cole made a connection in his head. “Oh! You mean those bears?”

Gerald nodded.

“There’s probably bears all over the place around here,” Cole said. “Good thing we’ve got that nut job with all the guns staying here with us.”

“I guess.”

“There aren’t any bears…you know…like, right around here, are there?” Cole asked.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you see for yourself?”

Cole looked up again and took some more time to study his surroundings. His eyes drifted toward the trees that encroached upon the cabin from the north. They grew there in a thick wall of large trunks that seemed to be as solid as the black shadows between them; infused with some ominous presence or possibly keeping one at bay. For a second, light from the fire seemed to catch a figure within one of those distant shadows. Cole rubbed his eyes and took another look just to be certain.

The figure was gone. Looking up, he noticed something in the darkness that could only have been reflections from the glittering array of stars over his head. “Looks safe to me.”

“Good,” Gerald said as he reached down and brushed away some snow to reveal a kit that was made from a few sheets of leather stitched together and unrolled into a mat. Various tools were kept in pockets specially made for them, ranging from picks and knives to things Cole hadn’t seen since his leather-working unit in shop class. Gerald was using the rag in his hand, stained by some sort of rust-colored polish, to smooth out some of the rough edges on the staff’s fresher carvings. The rag left behind a wet smear, which he wiped away until the polish had been worked into the grain of the wood.

“Where are you headed from here?” Cole asked. “Bear hunting?”

Looking up to the exact spot where Cole had seen those reflections, Gerald replied, “Ain’t no bears stupid enough to go where I need to be.”

Suddenly, the cold air and stilted conversation took their toll. Cole looked over his shoulder and saw the fire beckoning through the lodge’s front window. “All right, then. Good luck with that,” he said to Gerald. “I think I smell hot cocoa, so I’ll just leave you out here to polish your stick.”