Timothy Long: Beyond the Barriers

Looking back now, it was one of the best times of my life, but it was oddly shadowed, tempered by the feelings I had for her now, which were far from love.

The cabin was a welcome sight after the madness of the last few days. I walked up the noisy, three stairs to the porch and stopped at the door. I didn’t have a key this time, and wondered how I was supposed to get in. This was the big gap in my plan.

I tried the doorknob, but it was locked. I pushed on the door, but it was secure. I banged on it and called out “I’m a friend of Ray’s,” but no one answered.

Praying that no one tried to shoot me, I wandered around the cabin and tried the windows. All of them were shut, but one in the back—a tiny one that allowed a view of the trees from the bathroom—was loose. I shoved it up and caught a pair of splinters in one hand for my effort. The window had budged, however, so I went back to the car and got the pry bar.

It was just a matter of breaking past some old, dried wood stain, or paint, to get into the room. I pushed the window up, smiling when I found I had to turn nearly sideways to get in. I made an awful racket as I maneuvered into a space that was only a little bigger than the size of my body. I fell into the room, knocking over several plastic bottles and whatever other toiletry items Ray kept in here. I hadn’t seen my friend in a few years. He was an old friend of my father, served in the police force for many years. His dream had always been to live in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, but then when he finished the place, he couldn’t give up his job and ended up working another half dozen years past his retirement.

I landed on the ground in a heap, and felt around for the edge of the old cast iron tub. Something he had paid a small fortune to bring into the woods. When I reoriented myself, based on my memory of the visit years ago, I made it to the door and opened it, but kept low in case someone was waiting outside to blow my brains out.

“Name’s Erik. I’m a friend of Ray’s. If someone is there, please say something.” Then I waited a full thirty seconds before cracking open the door. I crouched down and waited for shots to echo over my head, or for a very angry person very much within his ‘right to bear arms’ to blow my fool head off.

No one moved in the room, and after a few seconds where I thought my heart was going to pound out of my chest, I moved into it. Shadows coated the place, like relics of the past. I could smell dust and the sure signs of disuse. I clicked on the flashlight and shone it around the cabin’s main room. Unlike in the bad horror movies I liked to watch, there was no masked killer waiting to slice me to pieces with a machete. In fact, everywhere I looked, everything was covered in dust. Some of it sat so thick that I could draw shapes in it.

It was much as I remembered, but like most places you visit and have fond memories of, it was a lot smaller. There were white sheets over most of the furniture, so I left it alone and went into the kitchen. I found a pantry stuffed with canned goods, like jam and vegetables. I wondered when they were made. I had plenty of time tomorrow to do an investigation. First I would have to start the generator, make sure the cranky thing still worked.

I propped the front door open, then I went to the car and started hauling things inside. I set most of them by the door, because the events of the day were crashing down on me, as if from a great height.

I loaded the shotgun with fresh shells, pulled my new camo jacket out of a brown paper bag—the very same field jacket I had grabbed from Walmart that morning. I dragged a white sheet off the couch, curled up with the shotgun on the floor near my feet, and slept until dawn.

Very early in the morning, I woke to a sound I had not heard in a long time. Birds. It seemed like hundreds of them were hanging outside the cabin, and all with the express purpose of bringing me back to the land of the living.

The land of the living. What an odd thing to think about.

I rose and looked around the tiny cabin to find it was just as I remembered. A woven rug lay before the fireplace. It was old but very colorful, and done up in a Native American style that gave the place a distinct western flavor. There was a small, hand-carved wooden table next to the kitchen. Four or five thick chunks of maple had been glued together, figures like bears and salmon were etched in, and then the thing was covered in a thick layer of lacquer.

A pair of chairs was under the massive table. They were gaudy, having been constructed of thick tree branches. The main area was pretty small, about ten by fifteen, and the old couch barely fit in it. A rocking chair sat opposite, and a small glass table with magazines from the seventies lay between them. I eyed an old copy of Time magazine that had Star Wars on the cover. It was an interesting contrast to the Spartan cabin. I leafed through it, careful of the old paper, but it had held up quite well. I wondered if he found them stuffed in an old box.

There was a tiny room not much bigger than the small bed it housed. Allison and I had to get very close in order to sleep in it together, which had been just fine with me at the time. I remembered waking to her smiling face one morning and wondering if a man could be much happier in this life.

I stretched and wished I had a cup of coffee. Too many years in the city made that my first priority. I wandered into the kitchen, which had a bright patch of light shining through the window over the sink, and took another look in the pantry. There was a simple curtain covering the opening, so I slid it aside and considered the contents.

Jars stood in neat rows. There was jam, vegetables, and fruit. On a lower shelf, I found barley, dried noodles, and beans in larger jars. I pulled one down and checked the date on the top to find the food was almost two years old. I had my doubts that it was still good. I’m sure the dried goods were fine, but the fruit and other perishables were probably spoiled. Then again, they had been stored in a cool place, so some might be salvageable.

I found a tin marked coffee and pulled it out. A freeze-dried bag of beans was inside, and when I cut it open with my new Gerber knife, the smell hit me with its familiarity, making me feel homesick.

I dug around in the cabinets and found a hand grinder for the beans. There was some wood stacked outside the door, so I got a small fire going in the little oven and then went out back to get water. The rear door was locked, and had a double pane window that was covered in dust. I wiped at it to get a look out the back. All I saw were trees and a patch of cleared space around a tiny back yard.

There were wildflowers growing everywhere, and the morning air was bracing, to say the least. The clouds were gone again, and as I walked to the lake to get water, I stared at the pastoral scene around me. It was like something from a painting. I splashed some water and marveled at how clear it was. I took a sip, and it tasted like heaven.

Water in the pot, I managed to make coffee by dangling a paper towel filled with grounds in it while it boiled next to the fire. I didn’t want to turn the place over just yet looking for luxuries like coffee filters. Later in the day, I would check the stove and clean it if I had to.

I spent the day setting up shop. I uncovered everything, opened the doors and windows, and let the place air out. The smell of dust went away after a while, as I cleaned. I took everything I could get my hands on outside and pounded on it as best I could.

Unloading the SUV only took a few minutes. I stored the hunting rifle, and then set the boxes of bullets on the main table so I could get a count. Later I hunted around until I found some large nails and a hammer. I walked the mile to the gate and, after making sure no one could see me from the road, I nailed the plank back into place. Then I used the axe to hack some large branches and created a half-assed covering for the entrance. A cursory glance, and it would look like the road was overgrown. It wouldn’t fool anyone who got close to it.