Page 55 of Cabin Fever
I run my thumb over the grain, feeling the notches and ridges, the hidden patience in every cut.
“The fox knows when to trust its instincts,” Erasmus says. “So should you. Take him with you and keep him close.”
He tosses another log on the fire, the flames roaring up, as I clutch the fox tight, the tea cooling in my lap, and stare into the bright orange light.
I don’t know what happens next.
But for the first time since I left the cabin, I want to find out.
Erasmus’sold pickup sounds like it’s chewing gravel for breakfast. Every pothole jars my spine, every lurch and grind feels like a warning shot from the universe. The old man sits behind the wheel, both hands gripping it so tight his knuckles look like pale river stones. His scarf is wrapped three times around his throat, his face as blank as the snowdrifted woods blurring by outside.
I clutch the wooden fox in my lap, rubbing its ears like a worry stone. The heater works, but only barely; my breath ghosts out of my mouth, and I can feel the tremor in my hands as I try to hold them still. My knees are streaked with dried blood, jeans crusted and stiff, but I can’t bring myself to care. Every cell in my body is too busy replaying the last twenty-four hours on a loop, like some fucked-up highlight reel from a reality show nobody asked to watch.
We drive for a while without talking. The road curves, the sky leaks a watery gold, and somewhere far off a crow barks out acomplaint. Erasmus doesn’t look at me, not even once, but I can feel him thinking, the way a wolf can smell blood through a mile of forest.
I break first. “How many?”
He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand.
He takes a breath, then lets it out slow, the sound like a tire going flat.
“You sure you want to know?” he asks.
I don’t, but the question is already out there, and I can’t take it back. “I do.”
He shrugs, shoulders hunching under the weight of the world. “More than a few. Less than twenty, I’d guess. Sometimes they show up together. Sometimes one at a time. Always pretty, always smart, always a little lost.”
I stare out the window, watching the trees flick by in a silent, endless parade.
“He ever… keep one?” I ask, voice a splinter in my throat.
Erasmus smiles, but it’s not kind. “All the girls are gone by the spring thaw, one way or another.”
There’s a pit in my stomach that just keeps growing, filling up with every ugly thing I’ve ever feared about myself. I grip the fox tighter, sharp wood biting into my palm. I try to remember a time when I thought I was special, when I thought any of this could be different.
I can’t.
The rest of the ride is nothing but the whine of the engine and the echo of my own humiliation. By the time we reach the familiar turnoff for Talon’s cabin, my teeth are chattering so hard I’m afraid they’ll shatter.
Erasmus slows the truck to a crawl, tires crunching over the packed snow. He puts it in park, lets the engine idle, and finally turns to look at me.
His gaze isn’t cruel. It’s just old, and tired, and a little bit sorry.
“Don’t let him ruin you,” he says, voice soft as moss. “Not when there’s so much out there that’s better.”
I nod, unable to speak. I open the door, the cold slicing through me, and step out onto the hard, frozen earth.
I don’t look back.
The fox fits perfectly in my pocket, right over my heart.
And for the first time in days, I believe I might survive this after all.
Talon’s waitingfor me when I walk up the steps. The porch boards creak under my boots, and there he is—Mr. McKnight, King of the Mountain, arms folded across his chest, jaw working like he’s chewing on broken glass. The sky behind him is a dirty blue, fading fast, and he’s lit up on all sides by the golden glow leaking out from the windows.
He doesn’t say anything when I get close. He doesn’t even move. Just stands there, blocking the door, those blue eyes fixed on my face like he’s daring me to run away again.
I want to flinch, want to shrink, but I don’t. I meet his gaze head-on, then shoulder past him, letting my coat brush his arm. His body is solid, hot, and for a stupid split second I want to lean into it. But I don’t. I just keep going, moving through the entryway, down the hall, to the bedroom where all my shit is still scattered over the floor.
