Uncharted Territory

Three

Light frost lay atop every surface and twinkled along every edge. Lustrous in all its brilliance, the gleaming moon sat comfortably, in no hurry to make its way across the sky.

Hovering low against the pointed roof of the cottage were aged branches weighted down by years of mother nature’s continuous changes. Moss flaked along the outside edges of the sun beaten home, and leaves littered the ground and dirt path to offer assistance in its camouflage.

He stood at the entrance of the cabin, a dated duffle bag over one shoulder, and a folded map in his hand. The cabin, once passed the two wobbling front steps, was no more than three small rooms. The living and kitchen area, the bedroom, and the shrunken bathroom tucked into the regular sized bedroom. He reached for the light switch with his opposite hand, his expression unchanging when darkness remained.

He had arrived into the small town late, much to the displeasure of the elderly cabin owner. Aged lines had deepened in the older man’s features at the sight of the lean individual at his door. Nevertheless, the key to the cabin’s front door had been handed over, and a promise of a proper introduction the following morning was made.

Now, standing in the center of the dark living area, Luke dropped his duffle by the two seater sofa and scanned the room. He planned to take a better look around his new living quarters when there was sunlight. Though the furnishings were topped with white sheets for protection, dust covered surfaces and creaking floorboards; daddy long legs having homes and nests in corners. He would worry about that later as well, the mere thought of fixing anything in the dead of night exhausted him.

He reached for the grime covered sheet and carefully folded it, before placing it on the floor by the fireplace in the corner. He returned back to his bag and unzipped the main pocket. Shuffling passed shirts and toiletries, he pulled out his aged blanket, toed off his boots, and settled on the sofa; his eyes already closed before his head found the armrest.

…………………

The days following Luke’s arrival ended as they had begun for him, with the loud rumbling of the owner’s truck engine.

Luke lazily tucked his hands in his front pockets, one shoulder resting against the entrance of the cabin. From his position, he could clearly see the older man tip his cap in farewell through the back window of his truck as he patiently made his way down the dirt path towards town. Luke jerked his chin in a nod of acknowledgement, barely any effort made, but enough to satisfy them both.

Even when the paling blue truck had made its way around the curve of trees and shrubbery, vanishing from sight, Luke continued to watch the road until the sound of grinding machinery was nothing more than a hum that added to the music of the woods surrounding him. He allowed a full minute to pass, for the world around him to settle, before he pushed off the doorway and descended the repaired steps.

Bright in the early morning hours, the owner of the cabin had parked his noisy lorry. The older man named Arthur, had arrived with a box of tools, a truck bed full of needed material, and a container filled with homemade muffins.

His intentions were to fix the place up before Luke arrived, but seeing as that was no longer the case, Arthur figured four hands were much better than two.

With thermos coffee and lazy morning conversations out of the way, the pair had set to work. The man was old, Luke noted, but he was no slacker. At first, he had watched on with slight irritation, thinking he would have to quickly get the elderly man to the hospital within minutes from all the work he was putting himself through. But as the hours rolled on, Luke found himself impressed by Arthur’s work abilities. By the time goodbyes were issued on the third evening, the wobbling steps had been corrected, the wiring in the cabin was fixed, new light bulbs had been screwed in, the floor glistened from the vigorous mop and polish, blankets and sheets hung out on the clothes line to dry, and cobwebs were the thing of the past.

The cabin looked reborn, smelling of pine and coffee.

Luke shook his head, clearing his mind as he continued his trek through the woods. His nostrils flexed as he inhaled, taking in the smells around him, finding his way towards his destination. Hands out of his pockets, he pushed aside tree limbs, ducking under branches he could not move, and around tree trucks.

Winter was in the air. He could smell it, could feel the tightness and bite that paired along with its chill. Autumn was coming to an end and winter was making its way to the small town. Luke tipped his eyes heavenward and scanned the hazy sky a moment before focusing back on his walk. He would estimate it be a few more days before flakes began to fall. His stay would be lengthened if that happened, burying scents and leads he would need, making his task all the more time consuming. His gaze hardened at the thought, his demeanor no longer the relaxed individual from earlier as he neared the boarder.

The enclosure was stretched a sizable distance on either side of him; curling into the shape of a circle around the building it surrounded. He breathed in the past visitors, the fresh trace of human innocence- of young pups overwhelmed him. He could scent some men and women, and then… He focused on the lingering alien scent. The trail he was meant to pursue and permanently wash off the face of the earth. Their mark was fading, days old, but enough remained for him to store in his memory for a later date. He could visualize their fear filled expressions in his minds-eye as they scaled the wall, could taste their panicked sweat on the flat of his tongue as his pack mates gave chase. He scanned the area, first left then right for any aide in his search. The deer fence surrounded what looked to be a second blockade. A wooden fence put up for privacy, or probably safety.

Well passed his height, there was no way to see over the fence without a ladder.

He backtracked a few steps and tipped his head, letting his gaze slant, as he slowly moved to get a view of the other side. Beyond the wall, he could see the roof of buildings; could hear the occasional car passing by. He walked back to the barrier, forced the toe of his boot into one of the available slots and hiked himself up. His fingers, slender and made for instruments, curled through wire loops for balance. He used his other foot to hook into the fence and giving a quick upward push, he scaled the wall in three easy movements, landing in a crouch on the opposite side.

Mulch covered a great portion of the yard. Yellow slides, green and yellow teeter-totters, green swings, all of different sizes decorated the space.

He straightened and brushed dirt off his hands as he reviewed the area. The distance from cabin to school was not a far one, not in his opinion. It could be completed easily if a person ran.

As one comfortably would in their own backyard, Luke easily made his way around the playground. With his hands back in his front pockets, he circled to the side of the building where the wooden fence had a latched gate. He lifted the latch, being sure to noiselessly slip through, and found himself down the street from the talked about crime scene.

He had discovered what he had been looking for, and that was a good enough start to a hopefully quick visit to the town of Melbrooke. Luke rolled the tension off his shoulders and started down the street to his temporary home.