Flash Fiction Friday, Cycle 95

The brief this time is quite a long one. In summary, the requirement is to imagine being ensconced in a remote cabin for some much needed R & R. There is no cellular coverage and the roads have been cut off due to mud slides during a storm. The brief continued,

"As you sit to remove your wet shoes before preparing some dinner, the phone rings. You pick it up and hear two people discussing something, but they ignore you when you try to interrupt, or perhaps they really didn‘t hear you. All at once, they hang up and the crossed-up connection is broken."

The allowance is up to 1,800 words. No key words for inclusion this time, though.

It would be really interesting to have your thoughts on what the hero says or does next...





A LITTLE R AND R

I pulled off the Sea-to-Sky Highway at Sunset Beach and parked by the marina. The sprawl of Vancouver was 30 minutes behind me. Bowen Island was set across the straits of Howe Sound under a steel sky. I closed my eyes and felt the strengthening cold wind on my face. A deep breath and a moment of relaxation. The first in a long time. I couldn't have cared less about the appalling weather forecast.

That moment on the mainland shore popped into my mind's eye unbidden three hours later as I pushed the cabin door closed. I could hardly believe the sudden ferocity of the storm that arrived soon after the ferry docked in the island's biggest harbour at Snug Cove. The drive to George's hideaway had been both hair raising and exhilarating. It must have been a good mile back down the track where I had been forced to abandon the rental by the fallen tree. As I looked down at the pool of water gathering by my feet the wind continued to howl outside. Though no-one was there to hear me I laughed.

I sat down and started to unlace my saturated shoes. The telephone on the coffee table in front of me rang. I was startled. George told me when he handed over the keys that I could expect nothing less than complete peace and quiet. My life is spent on the phone. George had seen that I was strung out, near to the end of my tether with stress. My elder brother tended to be a man of few words. Letting me have the cabin for the week was George's way of helping.

For a moment I just looked at the insistent instrument. 'It must be George,' I thought and picked up the handset. I was about to say hello when I heard a voice at the other end.

“Danny, there is no way you can get to the cabin at this time of night and in this weather.” I didn't recognise the unmistakably female voice.

“I’ve got to. It's the ideal opportunity. That guy is up there by himself. If he turns out to be a problem I can easily make it look like the storm got him.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to take a chance on him not finding the package and wait until he heads back to the mainland?”

“No we can’t risk it. I’m setting off now. I’ll call again later.”

"Who is this?" I said.

"Shit." This was the female voice. The line went dead.

I listened to the tone for several seconds. Lightening flashed outside. There was a click then complete silence. I put the handset on the cradle and picked it up again. Silence. I stared at it for a few seconds before putting it down once more. Thunder rolled through the cabin.

The conversation replayed in my head. Disbelief was the strongest emotion. I decided that if I could speak to George he would be able to confirm whether it would be a good idea to call the mounties. I lifted the handset one more time. Still dead. The next option was my cell. I retrieved it from the pocket of my dripping coat. As soon as I saw the droplets of moisture on the inside of the perspex screen I knew it wasn't going to work. I was right.

A bottle of Jack Daniels beckoned from the top of an antique dresser on the other side of the room. I poured a generous shot and downed it in one. My next priority was to get into dry clothes. Picking up one of my bags I located the master bedroom and stripped off. Less than ten minutes later I had been warmed by a hot shower and I was dressed again. I wasn't inclined to linger. The activity distracted me but by the time I came back through to the living room I was feeling uneasy.

Questions filled my head. My instincts as a private eye were starting to kick in. What was the package and why was it so important to this seemingly homicidal couple? How did they know I was here alone? Had they been tipped off by someone? Was George involved in some way?

I decided I had a little time to play with. Thinking back to the conversation my feeling was the man and woman were talking on a landline. A crossed line would place them on the island. If correct, they still had to be some distance away. The last building I remembered seeing - another vacation cabin - was five or so miles back down the track, the nearest hamlet another three miles on beyond that at least. Even if the guy had a vehicle he couldn't get closer than a mile away. He would, I reasoned, then take at least half an hour in these conditions to finish on foot.

My first thought was to see if I could find a package. Thankfully, George was a fastidiously tidy person. His Coastguard colleagues joked about him displaying the symptoms of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. A cursory inspection through the cabin's five rooms - living room, bedroom, kitchen diner, bathroom and utility space - revealed nothing obviously out of place.

A package worth killing for would be put away or concealed. I started again and took my time opening all the cupboards, drawers and storage I could find. The utility space was the last area I looked in. Nothing. I pondered what to do next. As I did so I turned to go back through the door into the kitchen. Then I noticed. A hardboard panel in the wooden ceiling was not fully attached in one corner. I managed to hook two fingers into the gap. The panel came away easily as I pulled. There, taped to a rafter, was a plastic wrapped package about the size and shape of an American football.

In the living room I placed the package on the coffee table and started to cut through the layers of plastic with a fruit knife. Four clear plastic bags containing white powder were soon revealed. Similarly sized, each must have weighed about one kilogram. I was a bit rusty on the street value of cocaine but my guess was that, in total, I was looking at about CA$60,000 worth. Definitely enough to kill for.

My next thoughts were about what on earth George had got himself into. Was this a drugs haul related to his Coastguard duties? What was his relationship to the two people on the phone? Was he even aware the drugs were in his cabin? There were no obvious answers here and I was starting to feel distinctly vulnerable.

I decided to put the drugs back where I found them. My assumption was that if they were recovered I might be less of a target. What concerned me about my line of reasoning was that the potential assassin had known someone would be at the cabin. Even if I was long gone he might still be anxious to eliminate any potential witness.

George had a good supply of outdoor gear. I was not too interested in how well any of it fitted me.

As I started to hastily put some food into a rucksack the lights went out. I froze and listened intently. The wind was making too much of a din to be able to distinguish anything else. I quickly realised the sudden power cut could have been man made. I had to get out as soon as possible. The gun cupboard in the living room was securely locked. I didn't feel I had the time to break in. I would have to take my chances unarmed.

Despite the sheltering trees the force of the gale outside almost knocked me off my feet. It was pitch black but I couldn't risk the flash light giving me away. I stumbled across the clearing in front of the cabin and into the woods.

The next few hours passed in something of a blur. I had no proper means of navigation. I just hoped I was headed in the approximate direction of Snug Cove. The terrain was tough. I kept to the trees as much as possible. The steep, treacherous hillside I traversed away from the cabin seemed to go on interminably. The wind and rain showed no sign of abating. Time and time again I generated mini mud slides as I lost footing. Adrenalin drove me on.

It was only as the wan light of the new day started to penetrate the forest that I realised how exhausted I was. Soaked to the skin for the second time in eight hours I was in a dishevelled state with both upper and lower waterproof outer garments ripped as a result of numberless falls.

The trees were thinning out and the ground levelling off. Suddenly, there was the unmistakable whoop of a police siren off to my right. I changed direction and headed towards the sound. Emerging by the road side I recognised the cabin I had passed on the drive in. It made me realise I must have walked in a few circles during the long and arduous night.

I could see there were several police vehicles and an ambulance parked up in the cabin's yard. Looking down the track I then recognised George's Coastguard SUV pulled on to the verge. Near to where I was standing there was another fallen tree. The power cable the tree had brought down with it was still sparking.

As I took in the scene the door of the cabin opened. Two paramedics emerged with a wheeled gurney. A body was completely covered with a blanket. They were followed by police officers. George was talking to one of them. I cannot recall ever feeling such relief.

"Jeez, look at the state of you Frank," said George as I jogged towards him.

"I know, George, I know."

I was about to go on and tell him the whole thing - the phone call, the drugs, my escape from the cabin - when George interrupted me.

"What an awful night. I was so worried about you. It was only yesterday afternoon in the office when the weather forecast came through that I said to Danny it might not be such a good idea for you to go up to the cabin."

George paused when the ambulance door clanged as it closed.

"Janine phoned last night to say that Danny had taken it upon himself to come looking for you. I thought I better follow him. And now this. Single shot to the head. The poor bastard wouldn't have known a thing. Judging by the way the place has been ransacked it must have been a burglar."

"Is there any sign of Danny?" I asked.

"No."

I realised I had to think very carefully about what I was going to say next to my brother.


UPDATE 22/09/12
Please see the exchange of comments between J.F. Juzwik and myself below. Click here to go to the second chapter of this story.