Page 48 of The Outsider
His voice sounded closer, so I kept calling him. A minute later, he emerged from the wall of white, his scarf pulled up over his face like mine, his jacket covered in snow.
“I think it might be a cabin,” I shouted over the wind. “We should check it out. We need to get out of this weather.”
John glanced around us, clearly conflicted, but we didn’t have much choice. There was no putting up a tent in this storm, and ours didn’t have space for four people anyway.
“Alright,” he said, “but look for signs of people. If we see any, we leave. And stay behind me.”
I nodded, and he raised his rifle. We felt our way along the length of the wall until it rounded a corner and spotted a set of stone stepsleading up to a front door. It was open, and the door was swinging wildly in the wind. Fresh snow had accumulated on the steps, partially blocking the entrance.
We did our best to clear the stairs, and John went in first, rifle raised. Only dim light came in from the shuttered windows—which remarkably still had glass in them—but I made out the interior of the small cabin, which included an old wood stove, some kitchen cabinets, and a rotted wooden table and two metal chairs. In the far corner, there was a door that looked like it led to a small bedroom. Other than that, it was empty, and judging by the dust and the sparse contents, no one had been here in a long, long time.
John went to check the back bedroom, but it was also empty. It was as close to safe as it could be.
“Let me get the other two,” he said to me. “Stay here and keep watch. If you see anyone, you scream as loud as you can, alright?”
I nodded, and he left. I tried to close the front door to stop more snow from blowing inside, but the latch was broken. I held it closed with my weight until the others returned. Kimmy and Asha soon arrived, scarlet-faced and shivering. John tied the door closed with the climbing rope, and then we were safe at last. We huddled close together for warmth as we waited for the howling wind to quiet.
It took hours for the storm to die down. Kimmy and Asha chatted quietly back and forth, playing games like I-Spy to pass the time. John tried to talk to me, but I met him with curt answers, and he eventually stopped, shooting me a hurt look. Guilt roiled in my gut, and I wanted to confront him. I just didn’t want an audience.
Eventually, in the afternoon, the storm abated. We had to dig our way out of the cabin, and by the time we finished, the light had already started to fade.
“We’ll stay the night,” John said, and Kimmy nodded.
“Asha and I will go hunting,” she replied, hooking her arm through Asha’s. To my surprise, Asha gave a very small smile. “You and Claire can set things up here.”
We agreed, and then John and I went to gather firewood. Sticks and branches had been scattered everywhere during the storm, so it wasn’t difficult to find. Wood was the only thing we never seemedto lack.
“So,” John said, attacking a branch with his hatchet a little more aggressively than was probably necessary, “who pissed in your oatmeal this morning?”
“What?” I asked, caught off guard by his directness.
“Baby, I’m not stupid,” John said with a frustrated chuckle. “I know you’re pissed at me. Could you maybe just tell me why?”
His acknowledgement caused the dam inside me to burst.
“I don’t know,” I said with venom, “maybe because the Jamesons are going to hunt me down when we get to the Valley, unbeknownst to me? Maybe because my boyfriend is keeping vital information from me for no reason I can tell? Or maybe because he has skeletons in his closet that are starting to make their way out, and I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
My voice shook on the last word. John stared at me impassively, but I could practically see the wheels turning in his head.
“Has Kimmy been talking?” he finally said. “I told her not to bother you with this.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, John,” I said, crossing my arms. “Stop avoiding me. I deserve to know what I’m getting myself into! And you lied to me.”
“I never lied to you,” John said defensively. “I told you that you didn’t need to worry about it, which was the truth.”
“Why shouldyoudecide whatIget to worry about? Hmm?” I shot back. “You think I’m a child? That I’m so fragile that I can’t handle the truth? Do you really think so little of me?”
Each word seemed to hit him like a blow.
“Of course not,” he said softly. “It’s not about that.”
“Then what is it about? Start talking. I mean it.”
John studied my hardened expression and crossed arms, then sighed wearily.
“Let’s finish this and head back,” he said. “Then I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”
We finished gathering firewood in silence, then hauled it all back to the cabin. Once we’d built up the fire in the woodstove, John took a seat on one of the chairs beside it.
