You Only Die Twice

Chapter TWENTY-ONE





When another twenty minutes passed and Cheryl found no signs of water, she knew it was time to stop the hunt and build a shelter.

The sun was dipping behind the uneven line of trees. Soon, darkness would descend, which wouldn’t just bring colder temperatures, but nighttime creatures also on the hunt.

Because of her father and grandfather, she knew how to build something that would protect her overnight, and she knew that she could do it reasonably fast.

What she needed was a ditch of some sort. A hollow in the forest floor in which she could sink down a few feet without having to build something that looked unnaturally high. The hollow would allow her more living space and it also would allow her to be as inconspicuous as possible when the shelter was finished.

To accomplish that, the shelter needed to look like a natural part of the landscape. Just a mound of limbs, branches and a covering leaves. That way, if she was successful, it would look to someone like a small rise on the forest floor―perhaps a hill―and maybe, hopefully, they’d take no notice of it should they pass by.

That was the goal.

This time, unlike finding water, finding a reasonably deep recess in the landscape was easy. Within minutes, she found a choice spot that was partly concealed by fir trees. She felt excited by it. With the trees circling it, they wouldn’t just serve to help conceal the shelter, but they also would work to protect her from any breeze or wind.

She started to construct it. She gathered dry wood, sticks and fallen limbs. She maneuvered them, layered them and constructed them in such a way that created a gently sloping hill, bearing in mind that in the end, it had to look as natural as possible, and that, later, she might need to use the shelter for something else should they come too close to her.

She gathered leaves and scattered them on top of the mound, which had a small hole at the front, through which she’d need to back into. When she was finished, it was dusk. She stood back, appraised her work and felt that at the end of the day, with every odd stacked against her, she had created something she could be proud of. The top of the shelter was finished off with wet, muddy leaves gathered from the wetlands. Sticks were placed on top of them so the leaves wouldn’t blow away. By doing this, she had created a cover of insulation, which she’d need because there was no way she could light a fire tonight. He’d see it.

Unless I want him to.

By the time she wiggled backward into her nest, she was more thirsty than she’d been in her life. Her throat was scorched. Raw. With the blood still caked in her mouth, it was as unbearable as her headache, which she knew, at least in part, had to do with her lack of food and water consumption.

She needed to sleep. She needed to conserve her energy. She snuggled down on the moist forest floor, which chilled her body to the point that she began to shiver, and she closed her eyes to shut out the day.

She could smell the night. She could smell the earth beneath her. She could hear nothing unusual outside, which for the moment put her mind at rest. And then, probably through sheer exhaustion, she started to drift off to sleep.

Tried to drift off to sleep.

Each time she thought she was close to the abyss, her mind spun out and her thoughts went to Patty. Without question, she knew she had called her today to catch up on last night, especially since she drove off with some random man, something Patty was accused of doing often, but which Cheryl knew she almost never did. She was, in fact, surprised that she did it. It wasn’t like her.

She wondered how long Patty would wait before she decided it was odd that Cheryl wasn’t answering her phone and that she should drive over to see if she was all right? She wouldn’t have done it today. Too soon. But tomorrow? There was a good chance of that happening since tomorrow was Sunday and they usually got together for brunch at The Lucerne Inn, a gorgeous inn turned into a hotel that overlooked stunning mountains and a beautiful lake.

When Patty knocked and there was no answer, what would she do? Leave? Maybe. But if the Colemans were about, she might ask them if they’d seen or heard her, which they would have if she’d been home. Theirs was an old house, but as solid as it was, the floors still creaked. Would they question it if they hadn’t heard her in two days? She thought they would. And then what? How long would they wait before they decided the right thing to do was to enter her apartment out of concern?

Cheryl didn’t know. What she did know is that James Coleman wouldn’t wait long. She’d been a tenant of his for years. He was aware of her routine comings and goings, which rarely changed because Cheryl’s life was admittedly dull. Also, during those rare times that she did take a vacation, she always told the Colemans, who in turn asked if she’d like them to look after her cat, Blanche, while she was gone. They had a good relationship. She figured that if James hadn’t heard from her or seen her by Monday, he’d enter her apartment.

But please do it sooner, she thought. Please do it now.

Her shelter was starting to warm a bit due to her body heat. She tucked closer into a fetal position and tried again for sleep, but it wouldn’t come. Her mind was too active. In the quiet of night, she listened to the silence, which unnerved her because it reinforced how utterly alone she was. And how frightened she was. And how vulnerable.

She thought of her cat and realized that she also had gone a day without food and water. Blanche was an older cat, nearly seventeen, and when she didn’t get her way, she’d let the world know with a series of caterwauls that could lift a roof they were so loud. Would the Colemans hear her? They would. But would they question it? That’s what she needed to rely on. She prayed that they questioned it.

She was thinking about all of this when, after about a half hour, somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard movement. Five minutes passed and she was certain she heard something coming toward her.

She held her breath and listened.

Was it him? An animal? She didn’t know. Her heart beat faster. It still was too far off, though it sounded like the kicking up of leaves. Some sort of rustling. She took a shallow breath and hoped to God that it wasn’t him. Or that it wasn’t a bear because a bear was a possibility. Black bears were nocturnal and, if threatened, they could become aggressive. In case it was either, she reached for the sharp branch next to her and held it close. The end of it was pointed. If she had the chance, she’d stab him or the animal in the face, and then she’d have to leave the shelter and run in her damned boots in the dark. That would just leave her in more danger because she wouldn’t be able to see and because she’d be exposed to the elements.

The sound was growing closer. She couldn’t tell if it was human or animal. But if it was human, if it was him, wouldn’t he have a flashlight so he could see? She peered through the cracks in the shelter and saw no light. Then the rustling stopped.

In her pocket, her cell phone buzzed.

It startled her to the point that she covered her mouth with her hand. Before it could buzz again and thus alert whoever and whatever was outside, she quickly reached for it, turned it on and read the text message.

“There you are, Cheryl,” it said. “Now, what are you going to do?”