Where There's Smoke, There's Fire

The trail to the pond, overgrown at the best of times, had been rendered almost impassable by the storm. Downed trees had to be navigated or climbed over, the ground was slippery with mud, and landmarks that had previously pointed the way were nowhere to be seen. The thick fog and increasing darkness didn’t help either, the decreased visibility giving a claustrophobic effect to the looming trees. The forest was eerily quiet as Gus made his way towards the pond, without so much as an owl’s hoot to break the unnatural silence.

It took over an hour for Gus to pick his way through the dark woods and make his way to the pond. As he made his way into the clearing, however, his flashlight would reveal a scene of utter chaos and destruction. The wreckage of a small single-engine plane laid half-submerged in the pond, tangled up in the splintered trunks of the trees it must have hit on the way down. The rainbow sheen of oil covered the surface of the pond, glittering under Gus’ beam of light. As he scanned across the clearing, he’d spot a grisly sight: a human corpse, lying on its back beside the water. The face was gone, torn away to the bone as though some scavenger had already been at it. The chest and stomach were ripped open as well, entrails spread out across the dirt. This didn’t look like the work of vultures, something big had torn this unfortunate person apart. To make matters worse, judging by the still-steaming entrails and fresh blood...it had happened just minutes before.

Off to Gus’ right, a shrub rustled.
 
Gus settled himself, ready to run as he faced the shrub. "Who is there?" he yelled. Any kind of predator would already know he was there, so trying to be sneaky was pointless. He went for the big and bold approach instead. "Who is there? Announce yourself?" He raised the shotgun, his hand steady despite his thudding heart. He really didn't want to shoot anything, but he could if he needed to.
 
The bush rustled again, and a human hand popped out from behind. It waved desperately, shining a bright white in the harsh LED beam of Gus’ light.

“I’m here!” called a woman’s voice from behind the bush. “I’m here, don’t shoot!”

A blonde woman stood up, glancing around nervously and squinting in the bright light. She wore an old-school leather pilot’s jacket, scorched on the sleeve, and clutched a flare pistol in a shaking hand. When she lifted her arm to shield her eyes from the blinding flashlight, Gus would see dried blood caked over the torn leather.

“You guys sure took your sweet time getting here,” she said, casting a worried glance over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here, it’ll be back any minute now. Where’s the helicopter? I didn’t hear it come in.”

She stepped out from behind the bush, conspicuously avoiding the mangled corpse on the ground. The body’s long golden hair splayed out on the ground, slowly soaking in the pool of blood, but no further identifying marks could be seen.
 
"No one is coming," Gus said, studying her suspiciously. How did he know she wasn't the one who killed the other? "I'm a fire spotter. Come on, my tower is up that way. What happened here?"

He glanced at the other body. It didn't look like anything one woman could do, but it was still a possibility that she had killed her partner. He still waved for her to follow him back up the path. This was weird, but first they needed to get somewhere safe.
 
The woman frowned, seemingly a bit disappointed when Gus admitted that he wasn’t part of a rescue squad. Stowing the flare pistol in her pocket, she followed him back up the path.

“Got caught in the storm,” she said. “It came out of nowhere, you know? Lost control, got caught by the wind, the plane crashed, you know the story. I shot off a flare, but nobody came looking. I didn’t think anyone saw it in the weather.”

She sighed, shaking her head.

“When the storm died down, I tried calling for help on the radio. My, uh, sister was hurt, you know. From the crash. But then a...a bear came out of nowhere and started attacking her and eating her. It was awful. I shot a flare at it and it ran away, but by that time it was too late to do anything.”

As she spoke, she refused to meet Gus’ gaze, but otherwise seemed oddly calm for someone whose sister had just been mauled to death by a bear. Shock, perhaps?
 
If this woman was telling the truth, he'd eat his shoes. Nice, thick, leather shoes with good souls, not cheap shoes. Still, Gus kept going. "Weird for a bear to attack at this time of year," he commented absently. "Come on, let's get a move on, faster. We gotta get to some shelter."

He gave her a hand over the logs, hurrying along back toward the tower. He wasn't sure if he really wanted her in his tower, but what else was he supposed to do? Leave her here? The storm should be clearing up, so all he had to do was make certain he got the call in to get someone to come and pick this freak up.
 
“Weird? Mhmm, yeah. I guess. I don’t know much about bears. I guess you would, living out here in the woods and all. I dunno, maybe it wasn’t a bear. Sure looked like one, though. I didn’t get a good look. I was, uh, hiding. Rattled. You know how it is. You seemed pretty worried about bears, though. Seeing as you brought your gun and all.”

The woman followed Gus back through the woods, letting him help her up over the deadfalls without complaint. Her hands were oddly cold, with long black-painted nails that didn’t seem to have been damaged at all in the crash. As they made their way back up through the woods, the rain started up again, a freezing downpour that would soak the both of them to the bone. The rain and cold made it a long, miserable walk back to the tower, and the two of them would be drenched and chilled by the time they made it back. Luckily, the tower was as intact as he’d left it, and the electric space heater would warm the two of them up quickly enough. Sitting down on the only chair in the tower, the woman turned to Gus, rubbing the burn on her arm.

“So,” she said. “Who are you, anyways? Do you just sit here and look for fires all day, or what?”
 
Gus sat across the room from her, staying as far away from her as possible. He kept the gun within grabbing range, acting casual about it as he took his jacket off and tossed it over the weapon before sitting next to it. Be cool. Be cool. Just wait for backup. They heard something, so hopefully they'd connect his call with the storm and send someone out.

"Yeah, pretty much," he said calmly. "I need to make certain the forest doesn't burn to ashes around us. Right? So... what's your name?"
 
The woman reclined back in the chair, gazing wide-eyed around the room. Her gaze lingered on the radio for a few moments, but she turned back to Gus when he asked for her name. She frowned, hesitating for a moment.

“My name?” she repeated. “Oh, of course. My name. How silly of me. It’s, uh, Camelia. Cammie. For short. Call me Cammie. See?”

She pointed down to her torn flying jacket, which had “Camelia” stitched across the breast pocket in bright red thread

“Cammie,” she repeated, running her finger along the embroidered letters. “How about you? What’s your name?”

Glancing down, she frowned and reached underneath the table. When she came back up, she held the deer’s skull in her hand, giving it a casual toss and catching it lightly. The skull seemed almost weightless in her hands as she played with it, flicking and twirling the grinning bone in the air like a baton.
 
Gus leaned back, his breath catching slightly. What on earth? That thing was like a stone! How... No, don't react. Do not react! Not to be all paranoid, but he was pretty sure he was now stuck in what was essentially a tiny cabin a very long way up in the air. This was... suboptimal. The key was to not take his eyes off of her while acting completely normal. Yep, nothing weird at all about not remembering your own name and playing with a heavy skull as casually as if it was a tennis ball. Not. Weird. At. All.

Where was that back up??? Why was it taking longer than five minutes? How hard could it be to get a helicopter to the middle of nowhere in the middle of a storm?

"Most people call me "Guts," he said cautiously. "That burn looks pretty bad, Cammie. Did you get it in the crash?"
 
Placing the skull down gently on the table, Cammie leaned back in her chair and regarded Gus with an almost hungry eye. When he mentioned his nickname, she let out a soft giggle, as though he’d said something funny without realizing it. She reached down to give the skull one more flick, spinning it around on the table like a roulette wheel. The skull spun, coming to rest facing right at her.

“Guts,” she repeated. “Guts, that’s a funny name. It’s such a strange word, don’t you think? Not everyone has a gut, but everyone has guts…”

Glancing down at her arm, she immediately clutched a protective hand over the burn. Despite the severe scorch marks on the sleeve, she didn’t seem particularly bothered by the pain.

“The crash? Yes, the crash,” she said. “Terrible crash. Burned my arm. Hurts a lot. Ouch!”

If Gus looked down at the table once more, he’d spot the skull facing right at him. Had she touched it? If she had, he must have missed it somehow.
 
Gus just nodded along as she laughed about his name. He wasn't sure why he was hesitant to give her his real name, but she didn't seem too bothered about not getting it. That was good. He was now glad he'd gotten a nap earlier in the day because there was no way he was sleeping with her hanging around. He wished he had a tranquilizer gun instead of a shotgun. That would make things a lot easier... and was that skull looking at him now? He made a note to chuck it out the door the first chance he got.

"Would you like for me to pu- to get you some salve for that burn?" he asked after her totally convincing show of pain. "There's some in the first aid box, and it might take away some of the pain."
 
Cammie seemed to have forgotten all about her injury, having been distracted by examining her long, painted nails. Had those black talons gotten longer in the past few minutes, or was it just a trick of the light? Surely they hadn’t been that pointy before.

“Oh, that’s fine,” she said. “Don’t you worry yourself about that. I wouldn’t want to put you out. I don’t suppose you’ve got anything to eat, though? I’m so hungry all of a sudden. I could eat a moose. Have you ever eaten moose? They’re quite tasty. Nothing like a fresh moose heart...uh, or so I hear. From my aunt. She’s, um, Canadian. They have a lot of moose in Canada, you know.”

She glanced away once more, tucking a stray lock of hair away behind her ear. Oddly enough, she didn’t seem to have a single hair out of place otherwise. In fact, aside from the scorch marks on the sleeve of her jacket, she didn’t seem particularly disheveled at all for someone who’d just suffered through a plane crash. The only stains on her jacket seemed to be from blood, rather than oil or dirt or any other plane-crash-related blemish.
 
Gus studied her quietly, trying to be casual about it and remembering to glance away from time to time and look out the windows. She looked terrible. No, that wasn't right, her clothing looked terrible, as if it had been through a plane crash, but she looked like a model. How? Unless she'd never been on the plane in the first place and had stolen the clothes, but why would anyone do that? Who would wait for a plane to crash then kill the real pilot and take her place? Was it all just a really weird coincidence, or was there something more sinister at work?

He swallowed hard. Don't let it get to you. You can't prove anything, let alone anything that would make sense about this mess. Wait for the back up and the authorities to arrive and let them handle things. Until then, don't let her get anywhere near the shotgun, and don't turn your back.

"I have some meat and fruit in the fridge," he said, pointing to the little mini fridge behind her. "There isn't much. Most of what I have is non-perishable, but I like to keep a few things on hand that are fresh. Just little treats. I have had moose before, but not in a long time. There's no hunting in these woods. They are protected."
 
“Thank you!” she exclaimed, hurrying to the mini-fridge. “Gosh, I’m so hungry. I’ve been hungry all day, really. Guess I must have forgotten. Because of the crash.”

Cammie looked positively giddy with excitement until she opened the fridge and saw the contents. Her face fell, taking on an expression of utter confusion. She looked over the sliced deli meats, half-empty cans, and pudding cups in bewilderment for a moment, eventually selecting a couple of apples and a partially empty can of sardines. Sitting back down, she picked up one of the fish with her bare fingers, sniffing at it suspiciously. Seemingly satisfied that it was edible, she bit into it, tearing the top half of the fish off like a vulture ripping into carrion.

“I wouldn’t say that,” she said between bites of fish. “You might not be allowed to hunt, sure. But there’s lots of hunting in the woods. Wherever there’s animals, someone’s hunting. Might not be you. Might not even be a person. But something’s hunting out there. Like that owl!”

She pointed out the window at an owl that had landed on the tower’s guardrail, a mouse clutched in its beak. By the time Gus looked back, she’d finished the fish and had moved onto the apple, devouring the fruit hungrily core and all.

“So,” she said, “what now, huh? Did you call someone to come get me? Any ideas when they’ll get here? Not that I don’t like being here, but y’know how it is. Plane crash. Traumatic. Injured. Oh, and sister being eaten by vultures.”
 
The woman ate like a monster! And he was becoming less and less certain she wasn't one. The callous way she talked twisted his gut. Granted, he was quite happy not to have some damsel in distress weeping and wailing on his shoulder, but maybe a little decorum? Perhaps a pause? A wince? A hitch in the voice? Anything? Not this... casual chatter like she'd just come in from taking out the trash and was vaguely annoyed he hadn't done it.

He didn't know what to say about the hunting, so he just kept quiet. He knew he'd been hunted a time or two out in the wilderness a few years ago, but that was a different story. All he could say about that was if there was hunting involved, his second preference was to be the one doing the hunting, and his first preference was to be a long way away from it all.

"You must not have liked your sister much." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Blaunching, he tried to recover with, "Of course, I'm no expert seeing as I'm an only child, so maybe you are just in shock."

Actually, he had a sister, and while they'd do anything for each other if asked, they weren't exactly two peas in a pod kind of close. Maybe he should get in touch with her as soon as he could. For now, he needed this lunatic out of his cabin.

"Anyway, I've been trying to call, but the storm is difficult to cut through. I'll try again."

Casually and carefully, he moved his gun - still safely hidden under his coat - with him to the chair by the radio equitment. He settled in as if he did not intend to move for a while and picked up the handheld.

"This is tower seven, can anyone read me?" he asked, watching the stranger with one eye. "Tower seven, this is an SOS. SOS. SOS. Please send backup to tower seven."
 
The radio crackled and spat with static, but no response came. The connection seemed even worse than before, perhaps due to the worsening weather. Cammie gazed at the radio with interest, watching quietly as he spoke into the receiver. When no response came, she smiled, showing off a set of perfectly white but oddly sharp-looking teeth.

“Looks like nobody’s out there,” she said. “Too bad. Call again later, maybe? As for my sister...well, I suppose I hardly knew her. But now I feel like I know her really well. Isn’t that funny?”

She giggled again, a soft, high-pitched titter entirely uncharacteristic of someone who’d just suffered such a loss. Swallowing the core of the first apple, she moved onto the second, wiping a drop of juice from the corner of her mouth.

“Guess it’s just the two of us out here in the woods,” she said. “Unless you can find someone with that radio of yours. It’s kind of nice in here, you know? The woods sure can be cozy sometimes. It’s nice, but you get so hungry out there.”
 
"Um. Yes," Gus said uncertainly. He was running out of things to do or say while sitting here waiting to die at the hands of a psychopath. Maybe he should try running. Make some excuse to leave then not stop walking. There was a dinky little hick town about five miles to the west of here. If he really booked it, he could make it. Probably.
 
“Hmm,” said Cammie, finishing off her second apple. Standing up, she started to pace back and forth in the little shack like a caged animal, flexing and stretching her fingers. Those black nails of hers had definitely gotten longer. There was no way they’d been that long when she walked in, was there? Had they really been that pointy before? That...predatory? After a few laps back and forth, she stopped in front of the table and turned to Gus.

“You look nervous,” she said. “You’re not worried about the storm, are you? You should relax! It’s picking up again, but I doubt it’ll be as bad as before. Besides, this little tower looks strong. It would hold up to anything short of a hurricane just fine! Unless, of course, another window breaks. But I don’t think that’ll happen, do you? Surely the wind isn’t strong enough to pick up skulls and fling them through windows.”

Whirling around, she snatched the skull off the table and hurled it at the radio unit. The heavy bone missile smashed into the radio, producing a shower of sparks and a puff of smoke. When Cammie turned back to Gus, she was smiling, her teeth suddenly looking very sharp indeed. She flexed her fingers, the black talons now at least two inches long.

“How long will it be before someone comes to check?” she asked, licking her bright red lips. “A few days? A week? Who will be waiting for them? Will it be Cammie? Or will it be Guts’ face smiling back at them? Maybe it’ll be nobody at all. I can decide that later, right now I’m just so hungry…”

She lunged for him, clawing at his face with those razor-sharp nails as she let out that same unearthly howl that he’d heard earlier. The sound was deafening in the confined cabin, seeming to echo within his very head.
 
Gus entered a very cold place. Unlike what books and movies would have you believe, things did not slow down drastically. Instead, everything seemed clear and precise, most of it focused on the black nails flying toward him. His hand gripped the barrel under his jacket and flipped it out. By some miracle, the gun was right-side-up, and his finger found the trigger. He squeezed, his eyes on the creature's, and the shotgun recoiled. Something cracked, and it wasn't the gun. The muzzle bounced to the ceiling, but Gus was still shifting. He brought his body around, his other hand grabbing the slide and pumping it. A new slug slammed into place then exploded out at the creature.

He flung himself to the side and rolled toward the ruins of the radio, coming up in a crouch as he ratcheted a new slug in. His right hand trembled, the fingers barely responding. He'd snapped his wrist firing the gun one-handed, but he felt no pain. That would come later. For now, all he needed was for the finger to squeeze the trigger. His left hand steadied the gun by the slide, holding the butt up to his shoulder, his right hand weakly clinging to it. He would have preferred shot to a slug when facing a flying unknown, but this gun had been intended for bears, not wild killing female things! If the slug hit, it would shred whatever it hit and stop anything, even a bear or a moose. Hopefully, "anything" included psychotic females with talons for nails.
 
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