Read Online Dawn of the Yeti by Winchester Malone - Free Book Online Page B

master bedroom. From the broken window, I
see sky. Some of the stars have already blinked out, taken off for the day to
let the sun rule as it should. The color has changed; it’s still black, only
the eastern edge has lightened, a thin strip of blue like the first dusting of
snow. Dawn is coming. Safety. A chance.
    I walk into the
already open closet, the door removed from the hinges and nowhere to be found.
Probably used for firewood. I crawl to the back, dragging my hand across the
wall, trying to rid it of Goatee’s blood and skull and gray matter.
    My arm finally
starts to hurt as I curl into a ball, crumpling up on the floor. A discarded
piece of trash. The pain burns, shooting through my arm, setting the rest of me
on fire. It’s a good feeling, lets me know I’m still alive. But still here in
this godless place. Laughter bubbles up from my belly and erupts from me. I
don’t want it to. I don’t even know what started it, but I can’t stop. So I
cradle the shotgun, my shotgun, and laugh myself to sleep.

 
    *         
*   *

 
    When I wake,
sunlight has filtered into the room, a small square just outside the closet
door. I try to move, but my body is stiff and frozen. I have to break it free
with small movements, each one emphasized by a sharp pin in whatever joint is
being disturbed. My arm is extra sore, my surrounding furs stained red with my
own blood.
    I’m surprised that
I didn’t take care of it before I went to sleep. The past night of events
floods my mind. Instead of wondering why I didn’t take care of my wounds, I can
hardly believe I can even open my eyes, survey the world, and simply breathe.
    Downstairs, I head
into the kitchen, stepping over Blue Eye’s body and thinking I should do
something about it, cover it at least. There is a small knife in his belt, and
in one of his fur’s pockets, I find a box of matches, with a few rattling
around inside. I drag the large leftovers of the table and cover most of his
body, a death shroud of wood.
    I find the can I
threw to distract Goatee by the back door. One side is dented, but I don’t see
any rust on its edges. I use the knife to poke through the top and drink the
unfrozen liquid. It tastes like corn. I pry open the top and stand in the
ravaged room, crunching through slightly frozen kernels. I wish it was some
fruit, knowing that the sugar would help boost my energy. I’ve got a long way
to go.
    After I take a
glance around the area, I squeak the door open. There is nothing to see
outside, no bloodprints or bodies to litter the back street. Neither is there a
live thing to speak of, just red snow and bloody ice. As fast as I can, I pack
a ball of snow and carry it inside.
    Standing in front
of the stove, I make a small fire in the sink using some of the pantry shelves
I’ve broken down and Goatee’s matches. It’s not a big fire, just enough to sterilize
Goatee’s knife and melt some of the snow in the empty can from breakfast. Once
it’s melted, I slosh it around in the bottom, trying to clean the last few
kernels and juice from it. I toss the water over my shoulder then stuff the
majority of the rest of the snow inside, some of it melting on contact with the
still-warm can. It doesn’t take long to melt the rest, and soon I have a
bubbling cup of water.
    I set it down on
the counter and try and strip off my coats and furs, dropping them into a heap on
the floor. They look and smell like dead animals. It’s been too long since I
last removed them and I’m glad there aren’t any mirrors around. If I knew what
I looked like, I couldn’t imagine myself as someone else; I’d have to be who I
was, see who I am, and accept the fact that I’d be unrecognizable.
    The air is colder
than I remember, my skin breaking into gooseflesh. I try to hurry.  Blood
is crusted on my upper bicep, the bleeding stopped on its own. This fact makes
me feel better about the situation, figuring that it can’t be that bad if it
stopped on