The Walking Wolves of Tahoe: Slaughter

Chapter 8

When I woke up the next morning, Lou was gone. The bed was empty, the cabin was empty. I wasn't sure what time it was, but little cracks of light streamed in through the shut curtains.

I threw back the covers and crawled out of bed. It wasn't cold. The fire in the fireplace looked like it had a brand-new log put on it and the small cabin felt cozy warm. I staggered naked over towards the window to see if Lou was outside. I pulled open the curtain to reveal a beautiful day and bright sunshine...but no Lou.

I would be starting to hyperventilate about now, thinking I've put myself in yet another situation like I put myself in with Qin: alone, isolated and locked up, but Lou's truck was still here, so I swallowed my anxiety and told myself to relax.

But where was Lou?

I walked over to where I had left my clothes from the night before and started to put them back on. I looked around Lou's cabin as I pulled up my jeans. It definitely looked better by fire light.

There really was no kitchen to speak off, only a counter. No stove. No refrigerator. A few cupboards, but that's it. The couch against the wall had seen better days. The bed that we had spent the night in consisted of only a frame, box spring and mattress. There was no footboard or headboard, it was just the bare basics only. There was a small table against the wall by the front door with its chairs tucked in, but it too was scratched, dinged and an eye sore.

I guess this all makes sense. You wouldn't bring 'good' furniture up to a hunting cabin, but this is certainly not the Ritz.

I finished tying up my boots and then grabbed my jacket off the floor. I decided to go outside to see if Lou was maybe out there out of my visual sight of the window.

After zipping up my parka I opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch into the sunlight. It shined brightly off the white snow, blinding me and forcing me to shield my eyes.

Through blinking eyes, I looked from my left all the way around to my right, but there was nothing out here in the little clearing except Lou's red truck. I could see through my squinted eyes tracks and a path in the deep snow that lead around the side of the cabin. I heard Lou shoveling last night, but I had to wonder what he was shoveling too?

I stepped off the covered porch to follow the path but as soon as I rounded the corner my heart sank at the sight my sun-struck eyes couldn't un-see.

There, standing lonely all by itself, was an outhouse.

We've all used the blue ones at fairs, concerts and outside events, but this one was not blue. It was also not inside. The idea of dropping my pants to sit on a frozen seat was not appealing at all.

But I'm not unlike any other female. If you talk about the restroom, then you gotta go. If you think about the restroom, then you gotta go. If you see the restroom, then you gotta go.

With a heavy sigh, I started down the path towards the questionable outhouse with one thing on my mind...please let there be toilet paper.

I reached for the old, worn wooden door and pulled it open. Inside were multiple issues of misery. It was cold. It was going to be dark with no light source. There was no toilet seat, just a hole cut into a wooden bench. And even worse...no toilet paper.

I haven't had any coffee yet, this was all very deflating. I like Lou. I really don't like his idea of a romantic get-away.

Since I can't ignore or turn off my bladder, I find myself with little to no choice.