Sanctuary

Chapter One: Finding Sanctuary

Jeremy hung his head, the jacket's hood offering meager protection from the driving rain. The gravel and mud clung to his hiking boots, weighing them down a little more with each step. He abandoned the highway days ago, in favor of less noise, less traffic, more solitude. Who knew an endless storm would glide in and cover the entire world? On the first day, gray clouds blanketed the sky as far as he could see. On the second, they lingered into mid-morning, threatening, until finally unleashing a quiet fury. Only a shimmer of orange between sky and earth lit the distant horizon when the sun fell. Now, no lightning bolts lit the sky, no glimpse of the moon or stars to orient himself, just the blackness of night and relentless rain. He could walk past a house, he feared, or at least a tree with sheltering branches, and never see it. Even in the daytime, it had been hard to tell which direction was which, but at night, it was impossible. He blew out a rain sopped sigh, longing for the noisy highway. At least it offered a chance to huddle under a gas station overhang or an overpass. How had he gotten so lost?

He was in South Dakota. Or had he crossed into Nebraska? It was impossible to tell, but it didn't really matter. The important thing was finding shelter from the rain. He hoped the contents of his backpack were dry. He didn't have much, another set of clothes, a journal he occasionally wrote in, a toothbrush, and a little food. He ran out of soap days ago but planned to buy more soon. The idea of money was a challenge for him, though, as were stores and shopping. Civilization was something to be avoided at all costs, unless one direly needs soap, and even then, the smell had to become unbearable before acting. Or the food had to run out.

There was a hint of chill in the wind and rain that suggested fall was coming early. Maybe it always came early in this part of the country. He had no idea. This was the farthest north he had ever traveled. The easy climates of the southwest suited him fine for the past four years. He preferred locations in the high desert. His usual strategy was to find a cave in Utah or New Mexico and stay in it until someone else showed up. They were usually climbers or tourists on backcountry hikes. Even if they didn't set up camp, Jeremy liked to move on. The thought of someone knowing where he slept was unsettling to him.

Even in winter, in those southwestern climates, it was warm during the day, and at night a light sleeping bag was all he needed. To ensure his supplies were stocked, he always tried to stay within walking distance of a small town. Large bags of rice kept well for months, and he usually managed to forage for food or trap and kill what he needed beyond that. When the food ran out, he forced himself to wash dishes or bus tables at a local diner. He never begged. Finding local work was only possible in the small towns where they didn't ask for online forms or applications to get a job. This summer, though, his feet took him farther north than usual and getting back to the temperate desert climates was proving to be a challenge.

He stopped walking and pulled his hood back, the driving rain stinging his cheeks as he squinted into the surrounding darkness. An outline in the distance sent a shiver of hope through him, and he picked up his pace. He hoped it was a gas station, but a house would do in a pinch like this. Either way, he was going to find shelter. If it was a house, he would wait the storm out under a carport or barn. With luck, the homeowners would never know he was there, and he wouldn't have to talk to anyone. If it was a gas station, an overhang would be paradise. As he approached the shape, the shadowy outline transformed into a cabin.

There were no lights shining through the windows and no smoke from the chimney that he could make out through the pouring rain. He trudged up a few steps to the front door, a tremendous sigh of relief escaping his lips as he passed under the front porch's roof. The rain flowed over the edge behind him, splashing into deepening pools in the grass and mud, but he was finally free from it. The antique wooden siding was old, with flaking white paint, and there were no signs of life. Peeking in the window, which was still intact, he could make out a few shadowy forms inside, but the place felt abandoned. Maybe it was a hunting cabin, only used seasonally.