Copyright 2012 by Marian Lanouette
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1480171298
ISBN-13: 9781480171299
Chapter Three
Exhausted, Roan entered the cave, his sleeping bag and duffle bag over one shoulder. He scanned the cave before walking deeper into it. It was perfect; deep—going back more than a half mile and tall. Standing up straight wasn’t a problem for the most part, except by the entrance he needed to watch out for the stalactites. They were skinny, sharp, and short there. Deeper into the cavern, there were ones that had grown as big around as a man’s chest and were pretty damn hard when you conked your head on them. A pair in the far right corner, he had dubbed Dracula’s Smile, were two very long, and very sharp cones. In between them were smaller, yet no less sharper ones. He’d have to remember to watch his step.
His favorite part of the cave were the natural shelves nature built into the walls. Spotting a nook running behind a six-foot long stalactite, he slipped one of his knives in for storage. He also placed some of the dry goods on the shelves he wanted to keep safe from the smaller animals. Roan walked further into the cave and set up his sleeping bag in one of the dryer alcoves. It was only nine o’clock, but the weariness in his bones drained his energy. His eyelids pressed down on his eyeballs like concrete in water. Still, he forced himself to walk back out to run a recon on the area. Can’t be too safe, he thought, especially when alone. Satisfied the truck was safely tucked away from prying eyes.
He rolled his shoulders to release the tension. Happy to find he had no company. At the same time, disappointed to find he had a solitary evening in front of him with only the mountain’s sounds to accompany him. A long night lay ahead of him.
Sleep eluded him. Wired, it had been a tough day. Roan couldn’t settle down. Always prepared for the worst life could throw at him, today tested his limits. Though he had survived, it hadn’t been easy.
He’d taken a life today. Granted he was defending his possessions, but was this, what he had to look forward to? A world where your life was worth a truck, or worse, a bottle of water?
“Did it get easier to kill?” he asked the air. The question echoed through the cave. No surprise, it offered no answer.
“What if this isn’t the end? Shit, I’m a fugitive.” Frustrated, he sat up, opened the cooler, and grabbed a beer.
“This isn’t the time to act like a pussy.” Lonely, he continued to speak out loud, missing the sound of another human voice.
“This is only day one, Roan. Get your act together. Maybe I should have gone after Cathy.”
Normally, he took solace in the quiet when he visited the different caves, but tonight the silence loudly echoed off the cave walls. Reaching for his radio he turned to the emergency broadcast channel, hoping for an update on today’s events. Praying his license plate number or his name weren’t being broadcasted all over the airwaves. He fidgeted with the dials only to hear static. Every station he tried only had white noise on it. It finally dawned on him that the radio towers and/or satellites could be off-line. Hopefully in the morning the problem would be fixed. If not he would try the radio outside the cave. Maybe the iron ore was what was interfering with the reception.
