Devils Desk by Mark Tufo

Author:Mark Tufo [Tufo, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Mark Tufo

“You think that’s actually going to work?” BT was looking at the throw rug right outside the front door.

“I’d rather have it there than not,” Mike told him.

“Becky’s going to be pissed about the nail holes in the porch. That’s not coming out of my pay,” Trip said.

“Tell you what, if she comes looking to collect, I’ll take care of it,” Mike told him.

Trip paused. “I’ll draw up some papers.”

“You do that.”

“Seriously, man, nobody’s going to fall for that. Looks like something the coyote scored from ACME.” BT closed the door.

Mike shrugged. The sled was tucked into the corner of the living room, in case the yetis came back. If they were going to destroy their ride this time, it was going to have to be up close and personal, something Mike sincerely hoped didn’t happen.

The group had agreed to not make a fire and not to light any candles. They were going to run dark, like a submarine in enemy territory, hoping that they could escape detection.

“It’s going to be a cold night.” Tracy hugged her shoulders.

They had three-season sleeping bags and plenty of blankets; they’d get through all right, though it might not be the most comfortable. The cabin only consisted of one floor. They’d pulled the couch away from the window and placed the two mattresses in the center of the main room. It was going to be a communal evening; the only plan they had in place was to make it through the night and, at first light, hike out.

Trip was sitting on the couch, a fishing rod in his hands. He looked to the side of the cabin when he heard some rustling. He licked his pointer finger, bent down, and stuck it in Mike’s right ear. Luckily, Mike had yet to fall into a deep sleep as he slapped the digit away.

“What the fuck, Trip?” he hissed.

“I’m waking you up quietly.”

“You usually place a hand over someone’s mouth.”

“Why would I do that? Do you realize where my hands have been?”

Mike shuddered at that thought. “Thanks, I guess. Now the question is, why did you wet willie me?”

“I heard something.”

“If it was your heartbeat Trip, I’m going to be pissed.”

A scraping sound right outside cut the whispering conversation short. Mike reached over and grabbed the rifle. He slowly extracted himself from the sleeping bag as quietly as he could, which, given the type of material, sounded like he was opening the most oversized bag of potato chips he could find, in a crowded movie theater, during the pivotal suspense scene. Mike momentarily wondered where his hands had been before he placed one over BT’s mouth; with the other, he tapped the man’s shoulder. BT shot up like Mike had zapped him with a cattle prod—his eyes wide, his heart hammering straight away.

Mike leaned in so the words would only fill his friend’s ear, “Right outside.”

A heavy thud of rock against wood; tonight’s assault had begun.

“That’s the lodge,” BT said.

“Sounds like it.” Mike moved to wake everyone up; it quickly became unnecessary.

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