The Blackest Crimson

Okay. She needed a coat and shoes...and a weapon.

She surveyed the one-room cabin again. Where she stood was the cot and its bare rusty springs. Next to the rustic table and chair in the middle of the room was the portable kerosene heater. To her left and in the far corner was the only door. The single window was straight across the small space on the opposite wall. Against the rear wall of the cabin, opposite the door, stood a primitive cabinet. The cabinet looked really old, like something found in an antiques shop except it was covered with dust and cobwebs.

She padded over to the cabinet and reached for a wooden knob. The purr of an engine hauled her attention to the window. She rushed across the room, stumbling in her haste. Peering through the soiled glass, she watched an old, black SUV roll into the clearing. All she could see was one side of the front end with its dented fender and the driver’s door. She stood to the side of the window so whoever was behind the wheel wouldn’t see her.

The driver’s door opened and a black boot planted in the snow. A man wearing a dark coat and skullcap emerged. He turned his face toward the cabin.

Bobbie drew back.

It was him.

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