Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Hospital,” I mumble after rolling away from the bucket someone is holding under my chin. “I-I need to go t-to the hospital.”
As memories of my accident mix with the horrifying footage of Cedric getting his dick sucked by a girl at least ten years his junior, I drift in and out of consciousness before I eventually surrender to the blackness endeavoring to swallow me whole.
I startle so much when something whizzes past my head fast enough for my barely conscious state to take notice, the sweat beading on my brows dribbles past my ears. The fever-inspired blobs are absorbed by the spongy material the unnamed man slammed his fist into to bring me to heel. His hairy hands are mere inches from my face, only held back by the bowl he presses against my lips.
He grunts in a low tone before he tilts the bowl so its contents splash against my dry and cracked mouth. My vision is too blurry to see what he’s trying to feed me, but since nothing but the refreshing smell of water is filtering into my nose, I part my lips and swallow down the liquid he slowly trickles into my mouth.
A moan of a woman not on the verge of dying rattles in my chest when blissfully cold water wets my lips, tongue, and throat. It gives instant relief to my heated skin and makes the gurgling churns of my stomach less obvious.
Once all the liquid in the wooden bowl has slid down my throat, the man who freed me from the wreckage replaces the dry flannel on my head with a soaked one.
Well, I think it’s flannel. It’s not scratchy like a towel, and it feels more organic than manufactured, but it is the perfect implement to keep my body temperature at a non-dangerous level. Fevers alone are rarely life-threatening, but when combined with an open wound, they can be fatal.
When the stranger lowers his hard-skinned hand from my face, his fingers trek of my cheek gentler than the method he used to wake me, I snatch it up like it’s my only lifeline.
I realize that is the case when he answers my question with an abrupt shake of his head. “H-Hospital?” While darting my eyes between the hand he retches away and his slit eyes, I ask, “W-Why not?” Even after a stern talking to my head to get with the program, one of my words still comes out with a stutter.
“Sir?” I query, shocked by his ignorance.
He’s distracted by something, but still. Ignorance shouldn’t be anyone’s strong point in a life-and-death situation.
“S-Sir…” I try again before the water I gobbled down returns in the most violent manner.
I heave into the bowl the stranger holds under my chin on repeat, reprieve only awarded when unconsciousness once again takes hold.
Chapter Four
As a relatively painless groan vibrates in my chest, I blink on repeat, confused as to why the candles that were dancing in the stranger’s eyes earlier are extinguished. There’s enough light peeking through a pair of icy windows to get away with natural lighting, but I’m lost as to why the candle wax is fully depleted. They were standing tall only hours ago, but now the wax is melted around the bottom of the wick.
After taking a minute to breathe out the queasiness making me confused as to whether I’m in shock or hungry, I attempt to gather my bearings. It doesn’t take me long to realize I’m in a log cabin. It’s ten times smaller than the ones the Lancasters had built on the peak of the mountain, but its small size doesn’t detract from the fact it’s well built.
The floor plan is smaller than the guest bedroom in my apartment, but the space has been utilized well. It reminds me of the tiny houses you see on all the lifestyle channels these days. It’s compact but well thought out. Even with a blizzard raging outside, a fireplace in the middle of the compact space keeps things super cozy, and the kitchen is small yet versatile. The only thing really letting it down is the amount of dust coating every surface.
I choke on a clump of dust bunnies when I yank open the bedside table to see if there are any identifiable contents inside. The handful of knickknacks filling the newspaper-lined drawer appears homemade, but there isn’t a single shred of evidence as to who owns this cabin. It’s as bland as the unvarnished furniture that hogs the floorspace.
Even to a novice camper, it’s obvious this cabin was designed for a solo inhabitant. There’s one rocking chair squashed next to the fireplace, one dining chair, and one bed—the one I’ve awoken on.
As I swallow down the nerves bubbling in my throat as to where my savior slept last night, I swing my head to the left. My hand shoots up to clamp my mouth when my eyes lock in on several deer heads mounted to the wall the bed is squashed against. They’re dead, but like all spooky things, I swear the buck in the middle follows my trek when I scoot up the bed to place some much-needed distance between us.