Tamarack

Leona was overwhelmed by the realization that Miller might have set the whole thing up on purpose. She thought that he was too coy about the episode and that he must have known what was going to happen. Ken’s head rested on her lap as she replayed the evening and saw every intention in Miller’s actions like fresh paw prints in white snow. She sat against the corner of the log cabin, not too far from the fire, on the floor. Ken laid on his side in the fetal position. He smelled like vomit, it seeped through the pores on his sunken face like the snowmelt leaking through the cabin’s roof. Miller sat across from Leona on the other end of the cabin, his slouched frame perched on the rickety wooden bench, his trusty vodka bottle in front of him on the table. The kerosene lantern illuminated his sagging profile in such a way that Leona could see him inhaling all the dust that fell from the windowsills and half-rotten shutters behind him. Two weeks ago she told Ken that she didn’t trust Miller, but she never thought he would play them like this. She lightly patted Ken’s chest and pants pockets. She was searching for his knife, which he always kept on him, but they were empty.

Miller scooted the bench out so he was able to face her. She looked up at him. He was a dirty man, she didn’t know when he last brushed his teeth. All he seemed to do was drink vodka and survive. 

“It’s going to be a cold one tonight.” Miller said. 

They made eye contact and she knew that he’d been watching her. 

 “You should come over here and warm up.” He said.

“I need to help him get better.” She said. 

Miller took a swig of the booze and his eyes rolled back in his head, or maybe he rolled his eyes, Leona wasn’t sure.

 “I hope he gets better, too.” Then he belched it all away. 

Leona stroked Ken’s sweaty forehead, her thoughts swayed between thinking about her growing fear of Miller and about how she ended up in this position in the first place. Staying at the abandoned cabin all winter was Ken’s idea and it was good timing. Winter had been approaching and they’d fallen into homelessness. They lived out of Ken’s Toyota Tacoma. He once told her the smartest thing he ever bought was a camper shell, but camping out of it was getting more dangerous in the city, and they dreamed of more space. Ken needed it, he told her, so he could create his music. 

The cabin was in Tamarack, a city that holds the record for the greatest snowfall in California. It’s right on the border with Nevada and is known for its frigid nights. Ken didn’t mention any of this to her and they would have both died those first few weeks if it weren’t for Miller. She didn’t know him before the cabin, but Ken vouched that he was a creative just like him. A writer, he said, but Leona noticed Ken didn’t ever seem to put the pen to the paper; he was too busy picking up the bottle. Still, he knew how to survive. There was no electricity and their phones didn’t work in the cabin. The first couple of nights Leona used all her strength so she wouldn’t cry in front of Ken. Being homeless in the truck in a busy city was one thing, being in the silence of a winter cabin seemed almost unbearable. Miller kept them busy. He taught them how to forage for nuts, berries, and mushrooms. He taught them how to trap rabbits, reinforce the chinking of the cabin with moss and mud, and how to collect firewood. It was because of Miller they were able to make it in the snow. Leona thought it fitting that it was also because of him that she might not make it out alive. 

She awoke the next morning and noticed the following in succession; Miller was gone, Ken hadn’t moved, and the knives were missing. All of what she noticed was worrisome, but it was the missing knives that served as a jolt to her system and set her on a search to find Ken’s knife once again.

“Babe, where’s your knife?” She asked as she hunched over his sleeping body. 

“Babe.” She said a little louder. Then again, “Babe.” 

Ken moaned but didn’t wake up. She saw her breath as she exhaled. Over the last several weeks, Miller had made it a habit to wake up first. It didn’t matter that his drinking had gotten out of control, or that he would stay up late staring at the yellow pad before him without writing a single word, he was able to will himself to be the early bird. He usually came back to the cabin in the morning with a canteen full of water from the river, occasionally, if he’d caught something from the trap, he’d have a hare. His absence that morning furthered Leona’s paranoia that she and Ken had fallen victim to one of Miller’s traps. She’d seen how the winter wore on him; he stopped grooming himself entirely, he rarely changed his clothes, he drank more, he argued with Ken. Leona searched the kitchen for a weapon but the only thing that could be used was the old cast iron pan and she couldn’t swing that fast enough to hit Miller. 

She looked down at Ken and estimated that he was forty-eight hours in. His skin was pale, he was skinnier than he was two days ago. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his cheekbones seemed to protrude and cast shadows. She massaged his hands and watched with a craned neck as Ken’s eyes fluttered open.

She hated what she saw. He looked terrified, like a baby in the arms of a stranger. She stopped herself from showing her emotions and brushed his hair off his forehead. He had a fever. 

“My stomach.” Ken yelped and then put his hands on his belly and curled into a ball that seemed even tighter than before.

“It’s going to be ok.” She said rubbing his side. She knew what was happening, she wondered if Ken did too. It was so cliche for them to go out like this; by an evil third wheel. Early on in their stay together Miller told them what it would be like to forage mushrooms when the snow started to melt. He warned them only of one thing, “Avoid the Amanita phalloides.” 

“The what?” She remembered Ken asking. 

“The Death caps.” Miller had said, “So poisonous, it causes organ failure and kills you in three days.” 

It was so obvious to her just then as she looked at Ken suffering - Miller had served him the Death caps. What was less clear was what Miller’s plan was for her.

“Babe. Where’s your knife?” She asked again. 

Then, the sound of Miller’s boots on the creaky steps cascaded through the warped door frame. Miller opened it and glared at her. He took off his jacket and the bag he was carrying and shook them free of snow. He had that glazed glare in his eyes that showed he was still drunk from the night before or maybe he’d started early, she wasn’t sure. She nodded at him.

“Checked the traps.” He muttered.“But, you haven’t moved?” 

“Just woke up.” She said, “What time is it?” 

“Nine or ten.” He didn’t have a watch and their cell phones were dead. 

Ken gasped for air and groaned as he stretched out and then immediately curled himself back up into a ball.  

“How you doing, Kenny?” Miller asked too cheerfully. “You got a stomach bug or something?” His eyes glanced to Leona’s. He looked like he wanted to wink. He set the bag that he was carrying on the counter, it fell over and the top opened. She could see the knives in it. Before she could think of what to say next Miller made an observation, “There’s some shit on the floor.” He pointed to mouse droppings near her feet, just a little past him. She hadn’t even noticed it. 

“I’m sure he’ll be ok.” Miller said with a grin, “You’ll nurse him back.” He laughed to himself. The sound scraped her eardrums like branches. She couldn’t take it.  

“What do you think it is, Miller?” She asked.

Miller was taking a sip of water from the canteen. She leered at him as she waited for him to respond. Ken groaned again. He was in and out of being awake. Leona wasn’t sure how much he could understand them. 

“He just ate something bad.” Miller said to her.

“He ate the same thing as us, didn’t he?” She asked. 

“He must have, right?” Miller grinned again.

Ken let out a yelp, “I’m so dizzy” 

Miller and Leona watched as Ken vomited into a steel bucket that was by his feet. It was so full that the liquid splattered back on him and hung to his short beard. He didn’t do anything about it. There is no such thing as dignity for the dying, Leona thought.

Then, she got up from Ken’s side, walked to Miller, and took the canteen out of his hands. 

“I wasn’t finished with that.” He said.

“He needs it more.” She wanted to confront Miller but she had no weapon. She couldn’t defend herself from whatever it was that he might do.

At some point over the next few hours, Ken’s diarrhea began. Leona could do little to make him more comfortable, the expulsion was so explosive. It was his battle to fight and no amount of telling Ken he was going to be okay or having him rest his head in her lap would help. She worried Ken would be dead soon. At the next chance she got when Miller left the Cabin, Leona tried again to find Ken’s knife. 

“Babe.” She asked, “Where’s your knife?” 

“My pants.” He moaned to her. 

“It’s not in your pants.” 

Ken was silent. 

“Babe.” She said, “It’s not in your pants.” 

“Why? Knife?” Ken said in short spurts. 

“Where’s your knife?” She asked again ignoring him. She didn’t want him to know she was in danger, not when he was already so weak. 

“What?” Ken said. 

“Your knife! Where’s your knife?” She asked again in a hushed tone right before she heard the creaking of the stairs outside.

The door swung open and she heard Ken whisper, “Boot.” 

Miller walked through the door holding the canteen. He was drunk again. He seemed to only drink water and consume vodka. She could see the booze in his posture. He slouched and rolled his shoulders like an emperor penguin when he was drinking. He looked a certain kind of tired evil. 

“What’s he saying?” Miller shouted at her. It was windy outside and a gust blew the wobbly door inwards and sprayed the snow off Miller’s coat and onto the floor. 

“I don’t know.” She said doing her best to avoid looking for Ken’s boots. Still, her eyes spotted them in the corner in her peripheral. She was freezing.

“We’re going to play that game?” Miller set the things he was carrying on the table. The sounds of knives clinked in the bag. 

“A game? I just want to help Ken.” She shivered. 

“You said you were looking for one of these.” Miller opened his bag and took out the tarnished kitchen knife. He touched the tip, ”What would you do with one of these?” 

“Why do you have all the knives?” She said to him, her voice slightly giving out.

“People do crazy things in winter cabins.” He grinned.

He pulled a pint of vodka out of his pants pocket and took a swig. Then, he pressed his finger against the top of the knife again. A prick of blood started to form, he showed it to her and smiled before placing his finger in his mouth and sucking. 

Ken shouted in pain as he clutched at his sides. His eyes were closed, he might have been sleeping, but even that was no escape from the pain.

“Doesn’t sound good.” Miller said, “I think he’s getting delirious. Just another reason to have the knives.” 

Water from the snowmelt dropped on Leona’s forehead like spit from above. It set her off. She stood up from kneeling and faced Miller. “Did you feed him those mushrooms?” 

Miller displayed a huge smile - all of his yellow teeth.

“Death caps, aren’t they? We saw a patch of them the other day. You gave them to Ken, right?” 

She looked into Miller’s eyes and they flickered, “So you figured it out.” He held the knife up in front of him. 

Leona backed away, “Why’d you do it?” 

He waved the knife at her, “Don’t act like you don't know. You wouldn’t have survived out here with me. And now you want to get rid of me?”

Miller was referring to a conversation she and Ken had about staying in the cabin without Miller when Spring came. She’d been worried he’d heard them discuss it. She couldn’t run from it now.

”We’re better off just the two of us.” She said glancing at Ken.

“The two of you? I’m the one who’s allowed us to live all winter. I’m the alpha. It’s my turn to get what I deserve.”

“What do you deserve?” 

“You.” He stared at her. She could feel her body wanting to shake but she held steady. He took another swig from his vodka bottle. Leona was petrified. The last thing she remembered was him lunging towards her with gritted teeth. 

The next morning she had dried blood on her lip. Miller was already gone. She surveyed the room and saw Ken’s boots in the corner. Ken was in the bathroom lying on the floor, his legs were sticking out of the entrance. She only remembered Miller hitting her, nothing else. She surveyed herself to see if she’d been injured or assaulted and saw that her ankle was chained. Miller had used the snow chains from Ken’s truck to in-prison her. A master lock secured them around her ankle and to an immovable log.

“Ken!” She shouted at him. His legs didn’t move. She said it again, “Ken!” And again, “Ken!” She kept saying it until she was yelling at him and it was then that she understood it was no use. The death cap had killed him. She never knew such hopelessness.

 When Miller came back, she was sobbing. 

“What is it?” He asked. He put the bag with the knives on the table and took off his coat. 

Leona remained silent. 

“I’ll take the chain off if you talk. Just kidding.” Miller chuckled and then moved to inspect Ken. He dragged Ken’s body to the middle of the room. She saw what was in front of her only as a body, a shell of the man whom she loved. The real person was gone. She hated Miller for that. Her sorrow was replaced with silent rage.

Miller was gathering all of Ken’s things and placing them next to his body like he was organizing.

“You killed him.” Leona said.

“Just you and me now.” He grunted and grabbed a few more of Ken’s things, like his boots, which he threw within arm's reach of Leona. 

She only had one chance to get them. If the knife was in them, she’d use it. If it wasn’t she’d probably take a beating. She looked at the boots and then up to Miller, who had had his eyes fixed on her like she was prey about to run.

 She leaped for them. The chain went taut but she extended through her fingertips and pulled them in. Miller lunged towards her, but she was fast enough to dodge him. She reached in the boot and felt the knife. She pulled it out and put it behind her back. Miller got up and looked at the empty boots on the floor. He smiled, kicked them away, and then bent over her.

“Let’s play. I’ve been waiting for this.”He grabbed her breast.  

“Don’t.” She said switching open the knife. 

Miller leaned forward to steal a kiss. Leona swung the blade into his neck and blood squirted out like it was a carbonated juice pack. He tried to scream but a loud gargle came out as he stumbled backward. Leona felt the warm blood drip down her knuckles and the back of her hand. 

“Bitch.” He shouted. He touched the blade at the side of his neck and pulled it out. Blood squirted again like his neck was a fountain. He staggered and swayed until he gurgled whatever his last words were and collapsed to the floor. He landed directly next to Ken and in front of Leona. She put her hands to her mouth, felt the warmth of the blood, and pulled them away in disgust. The snow blew outside and a gust of wind rushed through the cracks in the warped door frame. The keys to the Masterlock showed on Miller’s belt. They were in reach.