"If the cold doesn't kill you, the wolves will."
NOT A WEREWOLF STORY
Book 1 of 2.
In which an 18-year-old girl flees to Alaska to escape being accused of murder & to uncover what happened to her uncle. Involves two gentle giants.
Completed. :)
Fea...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Chapter 9 | ONE WOMAN, FOUR MEN
The open mountainscape views soon turn to a dense forest trail.
Well, there's one mountain peak visible up ahead, but other than that, it's just a multitude of trees. I notice there's a river to the left that follows the trail, and my mind recalls John's letter.
Something about moving across water without moving my body at all? What the heck did he mean by that?
The tight dirt path fades into a wider paved road, and as the clock strikes 4:05, I realize that we're nearing Chickaloon.
To the left, we pass a hidden driveway. To the right, we pass another.
Then, a green sign standing out amongst the white snow: 'Chickaloon River.'
As we pass over it, I notice just how broad and cold the river itself looks.
And, as we continue down the road, more mountain peaks come into view, and the woods surrounding us look even more impenetrable.
The sky is a cloudy grey, causing the subjects beneath it to all look low-spirited.
I can't wait to see this place in the summertime.
"So, I forgot to ask," Roan starts. "Where exactly do you need to go?"
"Oh! The tavern," I answer.
"The...tavern?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Nothing, I just thought you were visiting someone?"
"Yes, at the tavern."
"Hm."
This road seems never-ending, drawing us deeper into the wilderness of Alaska.
But then, as we turn a corner, buildings come into view.
I count six houses, along with a motel and a tavern. There's also a small grocery store, it looks like, along with a building that might be a sort of gas station.
"It's a small village of about 100 or so people. There's hardly any visitors. They all share resources to survive."
I just nod, intrigued.
Roan pulls the truck into the parking lot of the tavern; a log cabin styled rectangular building with a similar-looking motel right next to it.
"Here we are."
I unbuckle, grabbing my bag from the backseat. Then, I turn to him. "Thank you, how much do you want?"
He frowns, "Nothing, it's fine. I was coming here anyway, and you weren't too annoying, I suppose."
"Well, thanks!"
And with that, I open up the passenger door and hop out onto the snowy ground. The cold air hits me immediately, sending chills down my spine.
