Billie
As Billie and Carter approached the little shack in the woods, Billie thought about all the times she'd played there with Samantha as a child.
Billie liked to make believe that the shack was a fort or homestead in the Old West. She'd grab a fallen tree branch and point it out the windows, pretending it was a Winchester rifle and imagining hordes of Indians or outlaws in black hats attacking them. But Samantha preferred fantasy tales, and she'd sometimes insist that the shack was a witch's lair or a haven for woodland fairies.
Looking at Carter—long-haired, shirtless, and leading a pair of horses through the misty woods at twilight—Billie had to admit that this looked more like a scene from Samantha's imagination than her own. It wasn't hard to picture him as a brave medieval knight on a quest through an enchanted forest.
The shack that awaited them looked almost the same as it had the last time Billie had seen it, over ten years ago. The wooden walls were warped from countless seasons of rain, and vivid green moss grew all over them. The shingled roof was buckled in the center from a heavy branch that had caved it in during a storm. The windows were all broken, the glass shards long since swept and scattered by the wind. Tall grass and wildflowers grew up through the rotted steps leading to the front door.
“This must be the place,” Carter commented, looking at it.
“I know it doesn't look like much, but at least it'll give us a floor to sleep on and a roof to stay dry under if it starts to rain. Well, most of a roof, anyway,” she amended.
“I've slept in worse places,” Carter shrugged. “Come on, we may as well go inside and sit for a bit before we start grubbing for berries and squirrels out here. At least the horses have plenty of grass to graze on.”
They walked up the rickety steps, looked inside the shack—and stopped in their tracks.
“Was all this stuff here the last time you saw this place?” Carter asked.
Billie shook her head.
Even though the outside of the shack still looked dilapidated and abandoned, the inside was furnished with several chairs and a cot—all of them covered in plastic—plus a couple of waterproof lamps, a long table, a small TV, and a mini-fridge. There was a large box of plastic sandwich bags on the table, as well as a hot plate, some utensils, a can opener, and several cans of soup and vegetables.
Carter could see that a large section of the floor in the corner of the shack had been replaced with new boards, and there was a gas can resting on them.
Carter opened the fridge to look inside. The light stayed off and no cool air drifted out, but the bottom of the fridge was full of beers, and bottles of water and soda occupied every inch of the top rack. He immediately took a bottle of water for himself and tossed another one to Billie, who opened it and drank half of it down in two big gulps.
“What the hell is all this stuff wired up to?” Carter murmured to himself, twisting the cap off his water bottle. He followed the cords to a hole drilled low in the rear wall of the shack, and when he went out back, Billie followed. They saw a generator. A short distance away, there was an outhouse that looked like it had been built within the past year or two.
“All of this seems pretty convenient, doesn't it?” Carter asked.
“Yeah,” Billie agreed, thinking of Samantha's fairy tales again. “Like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, or the candy house from Hansel and Gretel. Do you think we should stick around, or...?”
“Fuck yeah,” he replied without hesitation.
Carter went back inside to retrieve the gas can. He unscrewed it and started pouring fuel into the generator. “There's no reason to be worried. From the looks of it, some locals probably found this place and decided to keep it stocked for whenever they go hunting. We can spend a nice night, help ourselves to some of their food and beer, and be gone tomorrow morning. I doubt they'll know anyone was here, and even if they did, they probably wouldn't begrudge a couple of people who are starving and damn near dying of thirst.”
“But what if they come back tonight while we're here?” Billie asked.
“Slim chance of that,” Carter said, switching the generator on. It gave out a few coughs, belched a cloud of thick smoke, then started running with a smooth hum. “But even if they do—whether it's hunters, talking bears, or a witch—these guns of ours will probably do a decent job of frightening them off.” He pulled out both of his guns, holding them up for effect.
“Well, gift horses and all that, I guess,” Billie conceded.
“That's the spirit,” he said, carrying the gas can back inside. “Let's fire up the hot plate and see what's on TV, shall we?”