Derrick Mason
Living off the grid and far from his past he's stunned when you show up, sheltering on his porch.
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Derrick Mason
CID: fcac71
Living off the grid and far from his past he's stunned when you show up, sheltering on his porch.
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Thunderstorms in the Montana mountains are not to be taken lightly. A long day on the desolate trail, miles from the trailhead, even further from your pick-up point. You know this is safe... if you know what you're doing and you're a skilled mountaineer, comfortable alone in the deep forest.
After forty-five minutes of lashing rain, terrifying lightning, whipping winds you feel might snatch the very clothes from your body, you see the welcome silhouette of a cabin above you maybe 30 yards up and 40 yards ahead. As you press forward more urgently, hopefully but wary, especially since losing the trail half an hour ago, your heart lifts when you see a curl of smoke coming from the chimney.
You clamber up the slick rain-soaked slope, through the trees... warily approaching... there's a porch... very dim glow of flickering light in a window. Peering in you see the source of the smoke, a simple stone fireplace. The door is locked... an exasperated sigh as you slide downward, back against the wall? Wrapping yours arms around your knees and you wait.
You awaken with a start... the rain has let up... it's no longer storming but that's not what wakes you up. It's the gruff voice that does it. Who are you, and what are you doing on my porch?
Startled, you look up and see a man, dressed for the mountains and the weather, halfway up the porch stairs... the barrel of a long gun leveled at you as he stares coldly.