Free Waiting for Harvey (The Spirits of Maine) by Lydia North, Kim Scott Page B

cabin.  I thought of the office equipment and realized there had to be a generator to power it all.  No lines for electricity had been run so far out.  Struggling with the bags of stolen goods, I hurried back outside.  I ran down the steps and reached up to pull the last bags out before locking the door and banging it shut.  In the spring, I would return and reimburse them for everything that I had taken.
    I left the bags near the ATV and plodded through the snow, around the end of the trailer, and along the backside.  At the far end I found the large generator, set on a concrete slab and bolted in place.  Twenty feet beyond it was a battered shed with broken equipment piled beside it.
    The wind blew snow down from the roof and into my face.  I wiped at it with the back of my glove and murmured another string of obscenities.  I pried open the rusty door of the shed and looked inside.  Shovels and other hand tools were propped against one wall.  Nearly hidden in the fray was a rusty, red gas can.  I shook it and guessed there was a gallon or two at most in it.  I could only hope that it would be enough.
    I removed my gloves and felt for the nozzle inside the can.  I screwed it in place and began pouring the foul smelling liquid into the tank of the ATV.  I closed my eyes and turned the key.  The engine spluttered and I cringed, but it started!  Relieved, I left it idling as I secured the trash bags on the back of the ATV.  With renewed hope, I circled around, and sped out onto the dirt road again. 
    I didn’t dare push my luck by continuing my search for the main road that day.  The wind was blowing harder and the day was growing colder.  With the additional fuel from the gas can, I would be able to try again in the morning, but I needed to get back to the cabin for the night.  A small voice in the back of my brain asked why I had taken the supplies from the trailer.  If I was sure that I would be finding a way out soon, then I had no need for any of it.  I sang the first refrains of ZZ Top’s She’s Got Legs, at the top of my lungs.  Focused on my song, I ignored the question.
     
    *
     
    Confident that it was a Sunday in the middle of December, I sat in the cabin watching the snow falling.  It had been accumulating for two days.  I returned safely with the ATV and my stolen goods.  There had been no more encounters with the being who called himself Harvey.  He wanted me to stay and there was no risk of my leaving until the snowstorm finally passed.  The monotone voice on the radio warned of more snow to come with high winds and frigid temps.
    I knew it couldn’t snow forever.  Repairs would surely be underway along the Maine coast.  The freezing temps and snow would complicate matters, but it would all get resolved.  The latest snowstorm would end and the roads would be cleared.  John would return for me.  Somebody would return for me.  I would be missed and somebody would come for me!  I just needed to be patient for a few more days and wait out the storm.
    I shook my head and turned away from the window.  It was late morning and my stomach was grumbling.  I craved a big breakfast with eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, pancakes, a tall glass of orange juice and a cup of freshly brewed, gourmet coffee.  My mouth watered as I lifted the trap door in the kitchen floor and plodded down the steps to the root cellar.
    Among the various containers the only protein sources left were the protein drinks and energy bars I found in the house trailer.  When the weather cleared again there would be another opportunity to go out and search for the main road again.  I needed to remain healthy and strong.  I had seen wild turkeys and other game birds outside.  John’s shotgun was up in the loft with a box of bird shot.  I hadn’t hunted in years, but I remembered the basics. 
    Standing at the window again, I ate pasta with tomato sauce from a can.  I left the empty can in the sink and gathered