Free Eve of Man (The Harvest Book 2) by Anne Ferretti

the temperature hit the mark he opened the door halfway
allowing the heat to flow out. He frowned. Of course the heat was going to
rise. Foil came to the rescue once again as a he fashioned a hood above the
oven door to direct the heat downwards. The only thing missing now was a TV to
fall asleep to.
    Remembering he’d seen a stack of books being used as a
makeshift night stand, Kyle returned to the bedroom and retrieved the entire
collection. Sitting on the mattress he sorted through the books. All were in
Russian, a language he only knew enough of to get in trouble. On the bottom of
the pile he found the only book written in English. He laughed out loud.
    “War and Peace. Go figure.” He flipped the pages to
the first chapter. “I’ve always wanted to read you,” he told the book. “But
you’re so wordy. Not that wordy is a bad thing and you’re pretty good at the
words,” he explained to the pages crammed with description. “But my attention
span is short and usually preoccupied with things that don’t involve many words
at all. If ya know what I mean.” He winked at the book. “Short sentences worked
best for me. Like, ‘Of course I love you’ or “I’ve never met anyone like you,” that
one was popular.” He chuckled at his wit and began reading. Two chapters in and
the book slipped from Kyle’s hands.
    Sometime later Kyle awoke with a start. The warmth in
the room let him know the tank still had gas. Outside the wind was silent. He
listened to the nothingness. A floor board creaked on the other side of the
kitchen door, causing every single hair to rise on his body. Each and every
nerve wound up tight ready to spring, but not a muscle twitched.  Holding his
breath, Kyle waited for verification that he was still alone.
    A loud scuffling sound verified he was not. Grunting
confirmed the visitor was a living thing. He imagined maybe a wild animal had
entered the building, perhaps smelling the food he’d cooked earlier. From his
recollection he hadn’t seen any signs of animals on the island, but what else
could be making those noises? A human wouldn’t make those sort of noises. A
thud against the door almost shocked a curse word from his mouth. Kyle
slithered off the mattress over to a drawer where the knives were kept. Very
easy he inched the drawer open and pulled out a knife. With his back against
the cupboards he sat directly across from the door, waiting. He absently reached
up and straightened the aluminum hat from sitting crooked on his head.
    On the other side of the door his visitor continued to
cause a ruckus. Chairs were shoved across the floor, followed by a loud crash
and glass breaking. Kyle imagined the boat picture was no longer on the wall or
in one piece. Then movement ceased, save for the sound of toenails clicking
across the tile and stopping in front of the kitchen door. Kyle’s eyes grew
wide. His hand gripped the knife till his knuckles turned white. An incredible
screech from outside the building rattled the window. Kyle braced for attack.
The visitor outside his door answered back with an equally deafening screech,
all the more so because it was only a few feet away. Several seconds went by
before a second screech from outside responded and Kyle heard his visitor leave
the building.
    An hour lapsed before Kyle dared to move and only then
out of absolute necessity. The screeching had shattered the window and a shard
of glass now penetrated the foil. Frigid air flowed freely into the kitchen. He
removed the glass shard and quickly patched the hole before climbing under the
mound of quilts. Sleep came in spurts the remainder of the night with every
little sound shocking him back to consciousness. When his watch alarm alerted
him that it was morning Kyle couldn’t move fast enough.
    Inspection of the outer room revealed what he already
knew. The picture lay shattered and broken on the ground; chairs were overturned
and misplaced. The front door had been torn from its hinges.