He took a deep breath. “Don’t take this personally, but you’re taking this personally.”
“Jack…” A shiver ran down her back. “I–”
“I’m worried about you, okay? You almost got killed, and you seem worried more about why the guy did it.”
She settled on the bed next to Bentley. “Something about this feels weird. And I want to know what. There might still be a monster here.”
The faintest hint of purple stained the night sky as Chelsea tied the boat to the dock.
Her prisoner stared up at her from the floor. “Are you just going to leave me here?”
She spotted at old T-shirt wedged into a seat. Her hop back into the boat set it to rocking gently. She ripped the shirt and mushed the smaller piece into Bob’s mouth before tying it in place. “You stay here.”
He carried a coffee cup and settled himself at her table. “Chelsea?”
“You must be Bob.”
He held out a hand. Bentley covered for her, raising a paw to shake.
Bob laughed as he shook with the dog. “So you want to help me with this Kipsey.”
Messy brown curls fell over dark eyes. “You weren’t gonna leave without saying goodbye, right?”
Chelsea sighed. “I respect you too much to lie. I was trying to do that.” She wiped at her sudden tears. “Dammit, I hate goodbyes. And I already told you I was going.”
It felt nice to be leaving someone and somewhere on good terms. “You owe me nothing.”
Chelsea fought to hide her worry. The pale-haired hedge doctor was young. Like maybe in high school young. The white-blonde hair and short stature didn’t do much to help him seem any older. Still, Jeff seemed quite competent as he cleaned and stitched Morgan’s arm.
Inside the cracked walls lay a sleeping bag and kerosene cook stove as well as three heavy duty sledge hammers. Bart lifted one and rested it on his shoulder,“Don’t know how much experience ya might got with these, but against a little rock monster it seemed like the best tool.”
Morgan hefted one. “Like a baseball bat right? Choke up on the bottom?”
“And swing from the hips.” Chelsea lifted the final hammer.
In honor of returning to one of my favorite story settings, I want to introduce readers to my main source of Steel City inspiration, Dave Dicello. Dave takes amazing photographs and has been hit hard by the pandemic. He had to close his gallery this spring. However, his prints are available online for purchase. I’ll be adding them to story-links for this chapter.
Eyes heavy, Chelsea rested her feet on Morgan’s chair.
“Excuse me?” The tone was playful and perky. Like they hadn’t stayed up all night and then spent most of the morning chasing a brain leech.
Chelsea rubbed at her crusty eyes. “Can you drive, cause I’m not sure I can.”
“Are you serious?” Morgan chuckled and shifted Chelsea’s foot. “You’ll let me drive the car?”
“Hm?”
“Like you didn’t half panic when I offered to take a shift in Ohio.”
“That’s not exactly true. You were really upset, that’s why I didn’t let you drive.”
“Oh, bullshit.” Morgan snickered. “You had the same look when I picked up that coat.”
Chelsea laughed and shook the fringe on her arms. “Oh, you don’t touch the armor.”
Bart squatted by the fire, greasy grey hair tucked behind his ears. “The squonk should be sleeping now, but it’ll be up in a few hours. It ain’t afraid of people or smoke, so we won’t bother it none. They eat hemlock though, and this grove is the biggest in the area.”
Words That Burn Like Fire 