“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.” —Robert A. Heinlein, Time Enough For Love
Welcome to the Renaissance Humans Newsletter, where I focus on sense-making and story-telling in the turbulent twenties. The Renaissance (“rebirth,” in French) spanned from the 14th to the 17th century and marked a period of cultural, artistic, and intellectual renewal in Europe. A Renaissance Human fosters curiosity, creativity, critical thinking, and character in a journey of never-ending learning. They cultivate Mind, Body, and Spirit, in service of Community, and oriented to the Transcendentals.
This was my entry for The Eighth Writer’s Playground Contest. 3,000 words to craft a story, choosing from a menu of settings (I took cabin) and characters (I chose reformed criminal), then adding a given object (in this case, eyeglasses). 691 entries, and the competition was fierce. Let me know what you think!
Things didn’t start to go pear-shaped until Nora saw the bear. Deadfall snapped, fifty yards off and she froze, as if walking point back in her Army days. Hands clawed for a nonexistent rifle, settled for a white-knuckled grip on a walking stick.
The animal ambled through bony trees, the same direction as flakes from a darkening sky. It looked at her, and Nora’s stomach clenched in a knot. Four hundred pounds, at least.
Her carotids thudded. She disassociated, floated above, ghost-like. Recognized the reaction. What Dr. Wheeler described as a “habitual avoidant conflict response.” She was unsure what the good doctor would have her do in this situation. Confront the bear? Breathe, Nora. In. Out.
It didn’t appear interested, snuffling along. She could see each of the bear’s exhalations, pluming into the chilly air before disappearing. Finally, it lumbered off.
She adjusted the daypack on aching shoulders. The looming storm sheathed the sun in gloom. Morning forecast said nothing about rain, let alone snow. A balmy sixty-five when she left her car at sunrise, foreshadowing yet another fiery summer. But as she wound her way to Arcana lake, the temperature steadily declined. Now, it hovered in the low thirties. At least the return leg was downhill.
Nora picked her way through the forest, chilled by a growing wind. As the weather pushed overhead, the day drew itself into an early twilight, and snow fell in earnest.
A blizzard in May was not unheard of, but she hadn’t planned for it. She lost phone reception a few minutes after leaving the parking lot. No GPS, only a compass and terrain association to get by. Head southeast, follow the ravines and gullies back to the main road. The curtain of snow thickened. Tendrils of unease slid through her guts. Don’t panic. Panic was killer. Panic was how you got dead. Nora had been through worse. Afghanistan. Leavenworth. Andre.
Once no longer forced by the Army, she discovered she actually enjoyed hiking in the woods. Dr. Wheeler called it forest bathing. Stupid name, but hiking is what brought her back from the Percs and the Jameson. From the shame and self-loathing.
A compass bearing was one thing, but she was severely underdressed for conditions. That fact drove her onward, into what was already over an inch of steady accumulation. Nora cursed her complacency. With nothing to build a shelter with, she had to keep moving. Fat flakes of icy white coated the forest. Her world shrank to the limits of sight. Thirty yards, tops.
At least the weight in her pack kept her warm, provided she didn’t stop moving. Ahead, a faint sphere of yellow pressed against the gray-white wasteland. She headed towards it, like a shipwrecked sailor to an island. The cabins. She gave them a wide berth enroute to the lake, avoiding human contact. But now she could shelter in one. A midsize SUV, covered in white, squatted in the driveway. She found a detached garage first, the shadowy curves of a vehicle inside. Beyond, was a large log cabin. A rich person’s idea of a mountain cabin.
She couldn’t believe her luck. Movement caught her eye. A woman in a dark turtleneck glided across the bay window. Nora watched her speak to a thin, wiry man. He jabbed his hand, not quite contacting her chest. Her posture implied it wasn’t the first time. Nora’s nose wrinkled at the fragrant refuse bins along the side of the porch.
She shook off a shiver and knocked. Counted to ten silently. Nothing. Knocked again. This time the door cracked open. Turtleneck woman. She wore an incandescent smile like a fashion accessory. No sign of the frown of moments before.
“My goodness! You look like a snowman! Snowwoman. Snowperson,” Turtleneck amended. “Are you alright? It’s like the world’s gone crazy. You must be freezing. Get in here.”
The blast of hot air that swept over Nora was heavenly. The man stood off in the living room and regarded her as though she were a dangerous animal. Wire-frame glasses over a bruised cheek. Serpentine neck tattoo that trailed under a threadbare gray t-shirt, hung from a scrawny frame. Hipster.
“I’m Rebecca. This is Jeremy, my sometimes ex, sometimes business partner. It’s complicated, am I right?” Rebecca rolled her eyes, grinned, shrugged.
“Nora.” Nora brushed snow out of her hair, trying to keep it on the tiled entryway rather than the hardwood. “Thanks. Wasn’t expecting this in May.”
“Neither were we. Came up to get away. Finish a project.” Rebecca looked over at Jeremy, her smile dimming fractionally. “Isn’t that right, JD?”
JD took a hit from a vape pen, held it as he glared at the women. Exhaled a minty mist. “Bad day to be hiking.”
“Yeah.” Nora slid her pack off. “If I can just warm up, I’ll be on my way.”
Rebecca put a kettle on. “Nonsense. Stay until this passes. Make yourself at home.” Rebecca looked fit, like she did strength training.
“Whose place is it?” Nora watched a glance flicker between them. So fast she might have imagined it.
“Friend of ours. He’s letting us use it to finish an app we’re bringing to market. Angel investor.”
Nora put her boots by the fire to dry. “What’s it called?”
“Eudamonia.” Rebecca handed Nora the tea. “Provides recommendations on how to live your best life based on biometrics, daily interview sessions, and goals.”
“I’m more of an analog girl.”
Rebecca laughed, a staccato burst. “Thankfully, we have a customer base ready to use it.” She glanced over at JD. “As soon as we get to market.”
“Yeah, yeah. Back to the salt mines.” He slunk off.
Nora looked at her phone, searching for a signal. “Speaking of digital—is there any Wifi?”
“Nope. Owner wanted it that way. Strictly.... Analog.”
“Touché.”
They made small talk. The heat of the tea worked an alchemical magic on Nora. An early morning wake-up, coupled with the stress of the last hour, caught up to her. “You mind if I close my eyes?”
Rebecca grinned, revealing perfect teeth. “Of course not. I’m going to get dinner ready. Rooms are in the back.”
Nora nodded. One benefit of military life is it trains a person to fall asleep in most any locale. A strange bed is still a bed. A luxury compared to some places she’d racked out. In the walk-in closet, Nora found shelves lined with bedding. A tangle of wires caught her eye. In the dim light, she made out the contours. Wireless router. Damaged, as if dropped. Or smashed. Nora lay on the bed, pulled the comforter over herself.
When she awoke, it was fully dark. Fished her water bottle out, frowning as she drank. Items had been moved in her pack. Nora had a well-established order to the contents, based on frequency of use and weight. She checked her wallet. Her driver’s license was usually in front of the bank card. Now it sat behind.
The door opened. JD, eyes darting. Sour milk smell. “No time—she’s in the garage. You’re in danger.” He paused, listening. “I tried to quit the startup. We hooked up once, and she accused me of assault. Said she had proof; she’d go public if I left.”
“Why?”
“She’s lying to our investors, backed into a corner. She’ll go under without me.”
Nora pulled her daypack closer, hugging herself. That’s what she told herself about Andre.
“She won’t let you leave. Rebecca is grade A, organically sourced, batshit insane. She knew the cabin owner, Lyell. He was an investor— a friend, and she butchered him. You’re the only thing that can tie her to this location. You’ve got to—”
The front door slammed. JD fled. Nora slid a tactical knife into a pocket. A gift from her last Platoon Leader when she departed Leavenworth. Get back on your feet, soldier, he’d said. She powered on her phone. The home screen read “System—No SIM Available.” Her SIM card had been removed. Fuck.
She could leave. She could climb out the bedroom window right now. Creep down to her car and be off. But she’d be leaving JD to whatever hell Rebecca had in store for him. Even in her socks, she could do it. In the shadows of the room, Nora shook her head. No. No more running.
She emerged from the bedroom. In the great room, Jimmy Buffett played. Saffron and cilantro in the air.
“Hiya!” Rebecca called brightly, darting about the kitchen. “Hope you like fish. I’m making my world-famous Portuguese stew.”
“Sounds tasty.” Nora checked her boots. Dry. She put them on.
“Going somewhere?” Rebecca poured wine into a pair of glasses.
“I feel more comfortable with them on.”
“Wine?”
Nora shook her head. “I’ll stick with water.”
“Aww, come on. Celebrate with us. JD is putting the finishing touches on this latest iteration. Beta test tomorrow. Time to change the world.”
“I don’t drink anymore.”
“Bad experience?”
“Something like that.”
JD entered, laptop clutched under a twig arm.
“Almost ready.” Rebecca slid the glass of red his way.
He grunted, took a long slug.
Nora stepped out onto the back porch. It hung over the pond. Adirondack chairs and not much else. Snow still falling. Close to a foot so far. The wind kicked up little white dervishes across the yard. No moon, and the early evening dark and deep. She went back inside. Rebecca’s eyes on her.
“So, what do you do, Nora?”
She took a swig of her water bottle. “Not much at the moment. In the military for a few years. These days I’m a Temp here and there. Trying to get my shit together.”
“Where were you posted in the Army?”
Nora frowned. She’d never mentioned the Army. “Germany mostly.”
“That must have been fun.”
“Nothing but.”
An hour later, JD and Nora sat, the remains of dinner on the table. Rebecca washed dishes in the kitchen.
Nora excused herself to go to the bathroom. Nausea hit. The room assumed a funhouse quality. Angles seemed off. Wooziness. She grabbed the counter. Hands fumbling, flushed the toilet. Nora walked back, the feeling of unwellness settling.
“Are you ok? You look a little flushed.” Rebecca was sitting back at the table. JD was a statue, staring into the distance.
“Great,” Nora murmured, slumping into her chair. She was having trouble focusing.
“JD came clean,” Rebecca mentioned casually, placing a pistol on the table. “I’m not a fan of dishonesty. It’s one of my triggers.”
JD shut his eyes, massaged the side of his face. Hunched over.
“So, he told you about our old investor, Mr. Lyell. But you haven’t seen him. JD could have made him up, for all you know.”
Nora broke out in a sweat. “You’re right—I’ve seen nothing. I never saw you here.”
Rebecca shrugged. “Sure. We just have to come to an understanding.”
Nora stood up, tried to walk. Failed.
“That’s the Rohypnol talking,” Rebecca observed. “Put it in your water bottle. Good thing, too. I didn’t realize you were going to be so boringly sober.”
Nora wanted to lie down. Even through the haze, she unmoored, detached from the skirmish. Run away. Avoid the problem. The way she refused to confront Andre. She wobbled into the living room.
“I googled your name, you know,” Rebecca smirked. “You have quite the record. Sleeping with your boss. Embezzling from your unit. Nice spread in Army Times, though. So sordid.”
“Thought. No. Internet.”
“Oh yeah. No doubt, you saw the remains of the Wi-Fi router in that closet. I brought my own.” Rebecca held up a rectangular, book-sized object.
Nora zombie-shuffled toward the back porch.
“That’s a dead end, dearie.”
The blast of cold air revived her, if only temporarily. Some deep, reptilian part of her brain took over. Nora hit the railing and fell into the pond. The shock of water stole her breath. Surfaced in a tangle of limbs. Yelling over the wind, and gunshots. Nora swam. Sheer doggedness kept her going. Rocky silt beneath her hands, then she was out of the water.
Nora thrashed into the woods. Shivering. She wobbled through the wood line at the edge of the property. No sign of Rebecca. Nora slumped against a tree trunk, listened. Nothing. She made for the garage. Inside, she opened the driver’s side door of the car and jumped backward. Mid-fifties man, overweight. Forehead caved in from a gunshot. Lyell. Her vision contracted. Popped the trunk and found a suitcase, clothing for a weekend getaway that never happened. Stripped sodden clothing off. She put on every piece of clothing in the bag with fingers that rebelled at every turn. Found a tarp on a shelf, made a nest in the trunk. It was dry enough that she could rewarm, in time.
Nora crawled inside and pulled the hatch down before the spins took her. She dreamed of Andre. Come on, baby, do it for me, he cooed into her ear. No one will miss the funds—the informants they’re assigned to died in an airstrike. Until they did miss them, and she went to prison.
Pain everywhere. She was in the pain. Pain was in her. In fits and starts, Nora returned to wakefulness, a grinding headache and full body ache. Alive, though. Stumbled out of the trunk. Still dark. Quiet. Returned to the man and checked his watch. Four am. No phone. Rebecca must have taken it. She looked at his wallet. Walter Lyell. Address listed in the city. Nora found the frozen lumps of her clothing. The knife was gone. Lost in the swim, no doubt. Footprints and snow in the garage. Rebecca must have searched in here while Nora was out.
It had finally stopped snowing. Even in her state, she could probably make it down the road to her car. Her keys. They were in the daypack, inside. With JD.
Nora searched the garage. All she found was a rusty crowbar. Good, she could give Rebecca tetanus. Warmer outside, mid-forties. Water dripped from branches, making an irregular tap-tap-tap sound all around.
She watched the cabin. Lights blazed from every window, but she saw no movement. Nora crept onto the front porch. Trash still reeked. Peered in the windowpanes. Tried the door. Locked.
She didn’t want to do it. Going back into that water filled her with a bone-deep dread. But she didn’t see another way. Nora slunk around the house. Curtains blocked all the windows. At the edge, she steeled herself and walked into knee height. Immediately, her legs went numb. She sloshed to the porch. Levered over the railing. Nora peered into the great room. Nothing. Tried the door. Unlocked. She considered. Took her socks, boots, and pants off. Once inside, she threaded across the carpet to dry off her feet. Nora froze at the entrance to the back hallway. JD’s eyeglasses on the floor, the right lens spider-webbed and fragmented into pieces. Noises from the end—a soft mewling, a voice speaking in low tones. She retrieved her pack.
She tip-toed over to the stove, turned on all the burners. Stew leftovers in a pot. Nora tossed several towels onto the burners and hid behind an oak pillar. Smoke billowed. Within a minute, the detector warbled, piercing the silence of the cabin with strident tones. A rush of movement from the hall, then nothing. The smoke grew. Nora watched the hall door in the window reflection. Finally, finally, the pistol came into view. Rebecca followed, slow and careful. Covering the angles.
Nora struck, hard and fast. She smashed the crowbar into Rebecca’s wrist with a wet crunch. The woman dropped the Glock.
“You bitch, you bitch, you bitch,” Rebecca chanted gutturally. She lashed out with her left hand, connecting solidly in a hook.
Nora blanked for a moment, dropped the crowbar. She retreated to the smoke-filled kitchen. Above the smoke detector, she heard JD yell something. Nora grabbed the stew pot, and the handle immediately burned her palm. She roared, hurled it. Scalding stew hit Rebecca’s face and chest before the pot clanged off her head, and the woman collapsed onto the kitchen floor.
The fire spread to the cabinets above the stove.
Nora wrapped her hand in a wet towel, searched Rebecca’s pockets. Keys and a phone. Nora crouched to avoid the smoke and staggered into the back.
She found JD handcuffed to a bed frame, bruised and bloody. Key on the keychain. Smoke filled the great room and filtered into the hallway like a barbarian horde. They went out a window. Faint traces of sunrise glimmered in the distance through the trees.
JD hit the unlock button on the key fob. A gunshot cracked, and they turned. Rebecca stood, backlit by the fire. The heat pushed them away from the cabin. Rebecca shuffled forward, ruined wrist held close to her chest, pistol in her left hand. Covered in chunks of fish and soot, she wore a look of dead-eyed calm that belied her ghoulish appearance. Rebecca nodded to herself, as if deciding. “The last backup of Eudamonia is on the jump drive on that keychain. Twelve bullets left. I’m going to take my time. I’ll start with your legs and—”
From the shadows of the garage, a flash of brown mass and fury slammed into her. Rebecca fired two shots before the bear swatted the pistol away. Nora and JD clambered into the SUV, watching until Rebecca’s moans ended. It took longer than they thought.
Nora sat in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead. “Was it, was it the stew, you think?”
JD massaged his battered face. Held his silence.
After a while, the bear got bored. It paused to regard them in the dawn light, before it sauntered off. The fire consumed the cabin with a ruthless, methodical hunger.
Nora turned to face JD. “Well? Where to?” She didn’t run. Dr. Wheeler would be proud, if she ever went back and told her. Probably wouldn’t.
“Doesn’t matter. Anywhere is an improvement.”
Nora gave a little nod. Hit the ignition button. “Challenge accepted. I probably need to find some pants, though.”
You've got a gift for packing the largest number of themes in the smallest possible package. Well done. I'm also glad the bear decided to make an encore.