The Cabin in the Woods

The three screens across the room came to life. Pale gray at first, and then a glaring white that lit the room to uncomfortable levels. Then they settled, each of them showing the initial image they’d been programmed to show: approach, outside, inside. This was the default setting.

“Lovely,” Hadley said.

Sitterson wheeled back to his desk and thought about that coffee.

Soon, it would begin.

She was taking things slowly, but it felt like they were moving faster than that. The air between them sizzled. She’d caught him looking at her a couple of times now, but not in the way most guys looked at her. It never hurt to be given a compliment, even though sometimes those compliments were silent and communicated through glances and smiles.

She suspected that he’d spotted her looking at him as well. That was why the game was so thrilling.

With Holden, though, he was looking at her with a combination of interest and… what, bemusement? It must have been that; a tiny frown, eyes open in perpetual surprise. She’d only just met him, so she couldn’t claim to read him just yet, but she hoped he was feeling the same as her. Interest, and surprise at how deep that interest already was.

Just another ploy to fuck you, Jules would say. He’ll act interested and deep, but in the end he just wants you to hold his dick. But hey, look at him-why not?

“It’s different,” Dana whispered, and Marty looked up from rolling a selection of elegant joints.

“Huh?”

“Nothing, Marty,” she said, and she nodded toward the objects of his labors. “They’re nice. Anyone who didn’t know you would think you’re a dope fiend.”

He grinned, ran his tongue along another paper and added another to the selection. They were all the same length and thickness, and she couldn’t help but be a little bit impressed.

Curt was still driving, nodding his head lightly to the middle-of-the-road rock station they’d found on the radio. Dana had offered to bring along a handful of CDs, but Jules’s wrinkled nose had persuaded Curt to decline. Jules was still riding shotgun, her attention flicking back and forth between the GPS and an open map book on her lap. An empty plastic cup was propped between her legs, and Holden was in the bathroom filling four more cups from the keg.

Dana found it fascinating watching him. He didn’t spill a drop, even though the Rambler was now bouncing along an old road wounded with potholes and last maintained, she guessed, just after the Civil War. When the vehicle jumped he’d follow the motion of the jog with his hand, cup of beer rising or drifting left or right, foamy head licking at the lip but never quite slipping over. It was quite a talent.

He caught her watching him and smiled.

“Like steering into a skid,” he said, offering her a cup.

Dana chuckled softly and took the drink, their fingers touching briefly. The Rambler bounced, Dana grimaced, and beer splashed onto her jeans.

“Shit.”

“I hope this is the right road,” Jules said. “‘Cause right now it looks like the only road.”

“What about that road-like thing we crossed back there?” Curt asked.

“Doesn’t even show up on the GPS. It’s unworthy of global positioning.”

“It must feel horrible,” Dana said distractedly, dabbing her jeans with a cloth.

“That’s the whole point!” Marty shouted, startling them all. “Get off the grid! No cell phone reception, no markers, no traffic cameras… Go somewhere for the goddamn weekend where they can’t globally position my ass. This is the whole issue.”

“Is society crumbling, Marty?” Jules asked without looking up from the map. She was teasing him and, Dana thought, mocking him a little. Marty was too kind or too obsessed to notice. “Society is binding. It’s filling in the cracks with concrete. No cracks to slip through anymore. Everything is recorded, filed, blogged, chips in our kids so they don’t get lost… What’s the use of free will when nothing you do is your own anymore? Society needs to crumble. We’re all too chicken-shit to let it.”

“I’ve missed your rants,” Jules said. Dana was pleased to see her throw Marty a smile. He grinned back and held up a beautifully rolled joint for her perusal.

“You will come to see things my way,” he said.

“I can’t wait,” she said. “Is that the secret stash?” “The secret secret stash.” I haven’t told my other stash about it because it would become jealous.”

“A sign,” Dana said, suddenly excited. “Up there!” Jules turned to look back through the windscreen, then examined the map again quickly.

“Yes. And… okay, left. Bear left.”

“You sure?” Curt asked.

“Not even a little bit.”

Holden edged forward with more beers, taking Dana’s half-cup and replacing it with a full one. She smiled her thanks, but didn’t catch his eye.

It was Jules’s voice in her head, though: Make him work.