Wyvern Protection Unit - Chapter 27: Chapter 27

Darkness fell early in this part of the Garden State. The eerie sounds of nature had Kim huddled in the corner of the dimly lit room, clutching the frying pan she’d found stored inside the oven of the tiny kitchen of the safe house with both hands.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” she whisper-screamed.
Her panic level was steadily rising, but who could blame her? When Agent Sanchez had dumped her frightened ass in this small, but thankfully air-conditioned, safe house somewhere in Cape May, she thought he was staying to protect her.
Unfortunately, he’d passed the job on to some security company in the private sector. Wessex Protection Unit, she thought he’d said. That was all fine and good, but where was the new guy?
Kimberley had been waiting for hours. All alone. Stuck in some weird ass nature reserve in Cape May, New Jersey, in July of all months—might as well change the name to swamp ass month far as she and her chubby butt were concerned.
Ugh.
She should be used to the heat. After all, Kimberley spent a lot of time in a desert, but that was a different kind of hot altogether. Thank goodness for cotton undies and a refrigerator packed with water bottles.
How long until she went crazy from being stuck with her own company, no internet, no work, and no damn TV? She was not built for this kind of isolation.
Not to mention the sounds of howling, yowling, and whatever the heck noises the animals outside were making were seriously giving her the creeps. Kim gave herself minutes until she hit rock bottom. Maybe seconds.
After she passed the point of no return, she knew it was only a matter of time before she had a serious mental and emotional breakdown. Maybe Mom was right. She should have taught Kindergarten.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, help,” she whimpered as something started scratching at the door.
No point in looking back on her suddenly questionable career choices. Who knew a job in academia could lead to this? Being framed by her boss, hunted by killers, and stuck in a swamp with freaking monsters in her yard.
Calm down. Think happy thoughts, Kim, for fuck’s sake, you can’t die like this!
Her students were right. Kim really sucked at pep talks. Even the ones she tried to give herself. She puffed out a breath of air and blew her hair back off her face. She was in dire need of some hair ties. And French fries.
YES! French fries!
Kim wanted a whole sack of oily, crispy, salty goodness, and she wanted it now, damn it! How far away was the nearest burger joint? And could she walk? That was the real question.
Unfortunately, she had no idea where she was. Not really. She knew she was in Cape May, but had never heard of this woodsy reserve. The chances of her finding any greasy spoon goodness were nil.
Kim had only ever seen the resort part of town. Cape May was one of her favorite holiday destinations with its pretty beaches, quaint little shops, delicious restaurants, and cozy B&B’s that looked more like gingerbread houses than real live dwellings. Her family spent many a Memorial Day Weekend and Fourth of July at the Jersey Shore, and the area held many special memories.
But instead of turning down the road and heading to one of those awesome beachside getaways, Agent Sanchez took her here. Wherever that was. Arriving at this so-called safe house had been a revelation.
This cabin in the woodsy-not-so-cutesy section of the southernmost tip of the Garden State was a fucking shithole.
“Cabin, my ass,” she muttered, and whimpered when the lights flickered.
If the electricity went out, she was absolutely going to die out there. No question about it. Her head whipped to the door as more scratching and growling sounded from just outside the pretty flimsy piece of particle board.
Kimberley had spent a weekend last March at a vacation cabin in Aspen. She’d been impressed as hell by the location and the size of the place. It was larger than her parents’ home in Pennsylvania. Of course, the impeccable sights she’d seen and the sheer luxury of the bedroom she’d occupied during that retreat had been the only highlights of the trip.
But that was Kim for you. Her life seemed to be one relationship faux pas after another. In her experience, social entanglements were completely overrated in her highly educated and grossly undersexed opinion.
Aspen sucked. Period.
Her hands were cramping, and Kim released the handle of the sturdy little frying pan that was her only line of defense against whatever fangy furry beasties were trying to get in—never mind the hitmen hunting her like some animal.
She mumbled unintelligibly and lifted the bottle of whiskey she’d found in the cupboard above the fridge. The linoleum floor was squishy in parts, and she tried not to think about why, as she chugged a long pull right from the bottle. The fiery burn of the liquor went with the label.
She’d never heard of Bite before, but apparently it was distilled right there in New Jersey. Someplace called Maccon City.
“Hmm, kudos to you Maccon City. This is good whiskey,” she toasted and took another sip.
“Oh god, I’m talking to the frying pan,” she mumbled, then hiccupped again.
Increased growling outside got her attention, and Kim shivered and closed her eyes. If only she could recall the prayers she once knew by heart as a kid.
She was not particularly religious, but she was raised Catholic and had attended parochial school as a kid. Boy, that Sr. Rita had been a tough old bird. She’d freak if she knew Kimberley couldn’t recall a single line in what was obviously her hour of need.
The old nun had tried to make sure everyone knew the words to the prayers, using the same threats and punishments as her predecessors. In other words, if you messed up, you had to write out whichever prayer you goofed on a hundred times to ensure you never forgot it again.
She’d never been caught slacking, and now she wondered if that wasn’t too bad for her. Maybe she would remember those prayers had she written them out. Too late now.
Kim never understood writing assignments as punishment. It was like they were teaching their students to hate work. As a college professor, she could always tell who of her students had good experiences in their early education with teachers and those who did not. Mostly, she loved her job.
Suddenly, a rumble of thunder sounded, and the whole cabin seemed to shake. Shit. Kim really should’ve told that big dumb agent no. No cabins. She’d had some of her worst luck in a cabin. Stupid Aspen weekend trip.
“This is fantastic whiskey,” she said, taking another sip.
Kim should’ve known better than to go on that trip. She had always hated the cold, and March had been cold. It was that trip that sped up her decision to go to Egypt for a few months.
Margot, the beyotch who’d invited her, had actually been sleeping with Kim’s boyfriend. Unfortunately, she found that out the hard way. Margo hadn’t bothered to deny it and Dan was a total douchebag, stating her coldness in bed left him wanting.
Like that was her fault. Blech. Point was, cabins were grossly overrated. Bad things happened to Kim in cabins. But to be fair, this tiny little box of a cabin had air condition, water, no cheating boyfriends, and whiskey—so already it was better than Aspen.
A lot better.
Thunder crashed again, and a blinding bolt of lightning flashed right outside. Rain poured onto the roof, making loud splatting noises, and right on cue, the lights crapped out.
“Fuuuckk!” she screeched, dropping the whiskey onto the floor, and readjusting her grip on the frying pan.
Of course, the power went out. Kim stood up slowly, creeping across the floor. She’d already done a check of the indoors and knew there were no electric boxes inside the house. That meant it was outdoors.
Whimpering like the big baby she was, she opened the door, steeling herself to go look for a fuse box, but found herself surrounded by at least a dozen pairs of yellow eyes and some really gnarly sounding growls.
“No, no, no,” she mumbled, slamming the door closed.
Kim huddled back against the wall, in the same corner on the floor of the cabin, where she left her whiskey. Her new best friend, Mr. Frying Pan, clasped in her grip. She slid down the wall, her butt landing with a soft thud on the floor.
Was that a pack of feral dogs or something more nefarious, pacing the exterior of the flimsy little box of a house? Kim closed her eyes, banging her head against the wall. Could her day get any worse?
Almost eighteen hours spent traveling from Giza to the states only to find the artifacts she’d spent months excavating had been stolen and sold by her boss, who’d tried to frame her for the misdeed. Then, after being questioned by law enforcement, she’d been shot at.
Huddled off to no man’s land, Kim was going to die—alone in a shitty cabin in the wilds of Cape May. Her body would be eaten by a pack of marauding wild dogs, and maybe, after some months, they would be found. At least her parents could get some closure then.
For fuck’s sake.
Did the universe hate her or something? This was like the worst cliché ever. She could see the headlines now.
“The remains of an almost middle-aged chubby nerd, whose only experiences with men were short, embarrassing, and unfulfilling interludes best forgotten, were found in the woods outside Cape May having been chewed up and spit out by a pack of feral dogs. Who was this mystery slob? Was she eaten by the dogs while still alive? We may never know the answers to those questions, but one thing remains obvious—no one missed her.”
If only that wasn’t so damn close to the truth.