Page 14 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

“No onewantsto find me here,” I muttered.

He climbed onto the porch without saying anything, leaving me standing there a moment longer, just staring at it.

No cell towers. No neighbors. No sign of civilization. I wouldn't be surprised if Banjos started playing right then and there, but I'd do my best to run to the nearest big city for help for Webb.

“Jacuzzi, my ass,” I said under my breath, then followed him inside to meet my fate.

Webb walked past me, grabbed a bag from the pile, and handed it to me like a warning. I looked around again, squinting at the trees, the shadows, the general sense of,oh no, you’re going to be living with spiders now.

I sighed. “Okay, I can do this, I’m totally adaptable. I’ve watchedSurvivor.I can eat moss or whatever.”

Webb opened the door and glanced over his shoulder. “There’s food in the pantry. You don’t need to eat any moss. In fact, it's best that you don't.”

Noted.

By the time my vision adjusted enough to see the inside of the cabin, my confidence had officially left the building—along with any remaining illusion that this was going to be some kind of charming off-grid hideaway.

I had questions. Webb had answers. None of them were good.

“So,” I began cautiously, “what’s the, uh... plumbing situation?”

He continued walking through the dark rooms, not hitting anything, whereas I was bouncing off furniture with every step. “There isn’t one.”

I stopped walking. “What?”

“No plumbing, we use a well. The water’s clean, cold, and comes out of a hand pump by the shed.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my worries coming true.

“There are also buckets in the corner that you can take to your room,” he added helpfully. “You’ll figure it out.”

I blinked at the back of his head, unsure whether to scream or laugh or just run into the woods and let nature take me.

“And the actual toilet?” I asked, mostly just to torture myself at this point.

Webb turned, deadpan. “Oh, that’s out back. Don't worry, there's a wooden stall, but don’t go out there barefoot.”

“Why—Wait, why not?”

He gave me a look that said, 'You don’t want the answer to that,' and disappeared into the darkness.

I took one hesitant step forward and said to the air, “This is how horror movies start. All that’s missing is the Banjos and a suspicious number of animal skulls.”

The cabin was... rustic. Functional even. And somehow, it was both better andso much worse than I expected. Light suddenly filled the place, making me squint and blink, and I realized I was in a small kitchen. There was a two-burner stove, a table, and two mismatched chairs that I'd have hit if I'd taken the next step, and the cupboards were rustic but quaint. The singlelightbulb flickered overhead like it was considering retirement, and I couldn't blame it.

I rubbed my arms. “Okay, there's electricity. That’s something.”

Webb pointed to the corner where a tiny control box with a blinking light sat mounted to the wall.

“Technically, yes. We’ve got a generator, but it's solar-charged and has low output. So, no blow dryers, no curling irons, no phone chargers, and for the love of God, don’t try to microwave anything.”

Noticing there wasn't a microwave anywhere to be seen, I ignored that part as I slowly turned to him. “I’m sorry. Did you just say I can’t charge my phone?”

“You want to toast the whole place and trip the system, be my guest. There's also the matter of your signal being tracked.”

I opened my mouth but quickly closed it again before taking a deep breath.

“Okay,” I ground out. “Let me just make sure I’ve got this straight. No plumbing, no inside bathroom, no phone charging. And the jacuzzi—” I air quoted dramatically, “—is actually just apond, right?”

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