I had been followed for the better part of  a week. His campfire was always just a ridge or so behind me. He wasn't trying to be elusive which was pissing me off. I didn't know his reasons for following me and in situations like these there is only one one way to find out. Stop. Go back and ask the fucker why the hell he was following me. But when done this way you may not always like the answer the fucker gives you, or how it is delivered. With the life I've led thus far, there was no telling the multitude of reasons he would have for following me. So I decided to respect his privacy as long as he did mine.


There really was a beauty to the way I had taken to leaving towns. The blaze of glory, the scars that live on to tell the stories I try to forget, the men, the money, and the small victories. Id have to say my penchant for small towns comes from the "Leave It To Beaver" life I had with my folks, gave me the desire to do more. To live a life that was full of adventure, to not depend on a man for anything, to not take shit from anyone. My body had  gotten me in and out of trouble, and my tits had gotten me into bed with men that had taken me further than I ever thought possible in both good and bad ways. I love being a woman, being me, what I've made of myself, and I'd be damned if I ever let someone take that from me.


The wind shifted and blew the smell of his cooked meat over the hill and toward my camp. From where I sat I could see his breath silhouetted against the fire in the cool mountain air. I couldn't help in these last few days to think of why this man followed so close but did not advance. But deep down there was an almost comfort in his pursuit. He reminded me of how safe I felt all those months ago in the cabin with my mountain man, curled up naked under the animal skins with him. I enjoyed the game he offered as I headed to my hidden cabin.


I built the cabin on the East facing side of the mountain, mid way through the old back logging trail. Originally I had built it as a home to settle into, off the grid, to enjoy the views and the mornings naked with the sun hitting my body. Nothing brings you closer to god than to walk naked through the woods, the dew dripping from the leaves as the sun clears the tallest of the trees. I had lived most my life by the laws of man, done as the bible and my parents taught. But the world proved rough so I got rougher. Started living by my own laws, my punishment was harsh but swift and just. The laws of nature made more sense to my body, to my soul, so i quenched those and grew strong.


Just after the sun was directly above I reached my cabin, it was just as beautiful as the last time I laid eyes on it. I knew every corner of my property and would be wide awake and waiting for the man that had been following me. I had no idea who he was or what he wanted, and didn't care. Because I had every intention of feeding him a belly full of lead as soon as he crossed over into my land.


Night did not creep but filled the cabin quickly. My bed called to my tired body from the corner of the room, and the whiskey whispered sweet nothings as if in cahoots with the bed. It was just as I began to wander to the edge of dreams that a hidden trip wire of bells outside alerted me to my follower. I got down, my body pressed to the floor, my rifle aimed at the door.


I could feel every breath that entered and exited my body. Each beat of my heart echoed in my head so loud I swear I heard it echo off the mountain itself, not an insect made a sound. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a hand breaking through the wood of the floor board. I screamed but nothing left my mouth as the horror of what I saw sucked all the noise back inside me. A head of a man burst through the floor howling, his white eyes stark against the dirt that clung to his gruesome face. My rifle dropped from my hand, as he pulled a pistol from the darkness below.


The pistol had a shine in the light of the lamp. Darkness still clung to the cabin enough to allow me to see the spark from the blast before it tore through my flesh. I was able to grab my rifle as he had both hands down pulling him self up from the floor, like a demon from hell. I aimed the barrel at him and let him take it all in the face.


As dawn crept to my windowsill the scene did not become less nightmarish. His shot was clean and through my right arm, mine was less so, buck shot had taken his head off and blown it over most the cabin. There was no use in trying to clean the look of hell off the walls. So I did what I did best, packed up, burned the mother down, and moved the fuck on.