The Last Adventurer

My eyes snapped open. The wind was howling and snarling at the roof right above my head, making the shingles groan as the nails struggled to hang onto the wood. I tried to block the horde of haunting noises that were flowing about my ears. A steady roaring undercurrent of white noise slightly blocked the various creaks and moans. Cautiously, I opened one eye and looked out the window nearest to me. It was absolutely pouring. I rolled over again, and tried to tell myself that the storm might blow over by morning. I even tried to console myself with the knowledge that at least I wasn’t outside in the deluge.

I then realized why I was awake. I had to go to the bathroom. Uncomfortably, I shifted my bladder and hunched in my sleeping bag. I didn’t want to leave the bag’s warm confines for the uncertain darkness. The rain bore down over my head, pouring a relentless tattoo on the ceiling. I had to go out. Gingerly, I slipped out of my sleeping bag. Awkwardly, I dropped down the ladder of my bunk. Slowly, I eased down the flight of stairs, and quietly slipped out onto the porch. Clapping cymbals of unsuppressed noise assaulted my ears as a wave of cold stripped away my heat. The door handle flew out of my shocked grasp. It naturally slammed forcefully into the hut, ruining my last ten minutes of attempted stealth.

I tried to avoid a good soaking by shuffling quickly to the separate bathroom. I would have run, but my leg muscles had locked up during my previous three hours of sleep. On the way back, I stopped on the Kea-free porch and watched the wind scourge the forest with lashes of rain. Above my head, the rain sounded like falling rocks. I shivered, and creaked my way back to my bunk. My sleeping bag was still warm, but my core was cold with the knowledge that I would be out in the storm in a few hours.