Outpost

I had to shoulder the thick wooden door to get it to open. The blizzard took it's chance to look inside and set the whole room into chaos and motion. Heavy iron pans and lids rattled lazily on the wall while flurries of snow spun through the air in whirls. The roar of the wind and snow stopped abruptly once I swung the door closed, tight in it's wooden frame.

I stomped the snow off my boots, doused the lantern to save fuel, and took the armful to firewood I brought in to the bin next to the stove, not even bothering to take off my heavy coat. A thin sliver of red was the only light in the cabin and it guided me across the room. The handle on the stove was warm through my glove and inside I saw the coals still glowing with heat. My fire had burned low since I last stoked it, but a few dry branches brought it back to life.

Only once I knew my fire was alive did I open the front of my coat and shrugged out of the many layers of fur that had been between me and the storm. My shoulders were relieved to be free of the weight and I hung it up on a sturdy hook on the wall. I turned around and surveyed the room. The snow was already melting and wetting the floor that had been polished by the feet of hundreds of days and people long forgotten.

I worked the cold out of my hands and decided to cook a meal for myself. In a room off the main space I had what was left of the last shipment from the fall. A couple pounds of potatoes, some bags of grain, dried fruit and vegetables, a modest selection of salted meat left. I had shot a bear early in the fall before it had gone into it's cave for the winter and had saved the preserved meat for later in the spring, long passed when the bear would have spoiled.

There was a pail on the floor where I had been soaking a ham. A quick dip of the finger and a taste told me that the ham was probably edible again. So I hauled the pail and a couple potatoes out into the cabin to prepare them. I grabbed the large shallow pan and started to carve the ham into slices. I didn't need all of it tonight, but the meat should stay fresh a few days, especially in this cold. I tested the stove with some of the brine and the droplets sputtered and spit and left little white dots almost immediately. A sliver of lard went into the pan first and then I set it on the flat of the stove, right above where the flames were licking the metal.

A half a moment later, the oil was coating the pan and I dropped the slices of ham in. While they cooked, I sliced the potatoes thin and got them ready to fry in the oil after the meat. The smell started to fill the cabin and I forked the slices onto a plate. The potato slices replaced the ham in the pan and took on a crisp, golden color. A few splashes of brine and the potatoes were seasoned beautifully. The food went to the plate with the ham and the hot fat was poured into a spare tin for reuse.

I had just sat down to eat my food when I heard the groan of wood on wood. I looked up, ears and eyes both searching for any other sign. The wind hadn't gusted, nothing had settled inside. The sound had broken through the ever present murmur from the storm. I only half started when a heavy knock at the door. Nobody should be traveling in this storm but perhaps they had been caught unawares. I threw my coat over my frame and left my food steaming on the table.