He thought of a line from his favorite movie, Cool Hand Luke: Just shakin’ the bush, boss, just shakin’ the bush. He pictured Paul Newman, skipping down the road, faux happy and hoisting the dead turtle, looking up at Snake Eyes, eager for acceptance. He needed to put on the acting job of his life, to be ol’ Luke. He also needed something else. For the first time since being trapped he was kind of hungry. No, “kind of” was an undersell. He was starving.

He hurried into the shack, the fading light ushering him into the dark room like a flashlight chasing a mouse into its hole. Then he hunched over the camp stove and cooked up some good shack grub, like he used to do with his father. This time it was a can of corned beef hash. After removing the lid with the can opener, he flung it across the room like a frisbee. The metal lid stuck into a log with a pleasant thonk.

Almost like a ninja star, he thought. Might be something he could

use.

Oh yes, Matthew. Oh yes indeed, the little voice said.

“Enter the Ninja,” he said, laughing. It was good to laugh again, trapped or not. Ron was right. Screw that thing out there. He wouldn’t let it have all of him.

Soon darkness saturated the land and nighthawks arced the sky. The last few frogs sung from an unseen pool to the west. The lantern shone at half-power, enough to see details in the corners of the shack.

Tomorrow there’d be more tests at the northern and western boundaries. He already had a good idea of the eastern and southern boundaries. These represented a rough line following the Black River, then cutting across Julip Road and forming the border between the southern valley wall of vegetation and the orchard. The rest he’d find out in due time, but the sooner the better.

Sitting on the lower bunk, he fished through his jeans pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He powered it on and it beeped with a low battery warning. There was no way to charge it in the shack. He’d have to venture out to the truck, start it, and charge the phone with the cigarette lighter. The phone felt no more useful in his hand than a rock or clump of dirt. If he started the truck it would irritate the Being like it did before. No good, senorita. No mas.

He shuffled his feet on the wooden floor and looked down at them. Every girlfriend he’d ever had going back to the sixth grade made fun of his feet. The second toe, longer than the big toe as well as misshapen, really threw the whole thing off. Obviously this was not a hurdle to companionship as they were his girlfriends at the time. All in all just some good-natured teasing. But it stuck the way some things do.