The Man With No Left Foot

A dangerous man drifts into town

Copyright 2012

Surviving the Fog-Douglas Lives

 

By Stan Morris

 

Chapter One  The Man With No Left Foot

 

Petal was the first to hear the arrival of the man with the wooden foot; except it wasn't a foot, it was cylinders of wood attached just below his ankle, slamming against the floor of the old oak porch with a sound like the hammering gavel of a stern judge who has just meted out a terrible judgment upon a habitual criminal.

"What's that?" she asked, and then the others heard it, too.

The door opened slowly as if the opener was unsure of his welcome, or perhaps he was just cautious; alert for danger on the other side of the entry.  The wind tried to push the door wider, but the man held it in a firm grip.  Susanna's first impression was that of an average sized man wearing a long blue coat that looked vaguely military.  He was wearing a black ski mask rolled up over his eyes, so his face was showing.  An old green duffle bag was slung over one shoulder.  He was holding the bag's strap with his left hand and in the other hand he carried what at first glance appeared to be a thick staff made from a weathered oak branch; then Susanna saw the iron spearhead attached to the tip of the shaft.  He closed the door against the cold wind, making sure it was tight against the weather stripping, and turned to scan the room.  The others in the room were silent.  The advent of a stranger was not a welcoming sight; too often they brought only misery.

He nodded as if acknowledging this truth, pulled off the ski mask, and then, slightly dragging his right foot, he clumped his way to the long counter behind which Susanna stood, suddenly tense, wondering who he was and what he wanted.  He had a scraggly brown beard, his long hair hung almost to his shoulders, and he looked like an old man, but as he neared the counter Susanna saw by his sharp brown eyes that he was much younger; in his mid twenties perhaps.  He swung his duffle bag off his shoulder, and then leaned it and the spear against the counter.

"Got alcohol?"  He asked this in a manner that suggested he was not expecting a positive answer, and she did not surprise him.

"We don't serve alcohol here.  We wouldn't even if we had some.  Hume Lake is a Christian community.  I have some hot lemongrass tea."

He nodded his resignation, so Susanna stepped along the aisle behind the counter and retrieved the pot of tea from the black, cast iron stove.  She poured him a cup, and he lifted it to his lips.  She half expected him to grimace in disgust, but he sighed instead, as if anything warming his insides was welcomed.

"Who are you?  Where are you from?" she asked after a minute or two, but at that moment the door opened again, and two more men entered, slamming the door shut.

The entry of the two men caused silence to choke the room.  Susanna felt the blood leave her face, ears, and skull, and she felt not lightheadedness, but rather the feeling as when a person is confronted by a pair of big unleashed dogs emitting barely audible growls; growls of loathing.  And dogs they were, she knew this from experience.  The shorter man had a long beard, light brown.  The other man was clean shaven, and the false grin on his face might have seemed welcoming to someone who did not know him.

"Hey there, all," he said scanning the crowd with his false smile, but no one answered.

He made a slow perusal of the room, pausing for an instant when his glance lit on the unknown man at the counter, and continuing until his gaze settled upon Petal.

"Hey, Petal," he said as the little girl backed into a corner, placing a table between her and the two men.

"What do you want?" Susanna said in as demanding a manner as her fear allowed her.

The fake smile dimmed and morphed into one that suggested a hint of malice behind the crinkled eyes.  He turned to face the young woman.

"Now, now, Susie, we just want to come in out of the cold.  You don't object to that, do you?"  His bearded companion laughed, and the grinner scanned the people in the room again.  "No one objects to us being here, do they?"

No one spoke.  They knew it was healthier to keep quiet.  The man gave the cripple an inquisitive look.

"Haven't seen you around here before," he said.  "You don't object to our presence do you, Mister...?"

The cripple stared at his ceramic cup and did not reply.  The smile on the man's face changed to one of self-assurance and satisfaction.  He looked in Petal's direction.  The little girl was cowering in a corner, hoping not to draw his attention.

"Now, Petal, don't be that way.  Why can't you be friendly?"  He began to sidle in the girl's direction.  She tensed looking frantically from side to side as she sought an escape route.

"What do you want with her?"  Susanna cried.  "She's only ten."

The man ignored Susanna as he moved closer to the girl, easy on his feet and alert for her attempt to rush by him.

"I was telling a man up north about you, Petal," the man crooned.  "He said you sounded real sweet.  He wants to meet you.  He wants to be your boyfriend."

No amount of anger could alleviate the helplessness Susanna felt.  Her face flushed with the shameful knowledge that she could not help Petal without causing harm to herself.  Her fists clinched as Susanna tried frantically to think of some way to force the men to leave the little girl in what little peace she had managed to attain since her parents had been murdered.

Petal finally darted to one side, but the grinner had planned for that.  He had forced her to the side where Long Beard waited like a mean weasel ready to pounce on a young rabbit.  Petal tried to squirm by, but the bearded man caught her around the waist with one arm.  He held his shotgun away from his body with the other hand and laughed at Petal's anguished cries of distress.

Oh, Lord Jesus, save Petal.  I beg you, Susanna prayed, and then without a twinge of guilt, she asked God to strike the men dead.

"Petal, you come with us and we'll take care of you.  We'll introduce you to our friend, and he'll make you real happy.  He'll teach you all kinds of things."  He laughed after he spoke that last sentence, and the little girl began to cry.

Susanna wished she had one of the guns the community kept in their armory, for at that moment she would gladly have shot the men.

"Anyone object to Petal coming with us?" the man asked, scanning the crowd again.  There were angry murmurs from the crowd, but no one openly challenged him, not even Susanna.

"How about you, Mister No-Name?" the grinner said to the cripple as Petal struggled to free herself from Long Beard's cruel grasp.  "You're new here, aren't you?  You got something to say?"

The crippled man didn't say anything, but as he turned toward the grinning man, he pulled a forty-five caliber hand gun out of his coat pocket and shot the grinner in the chest.  The loud explosion caused Susanna to scream as men and women scrambled for cover.  Long Beard's shocked eyes grew wide, and he let loose of Petal, fumbling for his shotgun.  The man with the wooden stump turned toward Long Beard, and with deliberate calmness raised his gun and fired a bullet that blasted through the center of Long Beard's forehead, making a huge hole when it exited and flicking brains and fragments of skull across the wall behind.  For a moment the only sound in the bar was the faint echo of the shot as every ear rang with the explosion and every heart raced madly, fearing they might be the next target.

The crippled man grabbed his spear, limped to the door, and opened it.  He peered out and listened for a long minute while everyone else crouched behind some flimsy barrier; a rickety table or an old stool.  Then the man shut the door, clumped back to the middle of the room, and stared down at the man stretched out on the floor lying on his back.  There was no grin on the dying man's face now, either of triumph or of malice, there was only shock and fear in the man's eyes as he stared up at the crippled man and sucked in ragged breath after ragged breath, each one requiring more effort than the previous breath.

"The name's Douglas," the crippled man stated.  "Not Doug, Douglas."

The eyes of the man on the floor widened a fraction, and then they closed and the ragged breaths ceased.  Stink filled the room as the man's internals were released.  Douglas returned to the counter, and sat down.  He picked up the cup of tea and took another sip, grimacing as he did so.  It had cooled.

Behind him and to the side, men and women began to rise from their hiding places.  Susanna, who had pressed herself against the corner of the bar when the first shot was fired, hurried around the corner and met Petal who flung herself at the young woman and buried her sobbing face in Susanna's stomach.

"Good Lord," said a man who came forward and stared at the man stretched out on the floor.  He faced Douglas with accusation in his face.  "You killed these men without a qualm.  What kind of a man are you?"

Douglas glanced at the man on the floor, and then he raised his ice cold eyes to the standing man.  "They were annoying me.  You're starting to annoy me, too."

The man recoiled at the menace in the voice, swallowed, and backed away.  Other men came forward and stood around the bodies, studiously ignoring Douglas.

"We need to move them."

"Yeah, but where to?"

"The cemetery, I guess."

"You two grab his arms, we'll get his legs."

Other men were attending to Long Beard.

"I'll get a mop and a bucket of water," a woman said to Susanna who nodded as she clutched Petal who was still pressed tightly against her.

Douglas ignored the commotion, resigned to the fact that no one was likely to feed him until the remains of the two men were dealt with.  He sat on the stool and sipped the tepid tea.  He watched as Susanna finally pried Petal away and then led the little girl through a yellow and red striped blanket covering the doorway to a backroom.  A few minutes later they reappeared, Susanna carrying another blanket and a pillow.  She knelt to spread the blanket on the floor behind the bar and with soft words managed to convince Petal to lie down.  Then she rose and stared at Douglas.  Her experience told her she should be frightened, and yet she was not.

"Can I get something to eat?"

Such an innocuous question from someone who had shot two men to death only minutes ago.

"I... I have roast pork in a slow cooker," she stammered, glancing at the woman who had finished mopping the floor.  "I could make you a sandwich.  We found some mustard recently.  It was still sealed, but the expiration date was a long time ago."  She was speaking too fast, but she could not help herself.  What do you say to a killer?

"That would be fine.  What can I trade you for it?  I have a can of kidney beans."

Just go away and leave us in peace was what she was tempted to say, but what she said was, "That would be a fair trade."

Except for a few people, brave and curious, the place had cleared out.  Two men came over to the bar, and Douglas tensed when they did so, but they made no threatening motions.

"Are you okay, Susanna?" one asked, giving Douglas an edgy sidelong glance.  He was a little older and huskier than the other.

"I'm fine, Adam," she answered.  "Petal is the one they were after."  She looked down at the girl who was whimpering, though she had fallen asleep.  "I can only imagine what those men wanted her for."

"They were going to sell her," Douglas said, fixing his gaze on Susanna.

She knew this, but she hated to have it spelled out.  "Monsters," she murmured.

"Monsters with friends," the man standing next to Adam mumbled.

Except for Douglas, they exchanged knowing glances.

"You’re right, Joe," Adam said.  "And when they find out these two are dead, they're gonna come looking for revenge."

Three faces turned toward Douglas.  Douglas did not speak; instead he leaned down, unzipped the duffle bag, and reached inside, his actions followed by three pairs of cautious but curious eyes.  He pulled out a can of kidney beans and handed it to Susanna.  She stared at the can for one moment, and then lifted her eyes to Douglas, nodded, and disappeared behind the yellow blanket.

"I don't know what those men will do if you're not here when they come," Adam said.  "But I know what they'll do if you're still here.  They'll kill you, mister."

Douglas shrugged.  "Everyone dies sometime."

Susanna reappeared with a plate containing a sandwich.  She laid it in front of Douglas, grabbed the tea pot, and refilled his cup.

"Where you from?" Joe asked as Douglas took a big bite out of the sandwich.

The brown eyes narrowed, and his voice turned icy again.  He swallowed the bite before answering.  "From south of here.  What's it to you?"

"Nothing.  Nothing at all," the young man replied hastily.

"Mind your own business," Susanna said sharply to Joe who lowered his eyes, stung by her words.

Susanna did not care.  She did not want any more confrontations in her place, and Joe knew better than to ask personal questions of a stranger.  Since the Fog had come, many people were reluctant to speak about their past.  Some did not want to remember loved ones.  Some did not want to remember a world that was lost.  Others had done things right after the Fog's congealing that they would rather forget.

"We've got to get a move on," Adam said to Joe, watching Douglas consume the rest of the sandwich.

"See you in church," Joe said to Susanna, a hopeful note in his voice.  "I'll save you a seat."  He and Adam left the bar.

"Sorry," Susanna said.  "Joe's young and a little nosy about strangers."

Douglas grunted noncommittally.  "Didn't hear him ask those other guys where they came from."

Susanna blushed and lowered her eyes.  "That's different.  We've seen those men before.  They're... were dangerous."

You're dangerous, too.  But he was dangerous in a different way; somehow she knew this.

"Which one's your boyfriend?"

Susanna was startled.  "What?"

"Adam.  Joe.  I noticed they liked looking at you."

"Excuse me, but that's none of your business."

"True, Susie."  Douglas wiped his mouth on his sleeve, gulped down the last of his tea, and picked up his duffle bag.  "I like looking at you, too.  You've got a nice rack and a great butt."

Her eyes narrowed, and her temper flared.  "It's Susanna, not Susie.  You've finished eating, mister.  Get out of my establishment."

Douglas shrugged, turned, and left the bar, carefully shutting the door as he did so.  Outside he turned to look around.  The late afternoon sun was partially hidden by the western peaks.  By the side of the paved road, nailed to a post and quivering from the wind blowing toward Hume Lake, a hand painted sign directed travelers to a dormitory where a bed could be rented for the night.  He had stayed in these sorts of places before, and he expected the bed would cost an exchange of labor, usually wood chopping or gathering fallen branches which would be burned in a fireplace.  He strode up the path toward the dormitory, his long shadow following him.

He had stopped overnight in Hume Lake on his way north, but he had not visited Susanna’s cafe.  It was a small community in what used to be Sequoia National Park.  Before the Fog, it had catered to Baptist and Protestant Church organizations as a summer camp for their teenagers.  At a little over five thousand feet in altitude, it had been buried beneath the Fog for years until, as the top layers of the Fog dissipated, the buildings were uncovered.  Survivors from the surrounding mountains had moved in.  As was true elsewhere, the bodies of the previous inhabitants had never been found.

The path wound up the hill through small redwood and pine trees.  Pine needles and chips of granite lined the path.  He knew he had found the dormitory when he saw the huge log piles with cords stacked higher than his head.  One end of the two story building was dominated by a massive stone fireplace.  On the other end, there was another fireplace, but that one looked to have been added much later, possibly after the Fog came.

An Asian looking man reading a book sat at a desk just inside the door. He looked up when Douglas entered, his sharp black eyes measuring the newcomer.

"What's the charge?" Douglas asked.

"Five hours of honest work for a night's lodging and all the tea you can drink."

Douglas was not adverse to hard work, but he had come a long way from the northeast, and he was tired.

"I’ve got a quarter roll of dry toilet paper I found in a cabin," he said.  "I'll trade it for a week in a corner bed."

The man stared at Douglas for a moment and then looked around the room, making sure none of the other men could hear.  He lowered his voice.

“A full quarter roll?” he asked, his voice full of skepticism.

“A little more than a quarter.”

"Alright, but don't mention this to anyone else," the manager said.

Douglas nodded.  "Right."

He reached into his duffle bag and pulled out the toilet paper roll which was carefully wrapped in a precious plastic bag.

"Hide it, then I want the bag back."

The man nodded.  "First or second floor?" he asked.

"First."

"Bed twenty five.  Northwest corner."

Douglas hauled himself and his equipment to the northwest corner of the room.  Each bed had a number painted on its side frame, and some of the beds were already occupied.  The bunk over his was not.  The beds were made from old bunk beds, but wood poles had been added between the lower and upper to raise the top bed.  Beneath each level a wooden box with a metal latch had been installed, so travelers could secure a few items.  There was no lock on the box beneath his mattress.  Douglas returned to the manager.

“What about a lock?”

“An hour’s work.”

Douglas scowled at the man and said, “The lock first.”

The man handed over a heavy duty combination lock.

No telling who knows the combination, Douglas thought.

“Got one with a key?”

They traded locks and Douglas went back to the bunk, locked his gear in the box, and went back to the manager who silently handed over a sharpened axe.

Douglas left the building and went to the stacked wood.  Small logs were lying in another pile close by a stump that had axe marks around it.  Douglas took one, set it on the stump, laid his spear to one side, and grabbed the axe.   As he swung the axe, he noticed the Asian man watching from a window.  Fifty five minutes later, Douglas stopped and proceeded to stack the split wood on the pile.  When he finished, he grabbed his spear and entered the building.

The manager remarked, “You’ve done that before.”

Douglas just grunted in response on his way to his bunk.  The man was right; he had chopped wood plenty of times.  He was almost as good at it now as when he still had his missing foot.  He stopped next to his bunk and considered whether or not to remove his pants.  They were sewn into the contraption of three wood cylinders and a spring that served as the end of his left leg.  He was tempted to do so, because his leg was aching where the deerskin straps bound the pants to his stump, but he did not know anything about the other inhabitants of this place and he had learn caution from bitter experience.  He kept his pants on, lay down on the bed, and pulled his blue coat over the dingy grey blanket.  He lay on his back and waited.  It wasn’t long before two men approached.  They were coarse looking with the scraggly beards of men who did not own or have access to a razor, a common state of affairs in Douglas’ experience.

“Hey, pal,” the beefier man said in greeting.  “I’m Pedro.  This is Joey.”

“Hey,” Douglas said.

“Cripple man, you’re new here, ain’t you?” Pedro said.  “Mister this is a rough town.  Lots of bad people.  Thieves.  Me and Joey, we make sure people don’t get robbed or nothing. ”

You gotta be shittin’ me, Douglas thought, but what he said was, “Good for you.”

“But we gotta eat, yeah?  So the deal is, you hand over a little something and we make sure no one steals anything from you.  This lock the Viet gave you is a good one, but it can be busted off your locker, see?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Douglas said.  “Tell you what.  I’ll give you a couple of bullets, and that way my locker will be safe.”

Pedro snorted.  “A couple of bullets?  Man, you think that’s all it will take?”

“Yeah.”  Douglas pulled his Ruger from under his coat, cocked it, and lifted it until it was inches from Pedro’s frozen face.  “Two bullets.  I’ll give them to you right now.  One for you and one for Joey.”

Pedro’s face turned white, and he recoiled several paces.  The gun did not waver as it followed him.  Joey stepped back, too.

“Here’s how it’s going to be, fellows.  My stuff’s not going to get stolen, and you guys are going to live to make a deal with the next guy.   Understand?”

“Do you know who you’re talking to?”  Pedro tried some bluster.  “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“The name is Douglas.  Not ‘Doug,’ Douglas.”

“Well, you can kiss my�'”

He broke off as his companion hastily swung an arm against his chest.

Joey regarded Douglas silently for a moment and then asked, “You the guy who killed those men in Susanna’s Café?”  Pedro’s eyes widened, and his face paled again.

“What about it?” 

“Uh, nothing.  Okay, we’ll make sure no one steals your stuff.  And we’ll leave now, so you can get some rest.”

“Thank you, Joey.  That’s real nice of you.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Joey grabbed Pedro’s arm and pulled him away.  Douglas fingered the safety, stuck the revolver under his coat, and laid it on his stomach again, watching intently as the two men exited the building.  A minute later, the manager came by.

“Those two try to shake you down?” he asked.

“They tried.”

The man snorted with amusement.  “I’ll bet that went over big.  Don’t worry about those two.  They’re harmless.  They’ve been trying this con off and on since they got here.  Last time they did, Susanna found out and refused to serve them until they apologized and attended church for two Sundays straight.  You’re safe in here and so is your gear.  That is…” He hesitated and then continued.  “That is unless the friends of those men you killed come looking for them.  If they find out what happened…”

“I get it.  If they come looking for me, they won’t find me here.”

The manager looked relieved.  “Appreciate it.  I can handle the ordinary b*****d or two, but those men…”  He shook his head.

“Bad guys, huh?”

“Bad enough.  People have gone missing.  Mostly women.  Homes have been broken into.  Sure be glad when the government gets out this way.”

“I expect that will be awhile.”

The manager nodded.  “Independence Airport is open now, but so far they’re only shipping in medical supplies.  No gasoline yet for troops, not that they would send any.  Probably don’t have any.”

Douglas nodded.  “Probably not.”

“So you be careful.”  After giving this last warning, the man left.

Douglas got up, pulled off his clothes and stuffed them under the mattress, allowing his wooden device to hang out against the wall.  He laid down again and waited until the pain in his stump eased.  As the room darkened, a single strand of low wattage LED lights centered on the ceiling and running the length of the room suddenly came on.  Finally, he slept.  It had been a long day.

When the sky began to lighten, he woke.  He was used to waking early.  It was safer to do so, and it had become his habit not long after the Fog had arrived.  There was no particular reason why he had to get out of his bunk, so he didn’t.  He lay there listening as the rest of the world awoke.  Birds began calling, the light streaming through the grimy windows brightened to the color that said the sun was up, and other inhabitants of the building began stirring.

Then he rose, struggled into the pants in which his prosthetic device was sewn, and stood.   After checking the lock on his locker he grabbed his spear and visited the large bathroom at the end of the building.  There were several toilets, some with out-of-order signs on them, and a long old fashion urinal.  In the mountains gravity often provided flowing water, and that was the case in this building.  The water from the tap he used to wash his hands was so cold it stiffened his fingers.  He left the bathroom and left the building.  The sun was just peeking above the mountains, and the air was cool, but there was very little breeze, so in just a few minutes he shrugged off his coat leaving him in his black and grey flannel shirt.

He wondered how soon Susanna opened her café and decided that there was no harm in checking.  Holding his spear in his right hand so he could use it as a staff, he clumped his way along the path until he reached the main road running by the lake.  A man was just leaving the café, consequently he headed that way.  The door was unlatched, so he entered.

It was warm inside.  A couple of old men sat at one of the rickety tables sipping from ceramic cups.  Susanna was waiting on a matronly lady who was studying a handmade menu.  Petal was sweeping the floor, and she looked up when Douglas entered the café.  The girl’s eyes widened and followed Douglas as he sat down at the counter.  Susanna finished writing down the lady’s order and returned to her place across from Douglas.  She frowned at Douglas and then ignored him.

“Morning, Susanna.”

She didn’t respond at first, and then she gave him a curt, “Morning.”

“Any coffee?” he asked hopefully.

“I make a coffee substitute,” she answered grudgingly.  “Acorns and dandelion.”

He winced.  “All right,” he said, resignation in his voice.

She poured the brew from an old percolator into a ceramic mug.

“Not bad,” he commented after taking a sip.  “You’re a clever girl.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a clever woman.”

She almost regretted correcting him when she saw his irises darken and saw his speculative glance slide up and down her body.  Her face reddened, though she was very modestly clad in a dress that covered her from her ankles to just below her neck.

“Woman,” he repeated.

“Do you want anything else?” she asked giving him another frown.

“Any chance I can get some breakfast?  Something real cheap?”

“I make inexpensive nut soup for the truly indigent.”

“Nut soup?”

She nodded.  “It’s nutritious.”

She removed the top of a big stock pot and ladled some of the contents into a handmade ceramic bowl.  As she placed the bowl in front of him, the aroma caused his stomach to quiver.  She handed him a plastic spoon.

He took a bite.  “Not bad.  What’s in it?”

“Turnips, nutmeg, hazelnut, and buckeyes.”

He put the spoon down and looked up at her, his eyes hard with suspicion.

“Buckeyes?  Those are poisonous.”

Her temper rose, and her faced reddened in anger.  She grabbed the spoon, ostentatiously licked it, pushed it into the mushy mixture, took a bite, and then flung the spoon onto the counter.

His suspicious look vanished, and a look that Susanna took for almost embarrassment appeared on his face.  He reached for the spoon and took a bite.   

“Satisfied I’m not trying to poison you?”

“It’s sweeter now,” he answered in mock surprise.  There was a half-smile on his face.

Her face reddened again, but not in anger.

“Ha, ha,” she muttered.

“How do you get the poison out?”

“Roast the nuts, mash them up, and then leach out the poison.  I’m surprised you don’t know that.”

“I’d forgotten,” he admitted.

Her temper faded.  She knew better than most that suspicion had become a good survival trait since the Fog had come.

“Need any work done?”

Susanna hesitated.  She did have work that needed a strong back, but she wasn’t enthused about employing this man.

“Come with me,” she said.  “Petal, watch the store.”

Douglas rounded the counter and followed Susanna through the curtain.  In the rear of the small building he saw pantry space being used for her supplies, and after that they passed a small bedroom.  He was very curious about that room, but the door was shut.  The building’s rear door had originally swung out, but the door had been flipped so that the big iron hinges swung inward now.  There were iron brackets on either side of the door frame, and a two by four stood nearby ready to be placed in the brackets.  Outside, Douglas found himself in front of a huge stacked pile of logs.  An ax stood on its head leaning against a chopping block.

“Give me a half hours work for breakfast and an hour for dinner.”

“I appreciate this.  In fact, I think you deserve a kiss.”

Susanna stared hard at him for a short moment and then said calmly, “I don’t want a kiss.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist.”

Her temper rose again.  “You’re going to force a kiss on me?”

“Yep.”

“Well, get it over with then,” she snarled savagely, her face a mask of disgust.  “Then get out of here.  No need to do any work, since you’ll never get anything else from me.”

“Brace yourself.”

Her eyes widened, and she took an involuntary step backwards, but even as she did so, a tiny portion of her curiosity wondered how his lips would feel on hers.

He lifted his palm, kissed it, lowered it so it was palm up, and then he blew the imaginary kiss toward Susanna.  Then he made a clicking sound with his tongue and the top of his mouth as if the kiss had struck her cheek.  He turned and grabbed the axe.  She heard what might have been a chuckle.

Susanna’s widened eyes narrowed.  She shut her opened mouth, yanked open the door, stalked through, and then slammed it.