BY THE SIZE OF it, the body was a man’s. It had hiking shoes and jeans on, and its arms were still mostly covered by blue plaid sleeves. The torso, or what was left of the torso, was red where the bear had been feeding and grayish where it hadn’t. I couldn’t see the man’s face, and considered that fact a small blessing.
Was he Kendrick Haymes? Where was Elana?
The bear huffed. It swung its big head around and looked out into the trees. Maybe it had caught my scent. I continued my imitation of a statue.
I didn’t know a lot about bears. They weren’t high on the list of probable engagements in Army training. I knew they preferred to avoid people, and that they had sharp ears and even better noses, like dogs. And they hibernated. What the hell was this one doing awake in February? Maybe bears didn’t hibernate all the way until spring.
Or maybe it had smelled something worth waking up for.
The bear turned back to the body. After another moment, I could hear it chewing.
The smart thing for me to do would be to turn around, double-time it back to the truck or at least to where my cell phone could get a signal. I wasn’t eager to challenge a three-hundred-pound animal eating what might be its first meal in weeks.
But I kept thinking of Elana. Was she trapped in the cabin by the bear? Was she hurt? The door was open. No lights on inside, from the narrow sliver I could see. No smoke coming out of the chimney, either.
The bear tugged at the corpse, tearing off strips of its plaid shirt and what might be a down vest.
I had to see what was in the cabin. Or who.
Hikers sometimes carried airhorns to scare off bears, or some kind of supercharged pepper sprays for really desperate situations. I didn’t have either of those things. What I really wanted was a flashbang grenade. Something that would send the bear and every other creature nearby running for the next county.
I didn’t have that, either, but the notion got me thinking about what was in my ruck.
Five paces behind me was a huge Douglas fir, with a trunk wide enough to conceal a whole squad. I faded back to it. Slowly, I took off the ruck and opened the pocket with the emergency kit, in a soft waterproof bag. In the kit I found three signal flares, yellow tubes about ten inches long with translucent caps, and a small roll of duct tape.
I’d also brought a couple of three-gallon trash bags. I wadded up the mouth of one of the bags and blew into it, until it was mostly inflated, like a balloon. When I stopped I was a little dizzy from hyperventilating. A cheap high. It would have been funny, if it weren’t for what was happening at the cabin.
I pushed a signal flare halfway into the closed mouth of the bag. With the bag inflated, its plastic was held away from the tip of the flare inside. I sealed the bag tightly around the middle of the flare’s tube with duct tape.
When I finished my invention it looked something like a small sad beach ball. Ludicrous. But it was all I had.
Edging around the side, I looked for the bear. It was facing away from me, pawing at the thigh of the body. There were twenty yards between us. I’d have to get closer.
I moved slowly between trees, keeping my eyes on the animal. When I was forty feet away it snorted and lifted its head. I slipped behind the nearest tree, and heard the bear move again. It had heard me, or caught my scent. This was as close as I was going to get.
Through the plastic of the trash bag I popped the cap off the signal flare. Got the cap turned around, and struck the sandpapery end.
A flame bloomed instantly inside the bag, and without stopping to check it—the thing would work, or it wouldn’t—I stepped out from behind the tree and threw the flare and the already swelling balloon of the trash bag toward the cabin. The bear saw me and rose up on its hind legs with a heavy grunt.
Both of us watched the trash bag as it landed and gently bounced. Its plastic stretched and strained rapidly.
It exploded. A shockingly loud bang that rang my eardrums and shook a torrent of needles off the nearest trees.
The bear wheeled and ran in the opposite direction, blowing a deep groan of what I guessed was fear. It crashed through the brush. In seconds the sound of its panicked flight faded into the distance.
I rushed forward, stomping on the flare and crushing the flame into the earth.
“Elana,” I yelled at the dark cabin door.
There was nothing I could do for the man. I ran for the silent cabin. If Elana was in there, hiding, she’d be terrified. Maybe in shock.
But even before I crossed the threshold, I knew I was too late.