Jonas only saved his life, or at least prevented himself from serious injury, by leaping straight over the fire, spurred by Beck’s alarm and not even bothering to look around to see what the problem was. Beck was already scrambling back, making a landing space for his friend.
The hissing, spitting creature charging at them only paused for a moment at the fire. It was the size of a small Labrador, with a shaggy fur coat all the shades between brown and blond. Its face was bear-like, with a sharp snout, two pointed ears, and small, black eyes that glared aggression at them. But it wasn’t a bear.
And then it was flowing around the flames towards them.
The boys pelted in different directions, each with one thought in his mind — get up a tree.
Beck grabbed a branch above his head and swung his legs up onto it all in one smooth movement. A pair of small but very powerful jaws snapped just inches below his backside.
“That is a järv,” Jonas shouted, and Beck finally understood.
“It’s a wolverine!”
Beck had never seen a wolverine outside a zoo — but that one had been at feeding time, and he had seen those jaws bite clean through a piece of bone like it was wood. They were small but hugely powerful, designed by nature to chew through the frozen carcasses of dead animals in the Arctic. A wolverine was essentially a twenty-five kilo weasel, with the teeth, razor sharp claws and bad temper to match.
He quickly pulled himself up onto the branch so that he was sitting astride it, rather than hanging from it, and worked his way along towards the trunk. The wolverine rose up onto its hind legs and snapped at him again. Beck jerked his dangling feet away, and then lunged back with a kick at the jaw, angling his foot so that the teeth wouldn’t be able to fasten on it.
“They can climb trees too,” he called, “so if it tries — kick it!”
The wolverine dropped back onto all fours and prowled around the fire, every now and then shooting a dirty look at the two boys. It didn’t seem interested in the cooking hare. It probably preferred raw meat to cooked, and the heat would be repelling it.
“So, what did we do to upset it?” Beck demanded.
“They don’t like intruders,” Jonas suggested. “Very territorial. It thinks we’re trespassing.”
“Well, I suppose I’m glad it’s only just worked that out,” Beck said with feeling. If it had attacked them while they were sleeping under the tree, that would have been very different. No fire to distract it, no room to get out of its way. “Do you know how to get rid of them?”
“We, uh, wait for it to get bored?”
“We don’t have time for that,” Beck grated.
“I don’t think he cares.”
They watched the wolverine in tense frustration. It still circled the fire, not getting too close, which made Beck think.
“We’ve got flares in the bag.” The pack was lying, discarded, over on the other side of the camp. “If we can get to them, we can maybe scare it off.”
“Okay.” A pause. “How do we get to it without losing a leg?”
“I’m — uh — working on that.” Beck shifted on his branch, which immediately got the wolverine’s attention and it came padding over, snarling and teeth bared. Beck drew back his foot for another kick if it tried its luck. Okay. Maybe Jonas could move about, dangle a foot, attract it over there, and Beck could make a run for the pack and get up another tree… very, very quickly…
And then, just as everything seemed about as bad as it could get, it got worse.
“Flares, you say?” said a new voice, and Beck’s guts turned to ice as, rifle cradled in her hands, the woman emerged from the trees.