NOW
It didn’t make Webb feel any better that Sylvain had been correct in saying it wouldn’t take long for Brent Melrose to find him.
When a kid on a mountain bike approached Webb on the path through the trees, Webb was thinking about bears. And how all his previous ideas about cleverly climbing a nearby tree to escape a bear were not so clever after all.
First of all, Webb knew that grizzlies can’t climb trees, but black bears can.
That was good. If you have a choice between out-climbing a grizzly or out-climbing a black bear, it’s the grizzly you want to out-climb. Grizzlies are huge—not that black bears are tiny—and more unpredictable and bad tempered.
Webb also knew that if you’re attacked by a female grizzly it’s better to play dead. But with male grizzlies, you are supposed to fight like crazy and hope for the best. Hit them on the nose, scream and kick. Prove to the male that messing with you is a mistake.
As if a 150-pound human is going to make a 600-pound grizzly think that it’s a mistake to get into a fight. Sure. And Elvis is still eating donuts, and the Toronto Maple Leafs are going to win a Stanley Cup one day.
But second—and to Webb, this was the crucial issue—how do you know whether you are being attacked by a male or female grizzly? Yes, if the grizzly is with a couple of cubs, go ahead and assume it’s female. Other than that, how are you going to know? Wait until you are on the ground trapped underneath it and then reach down and see if there’s anything to grab?
Like that would put a male grizzly in a better mood.
All Webb’s research about bears in the north, at least when it came to trees, had been wasted though.
Norman Wells wasn’t very far south of the tree line, the point in the Arctic where trees won’t grow.
The spruce trees on the path were barely higher than his head, and the trunks of the trees were skinnier than his arms. Climbing to the top would only put him at the perfect level for a bear to chomp on his butt.
Turns out, too, that Webb should have been more worried about the kid on the mountain bike.
The kid, who looked about twelve, stopped in front of Webb. Short dark hair. Freckles. Jeans. Blue hoodie. And attitude.
“Hey,” Webb said. He shifted his pack on his back.
It still felt a little heavy. He had gone down to the Mackenzie River and put rocks into his backpack earlier. He had started with the backpack half full and had been taking them out, one at a time, dropping them along the road as he walked the streets of Norman Wells.
“You the guy who just landed here with a guitar?” the kid said.
“Strictly speaking, the plane landed. I was on it.”
“With a guitar?”
“With a guitar,” Webb said.
“Good. You just made me a hundred bucks.”
The kid turned his bike around and pedaled about twenty steps back up the trail. Then he stopped the bike and faced Webb again. He pulled a walkie-talkie off his belt, held it to his mouth and stared at Webb while he clicked the side button.
Webb heard the chime, and then the kid said, “Found him. On the path. Headed toward Raven Road.” He released the button.
The walkie-talkie crackled. “Keep him in sight. I’m driving that way.” A man’s voice.
“You’re kidding me,” Webb said. “You’re a bounty hunter?”
“Hundred bucks,” the kid said. “Not gonna turn that down.”
His walkie-talkie crackled again. A kid’s voice this time. “Joey, remember our deal. Whoever finds him splits with the others.”
Then another kid’s voice. “Yeah, man. That’s like thirty bucks each.”
“Three of you,” Webb said.
“Brent Melrose, he’s someone you don’t mess with. It was either take the money or always be on the run in this town. Nothing personal, you know.”
“Makes me feel a lot better,” Webb said.
At the airport, he’d been able to surprise Melrose, who was so much bigger than him that surprise was about the only weapon Webb had.
And now that element of surprise was gone.
Still, better to see the fight coming than to get stabbed in the back.
Webb wondered if it would be better to take the fight to the woods instead of the road. He stepped off the path into boggy ground. Branches tore at his backpack. The trees were short and skinny but close together. No way to run from a bear in this stuff, and, as a predator, Melrose was worse than a bear. The thickness of the bush also made it a bad place to fight.
Webb heard the walkie-talkie chime again, then the first kid’s voice. “He’s in the trees.”
“Follow him,” came the reply. “Let me know where he is at all times. He’s going to have to come out somewhere.”
This was true, but Webb had a rough idea of the layout of the town in his head. When he’d jumped off the truck, he’d known he wasn’t in the wilderness. This area was framed by the streets of Norman Wells.
Moving through the bush was loud and progress was slow. The kid on the bike would have no trouble following, and Webb wouldn’t be able to escape.
Webb took a deep breath and turned back to the path.
When he got there, the kid gave him a respectful distance.
“Don’t worry,” Webb told the kid, “I’m not going to do anything to you.”
Webb could have reversed direction and gone back to where he’d jumped out of the truck, maybe get some help from passing traffic, but it would only have been relative safety. Because, until Webb got out of Norman Wells, it seemed like Melrose was going to find him.
So Webb continued walking in the opposite direction. He was going to face Brent alone and get this over with.
That was the one good thing about having a stepfather who tortured you. Soon enough, pain didn’t bother you that much.