DAWN’S IN A LITTLE CLEARING away from the campsite, gathering firewood, and at first, she thinks it’s just one of the other group members making all that noise through the trees. One of the boys, probably, or maybe even Christian. Somebody big, anyway.

She watches the tops of the trees sway and listens to the leaves rustle, and maybe it’s residual fear from Lucas’s Fart Mountain proclamation, or maybe it’s instinct, but something twinges in her stomach as she begins to realize it’s probably impossible for a teenager—or even an adult—to break so many tree branches so easily.

“Hello?” she calls into the bushes, and there is no answer, and suddenly the rest of the group seems to have disappeared, leaving her alone with whatever’s coming—slowly, steadily, heavily—toward her.

And then the trees part, and the bear wanders out into Dawn’s little patch of space.

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It’s a black bear. Amber says there are no grizzlies in Out of the Wild territory, which is good, because Christian swears that grizzly bears will happily kill and eat you.

(Black bears, Amber says, just want to be left alone.)

This black bear hasn’t seen Dawn yet. It’s just nosing through the bushes, snorting and snuffling, and even though it’s enormous and could probably kill Dawn with one swipe of its paw, it doesn’t really look mean or even seem to care that Dawn’s there, and for a moment she starts to believe that maybe it’ll just wander right past her, without even seeing her. Without even trying to eat her.

But then Dawn shifts her weight, and a twig snaps beneath her boot. And the bear stops, suddenly, and looks across the clearing at her.

And Dawn hears the low growl begin in its throat.