The earthly stink of blood and sweat announces the presence of a fifteen-foot behemoth. A grizzly lunges out of the brush, shaking snow off its shoulders as it slashes the air. It glares at me, roaring so violently it sounds like a scream.
I know a thing or two about bears—thanks, again, to my dad. He taught me and my brothers how to make fires with shoelaces and how to catch fish with sticks, but he also made sure we knew how to survive an encounter with carnivores. First, always be talking—let the bear know you’re there. Next, back away slowly; hope he takes the hint and leaves you alone. If he doesn’t, find something to bang. Bears hate noise as much as people do. If these techniques fail, stand your ground. Don’t. Ever. Run.
This bear has no intention of backing off. Paws the size of car doors, with claws to match. His snout glistens in the slants of morning light. He sees me, stares at me, and bares his teeth.
I bang and yell and throw pebbles at the trees. The little boys are surely awake by now, and I can only pray that Tim is strong enough to hold them back.
“Go away!” I scream. “Leave us alone!”
The bear lurches onto its front paws, ready to charge.
Don’t. Ever. Run.
Its eyes are rheumy and white; mine are bloodshot and a very human green. I wonder if this bear has ever seen one of us before. I wonder if he’s eaten one of us before.
I take a slow step forward. This isn’t exactly a charge, but it’s close. I scream and yell and try, frantically, to turn on the transceiver. The on-off switch does nothing. The batteries must be dead. Then, impossibly—it starts to beep. A low, sonorous sound, but enough to disturb the silence. I start waving it around, a flash of color and noise.
The bear roars.
“This is our territory.” I take another step. “Leave!” A dozen feet separate us, a distance a bear could probably cover in less than a second. Certainly close enough for it to reach out and pulverize my skull with a single swipe.
It paws the snow, its fury mingling with confusion. I won’t run. I won’t let those boys lose someone else. Not like this.
Maybe it knows this. Maybe it senses desperation, or resolve, or the budding maternal instinct that every species shares. Whatever the reason, it casts me one final glance, turns on its heels, and disappears into the trees.
When time starts up again, it looks like this: Tim sprinting out of the fort, trailed by Liam and Aayu. Their arms around my hips, their faces in my coat. My legs collapsing under me. The snow swirling all around us, feathering our heads and shoulders like fairy dust.
And through it all, one hammering thought:
Colin.