Harper wrapped her scarf around her face and jogged on the spot in a vain attempt to combat the skin-shredding wind. “Bet you anything that while we’re out here getting pneumonia, those husky menaces are on the steps of our cabin, howling to get in.”
“You’re p-probably ri-r-right.” Kat’s teeth chattered so hard she could hardly get the words out. “I’m hoarse from calling for them. In any c-case, they have a better chance of surviving Storm Mindy than we do. Let’s turn back.”
“I think that might be best. I’m starting to hallucinate about saunas. It’s that way, yeah?”
Kat fought down a wave of panic. She’d been sure it was the opposite direction. The trunks of the white birch offered no clues. The words of the woman in the bookshop kept running through her mind: Three steps off the trail in the wrong direction can turn a stroll in the woods into a major search-and-rescue mission. Blink and a person’s gone.
Now you see them; now you don’t.
Kat had resolved never to stray so much as a millimeter off any path in the Adirondacks and yet here she was, blundering blindly through the wilderness with no survival gear or compass, as helpless as any hapless hiker in the park’s history.
“Harper, w-where’s your phone? If there’s a signal, maybe we should dial nine-one-one. If we can’t find shelter, we … Harper, what’s up? You look ill. Are you feeling faint? Is there any numbness in your fingers and toes? Harper, you’re scaring me.”
Her best friend was doing an Oscar-worthy impression of a goldfish flung from its bowl. Her unblinking stare shifted to something beyond Kat’s left ear.
Kat smelled the black bear before she saw it. Its wildness thrilled her; terror paralyzed her. When it reared up and clacked its yellow teeth, her bones seemed to liquefy, and it took a superhuman effort of will not to curl up in a ball of fear in the snow.
Stand tall, Jet had advised, forgetting he was talking to two children. Clinging to each other was the most they could manage.
The bear appeared singularly unimpressed by their lack of height or width. It moaned and swayed on immense paws with curling claws. It blew furious breaths.
“Don’t suppose you have any bear-whispering techniques up your sleeve?” shouted Harper, recalling Jet’s instruction about making lots of noise.
“Not a single one.” Kat tried bellowing the words, but all that came out was a squeak.
There was a white patch on the bear’s shoulder, the legacy of a wound so traumatic that the fur had never recovered. Kat wondered if a bullet had caused it and whether the shell was still embedded in its flesh or splintered bone. A lifetime of agony might explain the hatred blazing in its eyes.
Snow began to fall, lending magic to their lonely drama. Before the girls could get it together to back away very, very slowly, an icy gust of wind pinged them with grit and frosty leaves. A falling pine cone, transformed into a missile, startled the bear with a blow to the snout.
Without warning, it charged. Kat’s vision filled with fur, fangs, and claws.
Every instinct will scream at you to sprint for your life, Jet had counseled. Resist it. Your life depends on you doing the opposite.
Out of the whirling snow came the four huskies. They intercepted the bear as it pounded toward the girls, causing it to skid to a halt and lash out at the dogs. The snow was coming down hard and it looked momentarily undecided about whether to continue the fight.
“Run!” screamed Harper.
Kat and the huskies fled too.
There is a time and a place for theoretical advice, but they weren’t about to argue with a six-hundred-pound bear.