“Eric?” I murmur. “Maybe this isn’t the time for the bear-aware lecture?”
His grunt says it’s never not the time to teach idiots how to behave in the wild. I glance at the mother grizzly. She’s fixed in place, huffing and popping her jaw. Signs of stress. She’s aware that her baby isn’t in immediate danger, but it isn’t safe either.
“She’s in a holding pattern,” he says. “Hasn’t made up her mind yet, and you’re damned lucky there.”
“I don’t think he feels lucky right now,” I whisper, my gaze shifting to the poor man, who doesn’t dare even open his mouth to respond.
“Well, he is, especially with all that racket these other morons were making.”
I look at the other two men. One is twenty, dark-haired and bearded. It’s Felicity’s friend, and it takes me a moment to name him. Angus. He’s holding a hunting knife. The third man is older, maybe in his late forties. He looks similar enough to Angus for me to suspect this is his father. He holds a hunting rifle aimed at the bear. It’s a .308—I don’t need to look closer to know that. Edwin’s settlement only has .308s, so their guns will all use the same ammo.
“We were trying to distract her,” Angus says.
“Moses is between the mother and her cub,” the third man says. “We hoped that by getting her attention, he’d have a chance to move.”
Dalton grunts, granting them a point. “Could work. Could also just piss her off. Please tell me he has a weapon on him.”
“No,” the third man says. “He put down his bow and pack, and his knife is in that.”
“Fuck.”
“You have a gun,” Angus says. “Shoot her.”
“Yeah, you get a look at that baby bear? Not such a baby. If I shoot his momma, he’ll attack. Also? This isn’t a guaranteed grizzly-killing gun. I’d need to hit her just right.”
“Then maybe you should have a bigger gun.”
“I should say the same to you.” Dalton nods toward the rifle.
While it might make sense to carry bigger-caliber guns for just this situation, that would mean lugging around a larger gun everywhere we went on the very off chance we’d need it.
Anders actually does carry a .45, which would do the job. He’s terrified of a grizzly encounter. Yet in his four years in Rockton, he’s only seen two and didn’t come within a hundred feet of either. For him, the gun is comfort and reassurance. For us, it’d be dead weight.
“Should I take out the spray?” I ask.
I’ve used bear spray against smaller predators. Getting it, however, means holstering my gun.
Dalton considers and then shakes his head. “Same problem. Maybe even worse. Spray Momma Bear, and she’ll start screaming, and that’ll set off Junior. Shooting would be better.” He pauses. “For us, at least.”
Because a clean shot in the right spot would drop the mother bear dead. That could make the youngster attack, but it could also make him run instead. If she starts bellowing in pain, though, it’ll set him off for sure.
“Okay, here’s what we’ll do,” Dalton says.
“Excuse me?” Angus says. “You aren’t sheriff here.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you like us to leave?”
Dalton lowers his gun, and my heart thuds. I know he’s making a point, but I’d really rather he did it without, you know, disarming himself in front of a grizzly.
“Come on, Casey,” he says. “These guys have this under—”
“No.” The sound comes as an almost inaudible squeak. It’s the man trapped by the bear. Moses. His eyes slide our way, round with fear. “Please.”
“Ignore my son,” the third man says. “We appreciate your assistance, Eric. Your suggestion is . . . ?”
“You aren’t going to like it,” Dalton says, gun going up.
“Eric,” I murmur. “Less talking, more acting.”
The third man gives a ragged chuckle. “Just tell us what to do.”
“Angus? That’s your name, right, boy?” Dalton says.
Angus bristles, but only says, “Yes.”
“On my signal, you will come over with us. Your dad will stay where he is, rifle aimed at Momma Bear. Casey? You’re going to step about three paces right until you have a clear shot at her face. Let Storm do whatever she wants.”
My breath catches at that.
“I know,” Dalton murmurs. “But trust her, okay?” He raises his voice. “Casey and Angus’s dad—”
“Leon.”
“Casey and Leon? Momma is your primary target, but only if she attacks. Junior is the secondary target.”
“What will you be doing?” I say.
“This is the part you won’t like,” he murmurs under his breath. “Moses? On our signal, you will dodge my way. Toward me and Angus. Stand with us.”
“What?” I say.
He continues. “Do not run. That goes for you, too, Angus. If we run, she’ll charge, and one of us is going down, and Casey will make sure it’s not me. We stand together. United front. Hopefully, a bigger threat than she cares to tackle once no one’s between her and her baby.”
He’s right. I don’t like it. He may be armed, but his focus will be on Moses. It’s the best option, though. This isn’t a case of trying to save the bear’s life. It’s trying to save human ones. Miss that shot, and we have two enraged grizzlies to deal with, and at that point, it might really become that nightmare scenario of “grab my guy and my dog and run,” leaving the settlers to their fate.
“Okay,” I say. “Do you want me in position first?”
“Please.”
I move and then Leon does. The younger bear notices. Stepping to the right means I have a better shot at the mother bear’s face, but it also brings me parallel to the cub.
When the young bear eyes me, Dalton says, “Can you adjust?,” struggling to cover the strain in his voice. I do. It isn’t easy. Move farther to his right and I risk getting behind the cub, who won’t like that. Move farther away and I risk my shot. I edge in both directions as much as I dare. That puts me waist-high in foliage, and Dalton seems to appreciate that partial blind. He nods in satisfaction and has Angus move toward him, which the mother bear allows.
“Okay,” Dalton says. “Casey, you ready?”
“I am.” My gun is aimed at the mother bear’s nose, for an upward shot into her brain.
“Leon?”
“Yes, sir.”
It’s Moses’s turn. Dalton tells us that he will count down from three. I take one split second to adjust my grip. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the younger bear. It stands on all fours, watching. Curious and a little anxious, sensing its mother’s stress, but trusting that if she’s not attacking, everything is okay.
Dalton counts down. When he hits one, Moses darts toward Dalton, and the mother bear roars and lunges. My finger twitches on the trigger, but my brain processes her trajectory in a split second. She’s not lunging at Moses, she’s lunging into the spot he’s vacated, toward her baby.
She hits the ground on all fours, and the earth vibrates with four hundred pounds of force. My insides quiver, sweat dripping onto my cheek. I don’t blink, though. I keep my gun aimed at the mother bear, my side gaze aimed at her youngster as they reunite, the cub bleating with joy.
I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. Storm nudges my leg, and I absently reach down to pat her head and . . .
I know my dog’s fur. It’s long, and it’s soft. What my hand touches is coarse, thick and bristly, like Raoul’s wolf fur. Hot breath exhales on my leg as I pivot my torso, keeping my legs planted. There is Storm, between me and Dalton, her gaze fixed on the reuniting bears. And beside me? A beast the size of my dog, hidden in the waist-high brush. A beast with golden-brown fur and the unmistakable rounded ears of a grizzly.
“Eric?” I say, his name coming as a squeak just as Storm turns, catching the new scent.
Storm lunges, and I yelp, “Stay!” Moses leaps to grab her even as she halts, bristling and growling. Dalton
looks over, frowning in confusion, seeing nothing at first and then . . .
And then he lets out a sound, almost inaudible, a gasp and a hiss as his eyes go wide and his gun rises.
“Don’t move,” he says, his voice nearly as squeaky as mine.
“I’m fine,” I manage. “I’m aiming.” I am, too, my gun pointed down at the head. Two cubs. There’d been two yearlings, one safely hidden in the brush until I walked over, and it ambled my way. Now it’s on all fours, snuffling my leg. Curious, as bears are. Trying to figure out what I am. Prey or predator? Dinner or danger?
“Eric?” I say.
“Right here. You’ve got this.”
“I know, which is why I need you to turn that gun away.”
He hesitates, and in the silence, I swear I hear him swallow.
“You can’t get a good shot at this one,” I say. “I need you aiming at the mother while I get out of this.”
“She’s right,” one of the men murmurs. I don’t know who it is—I don’t dare look over. “She’s got this, like you said, Eric. But if she shoots, that mother bear is going to charge.”
“Right now this one’s curious,” I say. “Tell me how to let it know I’m not dinner. How to let it realize I’m a threat . . . without alerting its mother.”
Silence. He’s thinking fast. The question isn’t fair, though, because I don’t think there’s an answer here. Anything I do is going to put me in the same situation Moses just escaped—trapped between mother and cub.
“I’m going to start toward you,” I say. “Is that okay?”
A pause. Then, “Yes.”
“I will move sideways. I will do it now. I can’t wait, or Mom will figure out what’s happening.”
“Okay.”
I take one very careful sideways step. The young bear huffs, and my heart stops, everything in me saying to run, that the mother will have heard that and—
Another step. A third. I am about to step out of the long grass when—
A massive paw swipes at my leg. It’s not even a hard smack. Just a curious bat, but it hits behind my knee and catches me off guard and my legs fly out from under me.
25
A shout. A shot. Two shots. A snarl.
All that passes as if through a soundproofed wall, muffled and indistinct, as I grit my teeth against the urge to twist and break my fall. I wrap both hands around my gun just as I crash onto the ground, arms flying up with the jolt, gun still gripped tight and . . .
And I’m flat on my back. My head must have slammed down, because there’s a moment of black and then confusion, muffled shouts and—
“Casey?” Dalton’s voice, shakier than I’ve ever heard it. “Casey? Do not move. I have this. I swear I have this.”
Something blocks the sun. I blink, brain muzzy, registering only that someone’s bending over me.
Everything’s okay. Dalton is bending—
A face lowers over mine. A brown-furred face. Broad nose. Tiny eyes. Rounded ears.
“Casey?” Dalton says. “I have this.”
There is a bear standing over my head, looking down, face barely a foot over mine. Not the juvenile who’d knocked me down. Its mother.
A growl off to my side. One that has the mother bear’s head jerking up, and a moment of sheer relief that vanishes when I see what she’s looking at. Storm facing off with the young bear that tripped me.
“Eric?” I say, just loud enough for him to hear. “Call her back. Please.”
He hesitates, and I know what he’s thinking. Storm has the mother bear distracted as she faces off against the cub. Let the dog draw her away, and he’ll protect her once I’m safe.
Shoot the bears. Save Storm. Save me.
Wait, I heard two shots, and I don’t see any blood, don’t hear a whimper of pain. The shots were mine. I realize that now. When I fell, I’d fired, and neither bullet hit, because as easy as it is to say “I’ve got this,” there is a split second between pulling the trigger and the bullet hitting a target, and if that target is no longer where you aimed . . .
“Storm,” I say, louder, my voice firm. “Storm, back. Back.”
She retreats toward Dalton. The young bear only leans forward, nose working, still curious but not approaching as Storm retreats. The mother bear turns her attention back to me.
I’ve used the distraction to raise my gun as high as I dare, but it’s not quite right. She looks down at me. Her jaws open, and I see teeth as long as my fingers. Saliva drips onto my face. Her breath is hot, stinking of raw meat.
“Casey?” Dalton says. “I’m going to shoot.”
“No.”
“Yes, damn it. Now on the count of three, bring your gun up—”
“Wait.”
He swears, a ragged stream of profanity.
“I’m okay,” I say, and my voice is oddly calm. Am I in shock? If I am, then I might be making a terrible mistake.
“I’m okay right now,” I say. “I’m going to aim my gun. If she attacks, shoot.”
His laugh is almost shrill. “Yeah, that’s pretty much a given, Butler. She moves another millimeter toward you, and I’m pulling this fucking trigger.”
“Remember there are still two other bears. Is someone watching them?”
“I’ve got the first cub in my sights,” Leon says. “It’s staying back.”
“And I’m keeping an eye on this one,” Moses says. “Your dog is, too.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Now let me raise my gun.”
Again, I move it millimeter by millimeter. The bear doesn’t even blink. Her face is upside down over mine, jaws open just enough for me to see teeth that could rend flesh and crunch bone. I don’t think of that, though. I channel Dalton, and I force myself to see her, really see her. The gleaming thick fur and bright, intelligent eyes. She’s barely out of hibernation and thinner than she’ll be later this year, but she glows with health, a far cry from any bear I’ve seen in captivity. I listen to the sound of her breathing. I inhale the musky scent of her. I feel her hot breath on my face.
I will never be this close to a grizzly again, and so I will frame this moment in memory because I will survive to remember it. My gun is now high enough that one pull of the trigger will end the threat. I will survive, and I will look back with wonder and awe, and so I force myself to experience that now, slowing my heart rate and sharpening my focus.
If she wanted to kill me, I’d already be dead. Same as Moses. I’ve seen bear attacks in movies, where you get between a mother and her cubs and she attacks like an avenging angel. That isn’t what’s happening here.
Her cubs are not babies. She is not starving. She’s not at full weight or energy yet either, and she is intelligent enough to know that this will be no easy kill. Five humans and a dog. The odds are not strongly enough in her favor. So she is thinking. Considering. Assessing. And all we need to do is make one wrong move, one wrong noise, and she will attack. But for now . . . Breathe. Just breathe.
Her eyes lock on mine. As for the gun, it is a mere extension of my puny, clawless hands. It’s my eyes that she watches, as if knowing that’s the key to dealing with humans. Watch the eyes. Their true weapon lies behind it.
I keep my eyes wide and clear and calm, even when a string of drool hits my brow.
“Casey?” Dalton says.
“I’ve got this.”
“I don’t like—”
“I know. Has she moved?”
Hesitation. Then a reluctant “No.”
“Am I on target?”
A grunt now, frustrated that I’m being calm and logical when everything in him itches to pull his trigger. I know that because it’s what I’d be doing if he were the one lying here.
Just let me shoot, damn it. Forget the other bears. This is the one with her jaws a foot above your face. Let me shoot.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, as much to the bear as to him. “Everything is okay.”
The bear huffs. It’s a soft sound, though. Discomfort and mil
d stress.
“You want this to be done as much as I do, don’t you?” I say. “You want to walk away with your family, and I want to walk away with mine, and we don’t quite know how to do that.”
Her eyes flick, but she doesn’t move.
“Casey?” Dalton says. “This is a stalemate.”
“I know.”
“We need to end it.”
“Not yet.”
I swallow as carefully as I can. As hard as I’m struggling to stay calm, anxiety strums through me. Focus. Just focus and stay in the moment.
“Do the cubs have an escape route?”
“Yes. The first is to your left. No one’s near it. Storm’s watching this one, and he’s still too fucking curious but . . .”
“He’s calm?”
“Yeah.”
“Then let’s wait.”
Dalton grumbles under his breath, but he knows that if he were lying here, he’d say the same. The situation is temporarily under control.
“You can go,” I murmur to the bear. “No one will stop you. Take your babies and go.”
Of course she can’t understand, but I’m hoping the tone of my voice will tell her I’m not a threat. I continue talking, just as I would to a suspect holding a weapon on me. She stays right where she is, hot breath streaming down on me, jaws closing and then cracking open, drool dripping. I think I see a change in her eyes, a gradual easing of tension. Then, just when I’m sure I’m imagining it, she huffs and swings her gaze on Dalton.
My heart stops. My finger tenses on the trigger. I’ve had it there the whole time. This isn’t a situation like with Sophie where my finger stays clear until I decide to shoot. I might not get that extra moment if she attacks.
When she looks at Dalton, my finger tenses reflexively, but she only eyes him. Storm comes next, the bear’s gaze assessing the canine. Then she checks the first cub, the one safely on my other side. Out of the corner of my eye, I see it clawing at a dead log. It’s grown bored of the situation and starting digging for a grub snack. Its sibling shows signs of the same boredom, having sat down to scratch its ear.
The mother bear huffs one more time before letting out a grunt that almost has me pulling the trigger before I realize she’s calling to her cubs. Then she lumbers to my left, so close her hairs brush my leg as she passes. Another grunt to get their attention, and she continues into the forest, the cubs falling in line behind.
A Stranger in Town: a Rockton novel Page 22
