Christmas, Pursued by a Bear

by Ryann Fletcher

  The man didn’t reply. He marched straight up to the doors of the three-story building without a word.

  “I bet he’s one of those Syndicorp assholes,” Anita said.

  “Probably.”

  “I hope his whites in the laundry always turn out slightly pink.”

  Cat laughed. “Me, too.” She tapped through the apps, ignoring the rippled itch that cascaded across her skin. “Alright, who’s next?”

  “Looks like a food delivery from the pizza place to one of those big houses near the reserve.”

  “No, I don’t want that one. Those houses never tip, and they’re rude.”

  “Alright, well… how about a ride from the square out towards the edge of town?”

  “Yeah, we’ll take that.” Cat switched on her turn signal and pulled onto the empty road. “You heard from the boys?”

  “No.”

  “They better not be doing shifts alone.”

  “I think they planned to head up to the river, so they’re probably going together.”

  “Good.” The street lights were starting to come on, and the sun would set soon. The itch intensified, but Cat resisted scratching. That never helped, anyway.

  Anita tugged at her seatbelt. “What do you think will happen once half the reserve is gone?”

  “Budget cuts. They’ll keep promoting the rest of the reserve to picture hunters to keep revenue up.” She sighed. “We’ll have to find another place.”

  “The next nearest reserve is hours away. Well, the next one largest, anyway. There are some smaller ones, but they’re crammed full with barbecue grills and playgrounds.”

  “I know. But if we move before you graduate, before the boys finish their apprenticeships… then everything we’ve worked so hard to build will be gone. We’ll have to start over.”

  “We’ve started over before.”

  “I’m sick of it. At least before we were close enough to keep commuting to school, but if we’re hours away, well, it’s a whole mess, isn’t it?”

  “The boys would understand.”

  “I hate that people like us struggle so much. It makes it so that the only ones who succeed, or have stability, are the ones who stay in places like we lived in the northwest. I just want to build something different, but it’s impossible to even get started. The world just isn’t built for us.”

  Her sister leaned her head on Cat’s shoulder. “If anyone can build it, it’s you. You’re a force of nature.”

  “Thanks.” Cat smiled, and turned on the headlights as she pulled up to the curb. “Alright, where the hell is this chick? I can’t park here, I’ll get a ticket.”

  “I don’t see anyone.”

  “God dammit, these people, I—Hi! Are you Sharon?”

  “Yeah, I’m Sharon.”

  “Hi Sharon, you can just sit yourself in the back and we’ll get going to your destination.”

  “This truck looks like a piece of shit. They let you rideshare with this deathtrap?”

  Cat bristled. “It runs just fine.”

  “The new app everyone is using requires the cars to look nice.”

  “Then maybe you should use the new app,” Cat said through gritted teeth, smiling at Sharon in the rear-view mirror. “Won’t be long,” she continued, pulling the truck off the main street and onto the residential street that ran to the end of town. Three miles of sparse houses, some with long driveways and huge, ten-foot wrought-iron gates locked with a key pad. Some of them sat empty most of the time, used as accommodation for people looking for a party house, or a cute aesthetic place to take photos before they headed back to their overpriced highrise apartments in the city, with their perfectly curated homes and empty bookshelves.

  “What is there to do for fun in this place?” Sharon asked. “I’m here on business.”

  Ah, Cat thought, another Syndicorp employee. They were multiplying like rabbits. “Well, there’s the bar in town, but it looks like you just came from there.”

  “Is that it?”

  Anita snorted.

  “Uh, well, I think the grocery store in the next county is twenty-four hours.” Cat didn’t want to mention the reserve, and this woman probably already knew about it anyway, if she was here on Syndicorp business. “There’s a bowling alley uptown, but it’s only open until nine.”

  “Bowling,” Sharon scoffed, tapping a note into her phone. “That just won’t do. Are you sure there’s nothing else?”

  “Er, no, not really. I think the buffet is open until eleven on the weekends.”

  “Then what do you people do here for nightlife?”

  “All due respect, but most people work too much and have too little to be going to nightclubs, but there’s one about an hour east if you want to drive. It’s called Thorns.”

  “What’s it like on the inside?”

  Cat pulled the steering wheel to the left for the turn. “Dark.”

  “It’s no wonder you only have a two-star rating with this attitude,” Sharon said, tapping angrily into her phone.

  “I don’t go to nightclubs much.”

  “Well, you should, maybe it would dislodge that Podunk stick that’s up your ass. Maybe you’d meet a nice man who would offer to get rid of it for you.”

  Anita began to shake with silent laughter.

  “I’m alright, thanks,” Cat retorted, pulling into the driveway of one of the huge, mass produced mansions with the ugly, mismatched edifices. “We’re here.” She turned in her seat and grinned at Sharon. “Thanks for riding with us today! Please leave us a five-star review and request us the next time you need to travel in Applefield!” The saccharine sweet tone even irritated herself, and when she turned back to face forward, she wrinkled her nose.

  “Whatever,” Sharon said, climbing out of the truck and slamming the door a little too hard.

  Cat’s phone chimed sadly. A one-star review. Typical.

  “Oh my God,” Anita said between fits of giggles. “What an absolute asshole. Maybe you’d meet a nice man, Sis.”

  “Gross.”

  “Are you ready to go to the reserve yet? I’m getting antsy.”

  “I have one more stop I have to make.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Good morning, Daisy,” Andie said to her chinchilla, which was sleeping peacefully in its large cage that took up most of the open space in her small studio apartment. She never could live totally alone, even if she was without human companionship. Sometimes, Daisy was enough.

  She was still mourning the loss of her camera. She’d called the reserve information office twice a day for two days, hoping for news someone had turned it in, but there was nothing. If someone did find it now, the damage would be extensive. The contract work had been lost as a result, and now she was staring down a negative bank balance. Fucking hell, she thought. Could things get any worse?

  The fridge was empty, and the pantry was pretty much bare. It would be cheap instant noodles for breakfast, again. She’d have to figure out something, and fast, if she was going to pay her rent on time. The landlord was especially fond of charging a ninety dollar late fee, which was another thing she really couldn’t afford. Maybe she could pick up some gig work to make up the difference. For now, though, she was about to be running late for her job photographing empty properties for the local real estate developer - at least they had their own equipment she could use, if she needed to. Rumor had it they were working on a big deal to build a big block of new buildings near the reserve, and if it went ahead, it would mean a nice chunk of money for Andie.

  That was months away, though, and she was broke as hell right now.

  “I have to go, Daisy,” she announced to her sleeping pet. “I’ll be back after work. I promise I won’t be late.” She set fresh hay into the cage gently, so as not to disturb her, and gave her some clean water, too. “Maybe later I’ll give you some treats, if you’re good.” Daisy continued to sleep.

  Andie eased open the door and locked it behind her, before almost trippin
g over a box on her welcome mat, the flickering light from the failing fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling flashing across the unsealed flaps. There was no address or return label, and it was sitting open. Was it something one of the neighbor kids left? She picked up the box, the cardboard smooth in her hands. Lifting one of the flaps, she gasped. It was her camera.

  Looking up and down the hallway, whoever had left it was long gone - but it was definitely her camera. She flicked the switch, willing it to power on, almost praying that it wasn’t irreparably damaged. To her relief, the screen came alive, framing the floor of her apartment building in little green squares. “Yes!” Andie squealed with excitement. She turned the camera over in her hands, looking for any visible damage, and found none. Strange, considering she knew it had rained the night she lost it.

  The information desk must have delivered it, who else would know that it was hers? Even stranger that they hadn’t mentioned it when she had called just an hour ago, right after she dragged herself out of bed. It must have been delivered the night before, because there was nothing on her mat when she got home for dinner. She’d been home the whole time, though, and it was odd that no one had at least knocked to let her know it was there. Andie was glad to have it back, but still irritated that someone had left such an expensive piece of equipment outside her door without saying anything.

  Tucking the camera back in its box, and the box under her arm, she speed-walked to the door and out to her old, reliable blue two-door hatchback. It was old enough to drink, if it was human, and sometimes it felt like it was, like last winter when she was pleading with it to get them home safe. It had, despite the nearly bald tires on the back wheels. She set the box on the passenger’s seat and fired it into gear, setting off for today’s photography location two towns away, where there was a renovated building ready to go up for sale. The apartment stager, the person who filled it with rented furniture to make it look more appealing in photos, had finished the day before.

  The roads were quiet, which Andie was grateful for. There weren’t many traffic jams in Applefield, but she couldn’t afford to be any later than she already was. She couldn’t lose this job, too, even if it was almost criminally underpaid. She was making excellent time, even at the speed limit, so much so that she made up for waking up twenty minutes late, and she pulled into the parking lot of a coffee shop she knew that was excellent. Bells on the door tinkled as she pushed it open, greeted with the warm aroma of hot coffee and freshly baked cinnamon buns. Her stomach growled loudly.

  “Hey, Andie!” the woman behind the counter shouted, her long dark hair tied up in a ponytail. “It’s nice to see you round here again.”

  “Hi, Mara.” Andie dug through the bottom of her beaten-up messenger bag, hunting for some spare change. Her bank card sure as hell wasn’t going to work, but the quarters might buy her a tiny bit of happiness, while they definitely wouldn’t pay any of the bills she had lined up. “What’s good today?”

  “Everything you like,” Mara joked. “Thanks again for those promo photos for our social media, everyone is raving about them, and business is up on last month.”

  “That’s great!”

  “You really should have let us pay you for them.”

  Andie waved her away. “Don’t be silly. I want to help local places, especially ones that have such delicious coffee.” She was only able to come up with two dollars and forty-five cents from the bottom of her bag, all in loose change. “Uh, just a drip coffee for me today. Black.”

  Mara looked at her with concern. “I’ll get you your favorite. And don’t worry, it’s on the house.”

  “No!” Andie protested. “You guys are working so hard, and—”

  “Andie. Stop. You help us, we help you.” Mara selected a fat, juicy cinnamon roll from the case with a pair of long tons, and put it into the toaster oven to warm up. “You really should come around more, liven the place up during the midday slump.”

  “Nah, I’d cramp your style.”

  “You’re always welcome here, you know.” Mara tapped the filter on the counter and slid it into the machine. “Even if your snotty friends prefer to get coffee at the chain up the street.”

  “Heh.” Andie hadn’t heard from them in nearly two weeks. It made her feel alone. “They just don’t want to get addicted to how good the coffee is here.”

  “Make sure you drag their asses in here sometime, okay? We need them to bring the rest of their snotty friends in, because that’s where all the money is.”

  “Next time I hear from them,” Andie promised. Whenever that would be.

  “Here you go,” Mara said, handing her a brown paper bag with the hot cinnamon roll and a paper cup with a plastic lid. “One white chocolate raspberry latte, extra whip.”

  “Thank you, this means a lot, really—”

  “It’s nothing. Are you sure you can’t stop in later?”

  Andie shook her head. “I’ll be working until five at least.”

  The door bells chimed again, and Andie instinctively moved away from the counter to make room for the paying customers. She crinkled the top of the bag and held the coffee in her hands, relishing the warmth on such a frigid morning.

  “Honestly, Luke, you’re such a pain in the ass sometimes,” a woman said with a laugh. A familiar voice, and an even more familiar laugh. Andie blinked. It was the woman from the reserve, dressed in a grey sweater dress and knee-high boots, cute little silver hoops hugging her earlobes. She looked even better than she had in the woods, covered in mud and a torn up old jacket.

  “Hey,” Andie said, her voice squeakier than she would have liked. “It’s Cat, right?” She knew her name was Cat, obviously, but was trying hard to seem cooler than she was.

  Cat turned and flinched. “Oh. It’s you.”

  “It was… nice meeting you. The other night. In the reserve.” Cat just stared, and embarrassment began to creep up Andie’s spine. Why did she always have to be so awkward? “Anyway, I’d better be going—”

  “Wait.” Cat shook her head. “I’m sorry, you just took me by surprise.”

  “Do I look that hideous in the light of day?”

  “No, no, it’s just—”

  “You look nice.” As soon as she said it, Andie swallowed back a nervous cough. She was always a mess around pretty girls, and her first interaction with Cat had proved it. “I just mean, you look different. In a dress. And, you know, makeup and stuff.”

  Cat furrowed her brow. “Well I’m hardly going to wear my best when I’m traipsing around the forest, am I?”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Luke interrupted. “You met her during your shift? Isn’t that what you’re always telling us not to do?”

  “Shut up,” Cat said through gritted teeth. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “Just wait until I tell Anita—”

  “I said shut up! Now I’m leaving, enjoy your shift.”

  “I thought you said you wanted—”

  “Luke!” Cat hissed.

  “Alright, alright,” he said, grabbing an apron from the hook by the register and hanging it over his head. “Pick me up at seven, please, Mama Bear.”

  Cat closed her eyes. “I said not to call me that!”

  Andie looked from one of them to the other. “You don’t look old enough to be his mom, unless you’ve found the fountain of youth.”

  “I’m not, he’s just a numbskull.” Cat fidgeted with the small purple card wallet in her hands. “Sorry, he’s just—”

  “It’s fine, really.”

  “Anyway, I—”

  “I didn’t realize you worked at the reserve,” Andie interrupted. “Sorry. You first.”

  “No, I don’t, it’s—uh, it’s complicated. I do research out there. Plants. And stuff.”

  The coffee in Andie’s hand started to burn her palm. “Right, I remember. Amateur horticulturist.” She squinted, and then the pieces started to come together. “Hang on, it was you who found my camera, it has to be! There was no water dam
age, and there was that rainstorm that night—I don’t know where you went, but—”

  “Shh!” Cat pulled her by the elbow to the far side of the cafe just as another group walked in. “Yes, it was me, but I probably shouldn’t have, there are strict rules, and I could get into a lot of trouble.”

  “For talking to me?” Andie shook her head. “I don’t know who you work for, but don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”

  “You should really stay out of that part of the reserve. It’s dangerous.”

  Andie searched her face for an answer. “Why?”

  “Poachers.”

  “What would they be poaching in there?”

  “Deer, mostly. The rangers don’t do anything about it, and you could wind up shot if you’re not careful.”

  “Is that… a threat?”

  “No! I’m just saying, there are some dangerous people in there, and they’ll shoot anything that moves. They don’t know other people are back there.”

  Andie shrugged. “I’ll wear orange, then.”

  “They don’t want to be seen on camera. They’ll destroy evidence of their poaching.” Cat squeezed her elbow gently, and it sent a jolt through Andie’s body. “Do you understand?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

  “Take care, Andie.”

  “Wait - how did you find my address?”

  Cat tilted her head, and a smile played at the edges of her mouth. “You’re not hard to find online.”

  “Maybe you could find me again sometime?” As soon as the words were out of Andie’s mouth, she wished she could take them back. Stupid, awkward Andie. “Uh, I mean—you know what? Never mind. I have to go, actually, I’m late for work.” She turned and strode for the door, each step widening as she aimed to escape the awkward encounter she’d created for herself.

  “Andie, wait—”

  She got into her car and drove five miles above the speed limit, all the way to the work location, desperate to get as far away as she could. Damn, she thought, pulling into a parking space. Forgot my storage card. The development agency office had a spare camera, but she had to bring her own card. She pulled her own camera from the box, and flipped open the slot. The SD card, and all the photos she’d taken at the reserve, were gone.