Awareness flickered in the bear’s eyes.
Cole forced his hand forward until his fingers touched the bear’s moist white coat. If he was going to die, he wanted to know what the animal felt like that killed him.
Still the bear remained motionless.
Cole’s fingers sank into the bushy white hair until he touched solid body. With his fingertips, he felt warmth. He felt the bear’s breath and heartbeat. And he felt one more thing. He felt trust. But why? Already he had tried to kill the bear. He had spit at it. This bear had defied him, and he had hated it with every fiber of his existence. Still touching the bear, Cole paused. Then he drew his hand away.
The Spirit Bear never blinked, never twitched a muscle. Only when Cole’s hand again rested on the ground, only then did the towering animal lower its huge head as if nodding. A second time it dipped its head, then stepped back away. With one fluid motion, it swung around and ambled silently down toward the waterline.
Cole watched, forgetting to breathe. He expected the bear to stop when it reached the shoreline, but the great white animal waded into the water and swam with powerful strokes out into the bay toward the open ocean. A thin wake spread like a giant V behind the departing creature until it became a silhouetted speck, finally disappearing. Cole let his imagination keep the bear visible awhile longer. Finally, even that image faded.
Cole blinked and took a breath, as if he were awakening.
Around him, the land had come alive. A clear horizon showed under a dark blanket of clouds. Reflections of blue and gray swirled on the water as a fresh breeze ruffled the spruce boughs and sent ripples along the shoreline. Seagulls screeched and squawked their way out over the bay, diving and hunting for food. Barely a hundred feet away, the mother seal and her spotted pups appeared, their doglike heads peeking out of the water.
The air still carried the rotten smells of vomit and death, but also the fresh odor of seaweed and moss and cedar and salt. Vivid colors glistened wet in the bright light.
A strange thought occurred to Cole: the world was beautiful. Yes, the world was beautiful! Even the wet moss and crushed grass near his hand was beautiful. Staring at the delicate patterns, he wondered why he had never noticed this all before. How much beauty had he missed in his lifetime? How much beauty had he destroyed?
But the past was another time and another life that Cole could never recapture—and didn’t want to. He knew only the moment, and this moment he was alive, the most alive he had ever felt. It struck Cole as odd that he should feel this way at the very moment when his body had reached the point at which it could no longer exist. Even as he stared at the moss, deep inside him the balance was shifting to the other side. Clinging to life was like hanging from a bar on the playground at school. On the playground he could hold on for a long time, but when his grip finally tired, his fingers slipped quickly and he fell.
Now Cole felt himself slipping fast. He had struggled too long to hold on, his energy bleeding away. Now it was his turn to die. This thought made Cole sad, but he accepted it. He felt content. Before the end of life he had seen beauty. He had trusted and been trusted.
That was enough.
Cole’s head rested on a patch of spongy moss that acted as a pillow. His pain seemed to float, like a haze, outside his body. He closed his eyes, relaxed, and let the balance shift. And as it shifted, Cole felt himself floating upward into a cloud. Gradually a buzzing sound gathered in his head, growing louder and louder. The sound bothered Cole. He wanted quiet now.
Abruptly the buzzing stopped and squawking seagulls surrounded his body. He could hear them arguing over him. This was what it felt like to die. He hadn’t imagined it being so noisy. The seagulls began pecking at his arms and legs. Cole could not open his eyes, but he jerked his arm. Why couldn’t the seagulls leave him alone? Why couldn’t they wait just a little longer until he had died? Did they have to pick meat off his bones while he was still breathing?
Instead of stopping, the pecking grew worse. Now the gulls were pulling at his legs and shoulders with giant beaks, trying to lift him. Bizarre sensations bombarded Cole as his body was dragged and bumped across the rocks. Sharp pain stabbed through his wounds. Then the loud cry of the seagulls turned into garbled gibberish as they tugged at his shirt and shoes. What were they doing to him?
Gradually, soft and warm sensations enveloped Cole, like being wrapped in a blanket. His head was tilted forward, and warm liquid filled his mouth. It didn’t make sense. How could rain be warm? His head must be in a puddle with muddy water running past his lips. Or maybe it was blood. He spit out the liquid, and felt it warm on his neck. He didn’t want to drown in blood or muddy water. But again warm liquid flowed past his lips, and Cole gave in. It didn’t matter anymore how he died. He could drown, freeze, or be pecked apart by seagulls. All that mattered was that the balance had changed, and now he was drifting over the edge.
“Hang in there, Champ! Hang in there!” a voice sounded.
The buzzing sounded again, louder, deafening, like a swarm of giant bees preparing to attack. Then the world tilted and bounced. With each bounce, pain throbbed in Cole’s chest. Something cradled his neck and steadied his head when the jarring grew too intense. He kept trying to push himself over the edge, but again his head was lifted and more warm fluid flowed past his lips.
“Hang with me, Champ!”
Cole spit out another mouthful. The sweet fluid was keeping his pain alive, allowing all the bouncing and the noise to continue. But nothing could stop it from leaking past his teeth and swollen parched tongue. The warm fluid flowed down into his throat and brought back the cold. Chills wracked his body in uncontrolled spasms. He moaned. When would this horrible nightmare ever end?
Then, suddenly, he awoke.
His eyes opened.
And nothing made sense.
Gone were the bay and the fallen tree. A dark and restless sky still moved overhead, but where was the hard ground, the wet, the mud, the dead birds? A thick blanket held both of his arms in close to his chest. The blanket was brown and not the colorful at.óow. Where was the at.óow?
Cole’s vision was blurred, but he understood that he was lying in the bottom of a shallow aluminum skiff. Kneeling on one knee, steering, was Edwin, the Tlingit elder who had helped bring him out to the island. Instead of his normal detached faraway look, Edwin’s eyebrows furrowed with concern.
Cole blinked hard to focus. His head rested on someone’s lap. Then he recognized Garvey, leaning over him, his face haggard with worry. “We’ll be home soon!” Garvey shouted above the roar of the engine.
Too weak to answer, Cole let his eyes close again. He struggled to recall what had happened but couldn’t.
Garvey shouted something to Edwin, and the engine revved louder. Spray whipped across the bow as the boat surged into the waves. Cole held his breath and tensed to lessen the pain in his ribs. It was as if somebody were beating on his chest with a bat. He felt Garvey’s strong grip tighten each time they hit a big wave.
The hard bucking lasted forever, and Cole was drunk with pain by the time the boat finally slowed. The screaming of the engine grew muted, replaced by anxious voices shouting to them. Garvey and Edwin shouted back. Then the boat bumped against something.
Cole opened his eyes. They had pulled alongside a dock. A cluster of people crowded next to the boat, staring down at him. People were moving, reaching, shouting. Cole cried out in pain as he was lifted from the boat. His ribs and leg felt as if they were being ripped from his body. Someone slipped, and Cole’s leg scraped against the edge of the dock. He heard himself cry out. More footsteps pounded and voices shouted. The dock swayed, and Cole grabbed blindly at the air to stop the world from moving. He couldn’t take any more of this torture. It had become violent.
The commotion continued. Tilting dangerously back and forth, Cole felt himself lifted onto a stretcher and carried up the dock to a waiting van. Doors slammed, a motor revved, and there was more bouncing as the van race
d down the road. Cole’s pain faded into delirium.
The next sensation was of entering a room and being lifted onto a soft warm bed. Careful hands dried him and worked his pants off. He dreamed that the Spirit Bear was ripping at his leg. But instead of a growl, a woman’s soft voice said, “Easy, easy—you’ll be okay. Just relax.” Cole’s uncontrollable shivers were replaced by hot sweating as a towel patted his forehead.
When the commotion finally stopped, Cole lay completely spent, drifting in and out of consciousness. He felt a warm blanket being tucked in around his neck, and he opened his eyes. Where was the at.óow?
Seeing Cole’s eyes open, Edwin and Garvey stepped forward, one on each side of his bed. Edwin studied Cole. “Sure busted yourself up,” he said plainly.
Garvey nodded agreement. “Lightning knocked down a big tree. The branches must have hit you.”
Cole tried to speak, but no words came to his throat.
A short round-faced Tlingit woman crowded in beside the bed. “His wounds aren’t from any tree,” she said, pulling back the blanket. “Look.”
Edwin glanced down at the bloody red gashes surrounded by puffy ashen skin and whistled low. “Those are bite and claw wounds.”
The woman nodded. “He’s been attacked by a bear.”
Cole nodded.
Fear flashed in Garvey’s eyes.
“I’m okay,” Cole succeeded in grunting weakly.
A thin smile failed to hide Garvey’s concern. “Half your bones are busted, your body is swollen like one huge mosquito bite, and you’re nearly starved to death. Believe me, Champ, you’re not okay.”
Cole forced a nod. “I am okay,” he grunted again.
CHAPTER 13
A SHORT, SQUAT man poked his head inside Cole’s room. “Ketchikan can’t send a medivac plane until morning,” he called out. “It’s getting dark and weather has set in.”
The nurse felt Cole’s forehead. “Looks like you’ll be spending the night at Rosey’s one-star hotel.”
Edwin nodded at Cole. “If you hadn’t guessed, this is Rosey.” A rare smile creased his lips. “She’s the best nurse in Drake.”
“The only nurse,” Rosey added.
“If you live through Rosey,” Edwin said, “you’ll live through anything.”
Cole shuddered with another spasm of chills as Rosey gave Edwin a light shove. “You and Garvey go make yourselves useful,” she said. “Get another blanket.”
Garvey handed Rosey the at.óow blanket off a chair beside the bed. “Here, we brought this in from the island.”
“It’s damp,” she said. “Grab a fresh one from the closet.”
When Cole spotted the colorful blanket beside him, he felt a sudden warmth. He reached out and grabbed its edge.
Garvey studied Cole, letting him clutch the wet at.óow as Edwin brought another blanket. He squeezed Cole’s shoulder. “We’ll talk more later. Get some rest now.”
Cole let go of the at.óow and gripped Garvey’s arm.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Garvey reassured him. “Rosey and I will be here all night with you.”
“Thanks,” Cole whispered.
Rosey pushed in beside the bed. “This might sting a little.” She poked a needle into Cole’s left arm. “I’m starting an IV drip to get some fluids and antibiotics into you.” Finishing, she tilted Cole’s head up and put some pills gently inside his mouth. “Now, take these tablets. They should help the pain.”
Cole sipped water from the glass she held to his lips and struggled to swallow the pills. When they finally went down, Rosey began working on Cole’s wounds. The door opened, and another Tlingit woman brought in a Thermos of hot soup and set it next to the bed. Rosey turned to Garvey. “Maybe you can get some food into this guy.”
Edwin remained standing along the wall, watching intently as Garvey placed a big pillow under Cole’s head and ladled spoonfuls of chicken broth between his cracked lips.
Cole’s pain dulled as the medication took effect. Sipping soup, he watched Rosey. She worked cheerfully, as if there were nothing in the world she would rather be doing. When she left the room for more dressings, Garvey turned to Cole. “That bear used you for a chew toy.” He pursed his lips with concern. “I’m sorry for getting you into this.”
Cole had many things he wanted to explain but he was too weak and tired now. He shook his head. “My fault!” he whispered.
Garvey glanced at Edwin, who kept his focused gaze. Rosey returned to the bed, her hands filled with rolls of gauze and a brown plastic bottle. Garvey moved away from the bed to give her room. “You get some rest while Rosey finishes patching you up,” he said to Cole.
“Can’t do much patching,” Rosey said. “He has broken bones. I wish we had him in a hospital tonight.”
Cole closed his eyes while Rosey cleaned and bandaged his open wounds. The medicine made him sleepy.
Finishing her work, Rosey whispered to Garvey, “That bear had quite a time with him. He has broken ribs and maybe a broken pelvis. Add to that hypothermia and a broken leg and arm. I’m surprised he’s even talking. Must be a tough kid.”
“Not as tough as he thinks,” Garvey whispered back.
Edwin murmured, “He’ll be okay if he ever finds a reason to live.”
Cole heard everyone’s words as he drifted off.
He slept troubled, dreaming of people he knew coming toward him out of a misty haze. Each person helped him. Garvey fed him. Rosey fixed his wounds. His father gave him money. Edwin offered him advice. His mother cleaned him and handed him new clothes.
Cole liked being helped. He liked using people. Suddenly a bolt of lightning struck, and all the people turned into monsters. Everything they had done for Cole faded, and they laughed at him. “You fool!” they called. “Why should we do anything for you? You’re nothing! You’re a baby-faced con!”
Cole awoke in a sweat. It was night. He searched the darkness frantically. He heard regular breaths near him in the dark. “Garvey,” he called, realizing he could talk. “Garvey.”
Garvey’s hoarse voice answered, “You okay, Cole?”
Cole heard someone getting up to snap the lights on. Garvey, still wearing his rumpled jeans and faded wool shirt, hurried to his bedside. A door opened from the next room, and Rosey rushed in. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
Cole looked at the two of them, his nightmare still haunting him. “I had a dream,” he said, his voice raspy. “People helped me, then they turned into monsters and laughed at me.”
“It was just a dream,” Garvey said, resting his hand on Cole’s arm.
“But you two were there.”
Rosey took Cole’s hand in hers. “Well, I’m not a monster.” She smiled. “Maybe Garvey is.”
Cole didn’t smile. “Why do you guys help me?”
Rosey looked at her watch. “It sure isn’t for the pay and good hours.” Then she shrugged. “Why live if you can’t help others and make the world a better place?”
Cole looked up at Garvey. “Why do you help me?”
“Because we’re friends.”
Cole let his frustration show. “No. You didn’t even know me when you first started helping me in Minneapolis.”
Garvey studied Cole before answering. “You’re right. I did it for myself.”
Cole nodded. “That’s what I figured—you didn’t care about me. You were—”
“You’re wrong,” Garvey said. “I did care about you. But helping others is how I help myself.”
“You need help?” Cole asked, surprised.
Garvey nodded. “I see a lot of myself in you. When I was your age, I spent five long years in prison for things I’ll go to my grave regretting. I lived my early years here in Drake, but no one cared enough to take me through Circle Justice. If they had, maybe things would have been different.” He shook his head with a sad smile. “Take my word for it, jail scars the soul. And I was never able to help those I hurt.”
“Cole,” Rosey said, touching his
bandaged arm. “In a few months your body will heal, but time won’t heal your mind as easily. Helping others can help heal your wounds of the spirit.”
Still troubled by his dream, Cole said, “There are people who want to hurt me.”
Rosey squeezed Cole’s hand. “Those are the people who need your help. I’ll bet you weren’t a bundle of fun when Garvey first met you.”
Cole shook his head.
“How is your pain?” Rosey asked.
“I hurt,” Cole said.
The Tlingit nurse unwrapped a packet and prepared a syringe and needle. “Let’s give you something to help you sleep.”
“Give me something to take away the monsters,” Cole said.
“Only you can do that,” she answered.
Cole slept hard, his first real sleep in many days. When he awoke, a small lamp glowed in the dark near his bed. Rosey was already up, working quietly around the room. When she heard him stir, she snapped on the lights and came over beside the bed. “Did you sleep well?” she asked.
Cole nodded.
“Let’s clean your dressings this morning,” she said. “The people in Ketchikan think we’re witch doctors out here in the sticks.”
Cole grimaced. The pain had returned with a vengeance. Rosey saw him wince and gave him another shot. “Things will hurt worse before they’re better,” she said. “Just warning you so you’ll know what to expect.” Then she added, “But they really will get better.”
While Cole waited for the medication to dull the pain, Garvey sat upright on his cot and stretched the kinks out of his back. He ran a hand through his tousled hair. “How about if I get some breakfast?” he said.
Rosey nodded approval as she hung a fresh IV. Again she took Cole’s temperature and pulse. Then she brought over a paper bag containing his clothes. “Here,” she said, placing the bag beside the bed. “There wasn’t much left of your clothes, but I had them washed up anyway to take with you.”
Cole eyed the colorful at.óow blanket folded on top of the bag.
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