by Hunt, Jack
“So a man’s effort in this world is judged by the thickness of his skin?” Callaway asked. “If that’s so, where does that leave your daughter?” He flashed her a bemused grin.
“Ahead of the pack,” her father replied.
“And what pack would that be?” He now turned his questioning to her and she felt her stomach sink. The reality was her father had been the one that had paved the way, built up a business from scratch, and proven his mettle. She on the other hand was trailing behind, unsure that anything she’d done up to now had impacted anyone. She had been selling empty products for clients. It felt like she was living in her mother’s shadow and was too small to fill her father’s shoes. As parents, they had set the bar high, and for all her trying she couldn’t help but feel that she fell short. While graduating college and pursuing a career away from home had given her independence, the deeper truth was everything she’d done up to that point had been to prove to her father that she was strong enough to stand on her own two feet.
“Advertising,” Kara said without looking at him.
“Ah, the advertising world. The allure of words, the art of the appeal, the power of the media. I could use a person like you to work for me. Always on the lookout for an artist that can sell the dream.”
“Sorry, it wouldn’t work,” Kara said.
“No, and why’s that?”
“Because your dream is a nightmare.”
Her father chuckled, then his laughter turned into a painful groan.
“You okay, Dad?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Oh, I think you have me all wrong,” Callaway said. “I’m not the big bad wolf that you make me out to be. Take last night for instance. Had your mother seen that, she might not have been so quick to champion the cause of wildlife. No, most conservationists are city folk who haven’t seen a bear or wolf in their life and yet they want to come in and tell others what to do? Killing is a matter of survival, Ms. Shaw.”
“You mean a sport.”
He laughed. “That as well. Can’t there be room for both?”
“Maybe… let me ask the bear after it rips you apart,” she replied. He glanced at her and lost the grin. They pressed on, trying to put as much ground as possible between them and the crash site, all the while scanning the sky for aircraft. Paul led the way like some wilderness leader, flare gun at the ready just in case luck would shine upon them. Behind him was Frank, hopping from one small boulder to the next as they ascended and worked their way over undulating ground.
Frank stopped, his hands on his knees. “I’ve got to take a break.”
“Already?” Paul asked.
“Just a few minutes to catch my breath.” He put his hand out. “You got that bottle of water?”
Paul perched a leg on a boulder and leaned forward, looking out like he was hunting wild game. “Afraid not. Already drank it.”
“What?”
He glanced back. “There wasn’t much inside.”
“That was for all of us.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay, Frank,” Kara said, pointing farther up the slope. Between the trees, a mini stream was running. “We can replenish there. Besides, I need to check on dad’s wound.”
They helped themselves to water and filled up the two small plastic bottles, Frank making sure he carried one this time. Kara looked at the wound on the left leg. “It’s looking better.”
“I wish you could say the same for the other leg.”
“Not much we can do until we get you out.”
Callaway returned holding the other bottle and held it out to her. She glanced at it then lifted her eyes. “Oh come on, take it,” he said. When she didn’t, he took a swig and swallowed. He offered again. “See. It’s not poison.” She took it and sipped it before bringing it up to her father’s lips. Callaway took a seat on a boulder and breathed in the fresh air. “Ah, a man could get used to this. It really is quite breathtaking out here.”
“Yeah, and you want to go ruin it by drilling for oil,” she muttered.
He smiled as he crossed his legs in front of him and basked in what little sun there was. “You really must think I’m a monster. The big oil corporation pissing on the world. I’m not looking to tap into here. My eyes are on the Arctic Refuge.”
“Here, there, it’s all the same. You talk about the future and bringing people into it and yet you neglect to utilize alternative fuel sources. Why can’t you focus on that? That’s renewable energy. But this… once it’s gone, it doesn’t come back, and neither does all the wildlife.”
He waved her off. “Oh, you are blowing things out of proportion. We’ve run an analysis on the impacts of drilling around the two villages. They’ll be fine.”
“Yeah? Is that why the native tribes and fifteen states are filing lawsuits?”
He got this dark look in his eyes. “For someone who hasn’t followed in her mother’s footsteps, you certainly remind me of her.”
Her father clutched her hand and gave a warm smile. She continued to talk as she changed his gauze and cleaned up the wound. “You’re not just drilling, you’re impacting the whole region. Polar bears, migratory birds, musk oxen, wolves, owls, foxes. You’d be driving out the country’s largest Porcupine caribou herd, and that in turn affects thousands of natives whose survival depends on that. And we all know how the decimation of the buffalo changed the lives of Plains Indians.”
“Yeah, they got Starbucks, Burger King, and good homes,” he said with a laugh. “So they lost their way of life. I don’t think they mind today. Hell, we brought them into the twenty-first century. They should be thanking us.” He paused and got serious. “Look, only earlier you were touting save the bears and wolves, and now you want to throw a wrench into the oil business just so some native tribe can hunt caribou. Seems contradictory to me. You can’t have both, young lady.”
“There’s a big difference between sport and survival. Most people today aren’t like the Gwich’in. Most don’t rely on hunting to survive like they do. And those hunters killing denning wolves and bears, and their pups and cubs in preserves, sure as hell aren’t doing it for food. Not even the natives approve of that.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said. He glanced at her father. “She’s a spunky one, that daughter of yours. But like I told Frank, you can’t stop the future but you can merge with it.”
“Hey, guys! Guys!” Frank piped up, standing near a black spruce where the bark had been shredded. There were huge gouges, claw marks in the tree, and nearby bear tracks. Frank pushed aside a bush revealing a large mound of dark bear scat. He prodded it with the end of his stick. “Looks fresh to me.”
“You think it’s the same one?” Callaway asked.
“I don’t know but I don’t think we should stick around to find out,” Paul said.
They hadn’t heard or seen a bear that morning but it was common for hikers to stumble upon them and when they did, the bears were often less than fifty feet away. Frank clattered his stick against the tree to ward off any nearby predator. Taking hold of the rope, they got the hell out of there, scanning the trees and looking behind them. She had given some thought to what could be done with her father if one emerged. Three straps went over her father, from one side to the next. One covered his chest, another his hips, and the third his legs just above the knee. She’d used the restraints from the plane.
Knowing they wouldn’t be able to outrun a bear, and they would have to survive an attack, the plan was to roll him over. That way all the bear could get at would be metal. It would be like he was beneath an overturned canoe. It wasn’t an ideal solution or bulletproof plan but it was the only thing she could come up with at the last minute. It was either that or leave him back at the plane.
Already Paul was on the defensive He held the flare gun out expecting another attack. They needed it even more now. They were hidden by the trees but if push came to shove he would use it. Frank began whacking his walking stick and hers together to make as much noise as
possible. It was better to alert a nearby bear to their presence than to walk up on one and have to high-tail it out of there.
“Don’t you think that’s going to draw it in?” Callaway asked.
“Contrary to what you might think, they don’t want to be around humans. They have better things to do at this time of year, like gathering food and preparing to hibernate.”
“That’s my concern,” he said. “What if we are its food?”
It was a valid statement and a scary one at that.
“Speaking of food. What can we eat?” Paul asked.
“Mushrooms, berries, and once we’re closer to a stream or a river — fish,” Kara said matter-of-factly. It had been years since her days of camping with her father but she recalled the first time he had her eat mushrooms, and tried to drill into her what could be eaten and what would land her in a hospital.
A cold wind wafted toward them, bringing with it the smell of wet bear. They’d stopped at the foot of a slope that went up to a ridgeline. Kara looked down the river, up to the sun, and then ahead toward the mountains to make sure they were still going in the right direction.
“I’d feel a hell of a lot safer with some bear spray or a high-caliber rifle in hand,” Callaway said, looking around nervously. Kara considered commenting, something to do with thinking about that before he attempted to leave them stranded or tampered with their plane, but she let it go. She had no way to prove they were behind it. It would have been speculation at best and certainly wouldn’t have helped the situation. They made their way to the river with the idea that crossing it was their best bet and first line of defense against the danger of what was lurking nearby.
20
Their fears were confirmed by a terrifying roar. They’d only been ten minutes into traversing away from the sighting of scat when they heard the raging, guttural cry. Whether it was stalking them, just making its presence known, or a different animal, they weren’t taking any chances. With no sight of it, their natural flight instincts kicked in and they knew they had no other option than to make a beeline for the river.
Before hearing the beast, her father had instructed them to stay out of the water. At this time of the year, it would be cold, and no one knew that better than Callaway and Paul. It had taken hours to get their clothes dry and if they hadn’t gotten a fire going, hypothermia would have set in within ten minutes, and they could have been dead within an hour.
With no sign of the grizzly, they felt safe enough to move fast.
Out of breath, they scurried down the smooth slope of gravel and stood by the riverbank, scanning its features and formations. The water slipped around rocks with power and grace, tossing and splashing, an endless array of colors and shapes.
Fording any stream or river was a dangerous task. Crossing could be deceptively hazardous, especially when on the surface it looked shallow but below it held a strong enough current that it could take a person’s legs out. With any river that needed to be crossed without a boat, Kara knew it was best to scout a good location to enter, instead of randomly picking the first spot they reached. Narrower chokepoints looked inviting but it was often there that the current was at its strongest. The depth and flow could vary and depending on the day or even the weather, it could be easy or uncrossable. The look on each of their faces spoke volumes as they stared across the eighty-foot wide river.
Could it be crossed safely?
Kara let go of the rope and picked up a stick and tossed it in, then moved along the bank with it. If she couldn’t keep up with it at a walking pace, it was a good indication of how rapidly the water was moving. The water wasn’t a foaming white torrent and the stick wasn’t moving too fast, but it was certainly faster than walking speed.
“We’ll need to find a better place to cross.”
“And where do you suggest?” Callaway asked.
She pointed. “It looks like there is a straight section before the bend down there. If the water knocks us down it will carry us to the outer bank right on that bend.”
“Nonsense, we don’t have time for this!” Paul charged ahead, taking several steps into the water only to tilt to one side. He had to drive his stick in to avoid losing his balance. He stepped out and glanced at them, his cheeks flushing red.
“Idiot,” Frank muttered under his breath.
The real challenge would be getting her father across.
The current would naturally want to carry the thin, metallic stretcher like it was a boat, and the force very well could send all of them downstream.
Lifting him was out of the question, it wasn’t that they couldn’t do it but it would throw off their balance and that was all they had.
No.
In everything she’d learned about crossing rivers, it relied on facing upstream, maintaining at least two or three points of contact, shuffling instead of lifting feet, and wading across in a diagonal direction.
The key was to take it slow and steady.
Though she wasn’t sure how much time they had. Kara looked over her shoulder toward the tree line. Was a grizzly or black bear eyeing them, waiting to charge?
At a rough guess, the river looked as if it might come up to their knees, though looks could be deceiving. She’d seen some folks charge out like Paul, only to disappear below the water once they reached a drop-off point. One thing was for sure, the water would be freezing and their feet and legs would go numb almost immediately. Ideally, it was best to keep their clothing on to protect them from the cold but that would set them back hours waiting for clothes to dry. It would force them to camp and create a fire and they’d barely made it an hour away from the previous camp. And if there was the threat of a rogue bear, doing that had to be a last resort.
She glanced at her father. “What do you think?”
“Let’s head down the bank and see what our options are, they have to be better than this.”
They strode on, all of them wary and scanning the terrain.
What they hadn’t noticed was a bull moose and its calves nearby, browsing through scrub oak and sagebrush. As they rounded a section of the winding river, they came within seventy feet of it. It had to have been over 1,200 pounds of undulating muscle, six feet high from hooves to shoulder, and sporting spiky antlers that were close to five feet wide. “Oh shit,” Callaway said.
Moose were unafraid and unpredictable at the best of times. They were also responsible for more attacks than bears. However, unlike a bear, where running would trigger its predatory instinct, it was advisable to back away from a moose as quickly as possible. Not bursting into a full run, but seeking cover behind any object between you and the moose. However, that all changed if they began to charge. Now that they were in the latter part of the year, considered the mating season, Kara was well aware that moose would try to protect their territory. Although they slowly lumbered and often looked like nothing more than gentle horses, if feeling threatened they could reach speeds up to 30 mph and were known to trample people underfoot.
All of them stopped moving.
They had to change direction but their only options were back the way they came or across the river, and after hearing that roar, that was the worst option. The huge moose looked up, observing them, swaying back and forth. With its ears back and hackles raised, it began licking its snout. That wasn’t a good sign.
“Move now,” she said backing up.
It hadn’t shifted but it was already beginning to show signs of aggression and that was an indication it would charge.
“But aren’t we supposed to stand our ground?” Callaway asked.
“Not with a moose,” she bellowed as they turned tail and headed for the rushing river, the only way out of a fatal funnel. Once across, they could take cover in the trees but until then they were stuck in the open, an easy target.
Like a Mack truck tearing forward, the moose suddenly lurched, hooves pounding the gravel as it charged. “Don’t let go,” she yelled at Callaway who had the other section of rope. He
r father bounced around in the metallic coffin, he was the only one with a front-row seat to the impending disaster.
The moose closed the distance in a heartbeat.
Figuring he’d get the same results, Paul stood his ground and fired the flare gun — the only remaining flare.
She heard the pop and the hiss, but unlike the grizzly the moose lowered its head and barreled through the burst of bright orange, snorting furiously as it caught up with Paul and plowed into him, tossing his body and sending him over and crashing to the ground.
They all heard the thud and the gut-wrenching cry.
Her father bellowed at Paul. “Curl up! Get into a fetal position and put your hands behind your neck.” The moose rose and pounded Paul’s back furiously with its hooves, every thunderous thud worse than the last. The rest of them kept moving, there was no other choice than to enter the water and hope to God the moose didn’t turn on them. The only upside to a moose attack was they were often short-lived, quick bursts, and then the moose would leave to avoid threats. The long, spindly legs pounded Paul’s body one more time before it turned the droopy nose and furry bell swaying beneath its throat and looked at them. They had put a good amount of distance between them and the moose, so instead of pursuing, it returned to its young, having made its point.
Paul was on the ground, groaning, not moving.
Although they wanted to get to him, they had to wait at the riverbank until the moose disappeared into the forest. As soon as it was gone, Callaway and Frank hurried over while she watched her father.
No one could pass blame.
It wasn’t like he wouldn’t have been trampled underfoot if he didn’t fire the flare, but it certainly didn’t help the situation. That moose was pissed and it had left quite a mark by the looks of their faces when they reached Paul. After dragging his limp body away. Kara saw the mangled mess, the blood. The knife-sharp antlers had pierced his abdomen and he’d been gored badly, and that didn’t account for the internal damage from the trampling. There was no time to get out the medkit. They had to cross the river. Fearing another attack from another animal, they waded out, crossing the river diagonally. Frank carried Paul in a fireman’s lift, staggering forward while Callaway helped her.
