Tomorrow and Always

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “The past is gone,” she said stiffly.

  “It’s never gone,” he returned. “I can practically see myself here as a boy. I used to run and hide in the tall grasses and chase the rodents into their holes.” He smiled. “That made me part of what I am.”

  A shadow leapt across her face and was gone, leaving a blank, hollow shell. “I guess you’re right.” Without another word, she turned and began picking berries. Malcolm picked with her, and after a while they began to talk like nothing had happened. He wasn’t even sure the whole thing hadn’t only occurred in his imagination. He wished he dared ask, but was unwilling to risk Karissa’s wrath, or—even worse—her withdrawal. Better to leave it alone.

  What was bothering her? Did she hate the island so badly? Why couldn’t she confide in him?

  After they tired of gathering berries, they ate lunch. But the girls had eaten so many berries that they couldn’t hold much. Savannah stared at the macaroni salad her mother had made, picking at the kernels of sweet corn in the mixture. “I like corn better on that long straight thing.”

  “You mean the cob,” Karissa said.

  “Yeah, it’s better that way,” Camille agreed. “Only it gets stuck in your teeth.”

  “You just have to eat it the right way,” Malcolm put in. “It’s like this.” He held up his hands with a pretend cob between them. “You eat one row at a time. Like a typewriter.” He made the motions of eating a row, then he said, “Ding! And you start over.”

  The girls stared at him blankly. “What’s a typewriter?” asked Savannah. Malcolm blinked at them before the laughter burst from his mouth.

  He slapped Jesse on the back. “What kind of an education are you giving these girls, anyway? They don’t even know what a typewriter is.”

  Jesse grinned back. “What can I say? They’re the children of a computer programmer. They’ve grown up with computers and laser printers. Is that so bad?”

  “I think we still have a typewriter at the house,” Karissa said. “We can show them when we get home.” She shot a glance at her husband. “Malcolm used it in college, so it’s probably a collector’s item now.” The girls giggled at Malcolm’s growl of protest. He tickled Karissa until she took back the words.

  In retrospect, Malcolm would wish they had simply gone home then, but he’d been determined to shoot his guns. He walked a good way off so as not to startle the unborn babies, and made a few practice shots, shattering the bottles into satisfying pieces. Then he helped Savannah shoot a can with the Colt Magnum. “I did it!” she shouted. “I’m really good, aren’t I?” Malcolm said she was, though he had aimed the shot.

  Jesse took a turn, but he didn’t hit anything. “It’s a good thing you’re better at programs than you are at shooting,” Malcolm said with a laugh.

  Jessed grinned. “Well, girls, anyone else want a try?”

  Rosalie shook her head and stuck her fingers in her ears, but Camille nodded. “But I have to go potty first,” she said.

  “Me too,” the others added.

  Jesse sighed. “Come on then. Let’s go ask Mom where she set up the porta-potty.” He rolled his eyes. “This is one of the side-effects of parenting that I’ll never get used to.”

  All three girls ran with their father to where Brionney lounged in the chair. Karissa sat Indian-style on the blanket next to her. When the entire Hergarter family disappeared into the brush, Karissa arose and sauntered over to Malcolm, the long grasses brushing at her Levis.

  “Want to take a shot?” he asked.

  “No.” She looked embarrassed. “I’m afraid the noise will hurt the baby. The doctor says sound carries in the water. I’m probably worrying too much.”

  He held her close. “I’m tempted to put you in a glass room myself.”

  “Just try it,” she threatened, raising her fist. He laughed. She joined in, but it wasn’t the throaty laughter he loved. She hadn’t laughed that way since their outing at Kalsin Bay.

  “Come to think of it, I think I need to see a man about a dog myself.” He released her and pointed to the knee-high rock where he had laid the weapons, the rifle in its case and the pistol in the holster he had removed from his hip. The bag with the extra ammunition was propped against the base of the stone. “Would you watch the guns while I go find a spare bush? I wouldn’t want the girls to get them by accident.”

  She smiled. “Okay, but hurry. These things make me nervous.”

  “That’s because you don’t know how to use them. Once you learn, it’ll be like fishing.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Okay, I’ll learn—next year.”

  He chuckled and moved off. At least there would be a next year for them. When Karissa was out of sight, he pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. He lit up and slowly smoked the whole thing, killing the craving that had eaten at him all morning. Then he smoked another and began the third. Since the day he had built the play tubes inside the greenhouse his smoking had increased steadily, although he’d been too busy that day to smoke at all. I’m free, he’d thought after that successful day, but it had only been an illusion. The next day he’d gone back to his films and had smoked twice his reduced amount, as if making up for the previous day. Now he was back to smoking nearly as much as he had before trying to quit. He hid his habit as best he could from Karissa, though she knew he still smoked. Something inside wouldn’t allow him to ask for help—from anyone. But he knew he somehow had to find a way to stop smoking. He detested feeling so weak and out of control.

  The third cigarette had burned nearly to the end when he heard the scream. It came out of nowhere and hung in the air, a bloodcurdling sound of stark terror mixed with a desperate plea for help. The voice was almost unrecognizable, but he knew in his heart it was Karissa. His legs felt weak as the fear oozed inside him, penetrating every cell.

  “Karissa!” His scream was as equally loud as hers had been. The blood began to pump once more through his system and his feet moved back the way he had come, gaining speed as he went. Finally he was running, dodging through the berry bushes, uncaring as they snagged on his clothing, as though trying to slow him and prevent him from reaching his wife.

  She screamed again, words this time, but they were drowned in a ferocious roar that Malcolm recognized only too well.

  A bear.

  As his gaze took in the huge animal, facts came unbidden to Malcolm’s mind. The Kodiak brown bear was famous among those who knew about bears, as was the Kodiak National Wildlife Refuge which covered three-quarters of Kodiak Island. The brown bear was one of only six native land mammals on Kodiak. The red fox, river otter, short-tailed weasel, little brown bat, and tundra vole were the other five, each smaller but every bit as important in the great design.

  All this and more raced through Malcolm’s mind like a section of his documentary. One part of him noticed how the bear reared on its hind legs and roared, its massive muscles rippling up the long, shaggy back. The bear’s fur had grown long now, and would continue to do so until hibernation time. What’s it doing here? In all his growing-up years on Kodiak Island, Malcolm had never seen a bear on Pillar Mountain, though as a child he had dreamed he would.

  Malcolm pushed himself to run faster. He could see Karissa beyond the bear, backing slowly away, not taking her eyes off the creature that outweighed her many times over. Her face was drawn and pale beneath her tan, as if the blood had fled from her skin. Her hair streamed wildly past her cheeks, adding to her appearance of terror. One hand was pressed protectively against her flat belly.

  As a child, Malcolm had been taught that when meeting a brown bear he should play dead, and the animal would go away. For a black bear, the victim should confront the animal, making a lot of noise to scare him off. For a white bear, the only chance was to run for dear life. Karissa didn’t know any of this; besides, he would never want her to lie down and play dead. The bear might damage their unborn child as he sniffed and pawed at her body.

  Karissa swiveled her head, look
ing off into the distance at something only she could see. Now Malcolm was close enough to hear the words she screamed: “Get back! Get back! Take the girls away!”

  Malcolm heard more screams, fainter than Karissa’s, but whatever made them—probably Jesse’s family—was blocked by the bulky body of the bear.

  The bear dropped to all fours and began to run toward Karissa. “No!” Malcolm screamed with an intensity that threatened to break his vocal cords. The bear hesitated, twisting his head to focus black, beady eyes on Malcolm.

  In some distant part of his brain, Malcolm knew that going unarmed against an angry bear, brown or any other color, wasn’t the most intelligent course, but there was nothing else he could do to save Karissa. There was no time for any stratagem, just the knowledge that he had to protect his wife and the baby growing inside her.

  The bear swung his head back toward Karissa, as if dismissing Malcolm completely. She backed away, more quickly now, with uncontrolled jerks. Several paces behind her, he could see the knee-high rock where he’d laid the weapons.

  “No, get me!” Malcolm yelled at the bear. He felt his side aching from the run and his lungs gasping for breath.

  The huge beast didn’t falter. Karissa tripped backward over the rock, scattering the guns. She fell hard into the sparse grass on the other side, back first. Malcolm was close enough to hear the loud thump and her low moan. He could also hear the panting of the bear. In one second, the animal would be on top of Karissa. She wasn’t playing dead but crying and struggling to get up.

  Malcolm jumped hard and hit the beast from behind, grasping at his heavy coat. That got the bear’s attention, and he whirled, tossing Malcolm sideways. Malcolm lost his hold on the bear’s hide and fell over a short bush before jumping back to his feet. The animal growled and opened his mouth to rip into Malcolm’s unprotected flesh. Malcolm felt a rush of adrenaline, and for a brief second he wasn’t afraid. Was this how his grandfather had felt when he had wrestled that other bear so long ago?

  “Go away!” Malcolm heard Jesse shouting from somewhere.

  A rock flew in the air, hitting the bear. The animal didn’t appear to notice. He snapped at Malcolm, who tried to leap out of reach. He didn’t jump fast enough. Sharp teeth tore into his right shoulder, but he didn’t feel anything other than the initial agonizing pain. The bear slapped him down to the ground with surprisingly agile paws. Malcolm fell to his back, and the jagged rocks and dry brush bit through his flannel jacket, causing more pain than he now felt from the wound in his shoulder. He tried to lie still, faking death. Maybe it wasn’t too late to make the bear lose interest. But the animal raised his paw and lashed out, dragging his black pointed nails down Malcolm’s left shoulder clear to his waist.

  That ended Malcolm’s attempt to fool the bear. He brought his feet up in a swift motion, kicking at the beast with all his strength. The bear caught his right hiking boot in its mouth and shook its head furiously. Malcolm jabbed at the bear’s face with the other heavy boot, smashing into it over and over. The bear clung to his prize, a ferocious growl emitting from his throat. The bone in Malcolm’s right ankle suddenly snapped with a loud crack. A wave of nausea exploded in his stomach, and the world threatened to turn black with his pain.

  “Go away!” Jesse yelled again. His voice was closer now, but tight with fear. He appeared in the edge of Malcolm’s fading vision, carrying a large stick. With both arms over his head, Jesse smashed the end against the bear’s skull. After the forth or fifth pass, the bear dropped Malcolm’s ankle, but he didn’t turn on Jesse or run away. He opened his mouth wide and started to go for Malcolm’s defenseless stomach. There was nothing Malcolm could do to stop him.

  * * * * *

  Even after he heard the scream and saw the bear, Jesse wasn’t worried. He’d witnessed Malcolm’s expertise with the guns, almost with envy, and though his friend was somewhat rusty after a few months without practice, his easy manner with the weapons appeared to return quickly. Besides, one shot in the air and the bear should flee back to wherever it had come from.

  Then he saw with horror that Malcolm stood nowhere near the guns. Nor did Karissa, though she was the closest. Suddenly he knew that one of them might not make it home alive. He leaned his face close to Brionney’s and echoed the words Karissa had just yelled at them. “Get the girls away!” he said fiercely. “Go back to the truck and get inside.” If he knew Malcolm at all, the truck would be open. “Don’t come back, no matter what!”

  Brionney’s eyes were wide with shock. “Come with me!”

  Oh, how he wanted to! “I can’t leave them.” He saw Malcolm running up behind the bear, waving his arms frantically and screaming at the animal like a lunatic. “You see that, don’t you? I can’t.”

  Brionney searched his face with her eyes, seeming to capture each detail in her memory. “I love you,” she replied, and the words showed her acceptance. He was glad she understood that he had no other choice. To run might mean leaving Malcolm or Karissa to die, and neither of them could live with that knowledge. Brionney turned away, dodging around a berry bush and lumbering awkwardly in the opposite direction, dragging the whimpering girls with her. But before she’d turned away, Jesse saw a glimpse of eternity in her blue, blue eyes, and it comforted him.

  Malcolm had somehow turned the bear away from Karissa, but Jesse couldn’t see her. Where was she? He felt the rock in his hand before he knew he had bent to pick it up. He threw it with all his force, praying it would find its mark. It hit the bear on the side of the head, but the animal didn’t falter. Jesse threw more rocks as the bear mauled Malcolm, knocking him like a rag doll to the ground with a single swipe of one powerful paw. There was a lot of red on Malcolm’s body, but by his movements Jesse knew his friend was still alive.

  The rocks are doing no good, Jesse decided. As if in answer to his silent prayer, he spied a big stick, as thick as his arm at its thinnest point and growing larger at the end. A club, he thought. That might work.

  With the club in his arms, he ran at the bear, yelling and screaming as he had heard Indians do in the movies. It helped some, as his anger overcame part of his terrible fear. What a great story this will make for my grandchildren, he thought. A more sobering realization followed on its heels: If we all live.

  As he approached the bear, he saw Karissa on the animal’s far side. She sprawled out on the ground, the guns scattered around her. If only I could reach the guns, he thought. But something told him every second counted. He raised the club and hit the bear over and over. Finally the animal released Malcolm’s foot, and Jesse hoped the bear would run away. But it didn’t. The dark eyes, no more than pinpoints compared to the creature’s massive body, glowed with anger—dumb animal anger that would not desist.

  Jesse jabbed the club at the bear’s mouth. The animal tossed his head sharply, hitting the stick with such force that Jesse lost his hold. The branch flew through the air and clattered to the ground beyond his reach. Forgetting Malcolm, the bear whirled toward Jesse, its angry eyes focused murderously. But one of Malcolm’s feet came up again and stabbed at the bear’s jaw. The beast growled and snapped at the boot, his spiked teeth closing on thin air. Jesse lunged for his stick, knowing he would he would never reach it in time. The bear went again for Malcolm’s unprotected stomach.

  A shot rang out, pure and clean in the midst of the ugly turmoil. Jesse’s gut wrenched with the sound, as if it was unsure of whether to be relieved or to prepare for more terror. The bear paused ever so briefly, and in that instant, more shots came. Jesse did not count them, but they seemed to never end. The animal moved with difficulty now, as if in slow motion. Blood dripped from a wound on its head. Then it gave a deep, tortured growl and lumbered away into the brush.

  Jesse saw Karissa drop the pistol to the ground. Her face was stark white in contrast to the dark-brown hair that tumbled about her like a flowing veil. She walked toward them, a few rolling steps, a question in her eyes, and stood unsteadily staring down at Malcolm.r />
  “I’m all right,” Malcolm muttered huskily, pushing himself onto his left arm. “My ankle’s broken though, and I—” He broke off. “I’m so sorry, Karissa. I shouldn’t have left you alone.” He stared down at the pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket, which had spilled half its content on the ground during the attack.

  Karissa slumped to her knees. She didn’t reach out to Malcolm as Jesse expected, but stared at the cigarettes on the dirt and grass. “You were smoking,” she said.

  Malcolm fell back to the ground, groaning. Karissa slowly removed her flannel-lined denim jacket and pressed it to Malcolm’s shoulder. “We have to get him back to the truck.” Her voice was remote and calm. “There’s a first aid kit there.”

  She’s in shock, Jesse thought. “Maybe we shouldn’t move him,” he said.

  “We can’t let him bleed to death.” Karissa’s voice cracked slightly. “He needs a hospital.”

  “Okay then, let me run back to the truck and get the kit first. We’ll bandage him up before we try to get him down.”

  Karissa nodded and stared down at Malcolm’s closed eyes. Jesse jerked to his feet, went to the fallen pistol, reloaded it, and handed it to Karissa. “In case the bear comes back.” He didn’t think it would, but it might pay to be sure. He removed the rifle from its cloth case and made sure it was also loaded before slinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll hurry,” he said. The words were unnecessary, as Karissa seemed not to hear.

  Jesse ran. Now that the fight was over, he had time to worry about Brionney and the girls. Had they found the truck in this unfamiliar territory? Had Brionney overexerted herself? Had they run into the wounded, pain-crazed bear?

  He found his family huddled in the cab of Karissa’s Nissan, their eyes anxiously searching through the windows. Brionney opened the door and met him outside the truck. “Are they . . .?”

  “They’re alive,” he said. “But Malcolm’s hurt pretty bad. He’s got a broken ankle, and he’s bleeding all over. We’re going to try to stop the bleeding before we take him to the hospital. There’s supposed to be a first aid kit in the truck.”