Prey: A Novel

by Linda Howard

  He didn’t need either, but to keep Heather happy he carried them both. There was no personal locator on the GPS, but he’d never gotten lost in his life. It was as if he had a built-in compass in his head. He always knew where he’d come from, and how to get where he was going. As for the bear repellent, it was just something extra to carry; he didn’t think he’d ever need it. All the literature on bears said that they wanted to avoid humans as much as humans wanted to avoid them. But the canister was in an easily accessible pocket of his cargo pants, just in case—to keep Heather happy. He hadn’t cheated by leaving it behind, because if she asked him if he’d carried it, he wanted to be able to say “yes” with a clear conscience.

  Danny stopped again, peering through a clearing in the trees that offered yet another spectacular view, but this one was framed by some larch trees. He pulled his digital camera out of a pocket; his hobby—well, his other hobby—was photography, and he’d gotten some great shots up here. They weren’t good enough to sell or anything, but they were good enough for him. When he looked back at this picture he’d remember the solitude, the deep sense of peace.

  No wonder he was having such a hard time finding a job that suited him. He should’ve lived two hundred years ago, been a mountain man. The thought made him smile as he snapped a few pictures, checked the quality in the review mode, then returned the camera to his pocket.

  There was a rustling noise behind him and Danny turned around. His heart almost stopped, and for a minute he felt as if he might pass out, as if all the blood in his head had drained to the bottom of his stomach, which had lodged somewhere near his throat. His mind had to work hard to process what he was seeing, because this was just wrong. Black bear, less than thirty yards away, lumbering straight at him. Huge black bear. He’d known there were bears here, but in all his trips he’d never been close to one.

  For an instant he just stood there, blinking, as if somehow his eyes were playing tricks on him and all he had to do was blink fast enough to make the bear go away. No, it was still there, still coming at him. He blinked, wondering—hoping—if his eyes were playing tricks on him. For a wasted precious few seconds he was frozen, his gaze glued on the massive claws as he tried to remember all the tips he’d heard about confronting a bear in the wild.

  Don’t look it in the eye.

  Slowly back away.

  Speak in a low, calm voice.

  Really? Speak to it? Like it freakin’ understood English?

  “Good bear.” His voice shook a little but he kept it as even and soothing as he could, just as he kept his retreat slow and easy. He didn’t dare look behind him, to watch where he was stepping. God, don’t let him fall, not now. “Nice, big bear.” His mouth was so dry he couldn’t swallow; forming the words took incredible effort. “Where the hell did you come from?”

  Good lord that thing was big. Slowly Danny reached down, taking care not to make any sudden, jerky movements that might alarm the monster. He fingered the canister of pepper spray in his pocket and wondered if using it would just make the bear angry, or if it would actually work. The pocket was buttoned, to prevent the canister from falling out as he climbed over rough terrain. He began fumbling with the button.

  Bears were supposed to be wary of people. Everything he’d ever heard about them said that the animal should be going away from him, not steadily moving forward. Danny was careful not to make any threatening moves. He didn’t challenge the animal in any way. The bear should be retreating.

  But it wasn’t. Each padding step forward meant he had to take at least two steps back to maintain the same distance between them. His instinct screamed at him to run, but he fought it down. He’d been told that was the number one rule: don’t run. A human had no chance of outrunning a bear, plus fleeing triggered the response to chase.

  Water. That was it. The bear was heading for the creek, and he was between it and its objective. The best thing he could do was leave the trail at a diagonal, let the bear get past him, then put as much distance between himself and it as possible.

  He risked a quick look around him, because leaving the path meant the going wouldn’t be as even, though in this case “even” was a relative term. He edged sideways, to his right, angling upward. To the left was the smoother way, but to the right was a rocky outcropping featuring some big boulders that would take him out of the bear’s line of sight, which seemed like a good thing, if he could just get to it without triggering a charge from the bear.

  He used the walking stick to brace himself as he edged across the rough, steeply sloping ground. The stick … would it do him any good against a bear that big? How much did that thing weigh? Four, maybe five hundred pounds? It could snap the stick with a swat of one of those massive paws.

  Finally he managed to get the pocket in his cargo pants unbuttoned—too much going on, trying to think of too many things at one time—and pulled out the canister of spray. It felt terrifyingly small in his hand. He needed more than this, he needed a big can … several big cans. Hell, if that thing came after him, he needed a gun. That was a jarring thought, because he didn’t believe in hunting. He never carried a weapon; he came up here to get closer to nature, to enjoy the solitude and beauty of the mountain.

  Solitude wasn’t so hot at the moment, and Danny didn’t see beauty, he couldn’t see anything except a mass of matted fur, and teeth and claws, and feral dark eyes. He thought of Heather, and how maybe she was right about staying close to modern conveniences. He wished he’d stayed home instead of escaping to the mountain, and if he got out of this he might not stop taking his camping trips, but he’d definitely make sure his canister of pepper spray was bigger.

  He stumbled, righted himself, held on to a bush to steady himself as he navigated a particularly steep section.

  The bear left the path, coming straight toward him.

  Oh God. Not water, then. The bear wanted him.

  This was wrong. This wasn’t the way bears were supposed to act. He didn’t have any food on him. This wasn’t a female protecting its cubs, and the bear didn’t seem to be wounded or sick, which were supposed to be the only reasons a black bear would attack a human. A grizzly, yeah, they were more aggressive, but a black bear was supposed to be timid.

  Maybe it was just curious. He didn’t care. All he wanted was for the thing not to get any closer to him. “Go away,” Danny said, trying to sound authoritative, but his voice wavered and squeaked like a little kid’s.

  The bear lowered its head and swung it back and forth, a deep, coughing growl rumbling in its throat. Danny fumbled the safety off the pepper spray and held it out at arms’ length. The wind … which way was the wind blowing? He didn’t want to get a facefull of pepper spray. The left; he could feel the wind on the left side of his face, so he should spray to the left of the bear. What was the distance? The instructions on the can said it would spray thirty feet, or something like that. Not yet, then; the bear wasn’t close enough.

  God, he was supposed to let the thing get closer?

  Just then the bear charged, roaring, claws digging into the ground.

  It happened so fast he had almost no time to react. He began spraying as he took several quick steps back, but his aim was off, too high, and the bear was coming at him under the yellow cloud of spray. The footing was too treacherous; his feet slipped out from under him and he went down hard on his back, pulled there by the weight of his backpack, as helpless as a turtle. Then the bear was on him, hitting him like an avalanche, just as powerful and overwhelming. The sound was deafening, the smell hot and fetid, fur greasy and matted; he caught a fast glimpse of those dark feral eyes, something mean and disturbingly intelligent in them.

  There was still some spray in the canister and he managed to hit the release and got the bear in the face, but it was too close, the pepper got him, too, and he lost his breath, his sight. Blindly he swung his walking stick up, frantically trying to get it between himself and the bear as if he could pry the bear away, hold those hundreds o
f pounds off him with what was effectively a toothpick.

  The bear snorted, shook its head. Danny tried to scoot away but one massive paw flashed out and caught his scalp, peeling skin and hair down over his face. He heard agonized screaming, deep and raw, but the sound was at a distance. He didn’t feel any pain so he couldn’t be the one making the noise, maybe someone was nearby who could help him, someone who could—

  Then the bear bit down on his head.

  For a brief flash of time, he could hear the screams blending with the coughing grunts of the bear, discordant and harsh, and then there was nothing.

  Chapter Four

  The next day, Angie got up at the crack of dawn and started work. The day before leaving on a guide trip was the most work-intensive, every time. Her dad had built three small guest cabins, just big enough for private sleeping and bath areas, and today was the day she had to clean the two cabins that would be used, put on fresh sheets, lay out fresh towels, etc. When her dad had been alive, and for the first year she’d been back, there had been enough money to hire a local woman to do that work, but since then Angie had been doing it all herself.

  On top of getting the cabins ready, with Harlan coming to take pictures for the website, she did some major damage control in the main house, too. Living alone as she did, sometimes she’d let little things slide, and before she knew it there were a ton of little things that threatened to become an avalanche of junk.

  Her clients were due in late that afternoon. They were renting a vehicle in Butte and driving in. Rather than go through the hassle of bringing their rifles through the airport, they’d shipped them in; the boxes had arrived four days ago. She had all the permits in order, they had their licenses, and all of that was good to go. Tonight she’d have to feed them, so she put a hearty stew in the slow cooker.

  By the time all of that was done, it was early afternoon. She sat at the kitchen table, half-listening to the television as she finished packing the supplies they would need. She had a checklist that she printed out before every trip, and as she added each item she checked it off the list. Basic first-aid items were included, as well as canned or dried food, bear spray—the big canisters, with as high a concentration of pepper as state law allowed, and four for each person—powerful LED flashlights with new batteries in them, and other items. She didn’t take safety issues lightly. She didn’t hunt, she merely guided, but all the same her rifle was freshly cleaned, the scope sighted in, and she had plenty of ammo … just in case.

  The sound of a vehicle outside made her stand and look out the kitchen window as Harlan was climbing out of his truck. She’d set up the coffeemaker ahead of time, so as she passed by on the way to the door she pushed the brew button to start the machine.

  “Come on in,” she called, holding the door open. “Coffee’s making.”

  “Sounds good.”

  When her dad was still alive Harlan had been over many times, but this was his first visit since she’d moved back and taken over the place. He looked around the kitchen with interest, noting the changes she’d made, such as refinishing the cabinet doors and replacing the old hardware and repainting. The appliances were nothing fancy but they were all fairly new, thank goodness, because now she couldn’t afford to replace them.

  “It looks good,” he said in approval. “I like the color.” As a man he probably didn’t give a rip about the color, but as a real estate agent he knew what would sell and what wouldn’t.

  Angie laughed. “Any color would be better than what was here before.” She wasn’t a decorating whiz, by any means, but the old discolored, peeling wallpaper had been an eyesore even before she’d moved away. By the time she’d moved back, the wallpaper had gone from merely unattractive to a real disaster. Removing it and painting the walls a deep taupe had to be an improvement.

  “There is that.” He removed his hat and coat, hanging them on the pegs by the door. “Been a while since I’ve been here; any other improvements you’ve made?”

  “Some lighting fixtures, paint, general repair. Nothing major needed to be taken care of. Let me show you around.”

  The place wasn’t anything fancy, but it was solidly built. Everything eventually needed new roofing and maintenance, but her dad had stayed on top of things—except for cosmetic stuff like the wallpaper—so she hadn’t been hit with any big expenses. So far, knock on wood, the new cabinet pulls had been her single biggest outlay as far as the buildings went.

  She had de-cluttered the place and repainted, and turned the master bedroom into a guest room. Somehow, when she’d moved back, taking over her dad’s bedroom hadn’t been in the cards. Her old room had been way more inviting, and being there felt natural. Sometimes she had married couples as clients, and if she liked them enough and was comfortable with them staying in the house with her, she’d offered the master bedroom instead of putting them in one of the tiny cabins, which realistically were better suited for one person, not two.

  Harlan was complimentary on what she’d accomplished, but he didn’t take any photos the way she’d expected. For that matter, he hadn’t brought a camera at all, unless it was one of those tiny digitals that could hide in his pocket.

  “Did you leave your camera in the truck?”

  “I forgot it,” he said, a guilty look crossing his face.

  Angie was dismayed by the delay; she was leaving early in the morning and the planned hunt could go as long as a week, which meant it would be at least that long before Harlan could list the property. She had so little leeway that she felt a little panicked over the forgotten camera, but she still managed to smile at him and say, “That gives you an excuse to come out again.”

  “There is that.” He followed her back to the kitchen, and made himself at home at the table while she poured coffee for both of them. She stirred two teaspoons of sugar into his, one into hers, and carefully delivered his cup into his hands before she took her own seat.

  He nodded at all the supplies spread out across the kitchen table, barely leaving enough space for them to set their cups. “Looks like a long hunt.”

  “A week, though you know how it goes: If they bag their prey the first day, the hunt’s essentially over.”

  “Trophy hunter?”

  “Yeah. I’ve made the usual arrangements for the meat.” That meant that the meat would go to a homeless shelter, or to a family that needed a helping hand with food. The law was that the meat couldn’t be wasted.

  “Who are your clients?”

  “One’s a repeat; his name’s Chad Krugman. Nice enough guy, but not much of a hunter. The other one, Davis, is his client. I guess this is the roughing-it equivalent of a golf game.”

  Harlan gave her a somber look. “Be careful.”

  “Always.” She knew exactly what he was talking about, and didn’t pretend otherwise. In a perfect world a female guide wouldn’t have to take precautions when taking out a party of male hunters, but the world wasn’t perfect and she wasn’t stupid. Not only was she always armed when she was out on a guide trip, she made certain people knew where she was, who she was with, and when she was coming back—and that her clients knew she’d left their names with someone else, which was probably the best safeguard she had.

  Nevertheless, she was on birth control. She kept things on a no-nonsense basis, never flirted, and slept lightly with her rifle at hand. There were some things she couldn’t control, and if two men decided to gang up on her she might or might not to be able to handle the situation, but she was fairly certain she’d be able to handle someone acting alone. She made things as safe for herself as possible, and had to be content with that.

  One thing she didn’t have that she wished she did: Her dad had gotten a satellite phone that he’d taken on guide trips, for emergencies, and she’d kept it for the first couple of years, but last year she’d had to cut expenses, and the satellite phone was one of the first things to go. She’d felt safer, having the phone. Thank goodness she hadn’t had any real emergencies in all the
years she’d been guiding. Come to think of it, neither had her dad, but he’d liked having the phone.

  He’d modernized in other ways as well, such as buying the four-wheelers, but for the most part he’d liked the whole bit of going out on horseback and giving his clients a real sense of adventure. She should have sold the horses the first year and kept the four-wheelers, but sentiment had gotten in the way of good sense, and she’d kept the money-eaters not only because her dad had liked them, but because one of the horses was a particular favorite of hers. Then last year she’d lost Jupiter to colic anyway, and another horse had broken its leg and had to be put down, which meant she’d had to buy two new horses, neither of which she liked nearly as much as the horses they’d replaced.

  Life just kept on happening, damn it.

  In keeping with the rule of letting someone know where she was, she pulled a piece of paper toward her, wrote out all the pertinent information, and pushed the sheet toward Harlan. “I’ll check in with you when I get back. If I don’t call by this date, send out the search party.”

  Harlan nodded as he folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket. He’d done watchdog duty before, for her dad. He sipped his coffee, looking around at nothing in particular, and Angie noticed that guilty expression on his face again. An idea struck her and she said, “Wait, I’ll get my camera. It isn’t as good as yours, probably, but it takes decent pictures. You can take the SD card with you; I have another one.” That was something else she always took with her: a camera for photographing the victorious hunters, just in case they forgot to bring their own cameras.