by Lindy Zart
As we finish up drinking, a scent hits me, sweet and welcome.
“Do you smell that?” I ask, scanning the foliage around us.
There.
I walk toward the plants with pointy leaves, elation quickening my pulse. It smells like mint and looks like mint. I pick a leaf and bring it to my nose, a clean, refreshing scent hitting me. Mint is better than nothing. Mint is great right now.
I pop the leaf in my mouth and chew the coarse herb until it is mush, swallowing quickly. Although there is a faint sour aftertaste, my mouth feels twenty times better. I gather some more, shoving it in my pockets.
“Eat this.” I hold a mint leaf before Avery’s face.
“What is it?” She warily takes it from me, eyeing the leaf.
“Mint.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t know a lot about nature, but I did read up on it some before we came here. This is a step in the right direction. If we can find this, I’m confident we can find other edible plants.” Stay positive.
Avery slowly chews the mint, taking more as I offer it. Self-reproach can be heard in her voice when she admits, “I wasn’t prepared for any of this.” She lifts her gaze to mine. “Thank you.”
I give Avery a brief nod and turn from the sight of her trampled golden beauty. Her gratefulness sends a large dose of guilt my way. I could have been more prepared. I should have been. But I didn’t know. How could I have known we would end up lost in my own state? I mentally shake off the thought and focus on the task at hand.
In a moment of clarity or delusion, I tell Avery, “I’m going to climb the nearest mountain as high up as I can, see what’s below. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find people or a campsite, something.”
“What? No. Why are you going to do that?”
“It will be fine, Avery, trust me.”
Finding the wild mint is a sign. Things are looking up. Today is the day we find our way back to civilization, I can feel it. I tilt my head back and examine the mountain I’m about to ascend. There are sporadic ledges, which can be used as lookout points and somewhere to rest. It looks promising, as in, I probably won’t fall to my death. Up can’t be worse than any other direction we’ve gone. It’s a stretch, but I’m at the point where I’ll try just about anything.
“Don’t go.” Avery latches her hand around my arm and squeezes.
I look at her hand, then meet her eyes. “I won’t be long.”
A crease forms between her eyebrows, and with reluctant fingers, Avery releases me.
With slow, careful steps, I make my way to the slanted wall of earth. A fly buzzes near my ear. I stare at the tumultuous terrain for a moment, take a breath of fortitude, and I begin to climb. Grabbing at trees and whatever else I can find, I carefully work my way up the incline.
“Ben. Ben, wait!”
I pause, shooting a look over my shoulder. “What is it?”
Avery looks at me, twisting her fingers together but not speaking.
My grip loosens, and I skid down an inch. Gritting my teeth, I reinforce my hold on the rock, the jagged edges digging into my skin. “Any time now, Avery.”
“Remind me again why you’re doing this?” Avery asks, worry lining her face.
“So I can see what’s around us, maybe find someone or something that will help us get out of here. Remember? We need a plan, and right now, the plan is find out what’s nearby.” I pant around the pain in my ankle as it gives an especially sharp throb, pushing through it as I move higher.
“But…do you have to? What if you fall?”
“It isn’t anything I haven’t already done.” When silence greets me, I press my forehead to the rough stone and tell her, “I didn’t mean anything by that.”
Even her mocking tone lacks sincerity when she calls, “Right. Well. Good luck. I’ll just…wait here, I guess.”
You do that.
I’m less than a third of the way toward my destination when I hear, “How long do you think you’ll be?”
I pause at the nervousness I catch in her voice, again gazing over my shoulder and down. Avery stands with her arms wrapped around herself, her gaze divided between me and her surroundings. She jumps at the sound of a faraway bird call. Shaking my head, I face forward. She hasn’t voiced many of her qualms lately, but I know they’re there, eating away at her sanity. There’s nothing I can do about that. Avery has to find a way to get over her irrational fears herself.
“I’ll get there quicker if you stop interrupting me.”
Something rumbles overhead, causing the earth beneath me to shake. Maybe it’s a landslide, aimed right for me. Whatever it is, it can’t be any worse than what I’ve already endured. Nothing is keeping me from reaching the top. The sooner I get up there, the sooner we can once more be on our way, the sooner we can reach civilization.
“Um…Ben?”
“I don’t have time for this, Avery.”
“But…”
I tune her out.
“Ben,” she hisses.
I crane my neck and glare down at her. “What is it? If you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to—”
The expression on her face mutes any forthcoming words. In fact, the air freezes inside my lungs. With a white face, wide eyes, and a thin slant for a mouth, she looks beyond me. Chills skim along my flesh. I really don’t want to know what has her spooked. The earth vibrates again.
Avery shifts her gaze to me.
My eyes are held captive by hers as a snuffing sound comes from overhead. “What is it?” I ask.
She shakes her head when I begin to turn mine. The whisper of, “Don’t look,” reaches me as I do exactly that.
There is a good seven feet between us, but it might as well be inches. This particular animal is not supposed to be here. I specifically checked for that when I read about the forest. A face of matted black fur with long yellow teeth peers back at me. The beast sniffs the air, the muscles of its body rippling as it shifts. It’s bent toward me; I don’t even want to imagine how tall it would be standing upright. Its paws are as big as my head, sporting sharp claws. The eyes are small and fixated on me, and through them, I see my mortality. It leans closer, probably basking in the scent of my terror. Its mouth opens, hot breath wafting over me as I see the full effect of its teeth.
Fuck.
Me.
“Just…don’t move,” Avery says softly.
Really? Because I thought I’d do a little dance.
Hunching down, its face directly before mine, it lets out a spine-tingling roar.
“Bear,” I croak.
13
AVERY
The bear is monstrous, and ugly, and when it lets out a sound that stiffens Ben’s shoulders and gives me heart palpitations, I know fear in a way I’ve yet to experience. There isn’t enough space between man and animal. One swipe of that daggered mitt and Ben is done for.
It makes me ill, where I literally am on the verge of vomiting. This can’t be happening. The crow has nothing on this black brute. The bear paces back and forth, intermittently letting out that horrendous sound.
On the outside, I’m frozen in place. Inside, I’m pacing right along with that bear.
I decide something: I can’t leave Ben to the fate of a bear. A crow, maybe, but a bear? No.
“You can’t have him,” I whisper, eyes on the black beast.
Shoulders back, jaw tight, I move forward. Even as I step toward danger, I wonder why now, when I should be running, as opposed to before, when I did run, I am resolved to stay and help. Even if I never let the thought fully produce, I know why.
Before I can force myself forward another step, the bear turns and moves out of sight.
I let out a choked exhalation and watch as Ben slides a few feet down the side of the mountain. Maybe it won’t come back. Maybe something will go our way for once. Fingers clenched, I hop from foot to foot as I silently will him the rest of the way down the mountain before the bear decides to come back.
&nbs
p; “Hurry.”
“Trying,” Ben rasps.
Panic shoots into my core as the bear returns, holding on to something that looks suspiciously like a scrap of my pink shirt I tied around some random tree branch in hopes of someone seeing it and finding us. Before too long, we’ll both be shirtless. I mean, if we’re still alive.
Arms outstretched, it almost looks as if the bear is offering it to Ben. Sadistic bear. It plops down on the ground, the strip of cloth looking diminutive within its massive paws. With unimaginable strength, it shreds it in an instant, roaring with displeasure when only pieces remain. Luckily, with its newfound toy, it isn’t paying attention to Ben.
“Come on, come on.” I gesture for Ben to move faster, even though his back is to me.
Ben hits the ground hard enough that his knees buckle, a grunt leaving him. With a wince, he straightens and hobbles toward me. He reinjured his ankle. There is a sympathetic lurch in my stomach knowing he’s in pain.
I hurry to meet him, my hands ready to help him. His hair sticks up in front; there is a wild cast to his eyes. His hands and arms are pocked with dirt and blood. Ben is filthy and wounded, but most importantly, whole.
Our eyes collide, silently communicating the need to survive.
Side by side, we race down a jagged slope, away from the black bear. I only allow myself to look back once, and to my relief, the bear is still occupied by the pink material. That’s one bear—how many more are there around? And what else is out here? I just want walls around me. Is that too much to ask? Yes, it is, a fierce part of me I didn’t know existed replies. So get your shit together and be brave.
When Ben stumbles, I help steady his steps. When I almost land in a hole, he hauls me over it. Pulse sprinting along with us, my throat and chest burn with each breath of air I manage to inhale. I smack into tree limbs that sting upon contact and shrubs that feel like nettles against my skin. We run down and down, into a condensed forest of high trees. My leg muscles ache and there is a cramp in my right side. I’m sunburned, thirsty, dirty, lost, hungry, and on the run from a black bear. All things I never want to be. The urge to stop is strong, but even stronger is the need to persist.
We come to a clearing, our pace finally slowing to a stop. The far cry of a disgruntled bear reaches my ears and sends shivers dancing along my spine. Please don’t find us. Please don’t let your friends and relatives find us either.
My lungs burn all the way into my throat, to the point where even my teeth hurt. I look behind us, spinning in a circle until I’m dizzy and the sky is a blur of blue and white. I see trees and nothing else, so many trees they almost entirely block out the sky. We’re safe, for now. I stagger to a stop, one hand braced against the bark of a tree.
Neither of us speak as we catch our breath. I feel as if I’m going to be sick. I bend over, my hair a curtain against the world. I close my eyes for a moment before straightening. “Do you think…” I suck in a lungful of air and attempt words once more. “Do you think there are more of them?”
“Definitely,” Ben wheezes, bent at the waist with his hands on his knees.
Adrenaline spikes my pulse into overdrive and I immediately scan the trees for vicious, black creatures lurking about. “We should keep moving.”
“I agree. Let’s keep moving.”
My heartbeat has navigated into my eardrums, giving our voices a surreal quality. I guess that muted sound could be reality leaving me, growing fainter and farther away as I sink into a nightmare of bears on the hunt for one Ben Stitzer and one Avery Scottam. “Sounds good. Let’s do that. Where?”
“Not a clue, but if it means we’re not eaten by wild animals, we can be lost the whole time we’re here. We can walk in a never-ending circle for all I care,” Ben tells me once he has his breathing under control.
I nod jerkily, agreeing without hesitation. “Want to know another reason I hate outside?”
“Besides birds and bugs being around?”
“Yes. Bears.”
“It’s like things that start with the letter ‘B’ are detrimental to you.”
I stare into his eyes. “Not all things.”
He doesn’t answer me, just studies my face. Dirt streaks his face, sweat adding a sheen to his skin. This close, without his glasses, his eyes seem more expressive, deeper. They are greener than I thought. He searches my face as I admire his. “You didn’t run.”
My stomach dips. “We’re teammates, remember?”
He opens his mouth.
“Don’t bring up the bird.”
Ben smiles faintly.
I want to hug him. The need is strong. To feel the surety of his heartbeat, to be touched by his warmth. Looking at him and seeing that Ben is okay isn’t enough. I move forward with the intention of doing just that, damn the consequences, but before I can reach him, Ben walks off, a look of concentration on his face.
He scans the ground and then focuses on me with lowered eyebrows. “Where’s the backpack?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. We must have dropped it when we were running.”
Hands on his hips, Ben faces the direction from which we came. “I’m going back for it.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No.”
I take in Ben’s taut jaw and know he is deadly serious. “Why? There’s nothing left in the bag that we need. Leave it.”
“No.”
I fling my hands up in frustration. “The bear could already have it! It could be gone.”
“I don’t care!” That crazy glint is in his eyes again. “Even if I have to pry the backpack from the bear’s mouth, that bear cannot have that bag. I forbid it.”
“Ben.”
He seethes.
“You’re being insane.”
Ben turns his head and focuses on me, his left eye twitching.
Or he’s past that.
I realize it isn’t about the bag, and really about all sense of control being taken from us. I get it. I struggle with that on a daily basis. Even though my pulse is racing with fear and this is probably one of the worst ideas to bring to fruition, I nod and tell Ben, “Okay. Let’s go get it then.”
He blows out a noisy breath and returns the nod, grim-faced. “Let’s go get it.”
My stomach dips the moment we turn around and backtrack. Returning to an area we ran to get away from seems like a poor choice to me, but we do it. We stay to the trees, Ben leading. He keeps one hand behind him, fingers locked tightly around mine. My eyes dart around, seeing bursts of green and nothing worrisome, which, of course, worries me.
The trees abruptly end, and we stumble to a clearing that was taken directly from a postcard. Shrubs flourish with blossoms in pinks, oranges, and purples. Mountains, covered in green and white, hover in the expanse.
To the right of us is gently moving water colored blue-green, wider than I can see. A bird chirps, and it doesn’t sound threatening. I shiver and set my eyes on the point where the distant mountains meet the skies. Vibrant colors mix with pastels, curves contorted by jaggedness. With the white and gray clouds hovering above it all, I admit the view is beautiful.
I’ve been terrified since we got here, but right now, looking at this, I feel free.
“What is this place?” I ask breathlessly, my voice full of awe.
“I’m not sure,” Ben answers. “There are seven parts to the Shawnee Nations forest, but I have no idea where we are. I don’t think we’re even in the national forest anymore.”
“Do you know the names?”
He shakes his head. “I remember Burden Falls Wilderness and Garden of the Gods Wilderness, but only because they’re interesting names. The Panther Den Wilderness was where we started.”
“Panther Den Wilderness?” Panthers? There are panthers here?
Noting the look on my face, Ben says, “Easy, there aren’t any panthers.”
“Right.” I gulp. “And were there supposed to be bears here too?”
He winces, confirming what I thought.
Wonderful.
I take a deep breath, refusing to think about it, and focus on the world directly around us.
“It’s pretty here. Peaceful.” I turn to him, finding his eyes already on me. A funny look crosses his features. I’m curious as to his thoughts, but not brave enough to ask what they are.
Ben sets his hands on his narrow hips and views our surroundings. I follow his gaze, taking in the faraway mountains. I hug myself, wishing I was anywhere but here. I am on display for all wildlife to see, and hunt. I could be being sized up right now by an unseen bear thinking I’ll be its next meal. It isn’t a pleasant feeling.
“Do you see it anywhere?” I ask Ben, wanting to be on the move again. Being out in the open doesn’t make me feel safe. It’s peaceful here, yes, but it’s also an illusion. This place is full of predators.
“No.” Ben sighs, going still in the next heartbeat. “Do you hear that?”
I cock my head and listen, catching the faint notes of something inhuman and sorrowful. “What is that?”
With stealthy steps, Ben moves forward. He pauses to look over his shoulder and gestures for me to follow.
I vehemently shake my head.
Ben lifts his eyebrows.
I shake my head some more, firmly staying rooted in placed.
With a shrug, he turns and disappears between two large bushes.
That jumpstarts me into action and I sprint after him, quickly catching up.
Ben looks straight ahead, his steps slow and silent. He stops without warning and I bump into him, sending him stumbling forward a couple steps. I mouth, “Sorry,” when he gives me an annoyed look. I look at what holds his attention. My stomach drops to my feet, and then it drops some more.
I am looking at a furry black thing that isn’t all that much smaller than me and appears to have its head stuck in the opening of the backpack. It paws at the bag, making those mournful sounds. Even though my eyes know what I’m looking at, it takes a couple minutes for my brain to process and accept it. It’s a bear cub, and if there’s a cub, its mama is nearby. And a distressed cub? That will most likely bring a pissed mama before too long.