by Sarah Read
Something was caught in the door of the fridge freezer, holding it slightly ajar and keeping the freezer coolant running.There’s a waste on a hot day. Don’t thank me, Bob. I’m just another eco warrior. Cathy grabbed a tea towel ( Just in case ... Of exactly what? No, don’t go there..) and opened the door. A butcher paper-wrapped package labeled “ground moose” shot out, hard as a puck. Cathy jumped as it hit her toe and bounced. The wrapping fell open. Cathy bent and picked up the frozen meat. No moose burgers here. It held small, hard chunks of frozen offal, but nothing like anything Cathy had ever cooked. And I think I’ve cooked just about everything. Cathy looked in the freezer. Half of it was filled with small packages just like the one in her hand. Bob, if someone gave you a moose, there’d be some roasts in there for sure. Where are the roasts, Bob? Did you eat them all? With a shiver that didn’t come just from the freezer air, she rewrapped the parcel with care, put it back, closed the freezer door, and hung the towel where she had found it.
Cathy entered the bedroom. Apparently the cleanup had only just begun because it certainly hadn’t extended to this disarrayed room. The smells were ripe and clear despite the wide open windows. Cathy’s heart skipped a beat, then started hammering. She stopped to admire the tangled array of paraphernalia strewn about. Bob, Bob, Bob. You old party boy. And with a freezer full of offal, too. You’re quite the catch. Hold me back. Again, astringent cologne and citrus scents wove through it all, but there was no sign of Bonnie.
No sign, that was, until Cathy moved towards the window at the side of the room. On the air leaking in from outside came Bonnie’s musk. Cathy stuck her head out the window. Bonnie’s scent lingered as if on purpose in the thick, humid air above the long grass just below. Cathy could see where the grass had been flattened, as if something, or someone, large had been nesting there for awhile. Damn. No, this truly deserves something stronger: God Damn it to Hell.
Cathy dashed to the back door, swung it open, and stood, scanning the area. In the yard, she saw the trampled grass in a trail all the way from where the bike was parked, as if towards the back door, but halting at the window. Then the trail diverged from its original route, turning ninety degrees towards the bush at the back of the yard. There was another trail, emerging from the back steps. Instead of vanishing into the dirt-packed path leading to the front of the house, it careened out to follow the first trail across Bob’s overgrown yard. The two trails merged into one, making a beeline to the woods. Thanks, Bob, for not mowing for a month or two.
Cathy pursued the trail into the woods. The breeze, what little there was of it, had shifted, and she was now travelling downwind. She made no attempt to be quiet. Anything that needed to know she was on her way would have plenty of warning. The ground was dry and hard, the grass much sparser under the cover of the trees. Only the brown beds of fallen needles showed disturbances. Fortunately, whoever had made this trail wasn’t trying to hide it.
She halted at a creek bed. In the soft mud of the bank she saw two sets of boot prints. A man’s, and only slightly smaller, her sister’s distinctive tread. No sign of stilettos. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. For sure then, the chippy’s long gone. The two sets of boot prints were facing each other. Then, Bonnie’s tracks led away from the creek, deeper into the bush. So far, so good. Cathy called out their names, but no answer came. Only more insects; humming, buzzing, whining. Sweat trickled down her temple despite the forest shade.
She followed the trail further, breaching the dark boreal woods, until she came to a place of broken branches and bracken. The undergrowth was trampled in a wide area.
The breeze shifted again. This time she smelled Bob. And Bonnie. And blood. Oh, no. Please no. She looked around the ground. Here and there were tiny droplets of a familiar dark red that was almost black. Raising her head, she took in the two tufts of black bear fur on some of the trampled bushes. A scrap of orange fabric hung on a tree branch. She closed her eyes. No, Bonnie’s not wearing orange today.
Cathy took a deep breath, and then followed the trail, sprinting. Something big had crashed through here, and it hadn’t been alone. The drag marks scuffed into the path here and there confirmed it. Cathy was no distance runner, but she could cover short distances like a tornado, especially when adrenaline pushed her. It was pushing her now.
For five minutes, she gave frantic chase over roots and rocks and broken branches, following blood drips and hair tufts, her heart thudding as hard as her footfalls, despite the carpet of tree detritus. She skidded to a halt. On the forest floor was a huge smear of blood. More of a pool, really. Flies rose from it, buzzing as she ran over. She prodded it gingerly. It was still tacky, filling her nostrils with a metallic tang.
The trail turned a corner here. She slowed to a walk, following the clumps and splashes to an immense thicket. She pushed her way into the open centre. At the far end, in a shaft of sunlight, sat a huge sow black bear, rocking the mangled body of a man in the shredded remains of what could have been an orange shirt. At the sight of Cathy, the bear’s nostrils flared, and a soft, keening wail filled the grove.
The strength left Cathy’s legs. The breeze hitting her sweat-drenched body made her feel clammy and ill. Wobbling, she sank down onto a boulder near the thicket entrance, out of reach of the bear.
“Oh, Bonnie. Now you’ve done it.” Cathy buried her face in her hands.
¤
While the animal grieved, Cathy raised her head, and inhaled deeply, fighting her panic, watching her sister. Well, she thought, there certainly wasn’t anything she could do for Bob. Cathy was sorry he was gone, and that he had to go in such a fashion, but gone he was. Now she had to help her sister. Not her sister, but her bear. Cathy had to remember to think of her that way. If she thought of her as Bonnie, she’d forget about the claws, the teeth, the power. For indeed, Bonnie was a bear on the rag.
Or, more precisely, a werebear. Cathy heard her mother’s voice in her head, repeating the cautionary tales.Bears don’t get the monthly curse, girls, but we do. During their periods was the only time the girls wouldn’t be able to avoid changing.Or change back, until the flow stops. They would still have whatever symptoms a regular woman might get. PMS, plus bloating like you wouldn’t believe. I don’t know if DNA has a sense of humour, but if it does, it’s a pretty sick one. The tides rolled in and the tides rolled out. Twenty-eight days, a lunar cycle with no moon required. Easy enough to cope with when predictable. But now? Cathy shook her head. Well, it would be over for Bonnie in a couple of years. Then she would be complete mistress of her changes. Assuming they could clean this mess up first. In a few days, Cathy could join Bonnie in publicly remembering Bob and marking his life’s passage. But for now, Bonnie would have to remain hidden from the town, and Bob had to become just a body to be disposed of.
Cathy took a long swig from the water bottle attached to her belt, eyeing the whimpering bear. Too bad they couldn’t just leave it as a bear attack. But that would mean a hunt for a dangerous man-eater, the kind of hunt not easily diverted. She poured some water onto her hand and wiped the back of her neck and temples. She came to a decision. This would work out best if she stayed bipedal with opposable thumbs and a big frontal lobe. Besides, it was too hot for fur today.
She walked over to the bear, but stopped just out of reach, beside a tree. If it came down to it, she could always climb faster than Bonnie, and, here, in her lighter form, climb higher. Cathy’s heart melted at the pain in her sister’s— correction, the bear’s—round brown eyes. She had to resist running over to her. Instead, she let her voice carry the hug.
“I’m so sorry, honey. I heard about the girl when I was at the tavern today. I came as quick as I could. You didn’t get her too, did you?”
The bear shook her head once, slowly. She stopped rocking Bob, or, really, the remains of Bob, and peered at Cathy, confessional through teary eyes.
“So, let me guess, you sat under the window and watched. You saw the girl get up and hear
d her leave. And then you were going to go confront Bob, right? But what happened, you felt your period coming on, so you hiked it to the bush to get the hell out of there?”
The bear growled in assent.
“Takes the expression ‘I’ve got my visitor from out of town’ to a whole new level, doesn’t it?”
The growl sounded lower and more dangerous.
Cathy’s palms went clammy again. “Sorry. I know it’s not funny.” She rubbed them on her pants, thinking.
“Ok, then. Bob caught up with you at the creek. You had an argument. Then, the flow started. You bolted, but he still saw you change. You completely lost it, and that was the end of Bob?”
The bear roared.
Cathy kept herself from jumping.
“I’m not saying he didn’t deserve some kind of payback, the bastard.”
The bear roared again. But Cathy had regained her equilibrium, and she stood her ground. Someone has to be the adult here. I guess it’s me.
“I know, honey. He broke your heart.”
The bear whimpered.
“And now he’s dead.”
The bear wailed, a strangled, almost human sound.
“And to make it even worse, I bet you’ve got cramps too? And a headache? Probably low blood sugar?”
The bear’s cry was piteous.
“Well, we’ll see if we can fix this.”
Cathy tried to get a good look at Bob, still clutched to the bear’s chest. Small bits of him littered the thicket. The main part of Bob was clearly mauled. No getting around it. They wouldn’t be able to make it look like he’d tripped and hit his head on a rock. In fact, Bob’s head was rather tenuously attached to his torso at the moment.
“At least it was quick, right?”
The bear sniffed, and nodded.
“I’m going back to the truck. I’ve got some supplies, and I’ll do some thinking along the way. You just try and relax.”
The bear moaned, and renewed rocking Bob, her wet eyes streaming. The tears dripped down into his broken-necked, oddly bouncing, side-staring face, so that it, too, was tear-tracked. Cathy swallowed back her rising gorge, and hurried on her way.
¤
After awhile, Cathy returned with a shovel and backpack.
The bear seemed calmer. Bob’s condition, however, showed no improvement. Bonnie let out a cross between a yelp and a moan when Cathy appeared.
“Yes, I’ve got it here. I’ll toss it to you, but you have to put Bob down first.”
The bear snarled.
“You can’t hang on to him forever. I’m sure he’s cooled off by now, so he’s not much help with the cramps. Put him down.”
The snarl turned into a low-grade running growl.
“Fine. You can keep the head for now.”
The bear put down most of Bob and rolled him over to Cathy with one paw, the other paw tucked protectively around his head. Cathy tossed her one of the bars of chocolate.
The bear snarled again.
“Okay. Here’s two then. Frankly, Bonnie, after all I’ve heard, I’m surprised his head is your favourite part.”
The bear’s growl grew louder, thrumming like a warning drum through Cathy’s ears.
“Alright. Not funny. I’m just saying…”
The bear chuffed, distracted by the chocolate bar wrappings she was shredding rather delicately. The occasional sun beam filtered down through the forest canopy catching the glints of foil and sparkly remnants of nail polish. Feeling oddly peaceful and outside herself, Cathy watched until the first bar was consumed.
“Right. Let’s get him buried. Deep. We don’t want those damn dogs or that wolf pack digging him up.” She paused for a moment. “Wait. The wolves. They’d enjoy the meal and we could blame it on them.”
The bear looked up, chocolate-muzzled, and then chuffed.
“Yeah, you’re right. They’re not into carrion this time of year.”
Silence, except for the sound of the second chocolate bar being eaten. It seemed to be having the desired effect. Bonnie, you’re looking perkier, thank God.
“So, ok, let’s get the grave dug.”
The bear growled, then moaned softly.
“No, I’m not doing all the digging myself. You’re the one who killed him. Besides, if every female with cramps stopped working, where would the world be? It would grind to a halt.”
Another groan, edged with a growl.
“Yeah, I know you’re having a bad day. Mine’s no peach either.” Cathy sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. Hell, it’s sweltering. “Fine. You supervise. And be the look-out.”
Cathy struck the ground with the shovel. The hot spell had hardened the ground to the consistency of concrete. The shovel rang on impact, and bounced sideways.
“Should’ve brought the garden spade,” she muttered, more to herself than to the bear, now gnawing on Bob’s skull.
The ebbing beer had made her weary. That, plus the afternoon’s heat sapped any remaining strength. The thought of digging the grave deep, and then hauling Bob around and filling it up overwhelmed her. Cathy thought briefly of changing into a bear herself and benefitting from the increase in strength. No, I’d forget myself, and end up joining Bonnie in snacking on old Bob there. It’s too hot to think straight in all that hair. Still, she couldn’t keep the snarl out of her own voice.
“Jesus Christ, Bonnie, you’ve really screwed up this time.”
The bear growled. Cathy remembered herself.
“I know, I know. But, hell, they’ll connect it to you somehow, and then where will we be?”
The bear slurped out an eyeball in reply.
“And would you quit chewing on that thing? Soft tissue okay, but no claw or teeth marks on the bones. We don’t want another big hunt.”
The bear roared. Cathy had had enough.
“I know! I know! Yes, that one was my fault! Okay? We were supposed to learn from it. I learned from it! Did you learn from it?”
The bear roared again, and then stopped, eyes glowing, her breath coming in angry chuffs, neck fur bristling. She leaned forward towards Cathy over Bob’s remains, her canines long and bloodied, and glared at Cathy. This time it wasn’t gorge but anger that Cathy swallowed. She counted to ten before speaking.
“I guess the chocolate’s not enough then.”
The bear rose on her hind legs, muzzle pulled back over her teeth, dropping Bob’s unfortunate skull. His cranium hit moss with a soft thud, and then rolled over to the rest of him near Cathy’s feet.
Cathy held her ground, and thus kept her own head, though her knees were shaking. She reined in her anger, binding it close. Losing control would solve nothing. The bristling of her own neck hair warned her. Man, it would feel good to give in to it, the anger and the change. But no, the stakes were too high. She took a deep breath, and, watching her sister out of the corner of her eye, unwrapped the shrink-wrapped box of Midol, then tossed it to Bonnie.
“See if this takes the edge off.” Her tones were measured, nurse-like.
The bear heaved a great breath in reply, sat back on her haunches, and shredded the remaining packaging. From long practise, she extracted a bear-appropriate dose with her nimble tongue and claws. Cathy threw her a bottle of water, and retrieved a chunk of bacon from the back pack, which then followed the water bottle’s trajectory. Cathy sat down on the rock to think some more. Burial wasn’t going to work today, and they still had to cover their tracks before darkness complicated things beyond hope.
¤
Cathy’s stomach grumbled and her head ached. I better eat something, too, or I’m not going to be much help here. A whiff of Bob reached her nostrils. Her mouth watered. Not a good sign. Think.
“Hey, Bonnie, wolves don’t eat carrion, but bears do, right?”
The bear woofed softly, looking longingly at Bob’s remaining eyeball. Cathy threw her another chunk of bacon, and grabbed one for herself. Not so tasty raw, but better this than Bob.
“Right. Now, so long as
people don’t think Bob was killed by a bear, but just discovered by one later and snacked on, well then, they won’t launch a bear hunt.”
The bear grunted, her mouth full of bacon.
“Last time, we had a witness. But not this time.”
The bear snorted agreement, and, using one claw, cleaned between her teeth. Bonnie threw her some more bacon and yet more chocolate, after breaking off a row for herself. Clears the head a bit. But what I wouldn’t give for a shot right now. Lord knows I deserve it.
“So, no one saw you at Bob’s?”
Another snort.
“Did Bob say anything to you or to the chickie-poo about any plans for today?”
The bear snorted and shook her head.
“Then maybe, as far as anyone else needs to be concerned, Bob went on one of his impromptu little camping trips? Maybe he crashed into a tree and killed himself, and was munched on by blameless scavengers?”
The chuff was soft and sad.
“Bob usually goes camping in the park, right? At least the times you’ve gone with him?”
Whimper.
“So, we’ll have to set it up that way, as normal as possible. We’ll have to wait until dark for the crash, and, you know, the scavenging.”
Growl.
“Right. That’s maybe an hour from now. You sit tight here, while I try and erase our trails, and get rid of your and Bob’s blood. We’ll have to rig something up for you to wear when it’s time to move out.”
A groan.
“I know, I know. But bears don’t have periods. That’s human tissue, with human DNA. At least, human enough. They’ll figure it’s contaminated, but it’ll be enough to lead anyone right back to you, my dear. They’ll be checking you first because you’re his girlfriend.”
The bear chuffed in reply, and then moaned.
“Turn around then, don’t look at him. We have to have his remains pretty intact for the crash. This’ll hold you. Here.”