by Kay Bratt
“Well, at least he’d know which way to go to get us out of here,” Lauren said.
The silence between them turned icy. Awkward. There wasn’t time for this.
“I don’t know what to say,” Sadie said. Lauren was right. Tom would’ve led them straight out, his uncanny sense of direction kicking in even before they’d felt the first tremor of panic.
“Me either,” Lauren said. After a long pause she sighed loudly. “Listen, I didn’t mean that. I really am glad you came, Mom. You’re trying your best, and I know this is all my fault.”
Sadie leaned toward her and took one of her hands, rubbing it to try to bring some warmth back. “Don’t even talk like that. It’s nobody’s fault except for that wicked pain in the butt Mother Nature’s. We’ll be out of here soon, and later tonight we’ll laugh about this. Okay?”
Lauren nodded, her eyes downcast. Sadie could see the trembling in her chin and knew tears were being restrained, her cue to divert Lauren’s attention before an all-out meltdown took hold.
“Come on—let’s do this.”
Lauren swallowed hard, then began walking again.
Crisis averted, and Sadie breathed a sigh of relief.
They continued on, conversation nonexistent as they both processed the small argument they’d had and what deeper meaning it held. Sadie still felt an immense sadness that perhaps she hadn’t been the kind of mother that Lauren needed. Lately her days were full of revelations, and Lauren had just handed her one more ingredient for the large pot of failure that was her life.
Surprisingly, Sadie wasn’t out of breath. Her body was stiff and in pain, yes, but her lungs seemed to be taking it quite well. When they’d crossed the clearing, Sadie hesitated.
“Do you think we should keep going this direction?” Sadie asked, putting her hands on her hips and rotating to look back from where they’d come. She wished so badly that they’d see another hiker. Even Nature Boy would be welcome at this point. But there was no one.
And Lauren didn’t answer.
“Lauren? I said, Do you think we should keep going this way?” Sadie said, unable to hide her irritation. If Lauren was going to act like a brat and give her the silent treatment—
She turned to look back, a reprimand on the tip of her tongue.
But she was stopped by the look on Lauren’s face.
Eyes wide. Mouth open. Nothing but fear.
Sadie turned a fraction of an inch to see what it was that had her daughter frozen in place, and she felt her own flash of terror.
Just on the left edge of the clearing, not thirty feet from them, a black bear was huddled over the bloody carcass of what appeared to be a spotted fawn. But it wasn’t busy eating. To Sadie’s horror, it held part of the carcass in one paw as it locked its eyes on them.
Sadie reached out slowly and put her hand on Lauren.
“Don’t move, Lauren,” she said, her voice low and calm.
She didn’t need to worry about that. Lauren was like a statue, but Sadie heard a faint whimper coming from her.
So much for all her daughter’s bravado about wild animals. Sadie hoped Lauren could keep it together. If Tom had been there, just the sound of his voice and his confident and competent touch would’ve calmed Lauren. He would’ve known exactly what to do to keep them safe.
But Tom wasn’t there, she told herself as her brain scrambled for a plan.
“Lauren. Listen to me. We are going to back away straight into the brush where we came from.”
No answer. Sadie could feel her trembling.
Sadie pinched her hard, and Lauren flinched.
“Do you hear me?” Sadie demanded, using the firmest voice she could while still keeping it quiet.
Lauren nodded once.
“He wants to eat the fawn,” Sadie said slowly, taking a step backward, keeping her clutch on Lauren’s jacket to make sure she took a step too. “That’s all he wants, so we’ll just leave him alone. We’ll mosey on out of here.”
The bear hadn’t moved, but it also hadn’t taken its eyes from them.
They took another step.
Sadie’s heart beat so loudly that she was sure anyone within five miles could hear it. She breathed out of her mouth, trying to quiet even that.
Then the bear dropped the carcass, rising up until it was on its hind feet, its stance fierce and threatening.
“Mom . . . ,” Lauren said, her voice pleading.
The bear made some huffing noises. Like a bull in an arena, ready to charge.
Yes, that’s what it was going to do, Sadie thought. It was going to charge. And before it could get the extra jump on them, she got it first.
“Run, Lauren!” She pushed her daughter, making her stumble. “Run and don’t look back!”
Finally, Lauren snapped to attention and, like a miracle, did what she was told, her legs taking huge strides as she ran out of the clearing.
Sadie could feel herself shaking violently as she turned back around, facing the bear. Her feet wouldn’t move. They felt like lead. The bear rushed forward about fifteen feet, then stopped suddenly, staring at her as it panted.
She could smell it, and it was rank. Like the worst wet dog stink she’d ever encountered. A deathlike stench. She knew then she’d never forget that scent for as long as she lived. Sadie’s legs quivered, and she fought to keep upright.
They locked eyes, and she tried to remember what Lauren had said to do if confronted by a bear.
She opened her arms wide to make herself look bigger, waving them and yelling at the bear. She cursed it—demanding it get out of there and away from her daughter.
It stared back at her.
Black bears were supposed to be harmless. Supposedly they were afraid of people, unlike a grizzly, which would tear a person limb from limb just for the sport of it.
But this black bear wasn’t fazed.
Its eyes weren’t angry or flashing. Nor were they wary or excited. They looked dead, emotionless. And that made the bear completely unpredictable. And terrifying.
But what was clear was that it wasn’t happy with the fawn carcass any longer.
Sadie turned, and miraculously, her legs decided to work. She bolted, running in the same direction that Lauren had gone. It only dawned on her when she heard the bear grunting behind her, thrashing through the brush like an enormous elephant on a rampage, that she should be leading it away from her daughter and not toward her. But what if it continued on, sniffing out Lauren?
Sadie had to be there to protect her.
She continued the same way, stumbling through the trees hard and fast, not quite running as much as catapulting herself forward. At first she could hear the bear behind her, crushing branches and tearing through the undergrowth. Then the roar in her ears camouflaged everything except her own heavy panting, and she tripped on a root, face-planting onto the ground with her breath knocked out of her.
In that split second of not moving, she realized she no longer heard the bear behind her. For what had felt like an eternity, it’d been on her heels. She was sure of it. It could’ve caught her if it had wanted to. Her common sense told her that. So was she simply a game to it? See how much terror it could cause the stupid human?
A lot, she said to herself. A whole crap ton of it.
But now there was nothing but silence. She couldn’t even hear Lauren. She heard nothing except for the insects and birds calling out a cacophony of nature sounds, reminding her that though she felt immersed in some sort of sudden nightmare, the truth of the matter was that as a human, she was the outsider in this wild land. She was uninvited to their world—not the other way around.
Now would she have to serve penance for her blunder?
She rose quietly to her hands and knees, hovering there as she listened again. Her hair fell in wet, dirty strands around her face like a curtain, shielding her from seeing anything except the line of ants that crawled directly beneath her, working diligently together to carry the head of a dragonfly, the
ir prize for a day of scouting.
She realized that she must look like a crazed maniac as she hung over the ground, all bedraggled and smelling of pure fear.
Still, she didn’t move.
In the hushed calm, she strained, listening. Why couldn’t she hear Lauren?
That frightened her more than the bear on her trail.
Slowly she stood, ignoring the blood seeping from a wound on her palm, cut from the jagged edge of the rocks she’d fallen on. Her knee throbbed, and she looked down, saw her jeans ripped where it hurt the most.
She listened for the bear, wondering if, like her, it was frozen in place, trying to hear, evaluating her next move.
Had it gone back to its meal? Or was it waiting for her to move so it could pounce?
If it was the latter, so be it. She had to find Lauren.
She took one step and then two. When she didn’t hear the bear, she kept going, taking heed to step over branches and not on them as she worked her way through the brush as quietly as she could, praying she was still following Lauren.
Minutes felt like hours, and she paused every so often, listening. She was too terrified to call out, afraid the bear was waiting for her voice as a beacon. She continued on, telling herself if she didn’t see Lauren around each next bend, she’d yell for her. Then she’d wait a few minutes longer.
Finally, she heard water and turned to the left. She saw a boot print in a low spot and knew it was Lauren’s. She followed the direction it pointed, toward the sound of water as it got louder. She looked for more prints but couldn’t see any and was nearly ready to cry in frustration when she saw an outcrop of huge rocks in front of a small rushing stream of water. Sticking out from behind the rocks were Lauren’s boots.
“Lauren,” Sadie called as she raced to her side.
Her daughter appeared to be sprawled out, the upper portion of her body hidden behind the biggest boulder.
She didn’t respond. Sadie was already trembling as she hurried to bridge the distance between them. There was nothing like your child being unresponsive to take a few years from your life span.
“Lauren,” she said again, coming around the rock.
But Lauren wasn’t going to be answering anyone. Sadie’s heart was in her throat when she looked down and saw that her daughter appeared to be unconscious, a huge bloody gash glaring across her forehead. Sadie could see from the way that Lauren was lying and the bowling ball–size rock near her head that she must’ve fallen too.
“Oh my God, Lauren!” Sadie dropped to her knees beside Lauren. She reached over and touched Lauren’s shoulder, which had miraculously been cushioned from the ground by the backpack, which dangled from a strap looped over Lauren’s arm.
Lauren didn’t move.
The fear came hot and heavy, almost taking Sadie’s breath in a vacuum of terror. She leaned over Lauren, listening at her chest, relieved when she felt the rise and fall. That meant she was still breathing.
Think, she told herself. What do you do for a head injury?
“Lauren, please wake up,” she said, hating the way her voice whined in desperation. She looked up, glancing at the way she’d come from, listening for sounds of the bear. If it came back, and she couldn’t wake Lauren, what would she do?
I’d fight it to the death—that’s what, she told herself.
Lauren chose that moment to groan, a sound that flooded Sadie with relief.
“Lauren? Open your eyes. Please, baby girl, just open your eyes.”
And she did.
Sadie let out the breath she was holding. “What happened? Did you hit your head?”
Lauren looked confused for a second, but Sadie could see when realization hit her by the panicked expression that followed.
“The bear?” Lauren said, her eyes darting around Sadie, searching.
“It’s not coming,” Sadie said, hoping with everything she had that it was true. “Can you sit up?”
She probably wasn’t supposed to move Lauren, but considering the situation, she didn’t have much choice. There were no sounds of the bear at the moment, but it couldn’t be too far behind. They needed to move farther from where it had been feeding. Even Sadie, who didn’t spend a lot of time around wild animals, knew that much.
Lauren struggled to sit up, wincing as she touched her head. “It hurts,” she said.
Sadie felt sick and wished desperately that she could take Lauren’s pain away and carry it herself.
“I know it does,” she said, rubbing Lauren’s shoulder. “Let’s just sit here for a second and let you rest.”
She didn’t want to stay there. God only knew how safe they were. But Lauren was white as a sheet. So pale, in fact, that Sadie was afraid her daughter might faint if she stood so soon.
“It looks like your backpack cushioned your fall somewhat,” Sadie said. The ground where Lauren lay was rocky. If not for the backpack, they could’ve been dealing with a broken arm too.
“Then I should’ve been wearing it around my head,” Lauren said, closing her eyes as she grimaced. “Oh, Mom. I’m hurting all over.”
“What else hurts?” Sadie was almost too afraid to ask. She scrutinized the cut on Lauren’s head, at least satisfied it wasn’t actively bleeding any longer. It didn’t look bad enough for stitches either. She told herself the cut was only superficial, that it was a scrape and nothing more.
“My ankle,” Lauren said, opening her eyes and reaching down toward her right foot. “It feels like I tried to rip my foot off my leg.”
“Can you move it?” Sadie asked.
Things were going from bad to worse. She prayed it was only a sprain and not broken. How were they going to get out of there if Lauren couldn’t walk?
They heard the sound of a branch cracking and froze, looking at each other.
“It might not be him,” Sadie whispered. “Let’s see if you can move the foot. Go on.”
Lauren tried to stretch her foot and cringed.
“Oh, crap!” she whispered, looking at Sadie. The fear on her face was heartbreaking. “Mom, I think it’s hurt bad.”
Remain calm, Sadie reminded herself. Lauren needs you to be in control.
She gathered her strongest mom voice and expression, wiping all uncertainty from her face before responding. “We have to get moving, Lauren. We don’t have any choice. So I’m going to put my arm under you and help you up, and together we’ll get farther from here before we deal with that ankle.”
It sounded like a good plan, but when she maneuvered herself underneath Lauren’s arm and they tried to stand together, it didn’t work. Lauren crumpled again, tears springing to her eyes.
“I can’t,” she said.
“Don’t say that,” Sadie said. “You can, and you will. We need to get out of these woods. Come on—let’s try again.”
Lauren cried openly now, soft, muffled sobs as she rubbed at her eyes. Sadie couldn’t stand to see her daughter so distraught, but there was no time for comfort. She pulled the backpack from Lauren’s arm and unzipped it, pulling the half-full bottle of water from it.
“Here,” she said, taking the lid off and holding it to Lauren’s lips. “Just a sip.”
Lauren swallowed, then pushed the bottle back toward her. “You drink some too.”
Sadie shook her head. She wasn’t going to waste the water that Lauren was going to need on their way out. “I’m fine.”
She returned the bottle and looped the bag over her own shoulder. It was time to get tough.
“Come on, Lauren. Get up. Now,” she said, her tone firm as she moved her arm around Lauren and pushed upward.
This time Lauren maneuvered her left leg into place to take the most of her weight and was able to get into a standing position, fully leaning on Sadie.
“Now, which way?” Lauren said, her words coming through gritted teeth.
Sadie looked at the way she’d come, then pointed in the opposite direction. “Okay, that way it is,” she said. “And we need to get as fa
r away as we can before we stop and get our bearings. I’ll take a closer look at your head then too.”
“But we don’t even know where we are,” Lauren said.
“Well, we know where he was, and that’s all we need to know for now.” She urged Lauren forward, and they moved clumsily together only a few feet before stopping.
“Mom, I’m so sorry,” Lauren said between ragged breaths. She looked at Sadie, tears still flooding her eyes.
Sadie brushed a hair from Lauren’s face.
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for. You couldn’t have predicted the storm or a pissed-off bear. Let’s just get through this, and when we get out of here, we’ll have one hell of a story to tell your dad.”
She urged Lauren forward again, guiding her around a fallen log as they tried to distance themselves from the terrifying possibility of becoming a bear’s dessert.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The terrain was still wet from the rain, making the ground slippery. The mosquitos swarmed around them, and Sadie and Lauren moved at a snail’s pace. They’d barely covered any distance when Lauren said she had to stop less than an hour later.
Sadie guided her to a fallen log and helped ease her down onto it. Her daughter was spent, having used up all her energy as she half limped and half hopped, trying her best to move along as she studied the area around her for clues as to where they were. She seemed only to get more confused as they went.
Was it because of the gash on her head? Sadie wasn’t sure, but she knew now their situation was dire. They needed help. And Lauren needed to rest.
They both needed to recharge, but sitting in one place gave Sadie too much time to mull over their predicament. She mentally ticked off the facts of the situation. They were wet, tired, and hopelessly lost, lacking even the most rudimentary supplies needed for survival in the wilderness. No one would come to look for them because they hadn’t told anyone of their plans to visit the park. Worse yet, Lauren was now injured, maybe seriously. Time was passing, and they were no closer to finding their way back.
Tom had always been the strong one, but Tom wasn’t here right now. Lauren needed her mother to take charge.