Prey

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 of 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.