Keep her from seeing. From hearing. From knowing just how bad it is.
I fumble the satphone out of my pack with one hand, and put down the shotgun long enough to text Jag.
BEAR ATTACK. MARCO DOWN. CRITICAL. GPS:
I hit the coordinates button, which autofills our location. Then add two final words:
SEND EVERYTHING.
I wait until the checkmark appears, then I dropthe phone, retrieve the shotgun, and focus on the woods once more. I scan for the bear, listening helplessly to Marco’s dying moans.
I let go of the shotgun with one hand long enough to finds Ben’s. I squeeze. One, two, three.
“Breathe with me,” I whisper. “One.”
She inhales shakily.
“Two.”
Another breath.
“Three.”
We breathe together. Just like I taught her.
Just like Marco taught me.
Scared and brave can live in the same body.
I return my grip to the shotgun and continue swiveling in place, ready to kill that fucking bear if it shows it’s face again.
Time stops having meaning.
I stand there for five minutes. Or fifty.
Either way, it feels like an eternity.
Finally I hear a distant engine. Then a voice.
“Over here!” I shout. “We’re here!”
A ranger crashes through the brush. Young guy. Park service uniform.
He sees Marco and stops dead. “Holy fucking shit.”
I lower the shotgun and cover Ben’s ears. One hand pressed to her left ear. Her right ear against my stomach. My fingers have gone numb from holding the shotgun at the ready, and my arms ache.
The ranger goes to Marco immediately. Starts doing ranger things. Radio calls. Pressure on wounds.
He tries to take the lowered shotgun from me.
I don’t let go.
“Ma’am. It’s okay. The bear’s gone.”
My fingers are white on the stock. I’mstaring into the woods, searching for the injured grizzly.
“Ma’am,” he presses.
