Heart racing, I do what I think is best and raise my arms, crying out as loud as I can. I’m below average height, so I can’t really see how big I really am. It would explain why the bear is still moving toward me.
When the first method fails,run.That sounds about right.
Twisting around, I make out a whole plan to sprint down this mountain. Despite how much I’ve already hiked and how much my body hates the idea, it’s the best one I’ve got to survive.
Unfortunately, I think nature believes I’ve overstayed my visit.
Rocks beneath my feet shift, making me lose my footing. Unable to catch myself, and knowing that I’m about to fall, I do the only thing that seems smart. Hugging my camera close to my chest, I tuck and roll, yelping in the process.
Bear completely forgotten, the amount of distance I cover is impressive compared to running. Unfortunately, it’s far more painful than sprinting would’ve been.
By the time I finally come to a stop, smacking into a boulder of all things, I’ve decided that maybe I’m a bit over my head.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Letting out a low groan, I can’t contain the grimace that forms on my face as I look down at my legs.
Thankfully, none of my limbs are broken despite the pain aching in my bones, but that’s not the problem.
It’s the gash on my thigh, the color red soaking where my shorts are torn. I don’t do well with blood, not even with my own.
Tearing my eyes away before they start watering, I look over to see if I’ve got any company. Thankfully, the bear is nowhere to be seen. Must’ve realized this clumsy hiker is hardly much to be considered a threat.
Unsure if I should call out to see if anyone is around, afraid of telling the bear where it can find me as a meal, I opt for the more painful option.
Gritting my teeth and forcing myself up to my feet, I use the boulder as support. Putting weight on my legs makes them feel like jello, but I can stand. Refusing to look at the cut, I can’t stop my stomach flipping when I feel the wetness dragging down my thigh.
“You’re not going to throw up, Emery. You’re going to find a trail and get help.” Pulling out my phone, I grimace at the lack of signal. “Maybe find some service out here, too, while you’re at it.”
What I’m not going to do is die. Even if my leg hurts and walking is hard, I’m going to keep going.
Maybe I should rethink my career after all. Landscapes aren’t sounding too bad now…
Can my luck get any worse?
2
Callan
Talk about poor luck. Stopping at another trap to find it triggered, but with nothing captured, my annoyance only seems to grow as I walk my usual route.
What if someone came across them and freed whatever rabbits I’d caught? It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if a damn tourist got in the way of one of my meals.
Silently trudging forward, my bow shifts against my back with every step. Keeping my eyes peeled for any sort of movement, my luck slowly shifts when I spot one rabbit free roaming. By the time I draw my bow, it’s lifting its head and sniffing up at the air.
It can sense the danger, but it doesn’t know which direction it’s coming from.
Sucking in a breath and steadying my aim, I earn barely enough meat to throw in a bowl of stew from nothing but the release of my fingers. Not enough to be satisfying. I need acouple more. There’s a thunderstorm brewing, and I can smell the rain in the air. While I might be able to get away with avoiding the storm today, it’ll be hell tomorrow.
Making sure to thank the rabbit softly, I hook it to my belt and move on.
Continuing my path, I hit two traps that haven’t been snagged and another one that has. Thankfully, I come across two squirrels. Less meat, but just as good if cooked right.
Maybe I should try to throw out a few poles and see where my luck lands with getting a few fish?
Considering my options, I’m met with a wrench in the works when something catches my eye. A patch of red-stained grass. Approaching, I look around. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, I kneel to take a closer look.
Touching one of the blades, the blood covering it is only slightly dried. Spreading it on my fingers, I’m back on my feet. Maybe my luck has turned around. One hunter’s loss is another’s gift. Maybe someone tried to snag a deer, and it got away?
Where some blood rests, there’s always a trail to follow. It takes a little investigating before I spot more. Putting my tracking skills to use, I follow through a brush of leaves.
