Whatever the answer, the bear has crossed the line into a clear threat, and there will be no scaring it away.
When I look again, Dalton is shifting the rifle, testing out other shots. He can wound the grizzly or he can spook it by firing past. The latter is safer, but with a bear this desperate, it could turn on him, and Dalton will rather have fired a shot that might incapacitate—
The bear rises on its back legs, and I exhale as that head shoots into the sky, well above the fallen tree where the woman hides. Dalton takes aim. His finger moves on the trigger—
The bear drops.
It falls so fast that I think Dalton fired, and I somehow haven’t heard the shot. Then the woman screams, and I realize the bear dropped onto the trunk. If it can’t lift the tree out, maybe it can crush it. All eight hundred pounds of the bruin crash down on that tree, and the woman’s scream fills the clearing.
The bear rears up to try again, and Dalton fires. He hasn’t had time to properly aim—the bear is in motion—and he miscalculates. The bullet sears the top of the bear’s skull.
The grizzly roars and drops to all fours beside the tree. It looks our way, snorting, its shaggy head swinging from side to side as it tries to pick up a scent. Blood trickles into one eye, and it roars in fresh rage. Then it sees something, and it charges, and I realize it’s coming straight at me.
I raise the bear spray, and in that second, it feels as ridiculous as putting up my empty hand. A grizzly bear is charging me, and I’m holding a little can of spray. I can’t even pull my gun at the same time. I need both hands on the can and—
Dalton fires again. This one strikes the bear in the haunch, right by that old scar, and its roar fills the air as it careens to one side.
The bear is less than ten feet from me. I press the trigger. The pepper spray hits the bear full in the face. It roars again, and backs off, shaking its head, blinded and in agony. Dalton’s in the clearing now, rifle raised, but before he can fire, the bear charges. It can’t see. It doesn’t care. It charges at me, and I easily swing to the side, but Storm must only see a grizzly charging at me. She runs full out and launches herself at it.
“No!” I shout, but it’s too late.
Storm grabs the grizzly behind the front haunch. The bear swings around, and its jaws click shut, missing Storm by inches. She’s still clinging, jaws ripping, blood flying. The grizzly roars and rears up, and Storm, as big as she is, dangles in midair for a moment. Then the hide she’s holding rips free and she starts to fall just as the bear’s massive paw strikes. It catches her, and she goes flying.
Storm hits the ground. The bear falls onto all fours, still blinded but smelling dog, dropping onto her so hard that I scream. I have my gun out now, the spray can discarded.
“Casey!” Dalton shouts. “Get back!”
I barely hear him over the pounding in my skull. All I see is Storm’s black fur under that grizzly. All I hear is her yowl of pain and terror. All I smell is bear and blood. Its head swings back to bite, but Storm grabs it, her jaws clamping down near its throat. It bellows. I raise my gun, sights locked on its open jaws.
A rifle retort. Before I can pull the trigger, the bear falls back, blood and flesh spraying from inside its mouth. I still fire as soon as it hits the ground, putting another bullet into its skull.
When I start to run for Storm, Dalton shouts, “Casey! No!”
I know he’s saying we need to be sure the bear is dead, but I don’t care. Right now, what matters is that it is on top of Storm.
I press my gun to the bear’s closed eye and put my fingers under its jaw. When I don’t feel a pulse, I dart to its side to start heaving its body off my dog. By then, Dalton is there, and in his intake of breath, I hear imminent heart attack, seeing me shoving at a grizzly that might not be dead. It is dead, though, and then both of us are pushing with everything we have as Storm scrabbles to get free, whining in a way that sets the blood pounding in my ears again.
When she’s almost out, I help, digging her from under that mound of fur. She tries to rise but can’t, and her breath comes labored and shallow, her brown eyes rolling in agony.
“I’ve got you,” I say as tears stream down my face. “I’ve got you, baby.” I pet her with one hand as my other runs down her side. She whimpers, and her breath makes a horrible sucking sound that I know means a punctured lung.
There’s a sound to my side. The scramble of boots on dirt. I don’t look up. I know it’s the woman coming out from her hiding spot, and know I should run to help, but all I care about is my dog.
“Stop!” Dalton snaps. “Stop right there, or I swear I will put the next bullet inyou.”
I glance over just long enough to be sure Dalton isn’t talking to me. A woman stands, poised to run.
Gretchen.
Of course it’s Gretchen.
I return all my attention to Storm. The momentary distraction gave my heart a moment to slow, and I focus on my own breath. In and out. Do not panic. Just assess.
Storm is breathing. The sound is labored and shallow, and her eyes roll in panic, but she’s breathing.
“Backpack!” I say.
Dalton throws it to me as Gretchen says something that I don’t bother to process. Storm’s still struggling to stand, and I press her down gently.
