I could see the trees looming around me, yet I did not feel alive. Everything was slow and hazy, the world blurring into a confusing fog of shapes and shadows.
Caiden’s pace was weakening bit by bit, his earlier bravado and playfulness dwindling as fatigue set in.
We hadn’t spoken about the intimacy of the day I almost drowned in the river, how he saved me, and how he held me to his chest that night to warm me up. He held me all throughout the night, because when I had woken up, his arms were still locked around me.
We were running on adrenaline alone now, our bodies weakened by hunger and strained muscles. The unbearable weight of our situation pressed down on us.
A gnawing pain twisted in my gut, a relentless ache that wouldn’t vanish. It felt like something was eating away at my insides. I had never experienced hunger like this, not even on those nights when my mother would forget to make dinner.
Back then, at least I had some choices, even if I still went to bed with my stomach growling.
The hunger I felt now was debilitating, a raw, visceral reminder of my fragility. I now understood the expression of being so hungry you could eat anything.
We had managed to find some fresh water a few times, a small mercy that kept us from completely succumbing to despair. But it wasn’t enough.
Almost as if it were a gift from the heavens, Caiden broke the silence, beckoning me over to where he stood a few paces ahead.
Dragging my feet, I stumbled to where he was, my heart momentarily lifting at the prospect of discovery. He pointed to a bush, excitement flickering in his tired eyes.
“Berries,” he announced, his voice tinged with a hope I hadn’t felt in days.
“Berries?” I echoed, joy bubbling up in me.
Without wasting another second, we both began picking the ripe, round berries, tossing the sweet morsels into our mouths one by one. The taste burst on my tongue, a refreshing jolt that was like a glass of lemonade on a sweltering day.
I could feel life returning, if only for a moment.
But in our elation, we didn’t notice the presence that had silently joined us until it was too late.
A deep growl reverberated through the clearing, cutting through the haze of our momentary bliss. We both froze, our instincts kicking in.
Caiden looked first, and then I followed, my mind struggling to process the threat looming before us.
The black bear lifted its massive head, sniffing the air, its beady eyes glinting like the moon on a foggy night. The sight of such a powerful creature sent shockwaves through my body.
I knew black bears were less of a threat than brown bears, but they were still dangerous when cornered. If we stayed still and didn’t make any sudden movements, we might be okay.
That’s what I hoped. Helplessly.
The creature advanced, inching closer, its musty scent invading my senses. My heart raced, pounding against my chest as it drew nearer.
Just when it seemed the bear would turn away, a small creature scurried beneath us, rustling through the leaves. The bearswiveled its head, catching sight of us, letting out a low, territorial growl.
That’s when the panic settled in.
Before I could register what was happening, Caiden pushed me aside, darting into the shadows of the nearby bushes.
The force of his weight sent me sliding toward an opening, leaving me exposed in the bear’s line of sight.
I didn’t have time to feel hurt by Caiden’s actions. The raw fear of staring at the bear, feeling as if my chest were about to explode, was the only thing I could focus on.
I’ve heard there are two types of people in situations like this: those who take flight and those who fight. Caiden was clearly the type who ran. But me? I was neither.
My legs were numb, my feet glued to the ground, paralyzed by fear.
What would they call that? Freeze mode?
To my relief, a noise came from the opposite direction. The bear turned its head, lowering its snout to the ground as it sniffed, then walked away.
