Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
But at the mention of bears, I don’t picture the mother and cubs we saw yesterday. I picture something else. I picture the baby goat, I picture the wolf. I see a bear with its fur sliding off its skull, exposing the white bone of its long jaw, the sharp teeth, the empty eye socket filled with writhing mycelia. I imagine a beating heart covered with mold, lungs filled with orange spores.
And the more I stare at the shapes in the trees, the more I think that’s what I see. The bear moves strangely too, limping, dragging its feet, and sometimes when the mist clears in places, I think I see wild fur standing straight up, like a hyena.
Please let this be a normal bear, please let this be a normal bear.
I catch Kincaid’s eyes as he looks back at me, and from the grim expression on his face, and the way he’s holding the gun, I can tell that he’s thinking the exact same.
“Seriously, fuck this place,” I grumble under my breath.
But when I glance at the others, expecting to see admonishment, they nod in agreement.
Fuck this place indeed.
We keep walking. We ring the bells louder. Munawar starts singing the Bangladesh national anthem at the top of his lungs and then rattles off the players on his favorite cricket team. I think we all feel like we’re going absolutely insane listening to him, but all the while, the bears in the brush keep following us. Even when Kincaid suggests we walk faster, the bears keep pace with us, their movements becoming even more erratic.
“How long can we keep this up?” I say to Kincaid.
“As long as it takes,” he says, brandishing the weapon. “Don’t worry, I have enough bullets.”
Normally I would protest, hating the idea of shooting a bear, even in self-defense. I think I’d rather get a little mauled first than cause death. But I know these aren’t normal bears. I feel it my soul, in my blood, in my bones. I mean I actually feel it, like my veins are vibrating.
Then the fog starts getting thicker, nearly blotting out the trees, but we can still see the bears, which means they’re getting closer.
Much closer.
“I want to run,” Rav says, his breath shallow. “When do we run?”
“Never,” Kincaid says sharply. “We never run from a bear. We keep doing what we’re doing, and eventually—”
He stops talking as the roar of an engine is heard.
“Oh, thank fuck!” Lauren yelps. “They’re here!”
Headlights flash through the fog and the ATV nearly takes us out, unable to see us until the last minute.
“That was close,” Hernandez says, skidding to a stop. He looks at our faces, then the gun. “What is it?”
“Bears!” Kincaid yells, ushering us all to climb in. With no spare seat, he climbs in the trailer at the back and thuds his fist against the metal. “Go, go, go!”
We barely strap ourselves in before Hernandez takes the ATV at a wide angle and I’m dangerously close to the edge of the road, the blackberry and salmonberry bushes brushing against my thighs.
And that’s when I stare right into the mist, right into those trees, and see the shape of a creature charging at me. Just a flash of an empty eye socket, white skull and matted hair, mouth open in a guttural roar.
The ATV peels away just in time, rocks and dirt kicked back, and Kincaid bounces in the trailer behind us, rifle out and aimed as we speed down the road.
“Did you see that?” I whisper to no one in particular.
“I saw it,” Lauren says firmly.
The relief is palpable.
She saw the half-dead creature.
I’m not fucking crazy.
“Look!” Rav yells.
We watch in the distance as the creatures come to the middle of the road, still half-buried by the fog so only their outlines can be seen. They don’t run after us but the bears are joined by others. It looks like a dozen of them have gathered, watching us leave, before the mist swallows them entirely.
Lauren reaches over and grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze. I squeeze her hand back. “Rabid bears, maybe?” she asks.
“Maybe,” I say. But I know now that’s not it.
It’s not even close.
By the time we get back to the lodge, the mist has cleared a little, and we march right into the dining hall for dinner. The atmosphere is still tense, especially for those of us who saw the bears, and we mostly eat in silence. Even the other groups seem to be on edge as we dig into our chicken pot pies. Though the fire roars from the hearth, I can’t seem to shake a chill.
After dinner some of us hang out in the common room, snacking on cookies with mugs of hot chocolate. I hang out with the usual crew, though Patrick has joined us now, all of us sitting in the chairs in the corner, talking about what we saw, trying to make sense of it. Lauren and I seemed to be the only ones to see the bears melting faces but the others don’t dismiss us. Instead they believe it. Everything about that encounter seemed to be against the laws of nature.