Dalton peers around. “High enough for grizzlies,” he says. “Maybe a den? We haven’t climbed this way before.”
“Haven’t we?” Anders says. “I thought the cave system was just up ahead.”
“Over that way.” Dalton points up the hillside. “That’s the path we take to the caves.”
“Huh. You sure?”
“Which of us has the better sense of direction?”
“Casey.”
I fist-pump the air.
“So who’s right?” Anders calls forward.
“Not getting involved,” I say.
“Afraid to contradict your husband?” Anders says.
“No, just don’t feel like dealing with the gloating from the one of you who is correct.”
“Hey, at least one of us is correct.”
“Me,” Dalton says. “Because your sense of direction sucks. The last time we relied on your—”
Storm lunges in front of us so fast we all jerk back. She stands there, hackles raised as she growls. Before anyone can speak, aroar from below has us all reaching—Anders for his big-ass .45 and Dalton for the rifle on his back and me for my bear spray.
“That’s a bear roar, right?” Anders whispers.
“Yep.”
“A happy bear, miles away, romping through the fields?”
Dalton snorts. The bear is not happy—nor is it miles away—and Anders knows that.
“Tell me it’s a black bear then.”
“Lie to you?”
“Fuck,” Anders says.
“We’re fine,” I say. “We have three handguns, one rifle, and three cans of spray.”
“I am aware that you are ahead!” Dalton calls to the bear. “Be aware that we are here.”
“I’m also aware!” Anders chimes in. “Bear aware. Taken all the training.”
“Here, too,” I call as I lay my hand on Storm’s head.
My gesture asks her to stay quiet. Dogs can aggravate bears, and while she’d be helpful in a fight, we intend to avoid that. We keep talking so the bear knows we’re here and that there are multiples of us. The roar told us that the bear is somewhere up ahead. We want it to know it still has time to retreat. That’s usually all they need. An exit strategy.
The bear roars again, and that is a clear signal that it is not giving way. It also doesn’t necessarily mean we’re in danger. Just as we warned the bear we’re here, it’s extending the same courtesy.
Back the fuck up, little humans.
“Guess we aren’t going this way,” Dalton mutters. “Sounds like it’s protecting a kill.”
“Go higher or lower?” I ask.
