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It happened so fast he had almost no time to react. He began spraying as he took several quick steps back, but his aim was off, too high, and the bear was coming at him under the yellow cloud of spray. The footing was too treacherous; his feet slipped out from under him and he went down ha
rd on his back, pulled there by the weight of his backpack, as helpless as a turtle. Then the bear was on him, hitting him like an avalanche, just as powerful and overwhelming. The sound was deafening, the smell hot and fetid, fur greasy and matted; he caught a fast glimpse of those dark feral eyes, something mean and disturbingly intelligent in them.
There was still some spray in the canister and he managed to hit the release and got the bear in the face, but it was too close, the pepper got him, too, and he lost his breath, his sight. Blindly he swung his walking stick up, frantically trying to get it between himself and the bear as if he could pry the bear away, hold those hundreds of pounds off him with what was effectively a toothpick.
The bear snorted, shook its head. Danny tried to scoot away but one massive paw flashed out and caught his scalp, peeling skin and hair down over his face. He heard agonized screaming, deep and raw, but the sound was at a distance. He didn’t feel any pain so he couldn’t be the one making the noise, maybe someone was nearby who could help him, someone who could—
Then the bear bit down on his head.
For a brief flash of time, he could hear the screams blending with the coughing grunts of the bear, discordant and harsh, and then there was nothing.
Chapter Four
The next day, Angie got up at the crack of dawn and started work. The day before leaving on a guide trip was the most work-intensive, every time. Her dad had built three small guest cabins, just big enough for private sleeping and bath areas, and today was the day she had to clean the two cabins that would be used, put on fresh sheets, lay out fresh towels, etc. When her dad had been alive, and for the first year she’d been back, there had been enough money to hire a local woman to do that work, but since then Angie had been doing it all herself.
On top of getting the cabins ready, with Harlan coming to take pictures for the website, she did some major damage control in the main house, too. Living alone as she did, sometimes she’d let little things slide, and before she knew it there were a ton of little things that threatened to become an avalanche of junk.
Her clients were due in late that afternoon. They were renting a vehicle in Butte and driving in. Rather than go through the hassle of bringing their rifles through the airport, they’d shipped them in; the boxes had arrived four days ago. She had all the permits in order, they had their licenses, and all of that was good to go. Tonight she’d have to feed them, so she put a hearty stew in the slow cooker.
By the time all of that was done, it was early afternoon. She sat at the kitchen table, half-listening to the television as she finished packing the supplies they would need. She had a checklist that she printed out before every trip, and as she added each item she checked it off the list. Basic first-aid items were included, as well as canned or dried food, bear spray—the big canisters, with as high a concentration of pepper as state law allowed, and four for each person—powerful LED flashlights with new batteries in them, and other items. She didn’t take safety issues lightly. She didn’t hunt, she merely guided, but all the same her rifle was freshly cleaned, the scope sighted in, and she had plenty of ammo … just in case.
The sound of a vehicle outside made her stand and look out the kitchen window as Harlan was climbing out of his truck. She’d set up the coffeemaker ahead of time, so as she passed by on the way to the door she pushed the brew button to start the machine.
“Come on in,” she called, holding the door open. “Coffee’s making.”
“Sounds good.”
When her dad was still alive Harlan had been over many times, but this was his first visit since she’d moved back and taken over the place. He looked around the kitchen with interest, noting the changes she’d made, such as refinishing the cabinet doors and replacing the old hardware and repainting. The appliances were nothing fancy but they were all fairly new, thank goodness, because now she couldn’t afford to replace them.
“It looks good,” he said in approval. “I like the color.” As a man he probably didn’t give a rip about the color, but as a real estate agent he knew what would sell and what wouldn’t.
Angie laughed. “Any color would be better than what was here before.” She wasn’t a decorating whiz, by any means, but the old discolored, peeling wallpaper had been an eyesore even before she’d moved away. By the time she’d moved back, the wallpaper had gone from merely unattractive to a real disaster. Removing it and painting the walls a deep taupe had to be an improvement.
“There is that.” He removed his hat and coat, hanging them on the pegs by the door. “Been a while since I’ve been here; any other improvements you’ve made?”
“Some lighting fixtures, paint, general repair. Nothing major needed to be taken care of. Let me show you around.”
The place wasn’t anything fancy, but it was solidly built. Everything eventually needed new roofing and maintenance, but her dad had stayed on top of things—except for cosmetic stuff like the wallpaper—so she hadn’t been hit with any big expenses. So far, knock on wood, the new cabinet pulls had been her single biggest outlay as far as the buildings went.
She had de-cluttered the place and repainted, and turned the master bedroom into a guest room. Somehow, when she’d moved back, taking over her dad’s bedroom hadn’t been in the cards. Her old room had been way more inviting, and being there felt natural. Sometimes she had married couples as clients, and if she liked them enough and was comfortable with them staying in the house with her, she’d offered the master bedroom instead of putting them in one of the tiny cabins, which realistically were better suited for one person, not two.
Harlan was complimentary on what she’d accomplished, but he didn’t take any photos the way she’d expected. For that matter, he hadn’t brought a camera at all, unless it was one of those tiny digitals that could hide in his pocket.
“Did you leave your camera in the truck?”
“I forgot it,” he said, a guilty look crossing his face.
Angie was dismayed by the delay; she was leaving early in the morning and the planned hunt could go as long as a week, which meant it would be at least that long before Harlan could list the property. She had so little leeway that she felt a little panicked over the forgotten camera, but she still managed to smile at him and say, “That gives you an excuse to come out again.”
“There is that.” He followed her back to the kitchen, and made himself at home at the table while she poured coffee for both of them. She stirred two teaspoons of sugar into his, one into hers, and carefully delivered his cup into his hands before she took her own seat.
He nodded at all the supplies spread out across the kitchen table, barely leaving enough space for them to set their cups. “Looks like a long hunt.”
“A week, though you know how it goes: If they bag their prey the first day, the hunt’s essentially over.”
“Trophy hunter?”
“Yeah. I’ve made the usual arrangements for the meat.” That meant that the meat would go to a homeless shelter, or to a family that needed a helping hand with food. The law was that the meat couldn’t be wasted.
