Ideally, the bear would growl and complain a bit, maybe hesitate and scratch around a little before running off. Surely it would realize that I had a gun and that it didn’t want to mess with me. Hell, it had probably already eaten most of our food. Maybe it would decide it was full and just get out of there.
I certainly didn’t expect the thing to attack. But that was exactly what it did.
It leapt from the bed of the truck in a movement far too quick and agile for a creature of that size and came charging toward us, moving exactly like a predator closing in on its prey. I barely had time to think. I rushed toward Angie, throwing out a hand to shove her toward safety, then spun back toward the animal, chambered, and fired. But I’d been caught by surprise and the shot went wide.
The bear was on me before I could chamber another round.
“John!” Angie cried.
I tried to leap to one side, moving in the opposite direction from where I’d shoved Angie, but the bear was too quick. A swipe of its paw went right through the layers of my jacket and sweatshirt and left the burning trail of scratches across my ribs. It also sent me flying. I landed on my shoulder, but was alert enough to chamber another round as I rolled onto my back. When I came up, my weapon was in front of me and ready. And this time I was alert enough to aim.
But the bullets were designed for smaller game, not bears. Not angry, rampaging bears that had murder in their eyes. The animal hardly seemed to feel the bullet as it hit it in the chest. It didn’t slow down. Instead, the bear closed the distance a single bound and rose above me, one paw knocking the rifle from my grip and the other rising into the air, preparing to deliver a killing blow.
That was when Angie hit the bear with her rifle.
“Get off him, you son of a bitch!” she screamed.
“Angie, no!”
The blow had come out of nowhere and caught the bear by surprise, but the creature probably weighed close to a thousand pounds, and Angie was not much more than a tenth of that. Between the bullet, Angie’s kick to the ribs, and whatever else was wrong with it, the bear was extremely pissed off. It let out an angry roar and lashed out at Angie. She moved to hop away, but slipped in the snow and crashed to her back right next to me. Her right leg caught the full force of the bear’s swipe, claws shredding through her jeans and the flesh beneath them, and breaking the bone with an audible snap.
She screamed, and I roared my anger and frustration.
I dropped my hands to my sides, searching the ground desperately for something to use as a weapon. My gun had flown away from me and I had no idea how far away it had landed, so that was out. But I needed to find something. Then my right hand brushed against something cold and hard, my fingers closing around it on instinct. I drew the broken length of the deer antler from my pocket and, sitting forward in a single motion, drove the six inches of bone up underneath the bear’s lower jaw and into its brain.
The bear jerked its head away, ripping the antler from my grip, but the damage was done. It stumbled toward the truck, slipping and flailing in the snow, spilling its lifeblood on the ground with a deep, mournful whimper. I jerked to my feet, found my rifle, and snatched it up, chambering my last round in the same motion. The bear was now crawling slowly toward the trees, already nearly dead, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t going to get back up. I strode up to it, placed the muzzle of my rifle against its temple, and pulled the trigger.
The bear flopped to the snow amidst a thin shower of red, and I dropped to my knees next to it, my breathing heavy and my vision dim.
I sat in the snow for a few seconds while the adrenaline rush subsided, feeling the aching burn of the wounds in my side rise to the surface. Then an agonized cry from Angie brought me back to my senses. I scrambled back toward where she lay on the ground, the blood from her leg staining the snow a deep crimson.
“It’s okay, babe,” I said, though I was terrified at how much damage that bear had done to her. “You’re gonna be okay.”
Angie growled in wordless pain, teeth bared and eyes rolled back into her head. I took one look at the wounds on her leg and quickly began removing my belt.
“I’ve got to stop this bleeding, honey. I’m sorry. This is probably going to be uncomfortable.”
It was an understatement. But it was necessary. I didn’t want to scare her any more than I had to. I wrapped the belt around her leg, just above the lacerations. I looped the end through the buckle and pulled it tight, creating a makeshift tourniquet for her leg, but blood continued to pulse from the wound.
“Dammit,” I swore. This was going to be worse than I’d realized.
I yanked the belt tighter, watching it dig into the skin above her wound, and she screamed.
“I’m sorry, babe. I’m so sorry.”
The blood pulsing from the wound began to slow. But I needed to get her to a hospital. Quickly.
I looked around the parking lot, assessing the situation while Angie panted with frantic breaths through the pain. Most of our belongings were scattered around the parking lot. Well, we would just have to leave those behind for now. I didn’t have time to gather them up, and they were the last thing on my list at the moment. The only things the bear had not touched were the few items we’d left in the cab of the truck. And those were the important things.
Because my phone was inside that cab. The phone that would get me the information I needed—and the ambulance that would help Angie.
“John,” she said, her breath a quivering hiss through the pain and the cold. “John, I think it’s broken.”
“I know, honey.”
I had to get her out of there. Into the cab of the truck, if I could, so that she’d be safer from the cold. Shock and cold were a very bad combination.
Add blood loss to the combination and you had a recipe for death.
“Give me your hand,” I said. “I need you to hold this.” I guided her hand to the belt buckle on her leg. “You have to keep the tension on it, okay?”
She nodded, teeth clenched, eyes wild and roaming.
“I’ll be right back.”
I hurried to the truck and opened the passenger door. It was a newer model vehicle with large tires, a spacious interior, and onboard computer system. And there was plenty of cushy interior. Hell, the thing even had seat warmers. If I could get her into her seat and get the thing turned on, it would be a quick answer to the cold. I made sure the passenger seat was back as far as it would go, tilting the seat to recline, then jogged back over to her. The wounds in my side were burning, but I ignored the pain, determined to get Angie to safety before I concerned myself with my own injuries. I stooped and snaked both arms under her frigid body, lifting her with a grunt. She groaned, a weak sound punctuated by her shallow breaths.
God, she was already fading. I needed to move faster.
“I know,” I said. “I know it hurts. Just hang in there.”
I carried her to the car with ginger steps, trying not to jostle her, and slid her carefully into the passenger seat. Running around the front of the truck, I jumped into the driver’s seat, stabbed the key into the ignition, and turned it.
Nothing happened.
“No, no, no—”
I tried again. Still nothing. No whirring whine of the engine trying to fire. Not even the ratcheting click of a dead battery or a failing starter. Just… nothing.
“Shit!” I punched the steering wheel. “This cannot be happening.”
I stared out the windshield for a ten-count, breathing and calming myself. Trying to think. Had we had trouble with the truck before? Did I know what it might be?
Unfortunately, I was drawing a blank there. Which meant I had to move on to Plan B.