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I take a breath and swallow the lump in my throat. “She was gentle. Quiet. Didn’t laugh much. But nobody does… did. But she always had a smile for me. I remember that. I remember her smile.”

“How did she die?”

“Hunters killed her. Like your cub.”

The bear lets out a little groan that tells me she understands our mutual loss.

“And your father?” she asks.

The pain of his passing sweeps through me. “Flamers attacked our clan, right before I found you. He was killed in the fire.”

She doesn’t respond. Her brittle breath fills the silence.

“I wish…” I begin. Stop. Wonder if it matters if I voice my regret.

“You wish you’d been closer,” she says.

“Yes.” I swallow hard.

“There is a place,” the bear says, “where the food is abundant. Berries and roots and the streams full of fish. My mother is there. And my cubs.”

I close my eyes. The darkness tugs at me. Wants to separate me from her warmth. I want to acknowledge her own loss. I hadn’t known she’d had more than the one cub. Had suffered more than the one too-soon death. Instead, I ask, “Is that where you’re going?”

“Yes,” she answers. Her breathing is like dry leaves underfoot. I feel her heartbeat at my back, irregular and faint. “There is a place…” she says, and I wonder as she catches her breath if she’s fallen into confusion, repeating herself, “…where you can go. Beyond the river.” She speaks between shallow breaths now. “Beyond the next mountain range. You’ll be safe there. The hunters won’t find you there.”

“The hunters are everywhere.”

The bear grunts. “Not everywhere. Not there.”

“You mean, after I die?”

She draws in air, the sound like bubbles in her throat. “No. But does it matter?”

I consider the question. I don’t believe there’s anything after death. But if the bear believes, maybe I do too. Maybe we can share more than disease, more than need.

“I have to sleep now,” she says.

I press against her, willing her to keep breathing, to stay alive and connected to my life, to be my companion for the remainder of my days. But each breath grows weaker, each beat of her heart slower, until the air in her lungs escapes in one long sigh. This mother, this companion had been a strong and powerful creature. Now, she’s gone.

I have never cried in my life that I can remember. But all my anguish and regret and loss seem to churn inside and press up through my chest, seeking release, spilling out in hot tears. I surrender to sobbing, burying my face in the bear’s fur until the last of her warmth drains away and the cold finds me.

Numb, empty, I’m ready now. I want to leave this place for the one the bear has described beyond the river. I close my eyes. Darkness and weakness and sickness roil together inside me, an undertow I can’t resist, even if I wanted to. Maybe Bode will be there, and Gunther. I might have another chance to make things right. Maybe I’ll see her there. Maybe she’ll know me.

* * *

I open my eyes. A shadow, a phantom hovers over me in the cave.

Has the bear returned? For a moment I think I might be waking from the sleep I couldn’t find when she went wandering. Then I remember: she’s dead.

Am I dead too?

I draw a breath, feeling the bear’s cold body at my back. I’m not dead. A fresh wave of grief rolls over me. I’m still in the cave. Still dealing with phantoms. Cold and ache and disease.

And then relief surprises me. Relief at being alive. I’d been so ready to die. But now that Death has moved on, I don’t mind seeing it go.

The phantom is still there, now less colorful, dressed in the rags of the Feral. I blink through blurry eyes, try to focus.

“Anya,” the apparition says. “Are you okay?”

No, I think. I’m not okay. I’ll never be okay. Why are you asking? Why do you care?

“Anya. It’s me. Gunther.”

Shock pulses through me. I blink again, suck in a breath. The phantom’s features sharpen to reveal my brother’s face. “Gunther?”

“Yeah. Finally found you. What are you doing here, curled up next to a dead bear?”

“She wasn’t always dead,” I say. “I thought I was dead.”

Gunther stares at me, a puzzled look on his face.

“I’m dying,” I add.

“We’re all dying, Anya,” Gunther says. “But we’re not dead yet.”

I wince as I prop myself up on one elbow. The air in the cave isn’t as cold as I expected. Maybe a warm front has moved in.

I look at the bear. She’s just a shell now. The light has left her eyes. My chest feels tight, knowing she’s gone. But thinking of where she might be—in a land where she can be reunited with her cubs, where they can eat fish and berries to their hearts’ content—softens the loss opening inside me.

I look up at Gunther. “I found Bode’s body.”

Gunther turns his head away, but not before I see the pain flash through his eyes.

“There are five of us left,” Gunther says. “Six, if we count you.”

“Do you want to count me?” I ask, afraid to hear his answer. Afraid that it will damn me to a life alone, a life I would have gladly chosen only a few days before. A life that terrifies me now.

Gunther shakes his head and sighs. “Do you want to spend your last days here with the dead?” he asks. “Or with me? With the living?”

I stare for a long moment at the bear, stiff and cold in death. The bear who taught me everything I know about caring, about bonding. I look up at Gunther. His eyes are gleaming. He seems eager to hear the answer I want to say.

“With you,” I tell him, reaching for his outstretched hand. “I want to go with you.”

A Word from Harlow C. Fallon

Harlow and Korey.

As you can see by the picture, I love cats. Since I was a baby, cats—often several at a time—have been a part of my life. I’m currently owned by Korey, who isn’t very social, bestowing her attention only when the mood strikes. I was lucky to get a picture of us together as she was wriggling out of my arms. Not in the mood.

So why did I write a story about a bear? Maybe it was to help purge my fear of bears, which I’m pretty sure stems from a close encounter I had with one when I was three and living in Alaska. I’m also pretty sure the encounter wasn’t all that close, but grew exponentially in power and influence over the years, as memories often do.

Don’t get me wrong; I find bears to be beautiful and fascinating creatures, but I don’t want to live anywhere close to their natural habitat.

I enjoy writing stories that don’t always answer every question in the end. Anya, the main character in my story, also has a close encounter with a bear, and it changes her life. Anya is afflicted with a sickness that slowly consumes her body and mind. Is Anya’s relationship with the bear real? Or is her encounter fabricated by her diseased imagination?

I’ll let you decide.

If you’d like to know more about my writing, you can find me on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/harlowcfallon and on Amazon at http://amazon.com/author/harlowfallon.

Wings of Paradise

by Todd Barselow

One

The end of the world as the world knew it came rather suddenly. Humanity’s influence on the grand scale of things led to—as many had feared and predicted—a catastrophe in every way conceivable. Political espionage, corruption, and corporate greed ran roughshod over the Earth, destroying humanity in one fell swoop. Nearly every nation succumbed in a matter of hours, once the cascading Collapse began. Humanity went out without a bang, and for that matter, barely a whimper.