"Shawn?" I call. With the wind dropped, my voice carries easily. The figure doesn't move. "Sutherland?"
"Shawn!" Anders snaps with the bark of a soldier, nothing like his usual laid-back tone. Every time I hear it, I jump. He gives a soft chuckle.
The figure doesn't move. I can't see a face, but I can tell he's wearing a snowsuit not unlike ours--a bulky one-piece, dark from head to toe. According to the guy who saw Sutherland run, he was dressed in hiking boots, jeans, a ski jacket, and Calgary Flames toque. I whisper this to Anders before I shout, "Jacob? Is that you?" Dalton's younger brother lives in these woods.
"Jacob?" I call again, and Anders stays quiet, knowing a shout from him would send Jacob running.
"Jacob?" I say. "If that's you, we've had an accident. We're fine, but we can't get back to town in this weather. We need to find shelter. Do you know of anyplace nearby?"
When he doesn't respond, I know it's not him. As shy as Jacob is, he knows I'm important to his brother, and he'd help me.
This might be a hostile. There are two kinds of former residents out here, residents who left to live in the forest. Some we call settlers, which is what Dalton's parents were, people who moved into these Yukon woods to live off the land. They stay out of our way, like Jacob does. Then there are the hostiles, those who went out there, snapped, and have become the most dangerous "animals" in these woods.
"Hey!" I call. "You know I'm talking to you. Maybe you can't see through this snow, but I can see enough to know you're not holding a gun on me. There are two trained on you, though. If you think we're easy prey, just raise your hand, and I'll be happy to demonstrate my marksmanship."
"That means she'll put a bullet through your damn shoulder," Anders calls, giving me a look that says I might need to take the diction down a notch. "That'll be the first bullet. Her warning shot. I don't give warning shots. I'm not good enough for that. Mine goes through your chest."
Which is bullshit, on both counts. He's a better marksman and more likely to aim a nonfatal shot. But he's also the big guy with the booming voice, which makes him a helluva lot more intimidating than me.
The figure takes a lumbering step forward. It's more of a shamble than a walk, and seeing that, an image flashes in my mind. Before I can speak, Anders whispers, "Are we sure that's a man, Case?"
No, we are not. The memory that flashed is of a walk with Dalton after a particularly rough day. There may also have been a bottle of tequila involved, and some hide-and-seek, the sun falling as we goofed off, me darting around a tree fall ... and startling a grizzly pawing apart the dead timber for grubs.
I've faced armed gunmen and not been as terrified as I was when that beast reared up, all seven feet and seven hundred pounds of him. Now I lo
ok at this figure through the snow veil. It's a tall, broad shape on two legs. Dark from head to toe. Taking another lumbering step toward us.
I hear Dalton again, from that evening in the woods.
Don't move. Just stay where you are.
My first instinct is to shout, as it was back then. But I'd had the sense to whisper the idea to Dalton before I did.
It's not a black bear. Make a lot of noise, and you'll only antagonize it. Speak calmly and firmly so it realizes you are human.
I do that now, but I stay stock-still. Anders does the same, both of us straining to see, but the thing is only a dark shape against a quickly darkening backdrop.
Just don't move, Casey. You're fine. I've got my gun out. Perfect trajectory to the snout. That's where you want to hit if you have to shoot.
Dalton couldn't help turning even a stare-down with a grizzly into a teaching moment. But the reality was that he'd been calming me. A grizzly bear less than a meter away? No big deal. Let's take what we can from this. He'd also been calming himself, the strain clear in his voice. Now, remembering his words, I adjust the angle of my gun, whispering to Anders, "I'll go for the upper chest. You take the head. Just wait until we can see it. We have to be sure."
He nods, but my warning is more for me than him. Stay calm. Be certain before I pull the trigger. My gun isn't meant for shooting bears--I don't haul around a .45.
But you know what's even better than shooting? That canister in your pocket. Pull it out as slowly as you can--no sudden moves.
Gun in my right hand, my left slips into my pocket and removes a small can. Pepper spray.
The problem here is that we're lying on the ground. There's no way to spray it in the bear's eyes from this position. I'm not even sure Anders can fire a bullet at its face with enough accuracy.
As long as it's upright, you're good. It's unbalanced on two legs. It's just checking you out. The trouble comes if ...
The shape drops to all fours, and beside me, Anders lets out a hiss. We're both trying to make out the bear's head, but its whole body has turned to a dark blob. Anders backs onto his haunches, gun in one hand, the other pushing himself to a crouch. I do the same. I know not to leap up. Again, if it was a black bear, that'd be the right move--show it you're bigger. But with a grizzly, we're not.
"I'll spray first," I whisper. We will give this bear a fighting chance. That's Dalton's rule. He never hesitates to kill an animal if it's a serious threat, but he won't if he has the option.
We're waiting for the bear to charge. That's why it dropped to all fours. It's taking longer than we expect and then it rises again.
Anders makes a soft growling sound that has me nodding in agreement. The beast is toying with us. While we don't exactly want to deal with a charging grizzly, neither of us is good with just waiting, unable to see enough to be sure it's a bear, not daring to shoot if it isn't, not even particularly wanting to shoot if it is.