Trexler whirled back as the great beast charged again, rising up over him, its roar booming through the cavern. Trexler swung the gun up and got off the last shot. It hit the bear in the eye. The eye burst like a grape, the bear’s head snapped back. it shook its head violently and fell as he tried to roll out of the way. The animal fell across his legs and lay there groaning.
Trexler wriggled one leg free and kicked and pushed at the dying creature until he freed his other leg. He snapped the clip out of the gun, found a box of bullets and nervously slipped six more shells into the clip. He slammed it back in the gun, held it six inches from the bear’s head and shot it three more times. Then he dropped the gun and, groaning with pain from the deep gouges in his face, he crawled outside and bathed the three wounds with snow.
Trexler was not cold anymore. Adrenaline was roaring through his veins. He took out his torch and flicked the beam through the cave. It appeared empty. He lay on his stomach and looked down over the side. The ski was gone. A thousand feet down in the valley someplace.
He had another ten miles to go.
He dug out the first aid kit and a mirror. Using a pad of bandage, he dabbed iodine on the wounds. The antiseptic sent arrows of pain into the side of his face. He fell back against the cavern wall, gasping for breath while tears streaked his bloody cheeks. He threw back his head and howled like a wounded animal. The scream echoed down through the gorge and back.
Lamar Trammel was turning off the downstairs lights when the dogs started barking. It was almost ten o’clock and the snow had already reached a foot and a half. The barking was persistent.
“Lamar?” his wife Melinda called down from the bedroom. “What’s got into the dogs?”
“Dunno. Maybe there’s a bear or a cat out there.”
“In this storm?”
His son Byron, a junior in high school, came out of his room.
“Something’s raising the dogs, Dad,” he yelled down.
“I hear ‘em, son. I’m not deaf.”
His sister Grace stuck her head out of her bedroom door. “What’s eating the dogs?” the pretty eighth grader asked. Byron went downstairs and joined his father.
“Shall I get the thirty-thirty?” he asked.
Lamar, a tall, lean, weather-beaten man with wispy brown hair that needed cutting, smiled down at the youth.
“Now what d’ya think you’re gonna shoot in this? Probably kill one of our cows.”
The dogs, locked in the barn to protect them from the storm, were howling and yapping like hounds on a hunt. Lamar got his heavy flashlight, went to the back door and unlocked it. When he opened it, he reared back in alarm. Behind him, Byron screamed with surprise.
An apparition was framed in the doorway. A man, snow- and ice-caked, his feet tied to pine boughs that had been fashioned into homemade snowshoes, his gloved fingers crooked and frozen. Crazed eyes peered at them from behind a ski mask. The man reached out and tried to say something, then collapsed in the doorway.
Trexler awoke with a soothing wash of warm water on the side of his face. He opened his eyes. A handsome woman, her face leathery from hard living, her long brown hair tied at the back, was cleaning his wound.
“Are you an angel?” he mumbled. “Did I die?”
She smiled warmly. “Thank God you’re awake,” she said softly, and turning, called out, “Lamar.”
A tall string bean of a man sauntered into the room followed by two teenagers.
“How ya doin’?” the older man asked.
“I don’t know? Where am I?”
“Pitkin. We’re a couple miles up from town.”
“Pitkin!” he said with surprise. “How did I get way down here?”
“We’re the Trammels,” Lamar said. “Melinda, Byron, Gracie. I’m Lamar. You appeared at our door an hour ago. Scared hell out of all of us.”
“He means you were a sight,” Melinda hurriedly added.
“Afraid we can’t get you a doctor,” the father said. “Phone’s out and besides, the roads are all under two foot of snow.”
“I’ve cleaned the wounds out and dressed them,” said Melinda. “Just need to keep them clean.”
“I’ll be okay,” said Trexler. “My name’s Clark, Sam Clark.” They shook hands.
“Feel like talkin’ about it?” Lamar asked.
“Sure. I was skiing up around Harvard Peak and the snow caught me. Found a cave, was just getting settled in, and turns out I was sharing it with a grizzly bear.”
“Holy smokes!” Byron yelped. “How big was he?”
“Byron!” his mother admonished for interrupting.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“It’s okay,” Trexler said. “I yelled a lot louder than that when I saw it. He looked bigger than King Kong. Smoke from my fire must’ve choked him. He came out of hibernation fighting.”
“How’d you get away?” the girl asked.
