We’re going to die. If I was scared during Lennon’s story, I’m petrified now. I inhale a shaky breath. I really wish Andromeda were here. She would bark this bear into submission.
Or she’d tuck tail and run, which is exactly what I want to do.
“Hey!” Lennon shouts in a booming voice that makes me jump. “Get the hell out of here! Get out!” He’s waving his hands over his head as if he’s dressed up like a vampire on Halloween and trying to scare little kids. Only, he sounds absolutely furious. And because his big voice is so deep, it carries over the river and bounces back in a thundering echo.
The bear is now paying attention. He pauses midstep, one enormous paw in the air, and his head stills.
Lennon lunges forward—just one long stride. But he bellows once more as he does it, and images of him stupidly throwing himself at the bear flash behind my eyes. Blood. Screaming. Horror. I see it all unfolding, and I’m too terrified to do anything to stop it.
“I said, get out!” Lennon shouts, clapping his hands loudly several times. He quickly scoops something off the ground and throws it at the bear. A rock? I can’t tell. But it hits the bear on the nose.
WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?
The bear shakes off the projectile. My body prepares to flee. And then—
His big, furry body slowly turns around. The bear shambles away, crushing the tent beneath him in two steps.
Lennon claps again and starts walking toward it, slowly, casually. Shouting as if he’s trying to get a horse to gallop. And then the bear picks up speed and runs into the dark woods.
Gone.
I stare at the edge of the forest until my eyes sting. Is it really gone? Or is he faking us out, only to turn around and race toward us on his hind legs? Wait, do black bears stand on their hind legs? Or is it just grizzly bears? I don’t know. Why don’t I know?
“It’s okay now,” Lennon is saying. His hand is shockingly warm and firm on my neck. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s gone.”
I glance at him, dazed. It takes me several moments to find my voice, and when I do, my tongue is thick in my mouth. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure,” Lennon says, glancing over his shoulder at the woods. “Listen. You can hear it retreating. Those are pinecones making all the noise under his feet.”
I barely hear anything. Which is good. I don’t want to hear bear feet making noise.
“Holy shit, that was intense,” Kendrick says. “He’s really gone?”
“For now,” Lennon says.
“What do you mean?” Reagan asks. “Will he come back?”
Lennon shines his headlamp on the destroyed tent. “If he’s after something, maybe. Whose tent is that?”
“Pretty sure it’s Brett’s,” Summer says, flicking on a handheld flashlight.
She’s right. Reagan and Brett both chose tent spots that were next to the river.
Lennon grumbles under his breath and cautiously walks toward the fallen tent as we follow to inspect the damage. I suspect it’s pretty bad, but when Lennon picks up one side of the nylon, I now see that it’s irreparable. This is no tear. A gaping hole extends down the length of the one-man tent. Lennon crouches and peers beneath the flap of fabric. “Are you kidding me?”
“What’s wrong?” I say.
Lennon holds up the remains of a package of store-bought chocolate chip cookies. Crumbs fall. The whole thing’s ripped wide open. It’s not the only thing. When Summer shines her flashlight on the tent’s floor, she illuminates pouches of tuna. Candy. Pretzels.
Brett’s entire food stash.
It’s spilling out from an open bear canister—one that Lennon forced him to get. The lid is several feet away, buried under the food rubble.
“The canisters aren’t even supposed to be inside our tents,” Lennon says. “At the campfire—that’s where they need to be stored. And why is this open?”
“Maybe the bear opened it?” Summer says.
“They can’t be opened by a bear,” Lennon says. “That’s the whole point!”
I look around. “Um, where is Brett?”
“I’m here,” a voice says. Brett’s curly head peeks out from behind a tree, and he puts up a hand to shield his eyes from the dueling lights of Lennon’s headlamp and Summer’s flashlight.
“Did you not put the lid on your food?” Lennon says, suddenly livid.
“Of course I did,” Brett says, surveying the damage with his phone. He’s videoing everything. “Holy crap. That bear really went to town, didn’t he?”
“This isn’t funny,” Lennon says. “And you didn’t put the lid on, or the bear wouldn’t have smelled the food.”
Brett’s eyes tighten. “I said I put it on, dude. The canister was defective.”
“Hmm,” Kendrick says, squinting at the tent. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s a lid and it screws on. How could it be defective?”
“It’s not. He forgot to put it on,” Lennon says.
Brett bristles. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“I don’t know,” Lennon replies. “Are you?”
“Whoa,” Reagan says. “Everyone calm down. Lennon, if Brett says it was defective, it was.”
Lennon stands and gets in Brett’s face. “Where were you?”
“Hey, stop shining that damn headlamp in my eyes,” Brett complains.
“Just now. You weren’t with the group. Where were you? Did you run from the bear?”
“Um, no.”
Lennon gestures dramatically. “I told you not to run. They see you as prey, and they’ll chase you. Black bears can run faster than humans.”
“Not Reagan,” Brett says, attempting to lighten the mood.
“Yes, even Reagan,” Lennon insists. “Even freaking Usain Bolt, if the bear was angry and charging at full speed. That one there was easily three hundred pounds. It could have killed any one of us.”
“Dude, you need to chill,” Brett says, getting annoyed. “Your holier-than-thou shit is starting to stink.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll stop preaching when you pay attention and quit treating this like a game.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You neglected to put the lid on your canister,” Lennon says, stabbing a finger in the air accusingly. “Then you ran from the bear after I said not to.”
Brett roughly pushes Lennon. “Guess what? You
