‘Anyone with a primed gun?’ shouted Keats.
There was a confusion of panicked responses from those gathered. Already a dozen men had emerged, most clasping a rifle, but none, it seemed, loaded and ready to fire.
The night was alive with cries of alarm, dancing half-light from the nearby campfire, shadows darting in fear, and the towering form of the bear in the midst of it all. Ben saw Preston’s tall frame emerge from their church and quickly join the crowd.
‘Who’s the night watch?’ Preston called out.
‘Aye!’ a voice called out from the growing cacophany.
‘Can you fire?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then do so!’
Ben saw a man emerge from the confusion and take several fearful steps towards the bear. He saw the long barrel level horizontally, wavering for only a moment before discharging with a deafening boom amidst a cloud of powder smoke.
The shot missed.
The bear dropped down onto all fours and then, with terrifying speed, charged across the snow towards the man, who remained frozen to the spot with fear. Too late he gathered his wits and turned, but the bear was on him, swiping both legs from beneath him with a casual blow of his forepaw.
The man fell on his front and flipped round onto his back to fend off what he knew was coming, his hands held out before him — a pitifully futile gesture. The bear’s jaw snapped open and closed on one hand. The man’s voice became a scream of terror as the bear swung its muzzle ferociously from side to side, snapping bones and tearing off the man’s hand and forearm, leaving a tattered and ragged stump at the elbow.
The man showed surprising prescience by taking the fleeting opportunity to try and escape as the bear mauled for a moment on its prize. With his one good arm he hurled the spent rifle at the creature, then attempted to pull himself to his feet.
There were screams of encouragement from those gathered.
Short-lived.
The bear again swiped at his legs, and this time collapsed its heavy weight onto his back, driving the wind out of him — more than likely crushing his ribcage. Without any hesitation this time, the bear’s long muzzle closed on the man’s head with a sickening crunch.
It was then that Ben noticed Preston stepping quickly forward from the crowd, a smoking branch in one hand.
‘Get away!’ he roared angrily, charging the last dozen yards forward and poking the smouldering end of the branch into the bear’s flank. It let go of the man’s head and turned to face Preston, roaring with wild rage at the intrusion and swinging a claw at the branch.
Get back, you fool, Ben found himself urging Preston.
‘Away!!!’ shouted Preston, taking a step forward and jabbing the creature in the flank again. The second jab was enough. The bear abandoned the man on the ground who, Ben was surprised to see, was still moving. It advanced on Preston, rearing up on its hind legs and baring teeth red with blood, from which dangled tatters of flesh.
‘Can anyone fire?’ Preston called out over his shoulder, his voice broken with fear.
Ben looked around to see at least half a dozen men frantically and shakily priming their guns with powder and shot.
The bear dropped down on to all fours.
‘Can anyone fire?!’ Preston shouted again, backing up slowly. There were screams of alarm, people begging Preston to turn and run while he still had a chance. But he stood his ground, bending his knees in readiness, holding nothing but a smoking, fragile branch.
Then the bear charged.
One paw swiped aside the pitiful stick. The other swiped across Preston’s chest, hurling him a couple of yards across the snow, where he landed heavily and almost immediately began to stain the snow dark.
The bear was astride Preston when another shot rang out, this time punching the bear heavily in the side. It reared up in rage and agony, losing its balance and tumbling over. It recovered its footing, but the shock of the wound seemed to have been enough to change its agenda. With surprising speed, it raced away on all fours from the baying crowd, out of the pall of light from the fire and into the darkness.
Ben looked around to see where the shot had come from, and saw Keats still squinting down the levelled length of his rifle and a cloud of blue smoke languidly rolling away from the muzzle.
Ben rushed towards Preston, lying on the ground and clutching his side painfully, gasping short little breaths that peppered the snow with dots of blood.
He looked up at Ben and managed to rasp, ‘I’m fine, man. You tend to James first. I’ll wait.’
CHAPTER 23
Monday
Blue Valley Camp, California
Rose found her easily. She was serving in the convenience store on the camp site.
She had enjoyed the half-hour drive up the twisting mountain road from Blue Valley. It was a steep incline all the way that taxed the hire car’s modest engine so that it whined like a fly in a tin can, but also a spectacular drive with thick firs to her left and a drop to her right, revealing a sweeping and breathtaking picture-postcard vista of a broad valley and a gently winding river.
The camp site, set alongside a small man-made lake, was all but deserted this time of year. Most of the family cabanas were empty, just one or two occupied by hardy folk who obviously enjoyed hiking National Park sites all year round. She imagined that in the middle of summer with a clear blue sky, bathed in welcoming sunlight and alive with smoking barbecue pits and children charging into the crystal-clear lake water, it was the kind of camp that holiday brochures are made for. But right now, with the wan light of autumn and a bland Tupperware sky, abandoned and silent, it looked a somewhat cheerless place.
The door to the convenience store opened with a quaint small-town ding that reminded her of Mr Godsey’s corner shop on Walton’s Mountain. Grace was perched behind the counter in her National Parks Service uniform, stuck into a sudoku puzzle.
She looked up and her weatherworn face creased into a smile.
‘Hey, Rose.’
‘Hi,’ Rose replied. ‘I must have taken down your cell number wrong. I tried to call you.’
‘Problems?’
‘No.’ Rose shrugged. ‘Just getting a bit lonely, I suppose. Jules has shot back to London for a few days, and I’m taking a break from messing around with my cameras.’
Grace put down her paper. ‘How’re things going with your little film?’
‘Very well, I think. I haven’t heard much from him. He sent a text saying he’s already got some good meetings lined up.’
Grace nodded and then leaned forward, lowering her voice slightly. ‘Louise Esterfeld, the Park Manager, asked me about you guys. How the field trip went.’
‘Oh?’
‘Wanted to know if her camp’s going to end up in your film,’ she snorted, ‘whether you guys goin’ to give her an interview and such.’
‘I suppose we could do that if you think it’ll buy us a little good will.’
Grace shook her head. ‘Screw that. Silly woman just wants her face on TV. Anyways, told her you were wanting another trip up into the woods sometime soon.’
Rose smiled coyly and winked. ‘And that’s when we’ll discover a very interesting find?’
Grace nodded. ‘Can’t leave it too much longer, though.’
