The Naturalist (The Naturalist #1)(18)

Two red flags mark where drops of her blood splattered plants.

The yellow trail ends at another tree where Juniper rested her hand. Oddly, it’s on the side of the tree facing the road and not the one oriented deeper into the woods, where I assume she first encountered the bear.

There’s a much longer path of yellow ribbons leading even higher. I climb the trail, careful not to step on any red flags hiding behind logs or shrubs.

As I place my right foot down, I freeze. It’s not a sound that makes me stop—at least not one I’m conscious of.

It’s the older part of the brain that’s connected to atrophied or extinct sense organs.

I’ve had this before.

The first time was when I was fourteen and my stepfather took me on a hike in West Texas. I stopped from time to time, unsure of something. Davis remained quiet.

When we got back to camp, he asked me if the hike felt odd. I told him it did but couldn’t explain why.

He gave me a knowing nod, then retrieved his rifle from the truck. “Follow me.”

We backtracked a mile and came to a stop at the very point I first got that strange feeling. I watched as he squinted and surveyed the surrounding area. His attention fell on a large boulder.

I followed him around to the other side. Davis squatted down and motioned for me to do the same. He pointed to a small patch of mud.

A paw, larger than my fist, had rested there. I recognized it from a hunting guidebook. It belonged to a mountain lion.

That’s what we both had felt.

“How did we know?” I asked.

“Maybe we smelled another carnivore. Maybe we heard it. Just keep in mind, it was aware of us long before we were aware of it.”

That was a sobering reminder that would be illustrated to me over and over again.

Right now I get the feeling there’s something out here with me. Running would only establish that I’m frightened prey. Acting too brazen might present me as a territorial challenger.

The best course of action is caution. I slip my hand into my day pack and grab my can of pepper spray.

There’s one more trail of yellow ribbons to follow. Following it could mean bringing me to where Juniper was first attacked by the bear.

While I saw a dead bear, that doesn’t mean it was the bear that killed her. Bears and lightning do as they please and can strike in the same spot as much as they choose, despite what experts tell us.

I should carefully walk my way back to the road.

But I still have chaos.

I want order.

Mace in hand, I keep climbing the hill.

Every noise, every prolonged stillness makes me stop and take measure of my surroundings.

I don’t see any predators lurking behind trees. But that doesn’t mean they’re not there.

I reach the last yellow flag and see one red one planted in the ground.

Although the forest floor is covered in pine needles, I can tell the soil is different here.

It’s full of blood.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


RESTING PLACE

A morbid image comes to my mind as I look at the dark stain on the ground. In the Rorschach way our brains leap to connections, I think of a snow angel.

Juniper struggled here on the ground. Her arms windmilled as her blood spread out around her.

Was she fighting the bear? Trying to climb out from underneath it?

The fact that she had the strength to find her way to her feet and make it down the hill astounds me.

How would I have reacted? Would I have panicked and gone into shock?

Juniper was a fighter. She was a brave girl who didn’t give up until her body physically couldn’t go any farther.

As a paramedic I’d hear about people dying of the simplest wounds. Others would survive accidents that would be fatal to others. Vital organs and arteries matter, but so does the will to live.

Something stirs in the trees. I stand up and make a slow turn as I gaze into the forest.

The part of my vision primed for patterns doesn’t spot any.

There could be a dozen animals, from bear size to mouse, within twenty yards of me and I wouldn’t see them.

Mindful, yet transfixed by the circle of blood, I kneel back down and try to make sense of things.

What brought Juniper and the bear to this spot?

Was it stalking her?

Did she surprise it?

Was she foolishly stalking the bear? Stupid as it sounds, more than one idiot has been killed doing this.

I stand back up and look down the hill. I’ve seen plenty of yellow and red flags, but no other colors.

What about her backpack or shoes? Do the police have some special ribbon for where they find a person’s belongings?

I can’t imagine Juniper came this far into the forest without even a water bottle—even if she was just hiking between the garage and the motel.

And I still can’t understand what would bring her all the way up here. There aren’t any ponds or lakes. The largest pool of liquid is her bloodstain.

There aren’t even any rotting logs where a bear would find something worth eating.

Juniper’s and the bear’s presence here are just so random.

Bears can have very wide territories. I guess it’s possible it was on a long hike of its own.

To be honest, I don’t really know much about them. I’m standing in the woods speculating about the behavior of two creatures that are quite alien to me.