Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(29)

“That Brady kid get away on you again?” Cypher says when Dalton tells them we’re looking for a fugitive.

“Not unless he’s a zombie,” I say. “And Eric has promised that whatever else we have in these woods, there are no zombies.”

“Yet,” Dalton says.

“No, you said there were no killer rabbits yet. You said there were no zombies at all. You were very, very clear on that.”

“Which only means I’ve never seen one.” He turns to the other two. “Brady’s dead. This fugitive is a different problem.”

While the three of them talk, I wander off. As always, Dalton keeps one eye on me. I joke that he’d like to have us all on leashes . . . with shock collars that will zap us if we stray too far.

I check out what looks like a berry bush. I’m hunkered down examining it when something moves in the undergrowth. It’s the size of a rabbit. Too dark to be an Arctic hare, though, or any of the other small critters we get out here. When I squint, I realize it’s twice the size I thought—it just looked small because it’s lying on the ground.

When the thing gives an odd bleat, I go still.

Another bleat and then it snuffles, raising a black furry head with a black nose. It reminds me of what Anders said yesterday, joking about Storm being a bear cub. That’s exactly what I’m looking at: a black bear cub.

It lifts its head and bleats, and it is so adorable that I stifle an “Awww” of appreciation. I know enough to leave it alone, so I just smile and step backwards.

Then a snort sounds behind me.

I turn slowly to see Mama Bear twenty feet away.





ELEVEN

I take a deep breath to call my stuttering heart. I’m not bothering her cub. I’ll just step sideways, get farther from it and hope she hasn’t noticed me . . .

Mama Bear rises up on her rear legs, and her nearsighted eyes lock on me.

I open my mouth to shout. That’s how we deal with black bears: stand our ground, make ourselves as big as possible and shout in hopes of scaring them off.

Thankfully, before I shout, I realize the logic flaw in that. If I’m standing between a sow and her cub, I really don’t want to put on a threat display.

The bear keeps snuffling the air, her head bobbing as she assesses. When I step away from the cub, the sow snarls, baring her teeth.

“Casey?” Dalton’s voice, sharp with anxiety.

I slide my gaze his way. He’s on the other side, just out of the sow’s sightline.

“I thought you said black bears aren’t like grizzlies,” I say. “They don’t attack if you get between a sow and her cubs.”

“I said that’d always been my experience.” He’s right, of course. He’d never say such a thing couldn’t happen, only that he’d never known it to. Apparently, this sow has not read the black bear behavior guide.

“Advice?” I say.

His gaze is on the bear, assessing just as hard as she is. He has his gun in hand. When he shifts, the sow glances his way and waves one paw, brandishing inch-long claws. I’m closer, though, and I’m the threat to her baby, so her attention swings back to me.

“She doesn’t want me to move,” I say. “But I need to get away from her cub.”

“Yep.”

“Which requires moving . . .”

“Hold on a sec.” He squints over, still assessing. Also lining up the shot.

I have my gun in hand, but I haven’t lifted it. A voice in my head says we haven’t reached that level of threat. Which is ridiculous. This isn’t a human, who might be provoked by me raising my weapon. So I do, but I feel guilty about it. I know, better than anyone, never to raise my weapon unless I am prepared to fire, and I really don’t want to fire. I am between an animal and her young, with no way of telling her I don’t pose a threat.

I do not want to kill her for protecting her baby. But I still raise my gun. I must.

“Take one step directly to your right,” Dalton says. “Away from the baby and the mother.”

The sow growls as soon as I lift my left foot, and Dalton quickly tells me to stop.

“You’re gonna have to shoot her, kitten,” Cypher says. “No way around this.”

“Casey?” Dalton says. “I have my gun trained on her, but you know it’s my bad hand. Jacob has an arrow nocked. Neither one of us has a sightline to the best shot.”

“But I do.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Sorry. We’ll try something else, but I need you to be absolutely ready to fire if she charges. She’ll drop to all fours. Aim downward at her head. Empty your weapon. Do not hesitate.”

“I know.”

The sow growls and bears her teeth. She’s getting impatient.

“Walk backward,” Dalton says. “It’s clear ground behind you. Don’t hurry, or you’ll trip. Keep your gun ready. If she drops—”

The sow drops to all fours.

“Casey?”

“Got it.”

She’s going to charge. Her muscles bunch. Her eyes fix on me. She will charge, and I can empty my gun, but I’m still not certain it will save me.

The cold thud of that hits me square in the gut. This is a black bear. Up until now, I’ve paid them only healthy respect. It’s the grizzlies I worry about.