Free The Sentinel by Jeremy Bishop

the bear. It skids to a stop and rears up. I look up at the bear, feeling its eyes on me, sizing me up.
    That’s when the wind fades and the screaming stops.
    Suddenly, I’m just a five foot five woman again.
    The bear drops back down and charges.
     

 
     
     
    11
     
    I move without thinking, snatching the handgun from my waist, turning it on the bear and firing off a round from the hip. I’ve practiced firing from the hip, years ago, when Dad and I still went to the range; always enjoyed the idea of winning an old fashioned quick draw shootout. But honestly, I always kind of sucked at it. I know now that my bad luck at the range had to do with the targets being fifty feet away. Because a giant bear five feet away is easy to hit.
    The round strikes the bear’s forehead. It pierces flesh, but ricochets off the top of the bear’s thick skull. The bear stumbles and slips on loose stones, stopping close enough to take a swipe at me. But the pain from the now bleeding wound on its forehead coupled with the earsplitting report of the handgun have sent it running, hopefully for good this time.
    I watch it fade from view before turning back to the raft. When I see Peach and Jenny staring at me out of the open hatch, I want to say something funny, but I’m distracted by my trembling hands. Jenny picks up the slack for me.
    “Holy fucking Van Helsing!” she shouts with a big grin. She steps out of the tent and wraps her arms around me. I’m lifted off the ground in an ironic bear hug, which if not ended soon might kill me as surely as the actual bear’s embrace would have.
    She puts me down and I take several deep breaths, fighting off a faintness that might be from the adrenaline rush of facing down a bear, or from Jenny squeezing the air from my lungs.
    Peach looks happy to be alive, but asks, “You didn’t kill it, did you?”
    I can’t help but smile. We could have all died violently and been devoured by a polar bear, and her main concern is for the bear’s welfare. At least she’s genuine, I think. “Just gave him something to think about.”
    “But you did shoot him?”
    “Grazed him,” I say. “He’ll have a cool scar to impress the females come mating season.”
    “How do you know it was a him ?” Jenny asks.
    “Was pretty obvious when he stood up,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
    “You were about to die and took the time to check out his bear junk?” She punches my shoulder and it hurts. “You’re sick, dude.”
    I laugh as the last of the adrenaline jitters fade. “Was kind of hard to miss.”
    “Hung like a horse?” Jenny says.
    I shrug. “Like a bear.”
    Feeling some sense of normalcy returning, I tuck the gun back into my waist and ask, “How much were you able to pack up?”
    “Everything,” Peach says. She motions to a yellow backpack sitting next to the raft. It’s stuffed full of supplies. I can tell by the color and material that it came with the raft. The “survival” backpack sits next to it, just as full. “And…” she says, “Check this out.”
    Peach picks up the raft, which is fairly light now that everything has been taken out of it. I’m not sure what she’s going to do with it, but then Jenny turns her back to the raft and slips her arms through the ruined ballast bags that have been tied together like shoulder straps. It’s awkward and we’ll be seen coming from miles away, which is a blessing and a curse. I’d rather avoid running into McAfee and crew, but I’d also like to be rescued. Plus, this will give us shelter, comfort and the ability to cross short distances of water if need be.
    “Genius,” I say. When Peach grins, I know it was her idea. I also know that I’ve become our small group’s leader. Peach thrives on praise from her superiors. It’s always bothered me. I’ve seen her beg for it like a dog. But it’s a positive sign. Means she’ll do what I tell her. And that’s good, because I’m going to be pushing these two to their limits