Free Taken by Norah McClintock Page B

just end up wasting another day—a day without food or water.
    I set off again.
    I told myself that things couldn’t get worse.
    About an hour later, I emerged from the woods into a clearing and found myself staring at a black bear. The bear stared back at me. It was full-grown but scrawny, which told me that it must have recently come out of hibernation. That meant it was probably hungry.
    Everything went silent around me. Everything disappeared except the bear. It was as if I was at one end of a dark tunnel and the only thing I could see against the light at the other end was that bear.
    I told myself: Don’t panic.
    I told myself: Don’t look directly at it.
    I told myself: Don’t run.
    I told myself: Don’t turn your back on it. In fact, don’t turn at all.
    Grandpa had taught me all about bears.
    He said that bear attacks were rare. He said they happened when a bear saw a human as a threat or—I swallowed hard as I remembered this—when the bear was predatory. A bear that was predatory regarded humans as a source of food.
    I told myself that this bear was probably not predatory. I told myself that I had surprised it, that’s all. Slowly, awkwardly, I took a step backward, away from the bear. If I could fade into the woods, maybe it wouldn’t feel threatened. Maybe it would forget all about me. Maybe it would go away.
    I backed up another step, keeping my eyes on the ground. It had been hard enough moving forward with my injured ankle and walking stick. Going backward was even trickier. With my head still bowed, I peeked at the clearing. The bear was still standing there. It was still watching me.
    I eased my walking stick behind me again, feeling for a place to put it down. This time, when I tried to step back, I stumbled and fell. I couldn’t help myself—I let out a yelp as I crashed to the ground.
    I heard a loud huffing sound. Oh my god! The bear reared up onto its hind legs. I had startled it, and it didn’t like that. It looked enormous and fierce.
    I reached for my walking stick and began to struggle to my one good foot.
    That’s when I heard another sound behind me—a loud clap, like another large animal snapping a dry branch underfoot. Was there another bear behind me? Worse, were there bear cubs behind me? Had I come between a mother bear and her babies? A mother bear would do anything to protect her offspring. She would even attack.
    I was breathing hard. I scrambled to my feet, wrenching my ankle again. I had to bite my lip to stop from crying out. All I wanted was to get out of the bear’s way.
    The bear thumped down onto all fours and charged across the clearing toward me. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. All I could see, all I could think about, was that bear barreling toward me. I knew that running wouldn’t do any good. Grandpa said it was impossible to outrun a bear. But terror gripped me. I had to do something, and running was the only thing I could think of—injured ankle or not.
    I hadn’t taken more than two steps when my ankle collapsed under me and I fell.
    I lay face down on the ground and spread my legs to make it harder for the bear to flip me over. I intertwined my hands over the back of my neck to protect myself. I told myself that my only chance was to play dead. I squeezed my eyes shut. Every muscle in my body tensed as I waited for the bear to fall on top of me. I tried not to think of its sharp teeth and sharper claws.

TWELVE
    B ang!Bang! Bang!
    Three explosions, like gunshots.
    A crash.
    Silence.
    I was still breathing. There was no bear on top of me.
    I opened my eyes and raised my head.
    A man was standing a few feet away from me. He was tall and gaunt, with a scruffy beard and scruffier hair. He was wearing faded jeans, scarred boots and a red-and-black flannel shirt under what looked like an army jacket. He was holding a rifle. I twisted around and saw the bear lying on the ground