Claws & Crochet

Part 28

ZOEY

Immediately, my frustration vanishes, no room for it left in my body. Every inch of me has gone still, frozen in place by wary fear.

The forest is quiet.

I thought . . . I was sure . . .

But maybe it was thunder.

Or maybe it was . . .

"Bruce?" This time I don't shout, keeping my voice just above a whisper.

Silence.

No dog and no growling.

I take another step, my movements noisy with the crack of twigs and the crumbling of dead leaves.

And then, even over my self-made racket, I catch the sound again.

A low, threatening growl.

There's an animal nearby, and it's not my easygoing mastiff.

"Shit. Shit shit shit." Chanting the curses aloud, I slowly turn in place, searching for the owner of the noise. But the storm clouds have blocked out the sun, and the woods now sit in a perpetual twilight. I'm surrounded by looming trees and thick, shadowy brush. Plenty of places for an animal to hide. Anything could be stalking me, and I won't know what it is until their teeth tear into my throat.

A wolf? Maybe.

Or a bear? Do bears growl?

Whatever it is, I'm screwed.

What weapons do I have?

A leash.

Yeah, great, I'll just hook it to the wolf-bear's collar and take it for a soothing walk. That'll definitely circumvent any possible death by mauling.

"Stop being sarcastic and think," I mutter to myself, trying my best to push away the rising tide of panic.

People go hiking in Colorado all the time. This isn't the first instance of someone stumbling across a wild animal. There are ways to survive.

I just need my brain to focus enough to remember them.

With frantic thoughts, I try to scroll through my mental rolodex and come up with what little wilderness knowledge I have. Bears are supposed to leave people alone in the fetal position. So, my best bet is to curl into a ball on the ground and hope it does nothing more than sniff me.

That is, if the animal is a bear.

What if it's a wolf?

Lying on the ground will make it easier to tear me to shreds. I should climb a tree to get away from a wolf.

But bears can climb trees.

Another growl is overwhelmed by a thunderclap, and for a moment I think my heart gives up in fear. When it restarts, the pounding has adrenaline coursing through my veins, demanding I make a decision.

I choose the only logical solution I can fathom in the heat of my fear.

I need to climb a tree, and once I'm up high enough, I'll get in the fetal position.

Is that even possible?

Will it work?

Time to find out.

This time when I scan the shadowy forest around me, I look for a tree that will serve my purpose. The wind picks up just as I choose one. I grasp the rough bark of a low branch, pressing the soles of my sneakers against the trunk as I heave myself upward. Hooking my heel on the limb, I'm able to mount the thing with the grace of a hippopotamus using a balance beam.

But I'm up.

Time to get up farther. Pulling myself branch by branch, I'm about halfway to a height I judge as safe from wolves when the clouds dump their load. As my fingers slip trying to find a grip, I pray to the universe that Bruce is far away from here, and that the creature growling at me doesn't like getting wet.

When I judge myself a good fifteen feet off the ground, I perch on the thick branch, hugging the tree trunk and trying my best to curl into a ball. The rain pounds down, soaking my sweatshirt and yoga pants. The steady thrumming of it against every surface drowns out all other sounds. I have no way of knowing if the creature has left, or if it's at the foot of the tree, circling me even now.

Lightening cracks across the sky, illuminating the twisting branches in an eerie disjointed display.

As I shiver in my soggy clothing, I try to think of a way out of this mess.

Staying here is no good. While Colorado fall days are pleasantly crisp, the nights drop close to freezing. Pair that with my wet clothing, and I'm rolling the dice with pneumonia.

But if I leave my perch, I'll probably be met with a pair of hungry jaws.

If I can't stay here, but I can't climb down, what other solution is there?

The sky splits with another angry flash, and I flinch at the noise.

With the spotlight-like flash illuminating my surroundings, I realize just how close the neighboring trees are. Their branches overlap, beckoning me like a flimsy rope bridge over a deep crevasse.

The limbs sway in the wind, but I can't help considering their escape. If I'm careful, take my time, lay my feet right and grab what I need to grab, I could theoretically traverse the tree tops all the way back to Grandma Minnie's yard. The whole time I would be out of reach of wolves, and even if a bear climbs this tree to follow me, would they try hopping from branch to branch? Surely, they weigh too much to pull off the same maneuver I'm planning.

Sheets of rain crash down harder, causing shivers to wrack my body. The cold, wet weather isn't going to help with my grip, but if I don't leave this tree soon, I'm not sure I'll be able to move my quickly cramping fingers.

Slowly, I release my death grip on the tree trunk, moving my grasp to an overhead limb. Then I inch forward. Live wood creaks under my weight, but I can already brush the smallest twigs on the neighboring tree.

I've just about worked up the courage to make a grab for the first step in a long journey, when I hear a noise over the torrential down pour.

Author's note: What do you think Zoey hears?! Thank you all for reading!