How It Could Have Been ~ The-Mockingjay-xx

Chapter 10

     I run. I run because my instinct tells me to. I run for my life. But immediately the bear is on my tail, leaping over the boulders much more elegantly than I am doing so myself. But elegance doesn't matter now because all I can think about is how much I need to run. My heart pounds out of my chest. My lungs inhale and exhale the frosty morning air so sharply that it stings as it is forced in and out of my body. My legs scream but I don't stop. I stumble recklessly into trees and over mounds of earth, tripping on branches and entangling myself in thorns as I go but I charge straight past them despite the cutting sensations that renew the pain in my body every time one makes contact with my already torn flesh.

     The whole world seems to slow down and the trees swirl around me repeatedly. It's as if a tracker jacker has inserted its venom into my bloodstream and I am hallucinating again. But I've not been stung. My body begins to feel faint and I know I can not stop for long. If I carry on running now I am sure to collapse. And then be torn apart piece by piece by the rabid animal who's footsteps no longer haunt both the forest and my mind. At least I will be unconscious when it kills me. I might not even feel the pain. No footsteps. Then it dawns on me. The bear has lost me because it can no longer hear me or see me, as I have stopped moving, hidden behind a cluster of bushes which lie amongst multiple trees. Now's my chance, I think to myself. If I could just find somewhere high. I allow myself one minute to reorder my thoughts and come up with a plan. I could try and run to the fence, but the bear would be sure to catch me. I could try and hide for a while in the hope that it gets bored and leaves to find another source of food, but I am of much more value to the bear than simply a rabbit. I am a larger meal, and involve less hunting than to spend a full day earning the equivalent in rabbits. I could climb higher than the bear can reach, and then work out a method of prying the bear away from me so I can at least escape to where my bow and arrows are stored, in the hollows of trees, about a kilometre from where I sit now. That could work. I guess it's my only option. My eyes survey my surroundings, darting from tree to tree, but none near me are good enough ; the branches are either too weak, too high, or too few. I scan further away, my fleeting gaze trying to locate a place of refuge. At last my attention is caught by an oak tree, about one hundred metres to my left. If I can outrun the bear...

A low rumbling noise is picked up by my right ear. Terror. That is the first emotion that I feel. My eyes move slowly sideways, followed cautiously by my head. A black nose, shining with sweat, nostrils fluctuating as it tries to breathe and smell me out at the same time. I don't dare move. I don't dare breathe. But of course that doesn't last for long, and what little breaths I allow myself are uneven and wobble in my throat. I need to get to that tree. Now. Because every second I wait, the bear's face becomes more visible. As it appears further, I notice the fangs, at least two inches long, and sharp. Very, very sharp. Easily capable of killing me in one bite. Its lips are curled back in a snarl. Drool is hanging from inside its mouth and it looks hungry. Then its eyes jolt sideways... and lock with mine.

     I am on my feet before I know what has hit me. My legs move so hard it hurts, and my ankle is twisted which only adds to the struggle. Within seconds my skin makes contact with the bark, and my sweaty palms search the tree for a branch or handhold to get me started on my journey up. At last they find one and I manage to pull myself up onto it. My undamaged foot has just left the branch below when the bear's teeth make contact with my lower leg and clamp down hard. I let out a yelp and drag my foot from its jaw, but the bear has not let go and its fangs make long, indented lines in my flesh. And the blood begins to gush from my body. I kick it hard in the eye with the heel of my boot, and it is knocked backwards. I daren't miss my opportunity, and despite the severe pain radiating from my lower left leg, I hoist myself up onto the next branch. As soon as I am safely out of the bear's clutches, in a fork high up in the tree, I undo my father's hunting jacket, which, despite the situation, I find too valuable to rip. So instead I tear the sleeve off my shirt and wrap it tightly over my wound to stop the blood flow. But the bear is back on its feet, and is trying to find a way up, the sound of claws scratching the bark beneath me intimidating me all the more. I decide to climb further up the tree, the fact that the bear knows what it must do to reach me filling me with an untameable fear.