THE FERAL STRUT

Chapter 43

With Slim gone, she was nervous about being alone at the yurt. Even with Gris to warn her, she felt prey to misfortune. Ginger was still out of it. What did they call it? Minimally conscious. That meant she reacted to voices and touches, but wouldn't wake up. They'd taken turns sitting with her and talking: the doctors said it might help. But for Mary it was torture.

She sat there for a couple hours at a time, babbling aimlessly and willing so hard for Ginger to open her eyes that her bones ached afterwards.

Gris barked. Damn.

There was something going on in the woods. She tied the dog up— she didn't want him running into trouble. When she crossed the slope from the yurt, under the budding aspens was a weird guy in camo, sitting behind a fat black spotting scope.

"What's up?" she said, and he practically jumped out of his skin. He looked her up and down and then bent to the eyepiece.

"Game and Fish," he said. Ghem on Feesh. He had a long, narrow skull, and a high-bridged, breakable nose. "Check for grizzly bear." Greezly. His voice was rusty and flat, with an odd accent. She could tell he wanted her to go away.

"Any sign?" she asked. "I live over there, so I'm curious." He kept his eye to the scope.

She could see a muscle contracting in his cheek, as the corner of his lip stretched and receded. He dipped a hand into his coat pocket, and she took a step back, and got ready to launch a kick.

"Way," he said. "But I can't talk. Look, I am working. So please. . . "

There was a shock wave, like a traveling wall, and the aspens shivered. Then a whoomp-crack, like a bass drum falling out of a truck, hitting the pavement.

"What the—?" she said, as the echo slapped back from the ridges. His eye never left the scope, and she noticed he didn't move the lens.

"Sonic boom," he said. So-neek. "Goddamn jet. Scare the wildlife."

"That was no jet."

He turned his head and smiled.

The smile backed her up a step: scary.

From the woods, birds exploded, swirling above the pines and aspens, chattering with fright. The small birds circled and quickly went back to their perches. The magpies and crows and ravens, beat up into the blue, flocking, searching the landscape for the source of the noise, exchanging harsh cries.

"See you 'round," he said.

She turned and strode back toward the yurt, nearly running, over the mushy moist earth of spring.

When she reached the edge of the pines and turned back, he was gone.