The Webbing Blade

BEARS

THE SOUNDS were the first thing that registered in Lou’s otherwise-numbed skull. He heard the swish, and the snick as the bears’ massive claws passed through the undergrowth. They bounded toward him, about fifty or sixty paces away, but gaining every second.

Lou’s grip went slick on his crossbow as he tried to pull it up, to look along the sight. And then common sense struck him, and told him one thing, and one thing plainly.

Run.

He twisted round and raced off, back towards the camp. His hearing filled with those pants, with the clobbering pounding as their paws made contact with the earth. He had had no time to count them, but he guessed there to be a whole pack of bears.

Seven? Eight? Nine? Ten? More?

Lou bounded on, screaming now at the top of his lungs, raising the camp. As he ran on, he beat his fists against the canvas of the tents, feeling the material rough against his skin. From within the tents he heard the sounds of stirring.

Across the campsite, he caught Sully’s eye. He looked confused, blinking his way out of a daze, and then he looked beyond Lou, over his head, and he saw just why Lou was all riled up.

Lou watched on as Sully beat his way across the campground, already with his crossbow in hand. Sully brushed by him and let fly a few bolts into the gloom. Lou spun round, grasping his own crossbow. He chanced another glance back at the advancing pack of bears, and he saw them there, their mouths foaming, eyes bright red, like the colour a sword blade turning in a blacksmith’s furnace.

Sully stood in silhouette against the frazzling-down torchlight. He worked quickly, from left to right, his elbow raised up, at right angles with his shoulder, as he fired off his bolts.

Lou saw him catch one, two. A third. Bringing them down one by one. And Lou saw the other bears note their fallen companions and fall back, hold off their brisk pace.

A wild spark of optimism flew through Lou’s chest. Sully had beaten them back. He was pushing them into a retreat. However, when Sully spun round, to face up to Lou, there was no trace of a smile there, his expression was still grave, his eyes matted and yet full of action. “Raise the other skullers,” he said. “Do it right now.”

Lou wasted no time. He shoved his way through the survivors coming out from their tents, rubbing their eyes, mumbling questions at him. He just pushed his way through, over to the tent where Rut and Murch were sleeping.

Inside, he only found Rut, gently stirring from his blankets, like the other survivors. In the flickering torchlight that bled in from outside the tent, Lou could see the faint tear tracks lining Rut’s cheeks, could hear that his sobs had shredded his voice. “What’s the matter, eh?” Rut said.

“We’re being overrun by bears!”

Rut squinted in the half-light, then seemed to snap out of his sleeping daze. He propped himself up, then grabbed for his trousers which lay beside him, along with his crossbow and sword.

He stumbled a couple of times as he got the right legs into the right holes of his trousers, and then, still strapping on his belt, with his crossbow dangling down off his shoulder but somehow staying put, he rushed from the tent alongside Lou.

Outside, fear was starting to take hold.

Lou cast a glance over the faces of the survivors, all of them now turned to face the bears. The survivors’ mouths gaped open and some of them were crying out for help. Beyond them, Lou saw Sully still standing firm, crossbow still pointed at the bears, ready to fire off a bolt at any that chanced a step or two forward.