Boondocks

Chapter 6: Killer Bear

FERN

I was just a girl when Daddy started hiding people in the barn. "Fern," he'd said. "I don't want you going out there for a while. Help Mama around the house. I'll take care of your other chores."

My initial reaction had been excitement. Shoveling stalls and feeding pigs had never been my favorite things to do. But that was before I saw the reason; a woman and a young girl washing in the basin out back. I hid amongst the corn and stared, not only because they were strangers, but because of how they looked. Pale skin riddled with sores fit over their bones like that was all there was to them. No meat. No fat. Just bones.

When they'd caught me watching, I'd ran and collided with Daddy on the side of the barn.

"It's our job as good people to help." That's what he had said. Our job as good people.

Those words would haunt me for as long as I lived. Good people. My daddy had been a good person. The best person. My mama had baked pies for the church and donated our old clothes to charity. My bother John had been dating the girl on the Jameson farm and was talking about getting married. Good people. The best people.

Dead people. Forgotten people. The farm, the livestock, the pigs I hadn't wanted to feed, and the stalls I hadn't wanted to muck. Gone. Forever.

I stoked the flames of my small fire and turned the stick that held my rabbit above it. Ten snares, and this was all I'd caught in three days. I'd overstayed my welcome, and the energy this small hare provided would be gone by the time I found a new spot to camp.

My entire existence revolved around food. Shelter and warmth came second, and comfort never came at all. Time was measured in seasons, with fall being the beginning, the time it happened, when they were taken away, and I was forced to carry out Daddy's escape plan alone.

The leaves had fallen three times since that day, and the food supplies he'd stored within the tree line were long gone. I had his bow, fishing line and rope, a bedroll, a hatchet, a pocket knife, and a pack far lighter than it'd been the first time I hoisted it onto my back.

I ate the rabbit and hoisted it again, my bow out and ready should I happen upon any animals along the way. I hated walking in the fall. The sickening crunch of leaves beneath my boots. The way the cool air caressed my cheek like Mama's ghostly palm. They were all the company I had, and I imagined them with me, watching me. What they'd think. What they'd say. The dreamed conversations were all I had to keep me sane. It was better than my own thoughts. Better than the truth. But when the weather cooled, all their presence brought was pain.

I walked west until the sun shone its brightest through the trees and found a game trail headed south. I followed it for a distance before a pile of fresh bear scat, and a set of prints made my grip tighten around the bow. A bear. Big game. Enough meat and fat to get me through most of the winter. I pulled an arrow from the quiver and positioned it, then climbed up the embankment to travel downwind. If it scented me, it was over. It would either take off or decide it wanted to eat me as bad as I did it.

I treaded as quietly as I could manage, but the cursed crunch of the leaves mocked my effort. My stomach ached, just as dying and shriveled as everything else, and my need to heal it made my steps too eager.

I stumbled to a stop and threw a hand over my mouth, suppressing a joyous sob at the sight of it. Just below me, the massive, black beast stood with its paws against the trunk of an oak. It's lips puckered as it plucked the acorns off with its teeth.

I crouched down to stabilize myself and pulled the bow taut. Adrenaline fought to shake my arms. Anticipation made the world grow louder. Cicadas chirped. Wind shifted the trees. I sucked a breath in through my nose and released it slowly out my mouth. Steadying myself. Shoot to kill, Daddy's voice echoed. Never take a shot you don't know you have. The animal can take off and suffer. I aimed for its ribs, for the heart, and I was just about to take my shot when it shifted.