Dan Versus Nature (35 page)

I hug Baby Robbie closer.

“Owie!” it mewls.

“Sorry,” I mutter, relaxing my hold. Great, not even Baby Robbie wants anything to do with me.

“All right,” Max says. “I think we should discuss what the next few days are going to look like in terms of setting ourselves up for a rescue.”

“No!” Charlie suddenly jumps to his feet and scurries backward.

Max narrows his eyes. “What do you mean, no? It’s imperative —”

“N-n-not a-g-g-gain!” Charlie stammers.

“What?” Hank asks. “What is it?”

“It’s . . . it’s . . . !” Charlie splutters, pointing down the beach.

Six heads turn to follow Charlie’s finger.

Oh my God.

It’s a bear.

Our
bear. Scarface.

How is that possible?

I get to my feet, clutching Baby Robbie tighter than I’m sure he’d like, and join Charlie in backing away.

The bear casually strolls along the shore toward us — like it’s been invited for dinner and has brought only its appetite.

“Must have been attracted by the fish smell,” Clint says, remaining seated. “Stay cool. It’s just curious. Don’t blame the critter, tasty food like this. But it won’t approach. There’s too many of us.”

But the bear
is
approaching. And continues to. Steadily. Confidently.

There is something bone-chilling about the animal’s calm, as though it has all the time in the world to reach us, like it knows that eventually it will eat each and every one of us.

Some of us today.

Some of us tomorrow.

But eventually it will get us all.

“Owie!” says Baby Robbie.

Oh, honey
—
you have no idea.

Penelope, Hank, Barbara, and Max all stand up slowly and start stepping away.

Clint laughs and shakes his head. “Just ignore it. You know that, Max. It’s Wilderness 101: Wild animals are more afraid of you than you are of them.”

How many times have I heard
that
on this stupid trip?

“That bear’s attacked us before,” Barbara croaks.

“Multiple times,” Charlie adds.

Clint looks over at us, still chewing. “That so? Well, you must have done something to provoke it: Left food out? Maybe tinkled near your camp?” Clint stands up with his bark plate and wipes a hand on his jeans. “Black bears don’t just come after people for no good reason.”

Suddenly, I remember the doe pee. I lift my shirt to sniff it. Is it possible my clothes retained some of the essence of it, even after being rinsed in the stream and soaked by the rain? It was pretty potent. And Charlie did douse me with it. Maybe Clint is right — maybe the bear isn’t interested in
us,
just the doe in heat it thinks is nearby.

I quickly nestle Baby Robbie in the sand and start shucking off my clothes.

“Dan, what are you doing?” Hank asks, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have. But I’m not going to risk being the reason that any of us gets eaten by this bear.

“It’s me!” I shout, standing in my smiley-face boxers, clutching my clothes in my fist. “The bear wants me!”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” Hank cries.

Before anyone can stop me, I hurl my T-shirt and sweats onto the fire, sending a spray of sparks everywhere.

“Hey, now!” Clint says, jumping back, his plate of salmon dropping to the ground. “What’s the big idea?”

“M-my clothes,” I say, shivering from equal parts fear and cold. “I think . . . I think there was something on them that was attracting the bear. That’s why it’s been after us.”

My gaze shoots to the bear, a football field away. It’s still eyeing us but has stopped moving, probably wary of the fire’s leaping flames.

“On your clothes?” Hank furrows his brow. “What’s on your clothes?”

“Nothing,” Charlie blurts, glaring at me. “Dan’s just hysterical because of the reappearance of the bear.”

“It’s pee,” I say. “All over my clothes. In my hair. In my
mouth.
”

“Urine could certainly attract an animal,” Max says. “But how —?”

“It was Charlie,” I say.

“Charlie peed on you?” Hank asks.

“He sprayed me with doe-in-heat urine,” I confess, my heart thumping hard. “I was supposed to be attacked by a buck, not a bear!”

“I don’t understand.” Hank shakes his head. “Why would you want to be attacked by a buck?”

“Clearly he would not,” Charlie says. “This is obviously a desperate ploy to get your attention, Hank. I did tell you he was feeling rejected by you.” He turns and stares hellfire at me. “I think we can now
abandon
this line of discussion.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I can’t. No more code words. No more pranks.” I look at Hank. “It was all part of our plan to scare you away.” The words come out in a torrent, like water rushing through a broken dam: “The deer pee, the vomiting, the diarrhea, dropping your phone, losing my doll, breaking my nose. All those supposed ‘accidents’ weren’t accidents at all.”

Hank’s gaze drifts down to his bandaged calf.

“Except that,” I insist. “That was a real accident.”

“But . . . why?” Hank asks.

“I wanted to get you to take off before you hurt Mom. And me. I didn’t want you to get married and then break our hearts. And I didn’t want to move and leave my school and my best friend and the girl I’ve been in love with since third grade.”

“Wow,” Penelope says. “How sublimely Tom Ripley of you. Have his tactics succeeded, Hank? I ask for personal reasons.” She looks sideways at her mom and Max.

But Hank doesn’t seem to have heard her. “I don’t know what to say, Dan,” he croaks.

I shake my head. “I know. I’m so sorry. I lied even worse than you. I wish I could take it all back. It’s horrible. And I certainly never meant for us to get attacked by a ravenous killing machine.”

“Ah, pshaw!” Clint says, breaking the mood and grabbing a nearby stick. “You all are talking about this bear like it’s some kind of psychopath or something. It’s just a dumb animal.” He marches past us toward the bear, swinging the stick in the air. “
Yah! Yah!
Scat! Get outta here! You can’t have my supper, big boy. Go on, git!”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Hank says.

“’Course you wouldn’t,” Clint calls back, continuing to walk forward calmly, waving the stick around. “And that’s why the animal has had the upper hand to this point. It’s like a puppy: it’ll chase you if you want to be chased.”

The six of us stand stock-still as we watch the bear and Clint approach each other like two gunmen meeting at high noon for a shoot-out.

“Oh, Christ,” Max mutters.

I cringe and hold my breath.

The bear stops first. It lowers its head and slaps at the ground, then snaps its teeth and lets out a series of loud snorts.

Clint keeps striding forward, saying nothing, staring the beast down.

Barbara’s taken to intoning positive thoughts, like she did when our plane nearly went down: “Love, peace, charity,” she chants. “Calm, restful waves of energy.”

Clint plants the stick right in front of the bear and puffs up his chest. He juts his chin forward and growls at the animal.

The bear blinks and takes a step back.

“Oh my God,” Hank says. “It’s working.”

“Of course,” Barbara says, her eyes still shut. “The human capacity for love knows no limits. Keep sending compassion and goodwill their way! Warm, wonderful light. Peace and love.”

“Get the fuck out of here, you stupid lummox!” Clint bellows, grabbing his stick and leaping forward. “I’ll shove this branch so far up your ass, you’ll never be able to walk on all fours again!” He shows his teeth and growls some more.

Barbara’s eyes pop open. “Well, that’s certainly not how
I
would have gone about things!”

But the bear takes another step back.

Clint raises the stick and brandishes it in front of the bear’s face.

“I suppose his approach is working too,” Barbara acknowledges grudgingly. “Still, it can be dangerous to fight fire with fire. Love is really the best means of battling aggression.”

Clint waves his weapon back and forth, hopping forward and shouting,
“Hah! Hah! Git! Git!”

The bear lowers its head like a submissive dog.

I stare. “I can’t believe —”

Then, all of a sudden, the bear lashes out with its giant paw, smacking the stick right out of Clint’s hand.

“Oh shit!” I say.

For an incredibly tense millisecond nothing happens.

Then —

“Run!” Clint screams. “Get in the water! Hurry! Bears can swim, but they ain’t that fast.” He tears toward the lake, splashes in, and starts to paddle like a maniac.

The bear charges. But not after Clint.

Instead, it comes straight for us.

Max grabs Barbara’s and Penelope’s hands and yanks them toward the water.

Charlie stumbles backward, panic in his eyes.

“On my back!” Hank shouts, squatting in front of Charlie.

Charlie doesn’t hesitate. He leaps up, his legs wrapping around Hank’s waist, his one good arm hugging Hank’s shoulder.

“Dan, in the water
now
!” Hank orders, piggybacking Charlie toward the lake.

I look at the lake, then at the bear rushing toward us.

There’s no way we’re all going to make it to the water in time. I can see that. The bear is too close, running like a linebacker returning a punt.

An odd sense of calm comes over me.

I glance over at Clint’s crumpled parachute.

I know exactly what I have to do.

I am a coward.

I realize that now. In everything I’ve done so far in my life — or
not
done — I have been spineless.

I’ve never stood up to the bullies at school.

I couldn’t tell Mom how I was feeling when she got engaged to Hank.

I haven’t been able to talk to Erin since third freaking grade.

I couldn’t muster the courage to try to save Penelope from the snake or the bear.

And most recently, of course, I was too chicken to go over and talk to Hank when he caught his fish. Too scared to try to patch things up. So, I’ve done nothing.

Until now.

I am thinking all of this as I place Robbie on a bed of leaves and grab my sketchbook from the sand. I turn toward the bear and scream, “Hey! Hey! Over here!”

I fling the pad like a Frisbee. It slices the air, sailing thirty yards and finally opening with a flutter before landing in the water at the bear’s feet.

The animal stops. Turns. Looks at me.

Then I snatch up the parachute and shove my arms through the harness straps.

And sprint.

Right at the bear.

“Noooo!”
Hank shouts, waist deep in the lake, Charlie still clinging to his back.

“Daaaaaan!”
Penelope screams from where she wades.

But it’s too late. I’m committed.

I pump my arms and legs, thinking again of the Flash. I have to get up enough speed to inflate the chute. I need to make myself look big and scary.

The bear stops in its tracks, watching me race toward it.

But I’m not feeling the resistance I’d expected to feel. I glance back as I run — and nearly topple over.

The parachute strings are all tangled up. There’s no way for the rainbow canopy to billow out as I’d planned.

Which means I’m screwed.

I stutter-step to a panicked halt just a few feet from the bear.

It grunts and sniffs the air, its scarred nostrils flaring. Surely I no longer smell of deer pee. All I have left on is my boxers, and Charlie didn’t spray those. The bear can’t possibly be attracted to me now, right?

As if in response, the bear stretches its neck and roars — its spittle flecking my cheeks, its meaty breath hot and musky.

I gulp.

We stare at each other.

Then it rushes me.

“Fuuuuuck!”
I squeal, cutting sharp around the bear and hauling ass, just like Penelope described.

And it works. It takes a moment for the bear to adjust its huge body so it can make the turn and come after me — which gives me an extra couple of seconds to channel my inner Barry Allen.

I put everything I have into my legs. I run faster than I have ever run in my life. Even faster than when we were trying to get back to the lake to meet Clint’s plane.

My thighs burn, my feet kick up sand.

Then, all of a sudden, I’m barely moving.

The bear must have grabbed my chute!

I have to get free of this harness. Let the bear chew up the silk. Maybe I can get away before it realizes what’s happened.

I slip my arms from the straps, drop the harness, and take off, feeling suddenly weightless.

I glance back and see that the parachute has somehow inflated. It’s huge — a bright, beautiful, giant jellyfish.

The bear snarls at the parachute, which blows toward it in the wind. The beast smacks at the ground and snorts and growls. But the chute keeps advancing.

The bear gives one last, loud snort —

Then turns and dashes off into the forest.

I collapse to my knees, out of breath, out of energy, adrenaline leaching from my nearly naked body.

“Dan!” Charlie calls out, his camera fused to his eye. “Holy crap! You did it! You scared off the bear! That was absolutely genius!”