July Thunder (20 page)

“Thanks, Barry.”

When he stepped outside, everyone was still
working as hard as they could, although he was beginning to see a fatigue lag again. And the tree with the cub now stood in splendid isolation, surrounded by fallen timber. Poor thing must be terrified out of its wits.

The smoke was getting thicker, too. He felt his chest tighten up the instant he stepped outside and pulled the handkerchief back over his nose and mouth, for what little help it offered.

Elijah had finally collapsed, sitting on a stump, head bowed in exhaustion.

“Dad, go home.”

Elijah lifted his weary head. “No. I'm waiting to spell Mary.”

Sam's eyes sought her out and saw that she was still walking strongly behind the tiller. “Looks like it'll be a while before she needs you. At least go inside and try to nap.”

But the stubborn old man wouldn't move, and Sam gave up. It would be easier to move a mountain than to move Elijah.

Barry showed up as promised and got out of his pickup with a rifle. Sam stopped hooking the log up to the chains behind his truck and went over to greet him.

“Thanks for coming, Barry.”

“No problem. I don't have any really sick patients at the moment anyway. Take me to the cub.”

Together they walked over to the tree. Mary joined them in looking up at the poor little bugger.

“You know,” Barry said, “its mother put it up there to be safe. It won't come down until she calls it.”

“I doubt she's going to do that in the midst of this crowd,” Mary remarked.

“No kidding. Well, you better alert everybody. Because if that cub squalls when I dart it, Big Mamma might not be so worried about all the people and equipment.”

“Maybe I should move most everybody inside for a break.”

“Might be a good idea. And while you're at it, get out your shotgun, Sam. You never know.”

Sam agreed. He blew the whistle and told everyone to go inside for a break. Of course, not everyone listened. There were the requisite number of guys who felt they could help. Or who wanted to see. He gave the most trustworthy of them his shotgun.

Mary, too, refused to go away. She wasn't just curious though. Sam could see the genuine concern in her face and eyes. She was really worried about the cub.

“Okay,” Barry said, “I'm going to tranquilize it.”

“Not so much that it falls out of the tree,” Sam cautioned. “I'll go up and get it.”

Barry looked at him over the stock of his rifle, the feathered dart sticking out the end. “This isn't an exact science, Sam. It's not like I know the cub's weight. We'll get what we get. And I might remind
you that even a drowsy cub can do a lot of damage with its claws.”

Sam nodded. He'd seen what bear claws could do once when some idiot tourist got too close trying to take a picture. “I don't have any illusions.”

“Are you sure about that?”

There was a crack as Barry fired his rifle. An instant later the bear caterwauled, a heartrending cry. Instinctively everyone looked around for the mother bear. No sign of her.

“Thank God for small favors,” Barry muttered, lowering his rifle. He kept his eyes fixed on the cub above. “Okay, he's all yours, Sam. By the time you get up there, he should be out, or close to it.”

Sam ran to his truck and got a backpack out, figuring he could use it as a sling to carry the sleepy cub. Then he started climbing. From beneath he heard Mary murmur, “Oh, please…be careful, Sam.”

It had been a long time since he had climbed a tree, but Sam seemed to remember that getting up was easier than getting down by far. Especially if you needed to carry something down. Ah, well. After this was all over, he was going to get his head examined. He wondered if he was going after this cub for its own sake or for Mary's. Mary's, probably. He was beginning to get an idea he couldn't deny that woman anything.

Sam felt the branch break free before he heard the crack. Instincts honed decades ago now reacted be
fore he had time to think. His fingers tightened around the narrowing trunk, and he hooked it with one foot, pulling himself close to it even as the branch gave way beneath his other foot. Immediately he looked down to see where his father was. And that was old instinct, too, he realized.

In that instant he was transported back to the summer of his eighth birthday and the day when he had looked down upon the world from the perspective of a bird, right before a limb had snapped and sent him tumbling, unsure of which way was up but knowing very well which way was down. When he'd hit bottom, it seemed as if his father had been waiting for him, although he later learned that he'd been knocked out by the impact and his father had come dashing across the lawn, roused by his thin cries as he bounced off one branch after another. It had seemed ludicrous at the time that his dad had reached for a switch from the fallen branch and cracked it across Sam's bottom. Hadn't he already been hurt enough? he'd wondered.

But such had been his instruction in right and wrong for as long as he could remember…one sharp whack, not hard enough to leave a mark or bruise, but hard enough to send the message of disapproval, loud and clear. That was the message Sam had grown up hearing most clearly. The few times his father had expressed pride or affirmation paled by comparison to the dozens of times he'd expressed disapproval and criticism.

Sam shook his head as he looked down. His father was nowhere to be seen, of course. He was inside the church with the others. Still, as he recovered his balance and his breath, it was as if he could already feel the snap of the switch across his buttocks. Disapproval.

Anger and a fierce determination flowed into the void left as the fear of the moment passed. He looked up. Only another ten or twelve feet to the cub, which was now looking down at him with vaguely curious eyes clouded by the effect of the tranquilizer. Finding another stable foothold, he shifted his weight from his hands and reached up to grasp another branch. He wasn't eight years old anymore. Lives depended on him now, including the life of this one cub. He hefted himself up and resumed the climb.

As he drew closer, he realized the cub wasn't at all sure what to make of him. Its cries had long since stilled, but its eyes seemed to be focusing better. The tranquilizer was wearing off. Too quickly.

“
Shhhhhh,
it's okay little guy,” he half whispered, half grunted, as he pulled himself within arm's reach.

He was, he realized, also within paw's reach. The bear's claws were not yet the four-inch scythes they would be when he was full-grown, but even at two inches they looked plenty sharp and more than plenty dangerous. Animals could sense fear, Sam
knew, and tended to react in kind. He kept his voice low and even, as he might speak to a small child.

“Good boy. I'm here to help you. Nobody's gonna hurt you.” He reached out, palm up, to trail a hand over the bear's shoulder. “Gonna get you down so you can go find your momma. How does that sound, little guy? You and Momma can hide out from this nasty old fire.”

The smoke and heat were denser up here, and he took a moment to glance around. They had less time than he or the people below had realized. Already embers were settling on the tops of trees only a hundred yards away.

“We need to hurry, kiddo. So I'm gonna give you a piggyback ride down this tree.”

The bear nuzzled his hand for a moment, then dragged a soft tongue over his wrist. Sam held very still, feeling its hot breath on his skin as it exhaled. Finally it looked at him and let out a low moan, like the sound of metal bending under strain.

“Yeah, I'm scared, too. So we'd better get moving, my little friend.”

He found a crotch to wedge himself into for balance, then put his hands under the cub's forelegs at the shoulder and lifted slowly. Its moan rose in pitch, as if it were asking, “Are you sure you know what you're doing?”

“Not especially, little guy. I'm kinda winging it. But we'll get through it together, okay?”

As he drew the cub nearer to him, it reached out
to sniff his face. Its timing could not have been worse, for he was in the process of ducking his head forward to maintain his balance. Its nose poked him right in the eye, causing both bear and man to jerk away at a time when rapid movements were anything but reassuring. The cub let out another groan, this one not as quiet as the others. Loud enough for momma to hear if she were nearby, Sam thought, regaining his seat in the crotch of the tree.

“Hey there, sport. Let's not do that again, okay? Momma would be really mad if we fell. And my daddy wouldn't like it much, either. Or that cute woman down there. So let's you and I take this slow and easy, okay?”

By now the cub seemed accustomed to his scent and his voice. Its broad tongue swept over his face, and Sam laughed. “Yeah, well, save the thanks for when we actually get
down,
okay, kiddo?”

Wrestling the cub into the backpack turned out not to be as difficult as he'd expected. It seemed by now happy to have warmth and contact, even if that contact was human rather than ursine. He nestled it into the bag and shrugged the straps over his shoulders backward, so the cub was snuggled next to his chest.

“Now comes the hard part, little guy. But you already knew that, right?” He reached beneath him with one foot, finding another branch, and held on to the trunk with both hands as he lifted his other foot over the branch he'd been sitting on. “Come to
think of it, you must think I'm pretty dumb. You knew the getting up here part was easy, and here I'm feeling so good about getting to you. But we'll find a way down. I promise.”

The cub merely let out another of its low moans and nuzzled its bristly nose against his throat.

“Yeah, I know. You'll believe that when you see it.”

As if the forest itself were also replying, a hot ember floated on hot updrafts like a cotton ball in a windstorm and settled on the back of his hand. Sam wanted to smother the ember against his leg, but he couldn't yield the handhold. He gritted his teeth as the cherry-red ember sizzled against his skin, finally finding another grip and yanking his hand away. The burning fleck of bark came free as his hand moved, but the damage was already done. Sam groaned through clenched teeth, upsetting the cub, which began to struggle.

Gasping a deep breath, he pulled the cub's head to his shoulder and tried to offer a reassuring coo. But the cub's adrenaline was up, its head turning this way and that as if it were looking for a way out.

Or trying to identify the new danger, Sam realized.

“Here, see?” he said, holding his hand in front of the bear's face. “Just a little burn. That's all.”

The bear sniffed the burned flesh, then looked at him.

“Yeah, it hurts like hell. Maybe that woman down there will kiss it and make it better. But first we gotta get down there within kissing range. Okay, kiddo?”

Footholds grew firmer as he descended to the thicker, stronger branches. Trying as best he could to favor the burned hand, Sam felt the cub soften against him, its head on his shoulder, quieter now, and still.

“Just a little more, kiddo. Just a couple more minutes and you can go find momma.”

His shoulders and fingers ached from the strain of the descent. The cub wasn't heavy, but it was awkward and forced him to keep his center of gravity farther from the tree. His good hand felt along below him for purchase as the toes of one foot found another sturdy branch to settle on. He lowered himself and repeated the process, again and again, until Mary's voice broke his concentration.

“Sam? Are you okay?”

The cub looked around for the source of the new human sound, rocking Sam off balance.

“I will be once I get out of this tree,” he called. “But if y'all would be quiet and not disturb junior here, that'd be a lot easier.”

She didn't reply, and he looked down to see if his words had stung. If they had, it didn't show on her face. Instead her hands were clenched together at her mouth, as if she were shushing herself.

“Get Barry over here. I need to lower this little
guy down to him before I jump down. And he seems relaxed, but he's also wide-awake now. So keep everyone away when he gets loose.”

Mary nodded and backed away, then turned and ran to the church. In a moment she and Barry returned. Sam put a finger to his lips, but it was too late. The cub had seen them and moaned again, looking at Sam as if it had been sorely betrayed.

“They're friends, too,” he said. “I can't jump out of this tree with you. We'll both get hurt. So you need to trust me on this one, little guy.”

The cub didn't look convinced. Neither did it look disposed to fight the issue.

“I don't like this any more than you do. But that's about the best I can offer, sport.”

It flopped its head on his shoulder again and let out a huff of resignation. Sam pressed a quick kiss to its ear and worked his way the last few feet down to the lowest branch he could find.

“He seems to like you,” Barry said from beneath him.

Sam looked down and smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, well. Lemme find my balance here and I'll let you have him.”

Be careful,
Mary mouthed silently.

Wedging himself in as best he could, he shifted his arms out of the straps, drawing a groan of consternation from his charge.

“I know, but it's the only way.” Sam rubbed the bear's scruff and ears. “I got you this far, didn't I?”

The cub's response was to look down, then back up at him. Another rising groan.

“That's right, kiddo. I'm going to lower you down to Barry there. He's a doctor. He'll check you out to see if you're okay, and then you can go find momma.”

The cub looked down again, as if accepting the inevitable. Sam felt a surprising tightness in his chest as he eased the backpack away and down. He leaned down as far as he could, gripping the branch with his good hand as he lowered the bundle toward Barry.