Page 73 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
We retreat to the other side of the boundary line, where we deem it’ll be safe to spend the night. We don’t have sleeping bags, but we did bring a lightweight thermal blanket. We curl up on a sheltered bed of moss, me on my side, with Dalton behind me, his arms around me, the heat of his body enough to ward off the chill. Storm settles in front of me, sharing her body heat, which reflects off the blanket over all three of us.
We did not find Max. But we found evidence of him. Those small footprints told a story, and that story says that, at some time in the last twenty-four hours, Max was alive and well enough to run. Now we just need to find him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Max
Max is still walking, still hoping to spot some sign of Haven’s Rock. After he escaped, he ran all night. The bear-man had chased him for what felt like miles, no matter what he did—running through thick undergrowth or sneaking across open land and hiding.
Max finally lost him using a trick he’d seen in a movie, where a man had been running from tracking dogs. Max had taken off his shoes and socks and waded in a stream. He figured the bear-man must be able to track his scent, in order to follow him so well. Carson would roll his eyes at that. It was a man, not a bear. But Max knew what he’d seen, and he knew that he didn’t lose his captor until he went into that stream.
The water had been so cold that Max couldn’t feel his feet, but he’d walked through it as far as he could. Then he’d crouched on a rock in the middle and warmed his toes so he wouldn’t get frostbite. Once they were okay, he went back into the water and kept walking until he came to a place where it cut through rock. There, he put his shoes back on, climbed up the rocks, and crawled across them. Then he hopped down to ground level and kept running.
The trick worked. He hadn’t seen or heard the bear-man since he went into the stream. He still didn’t stop until the sun rose. Then he was too tired to go on. He crawled under a fallen tree, hoping it hid him, and he fell asleep.
When he woke, he’d decided he was safe from his captor. Which meant he was halfway to his goal. He had escaped … now he needed to get back to Haven’s Rock.
He thought he knew how to do that. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep.
Sheriff Eric had insisted both Max and Carson take note of the landmarks in the area, so if they were ever lost, they could get back. He’d also given them compasses and shown them how to use them.
Max knew that the mountains were his best landmark. He needed to find the right one. Easy enough. He’d studied the profile of that mountain so he could recognize it from anywhere.
Sheriff Eric had warned that if they got too far from Haven’s Rock the mountain wouldn’t look the same. They had to see it from the correct angle and distance to make out the profile. When Max woke up and looked for the mountain, he realized he hadn’t paid enough attention to that part of Sheriff Eric’s warning.
Max could see mountains. One was right in front of him—he was even partway up it. But he couldn’t tell if this was the right mountain, and if it wasn’t, then he couldn’t tell whether the right one was the one to his left or his right. He also didn’t have his compass.
He thought it was still morning, which would mean that the sun should be in the east. Except … hadn’t Sheriff Eric said it was a little different here, especially as the seasons changed? That would make the sun more in the north, right? Or would it be south?
And had he woken in the morning? Or was it already afternoon? That made the difference between heading east or west. Also, how did that even matter when he wasn’t sure whether he was east or west—or north or south—of Haven’s Rock?
He’d known he had to get away from the mountain so he could see it properly. That had seemed so easy. It wasn’t easy. He’d soon discovered that he had woken in the afternoon. Late afternoon. And he was still walking when it got dark.
It got dark and then darker, and then even darker, until he couldn’t see the mountains. He was lost and tired and hungry. He’d eaten the apples, and now he had nothing left, and all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep.
No, all he wanted to do was reach Haven’s Rock. To keep walking until he saw the light of it in the distance.
Except there wouldn’t be any light, would there? They were supposed to keep the blinds shut after dark.
But he might still see a flashlight or the faint glow of the town. He’s thinking that and stumbling along, and when he does see light, he’s sure it must be a mirage. He’d heard about those. People lost in the desert spotting water, only to discover it’s an illusion.
Could that happen in the forest? Wanting to see light so badly that you imagine it?
Max keeps walking toward that soft glow through the trees. Even as he draws close, he can’t see where the glow comes from. A floating light in the darkness.
A flashlight? A lantern?
He nearly crashes right into the cabin. In front of him rises what looks like a wall, but even when he squints, he doesn’t seem to be looking at a building. More like a hobbit hole. An odd little house that blends right into the forest.
Something catches his eye near the ground, and he looks down to see a painted fox peering from behind a real bush. Any other time, it would have made him smile, but out here, it’s just too strange. Strange is men who look part bear. Strange is dangerous.
He’s stepping back when he hears a growl, and for a second, he thinks it comes from the painted fox, which would mean he hasn’t woken up yet, and he’s dreaming.
The growl comes again. He follows it up and then gasps as he stumbles back.
It is not the painted fox.
It’s a wolf. A real wolf.
