Page 75 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
He should knock now. It’s not completely dark yet.
He takes one step, and brush crackles behind him. He’s whirling when a hand slaps over his mouth and another grabs him by the neck.
The hand on his mouth is human. He can feel that … yet when he fights, claws flash in a weird floppy way, and he realizes what he’s seeing. A big bear paw, only it’s just the fur and claws, like on a bearskin rug.
Not a person who is part bear.
A person dressed like a bear.
Figuring that out takes a moment, a moment where he’s thinking when he should be fighting. The man withdraws his hand from Max’s mouth, but before Max can scream or even speak, that hand joins the other, and both of the man’s hands are around Max’s neck, squeezing so tight that all Max can do is gurgle.
They keep squeezing until Max can’t breathe.
He can’t breathe.
The man is choking him.
Choking him.
A voice at his ear, rough and low.
“Sorry, kid. I hate to do this, but you’re too big a risk to—”
Max doesn’t catch the rest, because that’s the moment when his brain screams, Knife! You have a knife!
Max pulls his arm up and, with everything he’s got, he stabs backward.
The man shrieks and lets go. Max still has his hand on the knife, and when he lunges forward, the blade pops out of the man’s leg, nearly sending Max flying. He’s twisted enough to see a bearskin and a very human arm slapping down onto the man’s leg, where blood gushes from his thigh.
The man tries to lunge, but Max is already running.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Casey
We wake the next morning still curled together. It’s barely dawn, and I’d love to get a little more rest, but my bladder isn’t going to allow that. I’ve barely started pushing up when my stomach heaves, and there’s a moment where I’m confused.
Why do I feel sick? What did I eat last night?
Then I remember. Before I can resume moving, Dalton stirs and mumbles something I don’t catch. I glance over to see his eyes half open and feel his hand squeezing the front of my thigh.
“How you feeling?” he says.
I make a noise in response.
“Anything I can do?” he asks.
I shake my head and push up. “I’ll talk to April when I get back, but I’m guessing the only real course of action is to take it easy on morning foods. No coffee for me.”
“Good thing I brought tea then. And crackers.”
I lean over to kiss his cheek. “I love you.”
I manage to get into the bushes and resolve the bladder issue without puking, which seems like a win. I’m moving slowly and taking deep breaths of sharp morning air.
Storm pads along after me, keeping a watchful eye. I make sure I’m not going to vomit and then I return to the camp, where Dalton is already starting a fire.
I sit down cross-legged near it and take a few moments of quiet pleasure watching him work. He’d prepped the campfire last night, and now only needs to light it. He’d filled our canteens last night, too, and while our backpacks don’t hold a kettle, he gets the water boiling in our metal cups instead.
