Bear Hunter

Leaves, damp, trees, pine needles crunch underneath his feet. He dives into a clearing and rolls feet over head. He grabs the pistol strapped to his hip. Deafness. The shattering of the sound barrier kills the sound around him. He breathes heavily and the sweat sticks his shirt to his chest.

            He stares into the forest intently. The pistol shakes in his hand and the veins pop out from underneath his skin. A low rumbling from the underbrush. The trees conceal the stalking animal.

            What is it? He thinks. He lowers the pistol and waits. Slowly over time, his hearing returns. The birds settle in the trees and begin to chirp a perverse chorus of death.  A low growl comes from behind the trees. Shadows cross between the trees and his vision prevents him from pinning down an exact image. It’s a bear. That’s what it must be, but the pistol is more than likely useless against it.

            He looks around the clearing looking for anything that could serve as a way to get away from the bear. The bear charges. He turns and runs again. Looking up, he sees a cave in the side of a hill.

            His cowboy boots dig into the ground and slip off his feet. He manages to kick the other boot off and continues to run up the hill. The smooth rocks bend and stretch the tendons of his foot. He turns and looks at the bear. The charging animal slows slightly as the incline increases.

            He turns and fires. Another deafness. The smell of gunpowder fills his nostrils for a moment and he continues to climb. His fingernails dig into the bark of trees as he grabs them for support.

            He looks behind him and squats down quickly. Bark explodes from the tree as the bear’s paw smashes into it. The black pink lips of the bear flap as it roars at him. He raises the pistol and fires the rest of the clip into the bear’s torso.

            He stands up and yells loudly at the bear. The bear roars in return. They circle each other and the man carefully avoids tripping over rocks. He positions his feet precariously. He ejects the clip and loads a fresh one into the pistol and cocks the action. It snaps forward quickly and a round flashes into the chamber.

            The bear’s muscles ripple underneath the fat and fur. It roars again at him. Pain shoots into its torso from the seven different bullet holes. The flavor of the dead rabbit remains in its maw. It walks around the man’s path hoping to find away to flank him. Its claws dig into the dirt and the cold touches the pads on the bottoms of the bear’s feet.

            The man turns and begins to climb quickly. The ground has become topsoil again, allowing him to run. His thighs tense and burn as he changes from sprinting to leaping. The bear falls to all fours and follows slowly. He falls. His toe twists underneath the foot. He looks up at the approaching bear. He raises the pistol and empties the clip. The last three bullets enter the bear’s skull and it collapses into a heap in front of him.

            The man rests his legs. He pulls up his right foot and examines the toe. He tries to pull the toe back into shape, but only manages to mangle it more. The bear breathes heavily. A pool of blood flows around it. The consciousness, raw and primal, fades to black.

            The man stands and begins to limp slowly down towards the clearing. He leans down and picks up his boots on his way down. He holsters the pistol and puts one boot back on and carries the other in his hand. The birds chirp. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cell phone and calls a few of the contacts. No one answers.

            The sun slowly descends behind the horizon. I need to get out of here. His lungs labor from exhaustion and he pulls a cigarette from his pack and grabs the lighter from the front pocket of his khaki pants. He smokes. In the distance, wolves howl.

            He stands and limps towards the trees. A mile left to my truck, I can make it. He thinks. He walks slower and more intently now. He takes the pistol from the holster and reloads it. The chamber snicks forward and his forearm burns from the labor of pulling the chamber back. The grips of the pistol imprint on the palm of his hand.

            The stars slowly emerge from behind the curtain of nightfall. The moon isn’t out. He walks in a straight line. He looks upwards, but he cannot discern the north star from the others. More howling from within the forest, but he doesn’t care. He carries the boot underneath his left arm and the pistol in his left.

            From the left, he hears crunching. He looks, but his eye can’t make out anything in the darkness. He aims with the pistol and fires. In a brilliant flash the woods are illuminated for a brief moment. Something, he saw something. He fires again, but this time he sees nothing.

            The wolf flanks him and leaps into the air. It closes its jaw on his shoulder and he screams out in pain and falls. The wolf opens its mouth and clamps down on his trachea, severing the windpipe. He gasps and gasps. Murmured gargles erupt from between the wolf’s teeth. It begins to rip out his flesh. He lifts his pistol and fires a slug into the wolf’s skull. It slumps over him and he lays on the forest floor.

            A hawk soars overhead and his eyes shut.