Linda Howard: Prey

“Shoulder,” he grunted, his tone tight against the pain.

Shoulder?

Didn’t matter. She had to get to him. Ducking low, she darted her head to the side to look around the rock, to see if she could locate Chad’s position. Another shot boomed, chipping off some rock above her head; Chad had been anticipating that she’d take a look, because she’d have to, but he’d expected her to stick her head up over the top of the rock instead of peeking around the side.

“Fuck!” Dare exploded. “Don’t do that again.” He struggled onto his knees, reached for his rifle, then let loose a long, inventive string of curses as he wiped his sleeve across his eyes.

Angie shrugged the sleeping bag roll off her shoulder, pulled her rifle into position, and slapped the bolt down. “Damn it, Dare, you can’t see! Stay where you are.” She kept her voice low but forceful, the words punching through the air. “What’s wrong with your head?”

“It’s just a cut. I hit a fucking rock.”

But it was a cut that was bleeding profusely, directly above his right eye. Now that he was on his knees she could see the dark stain on the back of his coat, just below his right shoulder. He couldn’t shoot, at least not effectively. He could hold the rifle with his left hand and pull the trigger, but if he hit anything it would be pure luck because he couldn’t see to aim.

She knew where Chad was, about fifty yards away and uphill, slightly to the right. He had shot twice, so he had one more shot before he’d have to reload. If she could bait him into shooting, then she could set up her own shot while he was reloading, wait for him to stick his head up-

Behind him, the horse suddenly began whinnying in a shrill, unmistakably panicked sound. Chad whirled around, his back to the rock. What the hell? The chestnut was rearing, shaking its head, pulling hard on the simple loop Chad had used to tether it. Fuck! If the stupid horse bolted, how was he going to get off this stupid fucking mountain?

Then, with a convulsive jerk, the chestnut pulled its reins free and thundered down the mountain toward him.

Chad froze for a split second, all of his options flashing in front of his eyes and none of them good. If he didn’t catch the horse he was screwed. If he left the cover of the rock Angie would probably shoot him, and he was screwed. Either way, he was screwed.

But maybe she wouldn’t be expecting him to try for the horse. He had no time to weigh the odds, no time to do anything except act. Chad lunged from the protection of the boulder, desperately trying to catch the horse’s reins as it thundered by, but it swerved to avoid him and he missed.

Convulsively, expecting the white-hot pain of a bullet to tear through him at any second, he threw himself back toward the boulder. God, he couldn’t believe it, he was still in one piece. Screwed, stranded, but in one piece. He grabbed his rifle, and as he did a dark blur of movement in the tree line caught his attention.

A massive black bear padded out of the trees straight toward him, its head low and swinging.

The horse was in the way. She couldn’t believe it when Chad jumped for the panicked animal, but as she brought her rifle up to her shoulder the chestnut swerved, coming toward her, and she couldn’t make the shot. Swearing under her breath, using words that would make Dare proud, she ducked back down. The chestnut swerved again, thundered past Dare’s position on the far side of him, heading toward the tree line below them.

Another shot came from above, but there was no hot zinging sound, no chips of rock flying, no dirt kicking up. She didn’t stop to wonder why the shot went so wild, she just knew that was the third one and now he’d have to reload, so she rolled to a kneeling position and braced her rifle barrel against the side of the boulder, leaning forward and putting her eye to the scope.

A scream clogged in Chad’s throat. Hastily he jerked the rifle up, fired, but the bear was moving and maybe he hit it, maybe he didn’t, but it kept coming. Swiftly he worked the bolt, ejecting the spent cartridge, slammed it home again, pulled the trigger, but as soon as he heard the click he knew the firing pin had hit an empty chamber.

Almost sobbing in terror, he fumbled in his coat pocket for the box of ammunition, dropped it, bent to scrabble on the ground for it. The bear kept coming, he could see its eyes now, feral, piggish. He tried to fit a cartridge into the chamber, fumbled, dropped it, too. Close, close, God, the fucking monster was so close and he couldn’t make his fingers work; he fumbled another cartridge from the box but couldn’t get the stupid fucker to go into the chamber-

It began popping its massive jaws, and from a distance of about twenty yards, it charged.

He did scream now, his voice rising high and sharp as he threw down the rifle and ran.

For just a second, maybe two, he had a wild hope that Angie would shoot the bear, that even after everything he’d done instinct would kick in and she’d just shoot the damn thing. He’d have a chance and that’s all he wanted, just a chance, he’d adjust his plans, maybe-

Then an avalanche of fur and muscle, teeth and claws, hit him and slammed him face-first into the ground. Claws raked like fire across his side and back, pain exploded through his entire body as the bear sank its canines into his shoulder and slung him through the air.

He landed with an impact that almost paralyzed him. He heard his voice sobbing, knew his nose was running with snot, but everything was kind of distant and blurry except for the sheer terror that somehow spurred him to roll over, fingers digging into the muddy ground as he tried to get to his feet.

There was a deep, growling roar that almost deafened him, and a stench that burned his lungs, his nose. A thousand barbs shredded his legs, caught, began dragging him backward.

“No, no, no.” It was the only word he could manage to say, over and over as he was pulled across the muddy ground.

He dug his fingers into the mud as if his grip on the earth might save him. On some level he realized that the monster bear had already killed him. The pain of claws tearing into his legs brought back the vivid memory of what had happened to Davis.

But Davis had already been dead. He wasn’t.

He felt himself being lifted again. Without warning the ground he’d been clinging to was gone and he hung there for a moment, helpless, caught in the monster’s jaws and shaken like a child’s toy. He tried to scream again but couldn’t. He had no breath, no strength. He couldn’t even say “No” anymore; instead he could hear pitiful, weak, mewling sounds that caught in his throat.

The bear slung its head and tossed him again. He screamed, flying through the air for what seemed like forever, screamed his frustration and rage and terror, his knowledge that this was the end and it was going to be horrible. He even screamed for help, though without hope, because there was no coming back from this. He bounced off the boulder. Bones broke-he felt them shatter, and he was left lying there, a limp body with no internal structure for support. Blood filled his mouth. The bear lunged, and Chad prayed for instant death.

His prayer wasn’t answered.

He wanted to pass out. He wanted to be unaware when he died. There was a moment, as his vision began to fade, when Chad was almost certain the bear was playing with him, purposely prolonging his suffering, making sure that he felt as much pain as was possible in his last minutes of life.

The bear bit into his stomach, slung its head, ripped his insides out. Detached, his brain shutting down, he was still capable of a distant surprise at the pointed accuracy of his last thought: “Survival of the fittest.”