Stephen Leather - The Hunting

Sid was shuffling backwards as he fired. His left foot caught on a rock and he fell back. The bear reared up to throw herself at him and Sid got off two quick shots that hit her in the chest. Blood was glistening on the bear’s fur but the shots weren’t slowing her down.

Raj put the carbine to his shoulder, sighted on the bear’s neck and fired. The round hit its target and the bear’s head shuddered. It dropped down on all fours and snarled at Sid, who was struggling to get to his feet. Raj fired again, this time hitting the bear in the shoulder. The round hit with enough force to knock the shoulder back but the bear still didn’t go down.

Raj aimed between the bear’s eyes but before he could pull the trigger she turned and ran into the undergrowth, heading towards the cubs. Raj lowered the carbine. Sid fired another shot but Raj shook his head. ‘Leave it, mate, she’s not a threat any more.’ He hurried over to Jaffar who was lying on his side, curled up and moaning softly. ‘Are you okay?’ asked Raj.

Jaffar grunted but didn’t answer. Erol hobbled over. ‘Check on Mo, will you?’ asked Raj. He patted Jaffar on the shoulder. ‘Roll over on your back, I need to check your leg.’ Jaffar continued to moan in pain and Raj had to move him to get a better look at the wound. There were two deep cuts and a shallow one. All three were bleeding profusely but there was no pulsing blood, so it didn’t look as if any major arteries had been severed. Raj pulled out his knife, sawed off a long piece of cloth from the bottom of Jaffar’s shirt and then used it as a tourniquet at the top of his thigh.

Sid and Erol came over. ‘Mo’s okay,’ said Sid. ‘His chest was scratched and the bear fucked up his splint but he’s okay.’ He knelt down and looked at the cuts on Jaffar’s leg. ‘That’s bad.’

‘It’s worse than it looks,’ said Raj. ‘I can patch him up but we need to get away from here first. The hunter will have heard the shots.’

‘I can’t walk,’ said Jaffar.

‘We’ll carry you,’ said Raj.

‘Carry him?’ said Sid. ‘You’re having a laugh.’

‘Just to get him away from here,’ said Raj. ‘I’ll put him over my shoulders, and when I get tired you can take over. Help me get him up.’

Sid and Raj got Jaffar to his feet, then Raj bent at the knees, put the man over his shoulder and straightened up. Jaffar probably weighed eighty kilograms but it was doable. He nodded at Sid. ‘Okay, you and Erol help Mo.’ He headed south while Sid and Erol went to pick up Mo.

CHAPTER 45

Van der Sandt emerged into the clearing, his gun cradled across his chest. His eyes scanned the ground, looking for anything out of the ordinary. It had taken him almost forty-five minutes to reach the clearing after he had heard the shots. There were no hunters for at least fifty miles so he figured his quarry had fired at something, probably wildlife. He alternated between checking the ground and scanning the surrounding trees, looking for movement. He stiffened as he saw bits of broken branch and strips of bloody cloth scattered around. They were the remains of a splint, he realised. It must have belonged to the man they had been dragging. Something had ripped off his splint and it had almost certainly been a bear.

He heard a sigh to his left and he whirled around, his rifle at the ready. There was another sigh, and a whimpering sound. Van der Sandt walked towards the noise, his finger tightening on the trigger. He reached the edge of the clearing and stared into the undergrowth. Something had forced its way through the bushes, smearing blood across the leaves. He knelt down and examined the forest floor. There were paw prints in the soil. Big prints. Van der Sandt put his hand down over one of the tracks and splayed his fingers. The bear’s print was three times the size of his hand. There were two sets of smaller prints, too. Cubs following the adult. So the big bear was almost certainly female – the males didn’t bother raising their offspring, they were off at the first opportunity. A bit like Van der Sandt’s own father, who had walked out on his mother when he was still a toddler.

As he straightened up he heard another sigh that morphed into a whimper. He pushed through the bushes, looking left and right. An injured bear could be deadly, especially a mother wanting to protect her cubs.

He emerged from the clump of bushes and walked around a massive redwood, then stopped when he saw the source of the sounds. A large female bear lay on her side, her black fur glistening with blood. Her chest was slowly rising and falling. Next to her were two cubs, oblivious to Van der Sandt’s arrival. He walked slowly towards them, his boots crunching softly on the ground.

One of the cubs looked around and saw Van der Sandt, but then turned back to the mother, nudging her and making snuffling sounds. Van der Sandt looked down at the bear. She was dying and was clearly in a lot of pain. Her cubs snuggled against her. Cubs usually stayed with their mothers until they were between eighteen months and two years old. The cubs were born in the winter and the mother would nurse them until spring when they would all emerge from their den. The mother would then teach her young how to feed on fish, insects, fruit, leaves and nuts. The two cubs looked to be about eighteen months old, and were almost ready to leave their mother and fend for themselves.

The bear shuddered and then moaned softly. Van der Sandt wasn’t a vet but he could see there was nothing that could be done to help her. From the look of it she had been shot in half a dozen places, by someone who clearly didn’t know what they were doing. One of the rounds had hit the bear in the shoulder, two had hit her chest and two had struck the head. The bear’s right front paw was also bleeding. The shooter was probably panicking and firing at random.

The bear’s chest was slowly rising and falling and there was a bloody froth oozing from one of the chest wounds. The lung had been penetrated and was filling with blood. Van der Sandt could see the confusion in the bear’s eyes. She didn’t understand what was happening but she knew it wasn’t good. The bear opened her mouth and groaned in pain.

The two cubs were butting their heads against their mother, clearly distressed.

Van Der Sandt pointed the suppressor at the base of the animal’s left ear. He took no pleasure in taking the life of the bear. It wasn’t killing that he enjoyed, it was hunting, but the animal was in pain and the only decent thing to do was to put her out of her misery. He grimaced and pulled the trigger. The gun kicked in his hands and the bear twitched once then went still. Blood trickled from the ear. The two cubs both flinched at the muffled sound of the shot, then backed away as if they weren’t sure what had happened.

‘Off you go,’ he said. ‘Time to start your new life.’

The cubs looked at each other then turned and scampered off into the undergrowth. Van der Sandt doubted that they would stay together for long. Juvenile males sought out their own ranges and lived solitary lives until it became time to find a mate.

He turned and pushed his way back through the bushes to the clearing, and made his way over to the remains of the splint. He walked around slowly looking at the crushed grass and prints in the ground, trying to work out what had happened. The bear had obviously come out of the undergrowth, presumably to protect her cubs. For some reason it had attacked the injured man and the others had tried to shoot the bear. He saw the glint of brass in the grass and bent down to pick up a shell. It was a 9 mm. He looked around and found another five cartridges, all the same calibre. Six shots. All fired from the Glock.

He continued to scan the ground and spotted a longer cartridge, a 5.56 Nato round. As he picked it up he saw another. So two shots from the Heckler. And it was clear from the tracks that Boots had the carbine. The bear had taken eight shots before it had run off into the undergrowth. He walked away from the body, looking for the footsteps leading away. He found them quickly, heading south. There were three sets of prints. Boots, the injured man who needed a stick, and the guy in sandals. He frowned. There had been five of them before the bear had attacked. But there were only three sets of tracks leaving the clearing. He bent down and peered at the footprints. He smiled as he realised they were much deeper than they had been before. Boots was carrying one of the men. The other two sets of prints suggested they were carrying the fifth man in the group. So now two of the group were badly hurt. He continued to check the grass until he found where the second man had been injured. There was more blood and crushed grass. So the bear had attacked two of the men before the shots had driven it away. Then they had picked up the injured men and were carrying them. Van der Sandt looked at his watch. It had now been an hour since he had heard the shots so they could only be a couple of kilometres ahead of him. He hurried after them, his heart racing.