Chapter 3
Keelie
As I wash my dishes from breakfast, I have to finally admit to myself that something is watching me.
That eerie feeling you get when heat slides from your neck to the base of your spine has happened to me multiple times for days, and it’s getting worse with each passing minute.
As a seasoned park ranger, I’ve had my share of interactions with various species, and there isn’t another feeling in the world like the one when an apex predator has you locked in its sights.
I discovered several varieties of berries a day or two ago, when the first inklings of being stalked washed over me like a hot wave.
My best guess at the time was a bear. An obvious choice since I was loitering around berry patches, and summer is fading into fall.
That means bears will be in high gear, trying to eat enough calories to make it through the long, arduous Rocky Mountain winter.
I’d surreptitiously scouted around and found nothing.
No scat, no prints, nothing… and the absence of any sign of bears isn’t natural.
There should be at least some sort of evidence around these bushes.
The lack thereof is unnerving. It means something that bears are leery of is loitering in this area, and whatever it is… it’s watching me.
Intently.
Going about my day just like it’s any other day out camping, I hike back to the berry bushes, a small basket swinging from my arm.
I brought my Dutch oven with me, and a cobbler made over the fire sounds like the perfect before-bed snack.
I thoroughly enjoy camp cooking, and the familiar routine is soothing even though I no longer have a partner to share it with.
Melancholy slices through me with that thought.
It’s been two years since my husband, Wayne, lost his battle with cancer.
By the end, we were both ready for his suffering to be over—even though he fought for as long as he did because he knew I would be alone after he was gone.
Both of our parents had already passed, and as only children, we had no siblings to lean on.
We never had children of our own. After a decade together without conceiving and countless medical tests, we finally accepted that it simply wasn’t meant to be.
If he knew I was out here by myself, he would be throwing a massive fit.
Camping this far out on your own isn’t necessarily a smart thing to do, but I couldn’t bring myself to pick another spot.
This was our special place, and I feel closer to him here than I do in our empty house.
The warmth that filled our home no longer exists—it’s become more of a mortuary full of loss and grief.
It doesn’t escape me that anything could happen out here, and there isn’t another soul around for miles.
Honestly, that’s the thing Wayne and I liked best about this spot. While it’s still within the boundaries of a national park, it’s at the edge, and most people rarely make the hours-long drive on the rough two-lane “road” out to this remote camping area.
Glancing around, I force myself to pay attention to my surroundings. Wayne made me promise to live life to the fullest and not retreat like the introvert that I am. So, I’m here, in the great outdoors, living life. Even though it hurts to be here alone.
Sunlight filters through the trees, casting a dappled pattern across the forest floor as it dances through the leaves.
A gentle breeze tugs at the loose curls that have escaped my braid, and I tuck them behind my ear without thinking.
I make it all the way to the berry patch without that familiar, hair-raising sensation—much to my relief.
Smiling at the full bushes scattered around me, it doesn’t take long to fill my basket to the brim with ripe berries, snacking on a few here and there as I work.
Stepping back, I make my way around the bountiful plants towards a meadow I noticed as I entered the area.
It lies past the berry bushes at the edge of the forest, and there should still be some wildflowers left.
I’ve always been a sucker for freshly picked flowers, and Wayne spoiled me from our first date until he got too weak to pick them himself.
At the end, his best friend did it for him, so I had fresh flowers every few days.
It’s the little things in life that make it worth living, and I refuse to let something so precious go.
A riot of colors explodes across the open expanse in front of me, the flatness is only broken by a small rise to my left, the curve of the land seamlessly sliding into the tree line.
Surveying the area, I decided that the best selection of flowers is at the crest of the little knoll to my left, and I head that direction, stopping periodically to pick some of the more vibrant flowers along the way.
Humming softly to myself, I reach the top of the grassy knoll and freeze as trepidation slides down my spine.
My body heats like fire is licking my skin, before going cold as ice—my gaze landing on what the hill hid from my initial line of sight.
Glancing over my shoulder, I realize that in my distraction, I’ve strayed entirely too far from where I entered the meadow.
I must be at least three-quarters of the way across it.
Turning my head back to face the threat in front of me, not daring to breathe, I take a hesitant step back from the massive boar grizzly feasting on a fresh elk carcass.
Thankfully, the bear’s rump is to me, and I’m downwind, so he’s yet to notice my presence.
My hands are shaking with nerves as I slowly take another step backwards.
I’m grateful the soft ground and vegetation are masking the sounds of my boots landing against the earth.
The top of my head is almost out of view when a soft breeze picks up, the air current shifting where it’s pushing my scent straight to the bear in front of me.
My heart sinks when the boar pauses in his feast and his head lifts, scenting the air.
Grizzlies have one of the most sensitive senses of smell in the entire animal kingdom, and they’re also extremely territorial over their kills.
His head jerks to the side, his nose quivering in the air, its semi-prehensile lips peel back from an impressive set of teeth, as a terrifying snarl rumbles from his chest, and his head turns.
Golden eyes land on me, and he shifts his impressive bulk around before standing on his hind feet in an impressive display of dominance—an ear-shattering roar piercing the quiet of the meadow.
My hand drops to the loaded Smith & Wesson Model 500 at my belt.
Even with what is essentially a hand cannon, I’m not sure I have enough gun to make it through this little “too stupid to live moment.” Regretfully, the lack of bear signs has made me slightly complacent, and my mace is back at camp.
Cursing my idiocy, I take another cautious step away from the boar, hoping he’ll see me leaving and decide that his elk isn’t worth abandoning to attack me.
That hope is dashed when he lands on all fours with a thunderous boom and picks up a lope, headed directly at me.
Terror slices through me, and I freeze. I know I can’t outrun a bear, so I drop my basket, the berries spilling across the ground in front of me as I draw my pistol from my side.
My life flashes before my eyes as I take aim and brace myself for what’s about to happen.
I’m sorry, Wayne.