7. Mia
Chapter seven
Mia
I watch as he stands, brushing off the snow that has accumulated on his legs. There’s a conviction in his eyes that gives me hope. We will get through this. We have to. He shoulders his heavy bag and leads the way, plowing a path through the thick snow for me to follow. I pause for a moment to admire his strength before picking up my own bag and pressing on.
The snow is deep and heavy, and every step is an effort. But I can’t afford to stop or slow down. We need shelter, and we need it soon. The wind is picking up, making the trek absolutely miserable. Every so often, he looks back to check on me, a look of concern etched on his face. “Good?” he asks.
I nod my assurance, not trusting my voice to carry over the wind. The snow is relentless. The wind blows the soft power into our tracks almost as soon as we make them, erasing our progress and making each step a battle against nature. The cold is biting. It cuts through our clothes and seeps into our bones, chilling us straight through .
Suddenly, it stops. I look around, not understanding what’s happened. “What was that?” I ask.
He glances over his shoulder. “What?”
“The wind was howling, and it’s just gone.”
He smiles. “Mother Nature. I would think that with all your time traveling the world, you would be used to the constantly changing weather.”
“It’s just weird.”
“Has your friend mentioned grizzlies around his cabin?” Noah asks.
“Not specifically, but I would imagine they are here. Aren’t they everywhere out here?”
“Yes and no. Are you worried?”
I smile, thinking of the many animals I’ve photographed. “Not too much, but I’d rather not be a grizzly snack.”
“You’ve photographed them?”
“Yes,” I nod. “A long time ago.”
“From afar?”
I laugh again at the incredulity in his voice. “Far enough. When I have my camera in my hand, I feel protected. Right now, with me, you, and nothing else, I don’t think I’m ready to meet a grizzly—or a wolf.”
“I guess you do have some sense,” he teases .
People always think I’m crazy for what I do. But there’s a thrill in capturing the raw beauty of nature, the untamed wilderness, and the creatures that inhabit it. I like the adrenaline rush of staring into the eyes of a dangerous wild animal, albeit through my camera. When I’m looking through the lens, I feel connected to them, even though they have no idea I’m there. I get the rush of feeling like I can reach out and touch the beasts, but the danger is minimized. I’ve seen the world in ways most people can only dream of. Yes, I get into some wild situations, but I live for the power and unpredictability of nature.
Currently, I’m not feeling the adrenaline or excitement. Right now, I’m cold, thirsty, and starving. But I don’t dare complain. For one thing, it won’t help. It will only draw attention to my discomfort. I need to focus on something else.
But what?
I’m surrounded by snow and nothing else. I know how desolate this area is. There are no roads. It’s not like someone is going to happen upon us and offer us a ride. I understand the odds. If we don’t get to the cabin soon, it’s unlikely we survive the night. It will get dark in a couple of hours. The temperature will drop below freezing. With no shelter, we’ll freeze to death.
I choke on a sob at the realization.
“Are you okay?” Noah asks, pausing and turning to face me.
“Fine.”
He searches my face. “Sure?”
“Uh, not to sound like a three-year-old, but how much farther?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.
Noah responds with a bit of snark. “I’ve never been here, so I don’t know.”
“You said we were five miles away. How far have we walked?”
He lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Maybe three miles. And I said we might be about five miles. I think it might have been farther. We might not be on a direct path. I don’t know.”
I nod. I know I’m miserable, but he must be as well. The pressure is on him to get us to safety. He turns around and starts walking again. I wonder if he’s lost. The thought brings a new wave of dread. If he doesn’t know our location, there is no hope because I have zero clue where we are. I’m counting on him. He is the man who will keep me alive. I hate being dependent on anyone, but in this case, he very much holds my life in his hands.
I swallow hard, pushing down the panic that threatens to rise. I have always considered myself a survivor, having wrestled with danger numerous times in my journeys around the world, but this is different. I am not behind the camera anymore, separated from the threat by a glass lens. This time, I am in the scene, in the picture—a part of the wild narrative.
It’s not long before I feel my energy wane, my exhaustion overtaking me. But I can’t stop. I have to keep trudging along. I know that stopping in such an environment is a death sentence. So, I put one foot in front of the other, pushing on.
Suddenly, Noah stops dead in his tracks. I nearly bump into him, caught off guard by his abrupt halt.
“What is it?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer immediately, his eyes scanning the horizon. I follow his gaze, and my heart sinks. In the distance, a dark figure moves against the white backdrop of the snow. At first, I think it’s a tree swaying in the wind. Then it moves again. My blood runs cold as I realize it’s a bear—a grizzly lumbering in our direction.
Noah turns to me, his face pale. “We need to move. Now.”
Panic surges through me, but I force myself to stay calm. We turn and begin to walk faster, our pace quickening with every step. The bear is far enough away that we might still have a chance if we hurry.
“Stay close to me,” Noah says, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. “Don’t run.”
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. The bear is still far off, but I know they can cover ground quickly when they want to. Running feels like the smart thing, but I know it makes us look like prey.
“Stay calm,” Noah repeats over and over.
“Where are we going?” I ask him.
It’s a valid question. We have nowhere to run.
My mind races with thoughts of what could happen if the bear catches up to us. I push them aside, focusing on the immediate task of moving forward. But the bear is relentless, and as I glance back, I see it has closed some of the distance between us.
I nearly vomit with a sudden burst of fear. My flight or fight instinct is in full force. I want to run as fast and far as my legs will carry me. Noah suddenly veers off the path, heading toward a cluster of trees. I follow him, my legs burning with exertion. We’re moving twice as fast as we were. I thought walking was difficult before. Now, I feel like we were wading through wet cement. The trees offer a bit of cover. I pray they can provide some sort of protection or at least slow the bear down.
We weave through the trees, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. I can hear the bear now, crashing through the underbrush. My fear is a living thing clawing at my insides, but I keep moving. I have to.
“Are we actually going to try and outrun a grizzly bear?” I ask, more to myself than him.
“I’m hoping it will lose interest,” he replies.
“We’re moving away from the cabin. We’re going to get lost.”
“I’ll get us back on the right path, preferably without a grizzly bear on our heels,” he snaps.
His words are short and filled with tension. We don’t have time for bickering. We need to work together if we want to survive this. Noah reaches back and grabs my hand. I can’t explain how or why, but the contact calms me. It infuses me with strength. Despite our terrifying situation, there’s something strangely comforting about his presence. He has an air of leadership—of capability. I find myself believing he will keep me safe.
We continue to trudge through the snow, moving farther away from the bear with every step. I look back a few times and don’t see it. “I think he’s gone,” I whisper.
Noah doesn’t answer immediately but focuses on the path ahead. Finally, he slows and looks back, squinting into the distance. “I think you’re right,” he says, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. “But let’s not celebrate just yet.”
We continue our trek through the icy wilderness, now moving parallel to our original path, but in the woods. Snow constantly falls from the branches, lands on my head, and slides down the back of my neck. I don’t have the energy for anything except forcing myself to keep moving. The creak of the trees and the dim light add to my growing sense of despair.
“I need to use the facilities,” I tell him. I had been holding it for too long, and now that the bear threat is gone, I have to go.
“Now? Really? ”
“I’m sorry, but it’s not like I can just not go.”
He shakes his head. “Great.”
“Go on ahead. I’ll follow in your footsteps. I just need to pee.”
He grumbles, “Fine, I’ll wait.”
I walk deeper into the trees, wanting a moment of privacy. I pull off my gloves to unfasten my pants. Despite the gloves, my fingers are stiff and clumsy. I struggle to undo the button. I manage to get it undone, but my body feels disjointed. The cold is starting to take a toll.
Just as I’m finishing up, I hear a branch snap. “I’m not done,” I shout, assuming it’s him.
But then I hear his voice from the opposite direction. “Hurry up!”
My heart skips a beat as I zip up my pants and look around. That’s when I saw it—a black bear. It’s not twenty feet away, staring right at me.
For a moment, I freeze, my mind racing. The bear huffs and takes a step forward. I know I need to do something fast. I glare at the bear, trying to use telepathy to make it go away.
“Noah,” I call out quietly. I don’t want to alarm the bear .
“Noah!” I say again, hoping he’ll understand the urgency in my voice.
“What is it?” He sounds irritated, but I don’t have time to explain.
“Bear!” I call out, my voice shaking.
He bursts through the trees, eyes wide as he spots the bear. “Don’t move,” he says, his voice low and calm. “Just back away slowly.”
I really want to go home. But then I remember a young woman was murdered in my bed. Home isn’t any more secure than the Alaskan wilderness. I long to feel safe. I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulder. The urge to drop to the snowy ground, curl up in a ball, and bawl my eyes out is strong.