Flash! Fiction 3 by Peter McMillan - HTML preview

42

About five miles in, the path split and to the right it was marked by a red-lettered sign that read, "Bear Activity." Images from the graphic warnings flooded his head. He froze. All he had was this silly string of bear bells. Weapons weren't allowed. the clerk in the store swore that the bells worked. Jesse put them on and jingled down the left track of the trail, still anxious but curious enough not to turn and run

... yet.

The woods got closer and closer, and denser. He couldn't see more than 20 feet in. More and more it seemed like an ambush at every turn, and that feeling peaked when he found himself standing in a small grassy field full in the sun, ringed on all sides by dark forest.

Out in the open, he was vulnerable, and he knew he was being watched.

Keeping calm, he walked backwards to blend into the wood. Burst-ing out of the silence behind him, a powerful embrace grabbed him and held him firmly. "Relax. Just relax. You're okay." Jesse nearly fainted, but he did wilt and slip out of the embrace, landing hard on his tailbone. "Water?" After a few long, deep breaths, he took the canteen and drank greedily.

The man, Harry, was a tracker and guide from Las Vegas who said he was bushwhacking his way through the park from south to north.

It was illegal to do that of course, but he was hunting bear, not to kill, just to track. Harry was wearing a leather vest and a khaki fishing hat. No guns ... no rifle for sure, but that long scabbard at his side ... maybe a Bowie knife?

Harry didn't say much more but led the way back to the road, and Jesse was happy for the company and the direction. It didn't last long. Back at the fork with the bear warnings, Harry turned left and kept going. Jesse watched until he disappeared and then double-timed it back to the road.