Janet Starts a Fire

Janet Starts a Fire

She didn’t think the bleeding was too bad. Her shirt sleeve was ruined, but with the crude bandage she could still use her arm, and that’s what mattered. She angled herself into the wedge between tree limbs and pressed her palm to the spreading stain, willing the wound to settle, the scab to form. It didn’t work. The bear still circled her tree, lifting its wide nose to savor her scent every few steps. Deep scratches marred the bark, strips swinging in the growing breeze. Dark soon, Janet thought, and she shivered.

# # #

Janet had taken off for an impromptu weekend and pitched her tent in a secluded woodland spot in East Texas, surrounded by old trees and worn rock formations. Sunlight bled through the leaves and danced a ballet with the afternoon breeze.

“Thank God for the fresh air,” Janet said, swatting at a mosquito hovering around her face, and set to starting a fire.

She cleared old ash and wood from the circle of stones and stacked her own small branches in a teepee formation. After stuffing some Spanish moss and strips of bark in the sheltered cavity, she lit the flame with her trusty Zippo and nurtured it to a smoky blaze. She sat back on her heels, brushing dirt from her palms.

Janet situated a grill rack and opened a can of beans and franks to heat. She paused in her bean-stirring, cocking her ear toward a break in the trees, and the darker woodland damp. She thought she’d heard a low chuffing sound. Nothing seemed to be moving in the bushes, though. Pungent hotdog aroma wafted from over the campfire, following the air, and Janet mused on her summer camp experiences as a girl.

She’d just remembered the name of her tortured crush that summer – Billy Morrison – when the bear ambled through the screen of trees and into camp. On its hind legs the massive domed head stood over nine feet, and its nostrils worked like bellows. Janet goggled and fell back off her haunches as it roared.

“Jesusfuckinghelpmechrist!”

Janet scrambled to her feet and faced the thick skull, the dripping muzzle, her arms stretched out toward it.

“Holy shit. Go the fuck away.”

She waved her arms at it, as it dropped to all fours and stared.

“Go away!”

It cocked its head at her, as if considering its options. A paw with claws long and sharp enough to filet her through her clothes raised high enough she could see the callouses on its toes, and she knew. I’m totally fucked.

Janet noticed the bear’s paw, that it was misshapen, missing some toes. Scarred, possibly? Hungry, definitely. The bear caught her in its beady stare and grunted, swaying side to side as if sizing her up. Not so big, it seemed to decide. An abrupt, staccato roar erupted from its wet jaws, and time for thinking evaporated like the spit in Janet’s mouth.

She took a running step and kicked the can of simmering beans at the bear, roaring back at it, stripping her vocal chords. The can sailed straight and clanged against the broad forehead, startling the animal long enough for her to break for the nearest tree. Hope to God it can’t climb.

Her feet pounded the earth, hiking boots grabbing purchase and vaulting her from a standstill to a dead run. Even so, the bear’s breath surrounded her, wafts of hot air brushing the back of her head as she raced, and she felt the ground shudder under its uneven gait as it chased. She leaped for the lower branches of the nearest tree and swung up, feeling the impact as the bear swiped at her. Adrenaline pumped through her system and time slowed. She saw from outside herself the bear roar at her, saliva spraying onto her back as she hung from the branch by hands and ankles. Rough bark ground into her palms, scraping the skin from her exposed ankles as she swung. Perspiration sprang from her pores, soaked her clothes and then as quickly faded in the hot afternoon air. She watched herself flex and swing up on top of the branch in one smooth movement, watched the bear rise up again and try to make more satisfying contact. She smelled the blood and steaming beans as it hovered beneath her, watching as she climbed. Time stood still long enough for her to reach her resting spot and realize the bear couldn’t follow. A hawk’s piercing cry floated across her senses as she took her first conscious breath since leaving the ground and exhaled a shaky laugh. Jesus.

The bear circled, clawing at the tree in frustration, chuffing as it glared up at her. After several minutes, it settled a few yards away and adopted a casual surveillance, chewing smashed beans from its fur. The heat under her sleeve where the bear had tagged her began to burn, and she slipped out of her shirt to examine. Multiple parallel gashes had opened the flesh of her upper arm. Still bleeding, it throbbed as she watched. She tore her sleeve from her shirt and wrapped it around her arm, tucking the end to secure the makeshift bandage, and slipped the rest of her shirt back on.

Would be dark soon. She shivered. Wind picking up. The bear glanced her way and she thought she saw a slow smile on its face. In the deepening dusk, Janet noticed her abandoned campfire, and the nearby grass charring under embers thrown from inside the stone circle. As she watched they caught and spread, bursts of hungry orange-yellow flickering in the twilight.