Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 70528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Snap.
I hear the sound of snapping twigs again, tugging the blanket out from under my ass so I can cover myself with it or at least pull it up to my chin, faster than you can say “HIDE, DAVIS, HIDE!” knowing that there is nothing that can prevent the boogeyman (or whatever is lurking on the other side of this tin foil can I’m stuck inside of) from getting/eating/maiming me if it wants to.
My eyes dart toward the primary guest room as I hunker down, lowering myself, so my head isn’t bobbing in front of the window lest the terrors outside spy me and decide to make me a meal.
Oh god, what if it’s not an animal? What if it’s a mass murderer? I’ve seen way too many horror movies, but what if it is?
Chill, Davis, nothing can get you.
“But I’m literally sitting inside a tin can.”
Literally.
My brain cannot seem to see reason.
Whatever it is can’t get through the door, can it? Do bears even know how to open doors? I swear I’ve seen videos of them waltzing into campers through the front door, but maybe those were circus bears and not bears born in the woods.
Cool it man, it’s probably just a raccoon or a hungry squirrel. There is no food nearby, only Juliet’s puke.
Right, but the puke is full of chocolate and graham crackers.
Gross. “Could you not go there?”
The fact that I’m talking to myself is not a good sign.
Ben and the rest of the ground staff were busy clearing the campground when we all left for the evening, so no remnants remained—I’m sure of it.
I get out my phone, grateful for the sliver of a satellite signal, googling ‘bear gets inside camper,’ and ‘wild animals in campground,’ hunkering down even farther as I watch video after video of black bears in the woods busting through the screen doors of unsuspecting campers and shitting on the furniture, tearing screens, breaking shit.
“Why am I doing this to myself?” I whisper.
I should have left well enough alone.
Because I’m down a rabbit hole! One so deep, I’m not just looking at bear videos, but footage of moose chasing skiers down ski hills, squirrels attacking hikers and collegians on university campuses, cougars and mountain lions on Ring cameras in residential areas.
“A wild animal attack is not how you die, Halbrook.” Settle the fuck down, dude. “Take a deep breath.”
I take a deep breath.
Five deep breaths.
Count to eleventy.
“Where’s a paper bag?” I need a paper bag to breathe in and out of.
Trying to calm my nerves, I get out of my makeshift hovel in an attempt to change from my day clothes and into sweatpants and a hoodie—more comfortable to sleep in if I’m able to drift off with god only knows what lurking beside the camper.
I’m sure it’s moved on in search of other things.
Do not look at the window.
“You are six foot three and built like a bull,” I pep talk myself.
Not hung like one, but I should be able to defend myself against whatever lurks outside, possibly Juliet too, if worst came to worst.
“I’m huge,” I say to absolutely no one. “I could outrun a bear if I had to.” Definitely one with a broken leg, or one that had no sight.
Massive paws. Claws.
Teeth.
“Desperation would let me outrun it,” I reason, speaking into the dark, turning off all the lights so the bear outside can’t see me. “They can climb trees, idiot, you wouldn’t be able to get away from one even by dodging and weaving.”
Pfft. Whatever.
I’m still super-fast.
“Pow pow—pow!” I punch at the air, my lightning speed prowess no match for the predators outside the camper window. “Light on my feet, light on my feet.”
I picture the Davis Halbrook I used to be running down a football field and tearing it up, digging up turf as an ex-running back for a professional football team.
I dodge. Weave.
Score!
A younger Davis Halbrook was naïve.
An athlete wanting to conquer the world before the sport conquered his body and made it impossible for him to perform, taking years and years of physical therapy to get to become the man he is today, so yeah—I could definitely not outrun a damn bear.
My shoulders slouch, defeated at the reality.
“Definitely a bear with a broken leg,” I joke to myself, dressed now and staring out into the pitch-black darkness, eyes straining for my glimpse of light or beady eyes shining. “Stop talking to yourself, Halbrook,” I whisper. “If Juliet was awake and coherent she would think you were insane.”
“Um, I am awake and you do sound insane.”
“Oh Jesus!” I whip around, scared shitless, damn near flying off the table that’s my bed for the night. The last person I expect to be standing there at this hour of the night, when I’m staring out the window waiting to die at the hands of the unknown, is Juliet. She doesn’t sound as drunk as she was a few hours ago when I tucked her in and put her to bed, which surprises me. Maybe it’s because she threw up most of the alcohol on the side of the path—maybe it’s because she was able to sleep some of it off.