Page 101 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

Twenty-Six

In the late afternoon, at the point where the river grows into a dark blue lake, I carefully put Lou down. “We can stay here for the night. It’s a good spot.” I wipe the sweat from my forehead with my forearm. I walked all day without taking a break so we can be back at the RV before the start of September, however, we didn’t get as far as I had hoped.

“Why is this a good place?” Lou asks, looking at the low embankment on our left side. “It looks like any other place along the way.”

“Because grizzlies don’t fish for salmon in lakes, but rather in rapids where the fish jump to get upstream.” Exhausted, I unbuckle the backpack I was carrying across my stomach and drop onto the sandy ground.

“Are there a lot of bears around here?” Lou looks at me like a frightened rabbit and I want to hug her like last night.

“Of course. About fifteen thousand. But it’s much more likely for you to meet a human than a bear, so don’t worry.” I have to laugh at her half-angry, half-amused expression.

“Great!” she growls, limping away from me and sitting in the sand.

“Just leave the sweater on,” I tell her when I see her trying to pull it over her head.

She stops in mid-movement.

“You might think it’s warm, but the wind will chill you.”

“I’m sweating!” she snaps a little angrily.

“Then keep sweating. That’s good after you nearly froze to death last night.”

“What about you?” Lou taps her upper arm with the edge of her hand and I know she means my shirt.

“I worked hard and carried you. I can afford to walk around like this.” I grin at her. Lou pulls at her hair. Since it’s chin length, she’s been doing this more often when she’s angry or tense, which I’m just realizing.

“Bren…”

“Yes?”

“Thanks again. I mean, for carrying me and everything.”

Shaking my head, I get up and unpack the sleeping bag so Lou can sit down on something warm. “It’s not like I can leave you here, right?”

She remains silent and I start to prepare for the evening. I set up the tarp and fill an empty Coke can that I find in my backpack with small pebbles. “To help you with your fear,” I say to Lou. “Rattle the can while I get wood.”

“I thought there are no bears here.”

“I said grizzlies don’t fish as much in lakes as they do in rapids, I didn’t say they don’t at all.”

With that, I leave her alone and collect a load of firewood in the thicket of the forest. As for the bears, I’m not concerned as there are no fresh tracks near the water.

Later, when the campfire is burning, Lou prepares the milk for Grey while I carve a spear out of birch wood.

“Going hunting?” Lou cuts a hole in the breakfast bag and nods toward the wooden stick, which I sharpen at one end.

“Salmon.”

“Like a grizzly, then.”

“Kind of.” I tap the tip of the spear, looking straight at Lou.

She smiles shyly and looks down at her feet. Maybe it’s that shyness, but something gives me hope again that her feelings might be real.

Once my spear is ready, I take off my shoes, roll up my pant legs and walk barefoot toward the dark blue lake. The sand is cool and soft, broken only by a narrow carpet of delphiniums, Indian paintbrush, and yarrow.

A flock of swans is floating on the surface, further back in the water, while flocks of cranes and wild geese pass overhead.

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