Page 2 of Fated to the Grizzly

See our name,Brotherhood. It’s all about dudes. Being outdoorsy. Wrestling. Having burping contests after biting the heads off raw lizards. That kinda shit.

I like nice things: scented candles, manicures, lattes. A nice soft bed to lie down in after a day spent scrubbing clothes in a stream. I’m a typical girl; so sue me. And it’s sure lonely. My mom is no support, either. Over the years, she’s kinda faded. Trying to feed a family of five in the wilderness takes so much out of her, she’s always exhausted, and she accepts my father’s crazy ideas and directives without argument.

I try not to be mad at her. My dad is a real forceful personality. And when he gets that glint in his eye, it’s best to just do whatever he wants.

Which bringsme to my current predicament. A week ago, I turned twenty-one, and dad decided there’s no time like his daughter coming of age to foster closer relations with other members of the Brotherhood.

So, he offered me to the eldest son of a neighboring family.

Yes, you heard that right.

The day after my birthday, he told me to pick out my best outfit from the bunch of rags that pass for my clothes these days. He also said, “comb your hair, for christsakes.”

Which was a bit rich, since he’d banned us from bringing anything to our forest home that wasn’t a tool for weathering theFinal Fiasco, and hairbrushes sure didn’t make the cut.

Still, over the years, I’ve figured out which plants I can mash together to create some kind of shampoo and detangling conditioner, and I did my best to make my hair look presentable.

Then, with his typical dad habit of keeping everything on a “need to know basis,” he disappeared for a while, and returned with the truck I thought he’d sold long ago.

He bundled me into the back of it and drove me to meet my suitor.

Every terrible moment of the episode is emblazoned on my brain forever.

The Gaskills are a different kind of family from ours. Not that I’m an expert on the subject, but they have less of dad’s doomsday-obsessed intensity, and more of an anti-government militia vibe. To be honest, I think dad was hoping to benefit from their muscle.

But when dad dumped a flower garland on my head—probably made by my mom—and shoved me through their front door, their son laughed.

Yes, while dad explained what we were doing there, he tipped his stupid, arrogant head back and guffawed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

Then he looked me up and down and, curling his annoyingly attractive lip, said, “what the hell am I gonna do with her, huh?”

The shame.

He looked like a classic high-school jock, while I know I’m nothing special. Short, dumpy. A plain Jane. But still.

It hurt.

“She’s just come of age,” my dad wheedled.

My head snapped to him. “Dad, don’t even!” I yelled, with the last scrap of dignity I had.

Was he really trying to use my virginity as a bargaining tool?

Maybe I imagined it, but I thought a flicker of interest lit in arrogant dickhead’s eyes. “I have to marry her, right?”

Dad dipped his head sycophantically. “That’s part of the deal.”

“Not interested,” he snarled, turning on his heel and leaving us standing there.

It was a long drive back home.

“Can’t believe you embarrassed me like that, Scout,” dad kept muttering. “That was your one chance, and you sure blew it.”

“Iblew it?” Finally, I snapped. “Dad, I might be living this weird stone-age life with you, out in the ass-end of nowhere, but that doesn’t mean you can treat me like I’m your property!”

He slammed the brakes on so hard, my face almost hit the glovebox.

“What do you think’s gonna happen when theFinal Fiascocomes, Scout? You think it’s all gonna be gender equality and feminist marches? Nope. Only the strong will survive. And that sure as hell won’t be you. Won’t be any women.”

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