Page 3 of Fated to the Grizzly

I stared at my dad as realization seeped into my poor brain. This is what it was all about. It was never about survival. It was about recreating a backward society where men ruled over women.

“Your mom sure did a number on you, didn’t she?” I said quietly.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been hearing about dad’s screwed up childhood. How his mom favored his elder brother and treated dad like crap. Well, here’s dad’s revenge.

Except there’s no way that I’m gonna be the target of it.

“Watch your mouth, young lady,” he growled.

I shuffled down in my seat. I was done speaking anyway, because an idea was beginning to spark in my mind. And for the rest of the journey, I let it grow.

As the truck finally pulled up in front of the dump I’ve learned to call home, I told him:

“I want to compete in the succession trial too, dad.”

* * *

Fast forward sixdays and here I am in the back of the truck again. Blindfolded, this time, with my older brothers on either side of me.

Prior to coming up with the idea of selling me off, dad had been muttering about choosing one of his sons as his successor, “should anything happen to him.” His plan was to put them through a survivalist challenge. Whichever one made it home first would win the crown. And I’ve decided I want to be a part of it, too.

Once dad stopped laughing his ass off, he agreed readily.

Which makes me think he’s actually keen to be rid of me, then he won’t have to deal with the shame of me being a reject. He’s probably hoping I’ll get eaten by a bear.

Me, I reckon I’ve got a chance of winning. My brothers might be twice the size of me, and a whole lot better at chopping wood, but I’m the one who’s done most of the foraging and trapping so far. I know how to use the sun's position for direction, read the signs written in the undergrowth, and follow animal trails without leaving a trace.

And if I don’t win?

Well, anything’s got to be better than waiting around until dad decides to make me the target of his next stupid plan.

Of course, my brothers—who are assholes, by the way—are determined to make things as difficult for me as possible. They’ve been calling me names and pinching and jabbing me throughout the journey. Showing off about how tough and fearless they are.

Methinks my brothers doth protest too much, and I told them so, but like anything else that’s come out of a book, it went right over their thick heads.

We’ve been driving for a real long time, but at last dad pulls over beside a nondescript clump of trees.

“Get out,” he barks.

I yank off my blindfold in time to catch Owen with his blindfold a little raised. He’s been cheating. Of course, he has.

My brothers jump out and immediately start peeing in the bushes.

“Scout?”

I turn to my dad.

He hands me a small white plastic device. “Keep that with you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a GPS tracker. In case you don’t make it.”

I hesitate, then pocket it.

“I’ll come find you. Just make sure you keep your—” He nods in the direction of my crotch. “Purity intact.”

My mouth is still hanging open as he waves goodbye to my brothers. “I’ll expect you back in a week, at the earliest,” he calls.

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