It’s morning. By the shade of light streaming from the gap in the hide overhead, I can tell it’s very early—not long past first light.
The quake felt so real, but the longer I’m awake, the more I wonder. I reach back into the murky gloom of sleep, to the moment right before the ground beneath me shook. . . .
I was dreaming of Kol.
He was beside me. . . . We were in the cave high in the cliff near my camp, lying together beneath the mammoth hide I’d wrapped him in when the cold sea had almost frozen the life out of him. My skin was pressed to his skin, but the cold was gone, replaced by a searing warmth. Kol leaned over me, and the shadow of his face fell over mine. . . .
And then the ground shook. And I sat up.
Nothing in our makeshift tent is out of place. The pack of food still hangs from the notch where it was suspended to keep it off the ground. Even the waterskin loosely looped over the pack hasn’t fallen.
Just a dream, I tell myself. But I shiver as the memory of Kol’s warmth slips away.
I slide out of bed, careful not to disturb Noni or Lees, and slip on my boots and my parka. Grabbing my spear, I step out of the warm stillness of the tent and into the chilly breeze of the beach.
The stillness falls away—the world outside is active with momentum. My heart’s rhythm falls in time with the rush of the waves, the whisper of the wind in the trees that cling to the ledges behind me. My head swivels on my shoulders, and there, high up on the cliff, something moves. Something big.
The sun is rising on the other side of the island, and the western shore is still shadowed. Yet I know I saw movement.
My hand flinches on the shaft of my spear. My eyes search the stirring leaves, hoping to see it again. An elk? It must have been an elk. The quick glimpse of a broad brown back passing between trees, so far out on the edge of the cliff so early in the day. Only an elk would trust its footing on those steep ledges above the sea.
Lees and Noni will sleep a long time yet. I could be back before they wake, dragging a kill behind me.
It isn’t long before I’ve packed supplies and gathered up weapons. Along with my spear, I take an atlatl and darts. I wrap the sling Ama gave me around my waist again today and drop some palm-sized rocks into my pack. I slide my waterskin over my shoulder.
The trail from the beach winds up the cliff wall, climbing and switching back a few times, splitting off at different ledges that overlook the beach before breaking into smaller paths. Some head back to the shoreline at the foot of the cliff. Others wind down the gentle slope that descends from the cliff’s southern face, where trees spring up, protected by the steep rock from the north wind. I stay on the main trail, following it all the way to the top of the cliff, to an overhanging rock that gives a startling view out over the water in every direction. It’s beautiful, but there’s something lonely about the vast stretch of unbroken sea, and I don’t linger.
From here, the trail winds around the peak and drops slowly down into trees, toward lower cliffs that border the western shore. With each step the light dims and the shade deepens, as the trail becomes a broken pattern of shadow and sun. The shade pushes in so close, I can feel it on my skin like the cool mist that rises off the water early in the morning. I peer through the growth that borders the trail, looking for both predators and prey. Dense swaths of trees alternate with open clearings, and at intervals light pours through gaps, filling me with a sense of something peering back at me—something unseen.
Still, when I stop and search the brush, I find no sign of the elk I saw earlier.
I begin to think of turning back when I hear the laughing sound of running water—the spring must not be far. Noni told us that a creek runs from one of the highest points on the western edge of the island, filling a lake in the woods south of the cliffs. Though she’d been on the island only a few days before we arrived, she’d explored, searching out sources of water and feverweed. Noni loves the lake—she said it lies so still and wide it reflects the clouds. I tell myself I will hike there when the girls wake, after we’ve had a morning meal of fish and cleaned the elk I’ll be bringing back to camp soon. I tell myself all these things to quiet the voice of doubt that whispers in my thoughts—doubt that an elk was ever there at all.
Then something moves in the corner of my sight. Something beyond the trail, beyond the trees that edge the path. Something is coming.
I hear it moving off to my right—the side of the trail that skirts the cliffs. A dark shape like a living shadow slides between the trees, bending back branches that snap as it passes. Spots of pale sunlight catch in its fur, fewer than twenty paces from where I stand. A smooth, brown coat covers a wide, high back.
The elk. It must be the elk. As it moves behind me, gravel and twigs crunch under its feet. I stop.
Peering into the space where the animal passed, I notice a wide swath of flattened underbrush. The thought of bringing in a kill of such size thrills me, but I hesitate. The wind blows in off the water, and something like dread crawls across my skin.
Another twig snaps, and I realize my prey is getting away. I practically run back up the trail, watching for movement through the trees. About halfway back toward the overhanging rock, I finally catch up to it.
I can’t quite see its edges. It’s hidden by thick shade, but now and then it presses against branches and moves under the light. At a small opening in the trees that allows a circle of sun to reach the ground, I see the height of its back.
That’s when I know it’s not an elk. It’s far too big. The peak of its back is far too high from the ground.
I continue to follow it, as the mistake I’ve made sinks in. Not an elk. Not a deer. Much bigger. My fear sharpens as the dark shape moves into a clearing at the end of the path, right at the overhanging rock.
It’s a short-faced bear. His shoulder is as tall as the top of my head.
Terror stills my feet. I’m certain that he will soon smell my scent and turn on me. I draw a deep breath and prepare to run.
But then I see what the bear sees, and I know he won’t turn around. He is pursuing other prey. Right in front of him, at the end of the trail, a man stands with his back against the ledge of rock.
Kol.
He doesn’t see me. The bear is too big—so big he blocks Kol’s view, so big he blocks his escape.
The rock ledge pins him from behind—the drop over its side is too long and steep—and the path to his right is blocked by the bear. But there is another path to his left—a trail that follows the ledge of the rock wall. I see him throw a quick glance down that path before turning his full attention back to the bear.