Page 3 of Holly's Grizzly

There’s nothing left but the need to survive this, no thoughts about what comes after or what might be the smartest thing to do in this situation.

All I need to do is live.

My pack is soaked through, weighing me down, and I instinctively shrug it off. Anything to keep me from going under again.

As I surface once more, my eyes fix on the bank closest to me. Land, safety, something real and solid I can aim for.

My muscles scream with every stroke through the water. Churning rapids threaten to tug me down into their depths, but whatever adrenaline is keeping me alive right now stops them from swallowing me completely.

With every last bit of strength I can muster in my shocked, shaking body, I pull myself out of the river.

Grasping at tree roots, shrubs, whatever I can reach, I haul myself up and out, rolling a few times to put as much distance as I can manage between myself and the horror of that freezing black water.

As I come to a stop at the base of a towering pine and tuck myself into a dry patch of needle-covered ground, a brief wave oftriumph washes over me. Triumph for surviving, for not letting that fucking river claim me.

That triumph, however, shatters into a million glittering, icy shards when reality comes crashing back in.

I lost my pack.

I’m soaking wet.

I’m miles away from my car.

And even if I could make it back, my keys are probably already fifty yards down the river along with my shelter, food, spare clothes, and tools for making a fire.

Right alongside the sinking dread of those realizations, the bitter cold makes itself known again. Worse, this time, with my wet clothes, cutting me all the way to the bone.

It’s hard to breathe right, and my limbs start to tremble in rough, jerking motions that go way beyond shivers.

My thoughts stutter and slow, strangely warped and twisted with the cold and the panic pounding through me, but I try to snap out of it, willing myself to focus.

I’ve prepared for emergency situations. I’ve made plans and backup plans. I know how to handle myself and keep myself safe.

I close my eyes.

Think. I have to think.

But the only thing left is the cold and the softly falling flakes and the gentle whoosh of a slight breeze through the pines. The splash of the river, much less ominous now that I’m not in it, lulls against my ears like a gentle whisper to rest.

My struggling mind slows even further, and that deep trembling slows, too.

Bad. I think that’s bad.

I should be shivering, shouldn’t I?

I should get moving. I should try to get my blood pumping. I should… I should…

Staying here might be nice, too.

Wrong. I know that’s wrong.

It’s the cold talking, the quiet left after the storm of adrenaline burned itself out. I need to go… need to stand… need… need…

A sudden noise from the forest pierces the sluggish haze of those thoughts. I turn to look, and my rapidly slowing heart jumps right back into my throat.

I blink, then blink again, but the image doesn’t change.

A grizzly, huge and terrifying, emerges out of the woods, headed straight for me.

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