Grizzly Season. S W Lauden
behind. Greg gulped for air and tried not to move. He imagined the Virgil Heights Police Chief coming to rescue him once again. But the voice that came crackling through the bullhorn wasn’t familiar at all.
“We really don’t appreciate trespassers up here.”
A murmur started to swell in the crowd. Greg was overwhelmed with exhaustion. He let his head drop and waited for whatever came next.
“Don’t pass out on us, now. I want to pick your brain about a few things.”
Greg brought his head up again. That’s when he spotted the man, perched on a branch, high up in a tree. He wore stiff blue jeans held up by black suspenders. His plaid shirt was tight across his barrel chest, with sleeves straining against bulging arms. The thick stubble on his round face was on the verge of becoming a beard. He was every bit the mountain man, except he spoke like a drunken manager on a corporate team-building retreat.
“I hate to sound like a broken record here, but those bears look pretty hungry.”
“I was out for a hike.” Greg’s voice was gravelly, but thin. The altitude and dehydration were taking their toll. “Where’s my friend?”
“You were by yourself when we found you out in our field. What’s this friend of yours look like?”
It was a relief to know that Marco had gotten away, even if it meant that Greg was on his own. His only hope was that Marco made it back to a phone to call for help. That meant he had to buy some time. The man with the bullhorn started speaking again before Greg could formulate his next lie.
“I suggest you answer before the bears come back.”
“Okay, okay. He’s about six feet tall, heavy-set, with spiky black hair. You couldn’t miss him out here.”
“Liar!”
The word blared through the bullhorn and the crowd started chanting it. They stomped, clapped, and shouted. It went on for several minutes before the siren on the bullhorn began wailing again. Greg heard footsteps thundering toward him across the hard-packed ground. The mob clawed their way up the mound of trash.
They were a filthy group, like farmhands fresh from the fields. The women wore no makeup and kept their hair pulled into long braids that hung down their backs. The men had choppy haircuts and wispy beards, like college-aged camp counselors. Greg guessed that most of them were younger than him by several years, if not decades—all except for the men who hacked the ropes from his hands and feet. They looked more like career criminals enjoying a brief vacation between prison sentences.
The crowd tore his sweat-soaked clothes off and pulled him to the ground. They lifted his naked body overhead, parading him around the garbage heap and out of the makeshift stadium. The man with the bullhorn was waiting when they finally put him down. He was shorter than Greg originally thought, but in better shape than any grandpa pot farmer should be. He swiped the flies away from his face, squinting at Greg as he spoke.
“Care to change your story?”
Greg tried to force a smile. His lips split and bled.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear, as long as I get my clothes back.”
“Funny. Let’s see who’s laughing when we toss you down into the pit.”
The man stepped aside to reveal a large hole in the ground. Huge paw prints covered the dirt ramp leading down into the darkness. Greg could just make out a tall stake erected in the center of the subterranean space. He decided to be a little more polite now that he understood what they had in mind. Anything would be better than getting mauled to death, or freezing in the chilly desert night.
He decided to play his last card.
“This is all a misunderstanding. I’m actually a police officer, out on a weekend hike.”
Now it was the other man’s turn to smile.
“We know exactly who you are. We’ve had our eye on you and your sidekick for a while now. Isn’t that right?”
Greg heard a chain rattle. He looked down into the pit where Marco stepped out into a sliver of sunlight. His naked skin glistened as he looked up with an annoyed scowl on his face.
“What the hell’s going on, Marco?”
“Ask that psycho standing next to you.”
Greg spun to face their captor.
“What’s all over him?”
“Honey. It’s like crack for these bears.”
“What the hell is this place?”
“We call it Grizzly Flats. I’m Magnus Ursus.”
Greg never studied Latin, but he thought he knew what that meant.
“Big Bear? Seriously?”
“I prefer Magnus.”
“Mind telling me what my friend is doing down there?”
Greg motioned to the pit. Marco spoke up before Magnus could.
“Dude’s got a screw loose, bro.”
Greg spun to face Magnus, waiting for his answer. Magnus stood up on his toes and waved to a girl in the crowd.
“Ursula, please come over and join us. Now.”
She emerged with a shopping bag and set it at Greg’s feet. Her blue eyes sparkled as she pulled out several honey bottles. Every one of them was shaped like a smiling little bear.
Greg took a step back and almost tumbled into the pit. Magnus grabbed his shoulder to stop him from falling, but Greg spun around behind him. He had his forearm wrapped around the old man’s neck before anybody in the crowd could react.
“Nobody move or he’s a dead man.”
Several of the men inched closer. Magnus brought his hands up to wave them off. Greg thought he could kill the crazy bastard if he had to, but then he and Marco would never get out alive. He dug his heels into the ground at the edge of the pit, tightening his grip around the old man’s windpipe.
“Have one of your men untie my friend.”
“Why don’t you do it yourself?”
The words were barely out of Magnus’s mouth before he pushed back with all of his might. The instant momentum sent them both plunging into the pit. Marco screamed as Greg slammed back-first into the ground. Magnus came crashing into him a second later, knocking the rest of the air from his lungs.
The old man grunted as he rolled onto his side and stood up. Marco took a swing and missed. The old man countered with a straight arm that sent him to the ground. Greg could see the bloodthirsty crowd lining the edges of the pit. He willed himself to breathe as he looked up. Magnus took a step forward and brought his boot hard into the side of Greg’s head. Cheers erupted from up above as Greg’s vision blurred, flickered, and faded.
Chapter Two
Greg twitched and stirred. He felt the ropes rubbing against the skin on his wrists and ankles, but knew he wasn’t on the trash pile. The smell was different this time, like campfire mixed with perfume. He lifted his head to look around when somebody giggled.
The girl with the bag of honey was down at the end of his cot. She twisted a washcloth into a bucket of water. He took one look at her face and knew that she was stoned out of her mind. But her eyes were the iciest shade of blue that he had ever seen. He felt drawn in by her peaceful gaze, trapped inside of the shy smile that slowly parted her lips.
She was in her early twenties, maybe a little younger. The rough tips of her work-worn fingers gently massaged the bottom of his foot.
“Rise and shine. That tickle?”
Greg let his head drop back to the pillow as she washed him with warm water. He was almost asleep again