FERN

I was just a girl when Daddy started hiding people in the barn. "Fern," he'd said. "I don't want you going out there for a while. Help Mama around the house. I'll take care of your other chores."

My initial reaction had been excitement. Shoveling stalls and feeding pigs had never been my favorite things to do. But that was before I saw the reason; a woman and a young girl washing in the basin out back. I hid amongst the corn and stared, not only because they were strangers, but because of how they looked. Pale skin riddled with sores fit over their bones like that was all there was to them. No meat. No fat. Just bones.

When they'd caught me watching, I'd ran and collided with Daddy on the side of the barn.

"It's our job as good people to help." That's what he had said. Our job as good people.

Those words would haunt me for as long as I lived. Good people. My daddy had been a good person. The best person. My mama had baked pies for the church and donated our old clothes to charity. My bother John had been dating the girl on the Jameson farm and was talking about getting married. Good people. The best people.

Dead people. Forgotten people. The farm, the livestock, the pigs I hadn't wanted to feed, and the stalls I hadn't wanted to muck. Gone. Forever.

I stoked the flames of my small fire and turned the stick that held my rabbit above it. Ten snares, and this was all I'd caught in three days. I'd overstayed my welcome, and the energy this small hare provided would be gone by the time I found a new spot to camp.

My entire existence revolved around food. Shelter and warmth came second, and comfort never came at all. Time was measured in seasons, with fall being the beginning, the time it happened, when they were taken away, and I was forced to carry out Daddy's escape plan alone.

The leaves had fallen three times since that day, and the food supplies he'd stored within the tree line were long gone. I had his bow, fishing line and rope, a bedroll, a hatchet, a pocket knife, and a pack far lighter than it'd been the first time I hoisted it onto my back.

I ate the rabbit and hoisted it again, my bow out and ready should I happen upon any animals along the way. I hated walking in the fall. The sickening crunch of leaves beneath my boots. The way the cool air caressed my cheek like Mama's ghostly palm. They were all the company I had, and I imagined them with me, watching me. What they'd think. What they'd say. The dreamed conversations were all I had to keep me sane. It was better than my own thoughts. Better than the truth. But when the weather cooled, all their presence brought was pain.

I walked west until the sun shone its brightest through the trees and found a game trail headed south. I followed it for a distance before a pile of fresh bear scat, and a set of prints made my grip tighten around the bow. A bear. Big game. Enough meat and fat to get me through most of the winter. I pulled an arrow from the quiver and positioned it, then climbed up the embankment to travel downwind. If it scented me, it was over. It would either take off or decide it wanted to eat me as bad as I did it.

I treaded as quietly as I could manage, but the cursed crunch of the leaves mocked my effort. My stomach ached, just as dying and shriveled as everything else, and my need to heal it made my steps too eager.

I stumbled to a stop and threw a hand over my mouth, suppressing a joyous sob at the sight of it. Just below me, the massive, black beast stood with its paws against the trunk of an oak. It's lips puckered as it plucked the acorns off with its teeth.

I crouched down to stabilize myself and pulled the bow taut. Adrenaline fought to shake my arms. Anticipation made the world grow louder. Cicadas chirped. Wind shifted the trees. I sucked a breath in through my nose and released it slowly out my mouth. Steadying myself. Shoot to kill, Daddy's voice echoed. Never take a shot you don't know you have. The animal can take off and suffer. I aimed for its ribs, for the heart, and I was just about to take my shot when it shifted.

Its nose lifted, sniffing the air, before beady, black eyes centered on me. Its jaw slackened, and a high pitched scream ripped from its lungs. Not a roar. Or a growl. Or even a grunt. It screamed like Mama had anytime a field mouse found a way inside her kitchen.

I jolted, lost my grip, and the arrow loosed, zipping across the space to imbed itself deep into the creature's rump.

It fell onto its side and roared. "You, bitch! You shot me!"

I stared, wide eyed and dazed, unable to process what I was witnessing. It'd spoken, but that was impossible. I'd lost it. The time alone had finally caught up to me, and I'd cracked. Was there even a bear? Had I imagine it, too? My breaths grew ragged and harsh, yet my limbs were impossibly still.

Wailing shouts and muttered curses rose from below as it scrambled to lumber up and escape. It's suffering, Daddy's voice whispered, seemingly unconcerned that this was no normal bear.

I gripped another arrow from the quiver and pulled it into position.

"What are you doing?" Its eyes widened. "Wait! I'm sorry I called you a bitch! I didn't mean it. I'm sure you're very nice when you're not off murdering innocent woodland creatures such as myself. Help! Help!"

It's not talking. You're in the late stages of starvation. You need food or you're going to die. Kill it, and you can eat, then this will stop.

I let it loose.

"Wait!" A man jumped from the trees and into the path just in time to catch the arrow in his shoulder. "Son of a bitch!"

"She shootin' every-damn-body!" the bear sobbed. "She'll kill us all!"

"Will you shut the fuck up!" the man snapped before shifting the full force of his glare onto me. Dark eyes and a darker expression dared me to reach for another arrow. I lowered my bow.

He was hands down the largest and most terrifying man I'd ever seen. Thick braids formed a death hawk atop his head and disappeared down his back. Tight lips and a tighter jaw accentuated the sharp angles of his face, and a stream of blood ran down his arm from the place where I'd wounded him.

"Stop shooting those fucking arrows," he said.

"I'm sorry." Was I sorry? Was he real? He didn't look like any man I'd ever seen before. My throat grew dry and tight. He'd talked back to the bear. I envisioned myself talking to someone who wasn't there, shooting at a bear that only I could see. I'd been plenty hungry, but never to the point of hallucination. Regardless, the look on his face snubbed out any thought I might have had about taking another shot.

He stared at me another moment, seeming to test whether or not I'd try again, then gave a near imperceptible nod and looked at the damage I'd done. "Son of a bitch." He drew the words out, getting louder with each one. "Son of a bitch!" He jerked his arm, free hand fisted like he wanted to hit a tree, or maybe me.

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "I can... I can fix it."

"Fix it?" His attention shot up to me. "How? You got a first aid kit? How about penicillin? Because I don't have any penicillin, and people die from shit like this out here!"

I chewed the inside of my cheek. People did die from things like that in the wilderness. People died from all sorts of things. Something as small as getting your clothes wet could kill you at the wrong time of year, and wasn't I about to die from lack of food? He was too real. I was talking to him, genuinely sorry when my arrow was likely embedded into a tree trunk. "I know what to do," I said, and I did. If he wasn't there, no way could I patch him up. If he was, whether or not it would work depended on a lot of factors: where the arrow hit, how much blood they lost, how healthy they were to begin with. Either way, I needed to act fast.

I slung my bow over my shoulder and skidded down the embankment. The man was even larger than he'd seemed before I was on his level, and I swallowed hard as I approached. He watched me through narrowed eyes as I built a fire, dumped my supply of water into a pot above it, and searched the foliage for snake root. Daddy's voice whispered again. Black sanicle is an antibacterial.

I picked all that I could find, venturing away in my search, then returned and set to work turning them into poultices.

"She's a witch," the bear whisper-hissed at the man, who'd taken a seat and continued to watch with more interest and less anger. His gaze tracked my movements, intensely studying the plant and what I did with it.

When I had it all ready, I turned toward them. "We have to get the arrows out."

The bear whimpered.

The man nodded. "I'll go first." He worked his fingers inside the hole in his shirt and ripped it open, exposing the wound on his shoulder. Tattoos coated his skin, some clean and crisp, others childishly drawn and faded. The closer I got, the more details I noticed, and the more questions I had. My arrow had sunk into the center of a heart, decimating whatever word had been scrawled inside it.

"I'm sorry." I dipped a piece of his torn shirt into the water and lifted it. This was it. The moment I'd know for sure. If I could feel him, touch him, he wasn't a trick of my mind. I wasn't sure which would be worse, proving that I was starving or finding out that a bear had spoken. I pressed the cloth to his shoulder and wiped the blood away.

I froze.

He grunted. "Don't worry about it. It didn't work out with her anyway." His eyes danced as I stared at him, seemingly unaware that I was on the verge of fainting. One side of his lip quirked up in a grin that did lovely things to his face. His real and existent face.

I sucked in a rattling breath and focused back on the wound. "This is going to hurt." I took my pocket knife, held it in the fire, then used the hot blade to cut the arrow free from his flesh. Tasks were all I had. I had things to do, and I would focus on each one. Each step. Busy hands equaled a busy mind, and a busy mind didn't have time to collapse.

His pain erupted in a rumble that shook his chest, but he didn't pull away or try to stop me. He gripped his thighs and sat frozen, jaw tense, teeth bared. When I got it free and cauterized the wound, he released a breath and slumped back against the tree.

"Worst is over," I said, glancing at him before cleaning the wound again. I applied the poultice. I needed something to tie it all up with. "Take off your shirt."

He rumbled a weak laugh. "You're doing it all backwards, Darlin'. Women usually don't try to kill me until after they've seen me naked at least a few times."

"If I'd been trying to kill you, you wouldn't be able to make jokes right now." The words came out before I could stop them. They were true. From the distance he'd been away from me, in his position, I could have made the shot easy. If he hadn't stepped in the way, I'd have had a bear to eat while I pretended it hadn't spoken to me. Still, it wasn't until after I said it that I realized, injured or not, this man was big enough to pick me up and break my back over his knee.

But he didn't. He laughed, big and booming, a deep throaty sound that rumbled and shook his whole body. He flinched as he did so, and I gripped his shoulder to stop him.

"Stop. I haven't even finished bandaging you yet."

He took a deep breath and sat up enough to remove his shirt. I helped him get it off without moving the poultice, then wrapped it around his arm and tied it as tight as I could.

The bear still lay as it'd been, and despite its massive size, was whimpering like a child that'd just scraped his knee. The man scooted up to sit by its head and crooned, "Its gonna be alright, now. Tex is here to keep his big Fuzzy Wuzzy all safe."

"Don't call me that," the bear whined. "I told you, that's not my nickname. I have not, nor will I ever be, a Fuzzy Wuzzy bear!"

Tex shushed him. "Hey, now. I know. How about Teddy? You can be a Teddy bear."

"Stop it." The bear sniffed as I brought the water forward and grabbed an old scrap of cloth from my pack to use on him. "I already told you. My name is Killer. I'm a killer bear."

Tex spoke to the animal as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do, and his ease helped push back the panic battling to rise up and escape me. "This is gonna sting a bit," I warned.

"Oh, lord," the bear whined. His body trembled, breaths chuffed, and no sooner did I press the cloth to his wound, he fainted.

Tex heaved a sigh as he stared down at the bear's slack jawed face. "He's a killer alright." He looked up at me. "He kills any hope I have that he'll be of use in a fight." He jerked his chin toward the knife. "You should probably hurry up and finish before he wakes back up."