I tried to rest, I did, but every sound was a nightmare, every time I closed my eyes I saw something worse, and the wound on my head wouldn't stop bleeding. The only thing I could think to do was to try and cauterize the wound with the lighter and the spade- I made one poor attempt, burned myself without stopping the bleeding and after that passed out.

Light crept through cracks in the ceiling. Speckled sunshine warmed my hair as I awoke, feeling as though somehow sleep had drained more energy than replaced.

A low grunt jerked my head into fossil-lined sandstone. "Ouch" was an understatement.

There in the low entrance of my makeshift den stood a rangy cub. Dirt and blood matted its snowy pelt. "Occupied," I mumbled, grabbing the metal lighter from the blanket folds. At once a fire light down my stiff, blood-encrusted arm. If I wasn't freezing, I'd have been in absolute agony at even the wrinkle of the coat against the wound.

Grimacing, I pressed the lighter. Small tongues of flame licked the ceiling at thumb's command.

The cub's head bobbed in time to the dancing glow. It teetered left and right, unsure of this strange magic, then the spell wore off and it stuck its legs stiff and straight and bulldog'd straight to my knees.

"Whoa, buddy," I said, twisting like a contortionist to escape an encounter with the straggly mop of a cub. Tiny claws connected with my wrist. The lighter hit the wall and extinguished. My fingers gripped the rough spade handle. "I don't want to hurt you."

Paws stabilized on my shins, the cub sank its teeth into a blanket corner and tugged. Using the rounded spade tip, I poked the bear's shoulder. Onto its back it toppled, forelegs tucked against chest like some bewildered, fuzzy beetle. Before it could cry for help, I administered a second, gentler prod.

"Out," I hissed, clanging the spade flat against the wall.

It shrank to the entrance, lingering with a baleful, red-eyed stare.

I scowled back.

These days, polar bears were featured on Save-the-Planet ads left and right. Either the camera added pounds of fluff, or a mutant prowled the Arctic. The cub's fur lacked poof. The head was boxy, not round. Tundra dwelling ursine listened with flat ears—the ones this cub rubbed against my shelter wall were pronounced.

"You're not from around here, are you?" I asked.

The cub flopped onto its haunches. Grunt.

"Are you sick?"

Grunt.

Well, I imagined grunts anyway. It was probably the concussion talking.

On top of physical disproportions, this cub was scrawny, not more than twenty pounds. Its skinny neck extended to allow a hard-working pink nose to pick the scent off my coat. Ditching the bloody parka should have been top priority, but night without its auxiliary warmth was certain death. I'd barely kept warm while I slept. Any additional heat loss would doom me.

Its paw slid across the threshold, testing the limitations of enforcement.

I hesitated to bang the walls a second time. At this elevation the wind spoke in keening howls. Polar bears were ambush predators. In the end I'd rather strain to hear its mom than risk drawing more attention, so I shifted the spade into my left hand and let the cub claim the entrance.

A hot line drizzled over my cheek and pitter-pattered onto the blanket in dark splotches. My strength drained. Sweat beaded my brow despite feeling like I'd been shut in a meat locker. If I wasn't sitting, I'd probably have fainted.

"I've gotta go home," I whispered to the cub and pressed the cleanest thing I had, the blanket, against my head in the hopes of forming a clot. I should have been resting instead of talking, but now that I'd had a chance to think, I was beginning to get nervous about falling asleep with a head injury. "You should, too. Run along. It's past ten o'clock and I bet your mother doesn't know where you are."

The cub hunched its back and lunged for the shiny blanket.

"Leave it!" I tapped the spade across its snout and pushed, holding back a second charge. This wasn't a hyperactive puppy, and the issue wasn't play-biting.

Growling like a revved scooter, the cub squared itself and tried to leap onto my arm. It slipped against the spade, scratching the back of my hand.

"Leave it." I repeated the firm tap, thrusting the spade forward to discourage against future attacks.

The cub whimpered and pawed its snout.

"You're okay. I didn't hit you hard," I said, checking my head. Fresh blood oozed over my nail. Crap.

Cautiously this time, the cub sniffed the spade's edge. Head tilted as if seeking permission, one paw froze mid-swipe.

"Be my guest, I said, shrugging. I relinquished the weapon into the minute claws of my enemy. Realistically a spade was unnecessary for a bear of this size and state, and with a blocked entrance nothing worse could intrude.

While the cub coddled the spade and sampled a dinged edge, I stuffed the blanket into its own pocket and retrieved the lighter, flipping the flame on and off. The gooey head injury was on its way to clotting after reopening it (add unstable pressure next to not heating the blade enough on my list of dumb things I'd done since escaping murder). For the time being I focused on resting without sleeping, but relaxation was near impossible knowing a baby bear was nearby, ready to steal my blanket or bite off an ear at a moment's weakness. If the fog had lifted, now was as good a time as any hike to a higher elevation and get my bearings.

I wished I'd joined the girl scouts or watched Thursday night reruns of Survivor Man with the Logan and his pals. I had a two-thirds filled water bottle and no food. Pickings were slimmer out here than vegetables at Grandma Ruth's pig roast. Excluding blood loss and inevitable infection, I needed to reach Longyearbyen or another settlement soon.

Minutes later a quick pocket-check confirmed that my pitiful supplies were packed, except for one. I reached for the spade.

The cub growled at the offending hand, laid its paw atop mine, and gnawed at the handle. Leaning forward, I snatched the tool and pushed the cub's chest with my boot. Its hind leg slipped. Pebbles shifted. With momentum on my side I sent the bear gently tumbling ten yards or so.

Outside, the fog had thinned to near transparency. Gray haze overspread the lake, but above the waterline the barren landscape had regained its visibility. With the midnight sun in full effect, hours and days were indeterminate. As I crawled out, I had no idea what time it was or if it was really morning.

The valley lay exposed, open, and presently absent one hungry mama bear, while the ridge above promised a difficult ascent but safer path. Traversing a higher elevation lowered the odds predators would reach me before I saw them. The constant wind would either misdirect my scent or, as an anxious feeling in my gut suggested, distribute it.

Within twenty feet I acquired an ankle bitter. Keeping on a robust pace with a cub charging between my legs and tugging on boot strings proved impossible.

"Get off," I grumbled, but she was stuck on my boots like a bad hangover. "Go away." If this were a zoo encounter or an educational seminar I wouldn't waste the opportunity to play with a baby bear, but this cub wasn't roly-poly and it didn't have a bottle to pacify its hunger. Fiddling with my ponytail, I stopped to consider my options.

Tooth snared by a lace loop, the cub untied the knot. As the lace loosened, it held my boot down and pulled harder than a robin yanking a February worm. Enough was enough. I lifted the cub by the scruff of its neck and checked its undercarriage.

"So you're a female pain in the ass." I sighed. She was skin bones beneath that filthy coat. I cradled her, snapping jaws faced outward, until we'd reached a suitably high boulder. "Try to get me now," I taunted, plopping her on the precipice. The stone wasn't high enough to strand or injure her, just tall enough to let me escape.

She toed the edge, dipping a front paw into space. Determination filled her red eyes as she wiggled her bottom and readied for the jump.

The second the loops pulled snug on my shoe I was gone. My thighs burned from last night or yesterday morning or whenever it was, as I started jogging up toward the ridgeline. An adult might destroy me in a race, but outrunning a cub was a piece of cake.

A pleading, desperate moan near-drowned the clatter of loose stones underfoot.

My gut told me not to, but I turned.

The little cub lay along the edge, front paws daintily crossed. When my eyes fell on that hopeful red stare, her head tilted the way Ellebelle's did when the clock chimed six-thirty and Mom's key turned in the latch.

With the words of every camp counselor running through my head, I eased back down the slope. Perpendicular pitches, even on short descents, often hurled the unwary onto their hands and knees.

At the rock I retrieved her. Using my arm like a branch, she dug her claws into my sleeve and climbed onto my trunk. Wincing as she kicked my ribs, I re-positioned her to support her butt with one hand and bounced her like my baby cousins.

Her tongue tickled my chin. I flinched away and laughed. "You're cuter than you have any right to be, you know that?" She licked until the skin had been cleaned of blood and sweat. Disgusting, and yet somehow comforting.

Back in Boston I'd planned on someday rescuing a dog. I thought college might grant me the opportunity to at least foster, but my apartment had a no-pet policy. Until Stir-fry and I moved in, Becky'd violated the rules through Mr. Gills I, II, III, and Larry. Her bettas were easily smuggled, even Stir-fry wasn't an issue, but a barking, pooping beast was simply untenable.

"How about this: you can stay with me until your mom appears or I drop dead," I said, testing my balance with the additional weight. She felt light for a cub, but my strength was fading fast.

She nuzzled into my throat, so I hugged her close and tangled my fingers in that warm, dirty fur, resolving to carry her a little further. I didn't understand the reason or duration, but I recognized a truce when I saw one.

Hours passed. At least, with my exhaustion the ascent felt that way. With fifteen yards to go and the sun hot on my back, we breaked.

This was the sort of ambiguous slope rated somewhere between small mountain and giant hill. Thanks to grade steepness, however, the distance to the peak had been a huge underestimate on my part. In survival situations mistakes killed; another miscalculation might prove deadly.

My stomach mimicked the cub's thin growls, but I was sadder for her than I was about myself. At least I'd had some protein in the past day or so. When had the cub last eaten anything of substance?

At least the view was distracting. Thousands of screaming birds rode thermals overhead. Sunlight pushed away the low-lying fog and spilled across the valley. Distant mountains lay encased in glacial snow whiter than fresh meringues. The world was at peace, unfettered from the pollution of humanity. Time marched change onward but here in this arid landscape centuries froze.

The cub trundled beside me, panting as she heaved herself onto a flat stone and went belly-up. Delicate paw pads flexed into the thermal currents as the wind cooled her exposed fluff.

Splitting my water rations was a stupid idea but I did it anyway, cupping my hand and pouring a little so she might wet her mouth. A soft trill, the warble Dad used to call the nesting cardinals outside the Brownstone, got her attention. She rolled onto her stomach and sniffed the contents of my hand, initially turning away, but then her tongue dipped in once, twice. Pretty soon the water was gone and my hand a mess, but my high spirits managed to get my aching body upright and staggering.

"You stay here."

Grunt. Terns zigzagged in through the air, occasionally folding their wings and darting near enough to touch. The cub's red eyes followed their movements.

My knees quivered with exhaustion, but only a shale boulder barred me from the peak. With a sudden rush of energy I jogged the last twenty feet into blue sky. My feet realized the edge before the rest of me. Rocks crumbled in slow motion. My foot slipped.  Shrieking, I landed hard on my ass and scrambled back until the plunge disappeared. Took me several minutes before I gathered the courage to scoot over and look.

The dank stench of seawater and bird poop stole what little breath I had left. The scent was all the motivation my stomach needed to clench. With one hand clutching my gut and the other cemented to the cold solid ground, I looked down.

Puffins clung to whitewashed cliffs. Several walruses, meaty walls of rippling muscle and fat, lounged across the painted sands. The more daring herd members surveyed the busy shoreline from the peace of drifting ice floes.

Exhaustion and queasiness got the better of me. Tilting my head back, I basked in sunshine and let the wind dry my sweat. A few minutes later, I scanned the shoreline for a glimpse of safety. No cove resembled the queen's drop off point or the wide stretch of Longyearbyen's stony beach, but then again everything looked different in person instead of on a tattered navigator's map.

A plume of smoke rose through a faraway bend, a faint billowing on the serpentine coast of inlets and coves. A coal plant provided the lion's share of heat and electricity to the Longyearbyen settlement. Was that its smokestack? I slapped my cheek, sipped water and looked again. Still there. Every emotion filtered through my mouth and I laughed, running a hand through my tangled hair. I had a chance!

The shore promised flat walking, an easier task than the uneven terrain I'd scaled thus far, but the jagged, slick white rock I'd have to descend, barehanded and without a harness, made the decision for me. Not to mention the difficulties of finding a place to overnight what with walruses occupying the beach. For a while I watched a big male sleep, his rest broken by the occasional head roll.

Chuff.

"Come to check on me, have you?" I asked. Nose aloft, the cub ambled straight for the edge. Gathering her thin ribs and sagging stomach, I moved her into my lap. "Not so fast, Amy."

The name slipped out, a stuffed bear from childhood named after the poet Amy Lowell, and as soon as it did I couldn't take it back. Amy grumbled and tried to wriggle free, but she was easy to control, too easy. She puffed her cheeks and clicked her teeth and that was the end of it. Without her mother she'd die, but my gut said I wouldn't walk away from any mother-daughter reunion.

"We're going home," I murmured against pricked ears.

***

After hiking as far as our legs could carry us, then as far as my legs could carry Amy, we spent the night on a sheltered ledge, toes inches from a steep plummet into crashing waves. Amy passed the time snuggled in my lap, a cherubic comfort I wasn't quick to overlook, not when she was all I had. With the sun never dipping below the horizon and strange bellows carried on the winds, I couldn't say that I slept any and certainly felt weary waking.

Sometime during the pseudo-night the plume of smoke had disappeared, but even if I lived to be eighty-one, I'd bet good money on remembering its exact location.

Closing in on the smoke's origin renewed my belief that Longyearbyen stood no more than half a day's hike away. Twenty-four hours from now I'd kick back eight glasses of water and stuff my face with the fattiest foods in town.

The thought of encountering Kasper there tempered my joy. A finger didn't mean he was dead. I knew how it worked in the movies. No body, no proof.

But to see him again meant I'd be alive, and that was my goal for today: arrive alive. I'd worry about why he attacked me after I was hydrated and Amy was safe.

Our journey along the cliffs was windy but uneventful. By midday I was hot, crabby, and shaking the bottle for the last drop of water. Scattered pools transformed into divine oases, beckoning the thirsty for one refreshing sip. As dry as my tongue felt, I passed on each. There were too many bird droppings in the area.

Amy guzzled and rolled her way through every stagnant puddle and appeared fine, but with my luck a mouthful now led to dysentery later and I'd be dead before the town physician's diagnosis. Happy as I was she wouldn't dehydrate, in my heart I knew her clock ticked toward expiration. Overnight, Amy had slowed. She was a different cub wakened- lethargic, quiet, subdued.

"Don't quit on me now, kiddo," I pleaded as she trailed ten feet behind me. We'd seen nesting colonies of terns and other species, but their eggs, the ones not already hatched, were always out of reach despite my best efforts. We had to reach the smoke source.

East to west, a thin crest of eroded stone connected the last mountainous ridge to a series of rocks I'd have to climb to reach a short plateau. From there it'd be a straight shot across to the smoke. On either side of us, the slope united the valley with the sea. Bleached bone and cracked antlers littered the ground. Amy was a breath away from blending in. Wheezing, she dragged her paws along the crossing.

"When we hit town I'll buy all the salmon in the fish market," I promised, scooping her against my chest. Harsh wind and time had broken the rocks to softballs. With Amy in my arms we slipped and stumbled across, threatened by a deadly tumble on either side.

Halfway there, she fidgeted. Her body strained against my arms, red eyes fixed on the valley, where a polar bear had begun its ascent. Two black eyes met mine, expressionless as a shark's. My jaw dropped, but no scream worked itself free.

The bear launched into a sprint.

I bolted for the far side. With every step my feet sank deeper into the stones, making each yard a thousand times slower than the last. Amy's claws pinched my shoulder, nothing compared to the damage of the adult's ever-widening maw. My foot hit the wrong rock. Momentum ripped Amy from my arms. The adult's roar drowned her wail. Feet from the boulders, I slammed into the ground face-first and tumbled. Rocks, broken bone and brief sights of shore flashed past. The bear's weight created an avalanche of bruising stones. In a last ditch effort I scrambled upright, spade in hand.