The Bear and the Darkness: Excerpt from “When Embers Fade.”

In the pale moonlight, the bear’s silhouette glistened in the cutblock, its bulk shifting with a quiet menace. Eli froze, the air around him suddenly colder as his breath stuttered in his chest. Yelling wasn’t an option. Startling the bear could drive it straight toward the tents, where the others were fast asleep. Calling for help might send his naive rookies sprinting right into danger. 

Instead, he gripped his headlamp, its weak beam trembling as he aimed it toward the main campsite. A couple hundred feet away, Harold and Handsome Doug’s laughter drifted through the night, oblivious and carefree. Eli’s mind raced. Maybe they know Morse code, he thought, the absurdity cutting through the fear. But who am I kidding—I don’t even know it. 

He waved his hand in front of the light, trying to form the S.O.S. signal. Three quick flashes, two slower ones, three quick again. That’s got to be it, he thought, his pulse hammering in his ears. 

The crunch of undergrowth grew louder, the sound of the bear’s heavy paws closing the distance. Panic tightened his chest as he tried the S.O.S. again, his movements more frantic, his breaths shallow and quick. 

"Aww, look at Eli. He misses us already," I said to Handsome Doug, nodding toward the flickering light display he was putting on. 

"What a guy," Handsome Doug said, grinning. We both gave him a casual wave goodnight. 

"Eli must really miss us. He’s coming back," I said, noticing his headlamp bouncing erratically along the path toward us. 

His hurried movements caught my attention, and as he neared camp, he stumbled over a stump hidden in the shadows. "Jesus, you idiots! Didn’t you see my signal? The bear is over by the tents," he snapped, his voice tight with frustration. 

"You mean you weren’t having a one-man rave?" Handsome Doug asked, his grin unfazed. 

Even in the darkness, I could see how thoroughly unimpressed Eli's expression was. Without a word, he swung his flashlight toward the cutblock. The beam caught the silhouette of a lumbering creature as it darted behind a fallen tree. 

"See? I told you," he exclaimed, his voice sharp with exasperation and a tinge of fear. 

The bear was circling our camp, lurking just beyond the reach of the firelight, waiting for the perfect moment to move in and claim its dinner. The three of us swept our headlamps through the darkness, straining to catch a glimpse of its hulking form. 

The previous night, the bear had snuck into our camp and torn into the garbage bags holding our leftovers and scraps. Even though we had sealed them and piled them discreetly, it was not enough to deter the wild animals. Of course, they would be attracted. How could they not be? The remnants of T-bone steaks and chicken wings, fruit cores and peels, were an open invitation. 

What were we thinking? This was not our first overnight, but it was the first time we had set up a spike camp and stayed in the same remote campsite for days on end. We should have known better. 

I knew that once this bear had gotten a taste of the easy pickings, it was going to keep coming back. Our sloppiness had drawn it in, and I didn’t think we needed a game warden showing up to shoot it or set a bear trap. Bear watch—that would be our solution. 

There was little to do on this fire but patrol during the cooler parts of the day, so we could afford to lose a couple of hours of sleep at night. From now on, two people would stay awake, cycling shifts as lookouts for the bears. The campfire would always stay lit, and we would stay on high alert. 

Handsome Doug wrote everyone’s name on slips of paper and tossed them into a hat, pulling them out two at a time. From there, he created a schedule for the bear watch and assigned shifts. 

I ended up paired with Handsome Doug for the first watch, from 22:00 to midnight. The rest of the Unit had already retired to their tents, leaving the two of us to keep watch over the crew as the camp settled into an uneasy quiet. 

A loud snap came from behind us, and we spun around, hearts pounding. It was Shawn, wandering over for a bite to eat. 

"Dammit, Shawn! The bear is back. Grab a pulaski and get over here," Handsome Doug barked at his rookie. 

I reached down and grabbed a spare pulaski. The Shovel of a Thousand Truths would have to take a backseat to this adventure. 

"There it is. Down the road," Eli whispered. 

A hundred feet away, the bear appeared on the dirt road, moving deliberately toward us. Its eyes caught the beam of our flashlights, gleaming like nightmare fuel. With each heavy step, its head swayed, revealing the sheer size of its massive frame. 

"It’s coming for you, Shawn," Handsome Doug whispered. 

I tightened my grip on the pulaski, holding it firmly with both hands. "Here’s the plan," I said. "We’re going to line up on the road. Once it gets 50 feet in front of us, we’re going to charge it, screaming at the top of our lungs." 

"You’re fucking kidding me," Eli said, his voice edged with disbelief. 

"Bears are pussies. It’s not going to stand up to the four of us. Trust me." 

We lined up shoulder to shoulder on the road in front of our camp, our grips tightening on our weapons as the bear closed the distance. Its movements remained deliberate, purposeful. This thing was on a mission, and it was coming for its meal. 

I glanced at Handsome Doug. His grin, the one that never seemed to leave his face, was gone. He looked at me, his knuckles white around the handle of his pulaski. "Holy shit. This is actually happening," he whispered to himself. 

We stood in tense silence as the bear closed the distance. Fifty feet. Forty. The stillness of the night made every step seem louder, heavier. 

"Any time now," Handsome Doug muttered under his breath. 

"Okay, on my count," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Three... two... one—" 

"Arrrrrrghhhhhh!" The four of us screamed, our voices ripping through the night. Pulaskis raised high, we charged straight at the bear, our feet pounding the dirt road. Adrenaline surged through me, overriding the fear, sharpening every sound, every detail.  

The bear froze. Its eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, it felt like the bear was staring into my soul. Twenty feet. Fifteen. 

It didn’t move. 

My throat dried. "Stop!" I shouted, throwing my arm out to halt the charge. Gravel skidded under our boots as we stumbled to a halt, weapons still raised. 

The bear stood its ground, towering and immovable, like some primal force of nature. Its breath puffed into the cold night air, visible even in the faint glow of our headlamps. My mind raced. What now?  

"Back up. Slowly," I said, my voice barely more than a rasp. "Whoa, bear. Whoa, bear." Each step backward felt agonizingly slow. "Please... just fuck off," I added, the last part coming out louder than I intended. 

The bear tilted its massive head, as if considering its next move. The moment stretched unbearably, every second dragging like an eternity. 

Eli bent down, grabbed a rock, and hurled it toward the bear, the stone skipping past its massive paws.  

The bear’s head snapped toward the noise, its dark eyes narrowing. For a moment, none of us dared to breathe. Then, without a sound, it turned and lumbered back into the cutblock, vanishing into the shadows. 

"I thought you said bears were pussies," Eli mocked, a smirk tugging at his face. 

"Well, it must have seen you and thought you were a midnight snack," I shot back. 

Ever since crew picture day, when we lined up tallest to shortest and I kept having to tell Eli to move farther down the short line, he’d had a bit of a complex about his height around me. 

"I hate you," he said with a smile. 

"I love you too, buddy." 

Tents along the cutblock began to glow as flashlights flicked on, one by one. Curious and groggy, heads started poking out, voices overlapping as they asked about the screaming. 

The four of us gathered around the campfire, seeking refuge in its warmth as we stoked it to a roaring blaze. Bursts of laughter erupted as we replayed the absurdity of charging a bear, the sound echoing through the cutblock like a taunt, mocking the bear for daring to go after our leftovers. 

At midnight, my watch ended. Dési and Mango Dan arrived to relieve us, taking their place around the campfire. Before heading back to my tent, I grabbed a faller’s axe, feeling a little better with the extra protection by my side. 

As I zipped myself into my sleeping bag, thoughts of a revenge-fueled bear tearing into my tent filled my head. My axe lay beside me, ready to swing should my imagination become reality. 

I did some quick math. With 16 other people in their tents, the odds of the bear choosing me were just over 6%. Satisfied that those were odds I could live with, I let the fear drift away and faded into a deep sleep.