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paws.
    Finally he managed to get the pocket in his cargo pants unbuttoned—too much going on, trying to think of too many things at one time—and pulled out the canister of spray. It felt terrifyingly small in his hand. He needed more than this, he needed a big can … several big cans. Hell, if that thing came after him, he needed a gun. That was a jarring thought, because he didn’t believe in hunting. He never carried a weapon; he came up here to get closer to nature, to enjoy the solitude and beauty of the mountain.
    Solitude wasn’t so hot at the moment, and Danny didn’t see beauty, he couldn’t see anything except a mass of matted fur, and teeth and claws, and feral dark eyes. He thought of Heather, and how maybe she was right about staying close to modern conveniences. He wished he’d stayed home instead of escaping to themountain, and if he got out of this he might not stop taking his camping trips, but he’d definitely make sure his canister of pepper spray was bigger.
    He stumbled, righted himself, held on to a bush to steady himself as he navigated a particularly steep section.
    The bear left the path, coming straight toward him.
    Oh God. Not water, then. The bear wanted
him
.
    This was wrong. This wasn’t the way bears were supposed to act. He didn’t have any food on him. This wasn’t a female protecting its cubs, and the bear didn’t seem to be wounded or sick, which were supposed to be the only reasons a black bear would attack a human. A grizzly, yeah, they were more aggressive, but a black bear was supposed to be
timid
.
    Maybe it was just curious. He didn’t care. All he wanted was for the thing not to get any closer to him. “Go away,” Danny said, trying to sound authoritative, but his voice wavered and squeaked like a little kid’s.
    The bear lowered its head and swung it back and forth, a deep, coughing growl rumbling in its throat. Danny fumbled the safety off the pepper spray and held it out at arms’ length. The wind … which way was the wind blowing? He didn’t want to get a facefull of pepper spray. The left; he could feel the wind on the left side of his face, so he should spray to the left of the bear. What was the distance? The instructions on the can said it would spray thirty feet, or something like that. Not yet, then; the bear wasn’t close enough.
    God, he was supposed to let the thing get
closer
?
    Just then the bear charged, roaring, claws digging into the ground.
    It happened so fast he had almost no time to react. He began spraying as he took several quick steps back, but his aim was off, too high, and the bear was coming at him under the yellow cloud of spray. The footing was too treacherous; his feet slipped out from under him and he went down hard on his back, pulled thereby the weight of his backpack, as helpless as a turtle. Then the bear was on him, hitting him like an avalanche, just as powerful and overwhelming. The sound was deafening, the smell hot and fetid, fur greasy and matted; he caught a fast glimpse of those dark feral eyes, something mean and disturbingly intelligent in them.
    There was still some spray in the canister and he managed to hit the release and got the bear in the face, but it was too close, the pepper got him, too, and he lost his breath, his sight. Blindly he swung his walking stick up, frantically trying to get it between himself and the bear as if he could pry the bear away, hold those hundreds of pounds off him with what was effectively a toothpick.
    The bear snorted, shook its head. Danny tried to scoot away but one massive paw flashed out and caught his scalp, peeling skin and hair down over his face. He heard agonized screaming, deep and raw, but the sound was at a distance. He didn’t feel any pain so he couldn’t be the one making the noise, maybe someone was nearby who could help him, someone who could—
    Then the bear bit down on his head.
    For a brief flash of time, he could hear the screams blending with the coughing