The trail narrowed as Cully navigated over decaying tree roots. Wind rustled through alder and hemlock branches overhead. High above her, snow-capped mountains stood sentinel.
Cully hiked alone and reached behind her to pat the side pockets holding the bear spray canisters, one secured on each side, their safety clips already off. She and her daughter Ali had often run into bears, had a few encounters with moose, and two young wolves once circled them. They’d always survived, until ten days ago.
“We’re sorry, ma’am.” The two officers sat awkwardly in her living room. “We’d like to ask if you can come in and make a final identification?”
Cully had hoped against hope, but when the sheet pulled back, she saw her daughter’s face and body, mauled by a bear. But Ali could handle a bear, knew enough never to step between a mother and its cub, how to talk in a low deep voice and back slowly away. Knew to sing as she walked the trail, giving any bear plenty of notice a human traveled the trail.
Cully suspected Ali had encountered something worse. She forced the trooper to show her the photos taken at the scene. No bear had pulled Ali’s jeans down, nor left pieces of salmon nearby as bait. The troopers knew it too. They walked the trail half a dozen times over the two weeks after hikers found her daughter’s body.
“Trouble is,” said the trooper, “If we find anyone suspicious, we can haul them in for questioning, but we’ll still need to make the case.” He didn’t need to say more. The mauling had destroyed evidence.
“Have there been others?”
“One, on the Devil’s Creek Trail, we found her after we found your daughter.” Eight miles away.
“Was she mauled as well?”
“Yes.”
“Where did they find her?”
“Down by the river.”
“With salmon running?”
He nodded. The sadness in the trooper’s eyes let her know he saw what she did. “We’ll keep working on the case. Someone’s got to have seen something.”
Faint hope offered a grieving mother. By the end of the year, Ali’s and the other woman’s death would slide into the cold case file unless a third woman escaped from the attackers. Or someone took matters into their own hands.
The trail widened, fallen trees offering a view of the shimmering river far below. Branches creaked and cracked. Cully shifted the pack from her back and picked up her third bear spray canister. If anyone asked, “why three?” she could easily say, “I forgot it was in there. When I tossed in my windbreaker and water bottle, I didn’t notice it.”
“Hey, pretty lady.” A rough voice greeted her from the woods, and a man emerged. Large, gray stubble on his jaw, not bad looking, but wearing a filthy t-shirt. She heard another man step onto the trail behind her.
“Want some company?” said the first.
“You can’t be too careful,” said the second. “We’ll go with you aways and make sure you’re okay.”
A third man stepped onto the trail in front of her. “Mighty brave of you to be hiking alone. This isn’t a trail that gets lots of hikers. And there are bears.” He drew out the word, as if to underscore how frightened she needed to be.
Her heart didn’t race. She’d known it had to be something like this.
“I’m okay.” Cully made her voice tremble.
The men bought her act and closed in. The man in front of her shoved his index finger under her chin, lifted it up, and then flicked his finger across her lips.
“No need to worry,” said Gray Stubble, poking his leering face into the woman’s field of vision. “Aaahh!”
They’d been confident they’d trapped her and didn’t focus on the bear spray in her hand. It shot straight into Gray Stubble’s mouth and Finger Flicker’s eyes when she whipped her hand up. Their shrieks echoed through the woods as they rolled on the ground, clutching at their burning eyes.
“Bitch!” The man who was behind her tackled her to the ground. She fell face forward but broke her fall with her hands and bent arms. He grabbed her hair, yanked her up, and slammed her head into the ground. Blood spurted from her nose. She pulled her second bear spray canister from its pocket and sprayed it over her shoulder.
“Aiee!”
The other men staggered to their feet. She did as well, swaying, and emptied her canister on them, then grabbed her third, swiped her sleeve across her eyes, emptied the third canister on the trio and ran.
She knew the trail, and headed uphill toward a small stream where she dunked her head, soaking her eyes and nose, and then pulled off her outer shirt to get rid of the bear spray residue left on it. The shirt underneath it had escaped the spray.
Would they follow her? She didn’t care. She jogged down the small trail used by bears that offered a shortcut to the trailhead.
Once there, she used the cell phone she’d left in the car and called the troopers and then the Seward Police and gave both groups the same information. “I’m Cully Jasper. When you found my daughter’s body, you didn’t have evidence. Three men will stumble off Johnson Trail South soon, their faces reddened by bear spray. They attacked me, but I defended myself. Can you get to the trailhead fast?
“We’re on our way. Hang tight.”
She locked her car and took her cell and gun into the bushes. She wanted Ali alive, but if she couldn’t have that, she knew what Ali would want. Justice.
(c) 2024 Lynne Curry
Thank you for reading. Here’s the cabin where I wrote this story,
