Bad Grrlz' Guide to Reality: The Complete Novels Wild Angel and Adventures in Time and Space with Max Merriwell (16 page)

From this vantage point, Sarah had watched with amazement as Max blundered past the sleeping grizzly. The man was as foolish as a pup just out of the den. How could he be unaware that a wounded bear was sleeping nearby? The air reeked of bear and of blood. The bushes had been broken where the bear had barged through them. Was he half-asleep to miss these warning signs?

In the wilderness, such inattention usually resulted in death. But Sarah was curious about Max. If she did not rescue him, that curiosity would never be satisfied.

When the bear reared, he was just below Sarah. Before the animal could drop to all fours and charge the man, Sarah tossed her lariat. The loop of rope settled over the grizzly’s mighty shoulders, tightening as the bear pulled against it. Sarah had looped the end of the lariat around the trunk of the pine tree, knotting it securely in place.

Feeling the pressure of the rope around his shoulders, the bear roared again and lunged against the restraint. The pine creaked, but held for the moment. The lariat, a stout cord braided of seven strands of buckskin, held firm for a moment.

The bear lunged again, throwing the entire weight of his body against the rope. The rope held, but the pine tree to which it was secured did not. The tree’s roots were shallow, and the bear’s lunge pulled it free of the cliff and sent it crashing down into the bushes below.

Sarah, feeling the trunk give way beneath her feet in the instant before it fell, leapt to one side, finding a foothold on another ledge. From there, she took in the situation at a glance. The grizzly was facing away from her, offering no good targets for her arrows.

The man was staring up at her. His hands were empty. It was that, in the end, that saved him. If he had lifted a rifle to fire at the bear, she would have left him to his fate. She did not like white men and their killing sticks. But he had no rifle.

The bear was biting at the rope that bound him. As Sarah watched, the strands of leather parted, giving way beneath his jaws. In a moment, the bear would be free. Then he would reach the man and crush him with a single blow.

Before that could happen, Sarah called to the bear in the language of Malila’s people. “Hey, Grandfather, you foolish bear, leave that man.” From her pocket, she snatched up a stone and hurled it at the bear, striking the animal square in the head. “Fight me. I am the mightiest of the wolves. I am here to do battle with you.”

The bear shook his head, angered by the blow. He turned away from Max, searching for the source of the rock and the shouting. Sarah waved her arms.

Max watched in awe. A slip of a girl, no more than a dozen years old, taunted the grizzly. An extraordinary girl—lithe and graceful, was dancing on a ledge so small that many men would have found it a terrifying place to stand still. Sunlight glistened on her golden skin, revealing well-developed muscles. Her hair was a halo of red-gold curls, a burst of glory against the gray granite.

As Max stared, she hurled another stone at the bear, laughing and shouting as the beast clawed at the cliff face, reaching up with powerful paws to swat at this pest. His blows fell just inches below her dancing feet.

The pine tree had fallen at the foot of the cliff. Scrambling with his hind feet, the grizzly gained a foothold on the fallen tree and lunged upward, reaching the ledge where the girl stood. But she was no longer there. An instant before the bear’s paw swept across the ledge, she had stepped upward to a tiny foothold a few feet higher than the ledge. With one foot on the rock and one arm hooked around the branch of a bush that clung to the cliff, she was lifting her bow, stringing an arrow. At the same time, the bear was gathering himself to lunge again.

The girl released her arrow, which embedded itself in the animal’s shoulder. The bear roared, biting at the arrow, then swatting at the cliff with its mighty paws. The girl, standing just beyond the bear’s reach, calmly strung another arrow.

Again, she lifted her bow and made a clean shot to the animal’s right eye from a distance of a few feet. The bear roared again. Pawing at its eye, the beast fell backward away from the cliff.

Max heard bushes snap as the bear’s body crashed into the thicket. The sound of the crash echoed from the cliff face.

Then there was silence. In the sudden hush, Max stared up at the girl on the cliff. She met his eyes, regarding him with steady confidence.

“Hello,” Max called, his voice uncertain. “Who are you?”

Still, the girl regarded him steadily, her brow furrowed slightly as if trying to make sense of his words. Then she glanced downward and made a growling, barking noise. Without looking at Max, she stepped down to the lower ledge, then dropped from his view behind the bushes.

A warbler trilled in the sudden silence. In the lake, a fish jumped, landing with a splash. Insects buzzed in the bushes. Max took a deep breath, drawing sweet air into his lungs. For a moment, he wondered if the whole incident could have been his imagination. Had he somehow dreamed of a savage girl who had rescued him from death? Moving slowly, Max made his way through the bushes to the foot of the cliff.

Sarah climbed down from the cliff to meet Beka, who had returned to the lake in time to see the grizzly fall. Now, Sarah thought, she and Beka would feast on grizzly meat. They could summon the pack to join the feast, for this carcass could provide enough meat for all.

She heard the man corning through the bushes toward the fallen bear, as clumsy as a bear himself. Would the man fight for a possession of the carcass? She didn’t think so. He would not, she thought, stand a chance against the weakest member of the pack.

She dropped to the ground by the great body of the bear. Matter-of-factly, she strode to the animal’s head to reclaim the arrows that were buried deep in the animal’s shoulder and eye. She tugged them free, then joined Beka, who was ripping at the bear’s exposed belly. Sarah drew her knife and used the sharp blade to slit open the abdominal cavity. She would skin the beast later and take the hide to Malila. The Indian woman would like that. While Beka chewed on the intestines, Sarah sliced off a fist-sized piece of the bear’s liver.

When Max came through the bushes, that is how he found his rescuing angel. She was sitting on the bear’s shaggy haunch, happily gnawing on a piece of liver. Her face and hands and naked chest were smeared with fresh blood. At her feet, a wolf was tearing at intestines dragged from the bear’s belly. The air reeked of blood and death.

As Max stepped into sight, both the girl and the wolf stopped their feeding. The wolf stared at him. Sarah dropped her free hand to her knife and studied him with eyes as blue as the mountain lake.

Max stood very still. He had to find out who this girl was. “I’m Max,” he said to Sarah. “Who are you?”

Sarah stared at the man. She didn’t understand his words, but she knew that he was speaking in words. Rather than growling to warn him off, she spoke to him in Malila’s language. “This kill is mine. If you are hungry, you may eat, but you may not carry any meat away. The kill belongs to my pack.”

Beka had risen to her feet, her eyes fixed on the man. She began to growl low in her throat, warning the man to leave now. Sarah slid off her perch on the boulder and squatted by the wolf, placing a hand on the animal’s head. The growling subsided.

“I’ll go back to camp,” Max said, feeling foolish. “Why don’t you stop by? I’ll make biscuits.” He backed away, keeping his face to the strange pair until the bushes hid them from sight.

Back at camp, the incident seemed like a nightmare. A terrifying bear, a rescuing angel, a savage wolf. But it was a dream that echoed Socks’s vision of many years before. A savage girl and her wolf companion, living far from civilization.

Max washed the cuts and scratches he had gotten from the bushes. He felt cold, even after he took off his wet boots, pulled on dry socks, put on his buckskin jacket. He sat on the granite slab beside the lake, warming himself in the sun. When his hands finally stopped shaking, he took up his pencil and drew the image that had burned itself into his mind.

He drew a young girl, dancing on a tiny ledge. Her face was beautiful, the features delicate and aristocratic. She was on the edge of puberty, her naked breasts just beginning to bud, her youthful body starting to take on a woman’s curves. A smiling girl, innocent and free. Below her, a snarling bear reached up, striving to swat the girl from her perch, to crush that young body. The beast’s curving claws glinted in the sun. The finished picture made Max shiver again, remembering that moment when it all seemed hopeless.

He turned the page and drew again. This time, the bear lay fallen in the bushes. He drew the savage bear’s claws, harmless now. The mighty paws were still; the beast had been conquered. The girl sat on the beast’s shaggy side, as comfortable as a lady in her drawing room. Her ragged trousers showed her muscular legs. The dark liver in her hand dripped blood onto her naked chest. But she was not concerned with her lack of clothing; she was not bothered by the blood. She was smiling. Innocent and triumphant.

He looked up from his second sketch and saw the wild girl, silently watching him from a few feet away. Her wolf sat at her feet. “Hello,” Max said, setting the notebook down on the rock. She stepped up onto the granite slab and came closer, studying his face. When she was just a foot away, she squatted beside him, still staring at his face. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled his scent.

He was fighting the urge to get up and move away from her intense scrutiny when she looked down at the notebook. She picked it up, squinting at the sketch.

“That’s you,” he said, feeling foolish but knowing he had to say something.

For the next hour, Max was subjected to a thorough inspection. The girl examined his notebook, his pencil, his wet boots, his socks, his clothing. When he showed her how the buttons on his shirt worked, she was delighted and spent several minutes buttoning and unbuttoning his cuffs. She tugged on his hair, comparing the color and texture to her own.

Throughout all this, the wolf watched, lounging at ease at the base of the granite slab while Max was poked and prodded. The girl had no sense of personal boundaries. She tugged on his hair and collar, sniffed his hands, and stood entirely too close for Max’s comfort. But he put up with these indignities.

And he studied her in return. Though he felt some qualms about being quite so close to a nearly naked girl, he put them aside. She seemed so comfortable that after a time he almost forgot her lack of clothes.

While she inspected his person and his possessions, he talked with her. She talked back in some kind of guttural babble. An Indian language, he thought. At first, she seemed frustrated that he could not understand her. Finally, she accepted that he did not and seemed willing—perhaps even eager—to learn his language.

She reached out a grimy hand and touched his bearded cheek. She frowned, then touched her own cheek. In her guttural language, she asked something.

“This is my beard,” he said. “You don’t have a beard.” “Beard,” she repeated, stroking his cheek again. “Beard.”

“That’s right.” He smiled and nodded. Then he touched his hair. “Hair.” He stroked her curls. “Hair.”

“Hair,” she repeated, touching her curls, his hair.

Then he tapped his chest. “Max,” he said. “I’m Max.”

She patted his chest. “Max,” she said. She patted her own chest. “Max,” she said.

“No. I’m Max.” He touched his chest again. “Max.” He tapped his head, his arm, his foot, repeating each time. “Max.” Then he pointed at her. “What is your name?”

Sarah stared at the man called Max. She pointed to herself. “Sarah,” she said. That was what her Mama had called her, what Malila called her now. Malila told her it was a name of great power.

The man’s eyes widened. “Sarah,” he said. “Sarah McKensie.” He said a great many words then, too fast for her to repeat. He was smiling and yet his eyes were wet with tears. He took her hand and held it tightly.

After talking for some time, he released her hand. He said something she didn’t understand and beckoned to her. She understood his gesture and followed him to his campsite. Beka hung back, licking her lips nervously, but Sarah encouraged her to follow. After a time, she did, making sure that Sarah was always between her and the man.

Sarah watched Max build a fire and make dinner. She wasn’t hungry—she had eaten her fill of bear meat that afternoon. But the strange foods intrigued her. She would not eat the salt pork, but she ate three biscuits with great enthusiasm. She gave the salt pork to Beka, who devoured it, keeping a watchful eye on Max while she ate.

As Sarah ate her fourth biscuit, Beka snuffled in her ear, then moved away. She returned a moment later, then moved away again. Her motions indicated that she was leaving, going to find the pack. Sarah rubbed Beka’s ears, an acknowledgment that she understood. The she-wolf left, but Sarah stayed with Max. She was interested in this man, unwilling to leave just yet.

As the sun set, the air grew chilly. Max went to his tent and came back with a red shirt that had seen better days. He handed it to her and demonstrated in pantomime how to put it on. She took the garment and studied it. She rubbed the cloth against her cheek. Soft and warm—she liked that.

With his help, she put her hands into the sleeves. He pulled the collar around her neck and buttoned a few buttons. The sleeves were far too long, and the shirt billowed around her, with enough space inside for another girl her size.

She shook her arms, watching the loose ends of the sleeves flop around, and laughed. She stood and spun around, letting the sleeves fly and the shirt billow. Such a silly garment. When she stopped spinning, Max beckoned her to him and rolled up the sleeves so they did not get in her way. He fastened her belt on top of the shirt. Sarah stroked the worn flannel, enjoying its warmth against her skin.

It was dark when Sarah heard Rolon’s voice, leading a chorus of howls. Beka had led the pack to the bear’s carcass. Sarah stood up and responded with a howl that echoed across the lake.

Max shivered, staring up at the girl. The firelight touched the delicate features of her face with crimson; her voice was that of a wild animal. She smiled at him and said something in the guttural language she had spoken when he met her at the bear carcass.