Leaving Blythe River: A Novel (6 page)

The sun felt strong and warm, but the wind carried an icy chill. Ethan had a heavy winter coat on, but no gloves. And nothing like the good boots he would need to go much farther. The road had begun a steady uphill grade, making him puff as he walked. He knew he couldn’t keep going for long. It was a strangely desperate feeling. He needed to be anywhere in the world except the inside of that house, yet he could feel himself forced back toward the safety of shelter.

He stopped and looked down at Rufus, who looked back at him. Then he sat. Right in the middle of the road. It’s not like any cars were about to come by. Rufus sat beside him. Ethan scratched behind the dog’s impossibly huge, floppy ears, and they stared down at the house in silence, breathing clouds of steam.

In time, a car actually did come up the road. Well, not a car exactly. A big white SUV. It turned into the driveway of his father’s new house. Ethan couldn’t see much from the distance, but he was ninety percent sure it had a light bar on the top, like some kind of rugged police vehicle.

He watched somebody get out. Maybe a man, or maybe just dressed enough like one that Ethan couldn’t tell the difference from so far away. He knocked on the door of the A-frame, whoever he was. Talked to Ethan’s father for a minute or two.

Then he started up the SUV again, turned it around in the driveway, turned up the road in Ethan’s direction, and began to drive toward him.

Ethan felt his heart hammer. He tried to swallow but seemed to have forgotten how.

His father had called the cops on him? That seemed to be what was going on. It was the only thing Ethan could figure. And for what? Running away? Is it really running away if you’re sitting in the middle of the road close enough to see your own house?

Still the vehicle kept coming, bouncing and rocking over the rutted, frozen dirt road.

Just for a moment, Ethan almost ran. But to where? He stood his ground—actually, sat his ground—and tried to calm his own shaking.

When the SUV got closer, Ethan was able to read the words on the side of it, painted within a green strip that ran the length of the vehicle. “Park Ranger.” With that National Park Service insignia that looked like an arrowhead.

The SUV pulled up right beside him in the road. The man driving wore one of those classic wide-brimmed ranger’s hats Ethan remembered from the bear cartoons he’d watched as a child.

The ranger powered down his window.

Ethan figured him to be maybe thirty, if that.

“Ethan Underwood?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, trying and failing to keep the words from trembling.

“You weren’t exactly what I was expecting. Your father said you were seventeen.”

“I
am
seventeen.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Your father asked me to come talk to you.”

“Because I ran out of the house? That’s a little . . .”

“Oh. Is that what you thought? No. Nothing like that. I didn’t drive out here to punish you for anything. He told me you were coming three days ago. He said you’ve lived in the city all your life. We thought it would be good if I showed you some basic moves to stay safe out here.”

He stepped out of the car and stood. And did not tower over Ethan the way most adults did. It was hard to tell from his sitting position, but Ethan guessed the man was only two or three inches taller than Ethan’s five-foot-two. Rufus stood and wagged enthusiastically at the ranger, who didn’t seem to notice.

The man reached a hand down for Ethan to shake.

Ethan took it. And shook it. He was embarrassed that his hand was still shaking, but it always took hours to calm the trembling once it had started.

Besides. You can get accustomed to embarrassment. You can get to the point where you don’t expect better.

Ethan pulled to his feet. Dusted off the seat of his jeans. He’d been right—he was nearly as tall as the ranger.

“Dave Finley,” the man said. “But you can call me Ranger Dave. That’s what most people call me.”

“Ranger Dave?”
he asked, not realizing it would sound rude until he asked it, and it did.

“That’s right. Problem?”

“No. Not at all.”
Except it makes me feel like I’m in a bad after-school special, is all,
he thought but of course did not say. “I thought the whole point of this place was that it was safe.”

“The point of the place?”

“Well. I mean the point of sending me to this place.”

“Every area has its own special dangers,” Ranger Dave said. “We thought it would be a good idea to teach you the proper use of bear spray.”

“There are
bears
out here?”

“Oh, yes. Quite a number of them.”

“What kind of bears?”

“Black bears. And a growing population of grizzlies.”

“Grizzly bears,” Ethan repeated. “My mom wanted me to feel safe, so she sent me to a place that has grizzly bears.”

“With the proper use of bear spray—”

“Aren’t grizzly bears the ones that come after you even if you’re minding your own business?”

“Not always. But they certainly can.”

“And maul people to death?”

“By using smart—”

“And they weigh, like, hundreds of pounds?”

“Yes, about four to seven hundred is the average for an adult male around here.”

Ethan realized his mouth was gaping open. He processed the information briefly and decided the bears might be a good thing. Because they might be his ticket out of here. He could just call his mom and tell her there were grizzly bears here. Which she must not know if she’d agreed to send him. Any fool could see he’d be better off on the streets with the muggers and the murderers. At least they didn’t weigh seven hundred pounds.

He could learn the proper use of bear spray and bring a can home to Manhattan with him.

“Couldn’t I just stay out of those mountains? I mean, I know I live less than a mile from this national wilderness place. But couldn’t I just not go in there?”

“The sign marking the boundary of the Blythe River National Wilderness is about a quarter of a mile up the road from where we’re standing,” Ranger Dave said. Sounding official. “You’re welcome to be on either side of it you want. But the bears can’t read. So I wouldn’t count on their staying inside the boundaries. My advice would be to carry the spray anytime you’re outside the house.”

“Like, I open the door and step outside so my dog can pee . . . I’m supposed to have bear spray on me?”

“A lot of people don’t. But it’s what we advise. I’d be especially careful taking out the trash. An awful lot of people run into bears at their trash cans.”

Ethan stood, mouth still open, wondering if Ranger Dave had brought some of the stuff. Because he realized he shouldn’t even have gone this far from the house without it. He had already made a potentially fatal mistake. He had no idea what he was doing out here. It wasn’t his fault, he thought. He’d tried to tell his mother he didn’t know what he needed to know to live in the wild.

Meanwhile Ranger Dave was unclipping his can of bear spray from his belt and beginning the demonstration.

It was a big can to have on you everywhere you go, Ethan thought. At least twice the size of a can of soda. It reminded him of a miniature fire extinguisher. He pictured going through the next year of his life doing everything with only one hand, because he had that big can in the other. Except he wouldn’t be here a year, he realized. Because the bears would be his ticket home. Who sends a traumatized teen out to live with a bunch of grizzly bears?

“Now, if you’re out on a longer hike,” Ranger Dave said, interrupting Ethan’s thoughts, “and you’re carrying a pack, you never want to put the bear spray in your pack. Big mistake. You want to put it on your belt, right where you can get to it. If you need it, you’re going to need it fast.”

Ethan’s head felt a little swimmy, so he sat down in the rutted road again and said nothing.

“Now. The first thing you want to do is check the expiration date on the bottom of the can. Make sure it’s not expired, or close to expired. Make sure it’s made specially for use on bears. You want to get one that says bear repellent or deterrent. But it’s not a repellent like mosquito repellent. You don’t spray it on your clothes. That’ll actually attract the bear. Now, most bear attacks happen when a bear is surprised at close range. So it’s a good idea to make some noise as you move along. Some people like to sing while they hike. Or give a shout now and again.” Ranger Dave cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey, bear! Hey, bear!”

“You sure they won’t think you’re calling them?”

Ranger Dave laughed. But Ethan hadn’t meant it as a joke.

“The bears around here don’t come when you call them, so don’t worry about that. Okay. Let’s say a bear is approaching you. And he’s close. Make sure the wind is in the right direction. You don’t want to spray this into a strong wind. You won’t like having it come back into your face.”

“Wait,” Ethan said.

“Okay. What?”

“How do you choose your direction? You have to spray it in the direction of the bear, right?”

“Well . . . yes.”

“So what if the wind is coming from behind him? I’m supposed to turn my back to the bear and spray it the other way?”

“No. You have to spray it in the direction of the bear, like you said.”

“So I have no control over whether I spray it into the wind or not.”

“You just do the best you can with that,” Ranger Dave said. Ethan gathered from his tone that he was running out of patience with Ethan as a student.

“That doesn’t really explain much. Let’s say I have to spray that stuff right into the wind, because that’s where the bear is. Then what? What would you call doing the best I can?”

“I’d say turn your head and shield your eyes as much as possible. It’s going to hurt. But probably not as much as a grizzly.”

Ethan pulled to his feet again.

“I’ve heard enough of this,” he said, and began to walk down the road toward the house.

“But the demonstration isn’t over.”

“Oh, yes, it is,” Ethan said over his shoulder. Then he stopped. Turned back to Ranger Dave. “Does my father know the proper use of bear spray?”

“He does. Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t
he
give me the lesson?”

Ranger Dave seemed to chew that over for a minute. Then he said, simply, “Guess you’d have to ask him about that.”

Ethan banged back into the house, throwing the door open so hard it hit the wall. His father jumped. He was standing in the kitchen. Still. Or again. Still looking a bit aimless.

It felt good to show his anger in front of his father. He’d been waiting to do that for a long time.

“Are. You. Freaking. Kidding me,” Ethan said. None of the one- or two-word sentences came out as a question.

“What? Are we still talking about what we were talking about when you stomped out? It’s hard to keep track with you.”

“No, now we’re talking about eight-hundred-pound grizzly bears who hide near your trash cans and maul you to death.”

“That’s why I had the ranger—”

“Right. Thanks so much for Ranger Dave. He was a treat. How could Mom bring me to this place by telling me it would be good for me because it’s so damned safe?”

“Ninety percent of bear attacks are shut down immediately when they get the spray in their faces.”

“Ninety percent.”

Ethan’s father seemed to realize his misstep. His face took on a sheepish look, one Ethan wasn’t used to seeing. Ethan tried to remember the last time he’d seen the slightest crack in his father’s confidence.

Noah opened his mouth but no words came out.

“So one in ten people who use the stuff get mauled anyway. Those aren’t the best odds, are they,
Dad
?” Ethan threw the word almost tauntingly. A clear insult. “I want to go home. Give me a can of that bear stuff and let me go home. I’ll stay alone if I have to. I’ll carry that crap around in Manhattan. I bet it’d stop more than nine out of ten muggers. Look. This is stupid. I don’t want to be here. Mom arranged this because she thought it would be safe, so it would be good for me. I’m just going to call her and tell her about the bears.”

“She knows there are grizzlies up here. Everybody knows that, Ethan. We’re less than a hundred miles from Yellowstone. Even you would have known if you’d thought about it.”