Chase Maverick's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Chase pushed back out through the cave mouth with eggs and berries bundled in his torn shirt. He grinned. Home was close, and the fire might still burn. But the slope split into three paths below the twisted tree, and the trees looked the same in every direction. He had come up from the pond. Now he could not find it. He turned in a slow circle. The ground gave him nothing. "This way," he said, and started downhill. He was always right. He kept moving. The path curled and dropped him into a hollow he did not know. No pond. No water. Just moss and stone. His dog whined and looked back the way they had come. Chase ignored him and pushed ahead. The eggs rolled against his chest. He was losing time, and he knew it. Then the brush ahead shook. A plump raccoon waddled out, striped tail dragging, and fixed Chase with a sour glare. It did not run. It planted itself on the trail and chattered, as if Chase had wandered into its kitchen uninvited. "Move," Chase said. The raccoon did not move. It turned and waddled off down a side trail, grumbling the whole way. Chase almost followed it out of spite. His dog barked once and trotted after the raccoon instead. "Fine. You win." Chase followed his dog. The raccoon led them along a low ridge. Water glinted through the trees ahead. The pond. Chase laughed. The grumpy little thief knew the woods better than he did. The raccoon vanished into a thornbush without a backward glance. Chase broke from the trees at the pond's edge and stopped cold. On the near bank sat a huge brown bear. Honey streaked its fur. It lay half asleep in the sun, right across the only clear path home. Its slow breath lifted its ribs. Chase froze. His arms were full of stolen eggs. He could smell the honey from where he stood. A bear between him and his fire was worse than any locked path. He edged left, hugging the water. Mud sucked at his boots. The bear cracked one eye. Chase held still. The bear yawned, rolled, and settled back down. Chase let his breath out and slipped past, step by careful step, until the slope cleared. Then he ran. He knew the pond now. He knew the way home. His cabin rose ahead through the trees, broad porch and rocking chairs waiting in the dusk. Smoke still curled thin from the chimney. The fire lived. Chase pounded up the porch steps and shoved the door open. He ran to the oven and threw the hatch wide. The coals glowed deep orange, low but alive. He had maybe one hour of heat left. One hour to crack the eggs, mash the berries, and bake a cake good enough to beat the champion. The clock had started, and he was out of batter twice over.