Beyond the Bear by Dan Bigley, Debra McKinney

hard drags before handing it back. Shaken to the bone, Emily kept blasting the horn, hoping it would bring help. Nobody came.
    Meanwhile, two Alaska National Guard buddies, Sergeants David Roberson and Bryan Irby, were hiking up from The Sanctuary when Maya came bolting down the trail. How strange, they thought. While they were cleaning their fish, they’d seen that same dog trotting alongside two guys who’d started back not long before they did. They continued on with Maya on their heels, and five minutes later heard cries for help. They started running toward the voice and came upon John at the Cottonwood Hole. He was shaking and could barely keep it together.
    “A bear . . . it got my friend! I don’t know . . . what kind of shape he’s in . . . or if he’s even alive. We have to help him.” John shook his head in disbelief, his hands balled into fists. “What if the bear is still there? You have a gun?”
    “We don’t. But don’t worry, we’ll help you find your friend. Now try taking some deep breaths.”
    The three of them put their faith in safety in numbers and cautiously made their way back to where John had last seen me. Upriver, just past the turnoff to the stairs, a grim story unfolded in the trail. A fishing pole here, a pair of wader shoes there, a dented can of Pabst Blue Ribbon, a green ball cap with a Bonfire logo across the front. Gouges in the trail where something heavy had been dragged through the dirt. A trail of blood.
    “Dan!” John shouted as they drew near. “Dan! DAN!”
    They heard moaning and found where I’d been dragged below the bluff about twenty-five feet off the trail. I lay curled on my side in a grassy area all matted down in a ten-foot radius. Blood was everywhere. John’s mouth dropped open but no words came out. Roberson asked him to step back. He yanked off his T-shirt, covered my head, and applied pressure to stop the bleeding while Irby checked for other wounds.
    “How old are you?” Roberson asked, knowing it was critical to keep me awake.
    “Twenty-five,” I slurred.
    “Do you know what day it is?”
    Silence. “No,” I finally said.
    “Can you move at all? Your arms or legs?”
    No response. Afraid I was fading fast, they went for help while John stayed with me to keep applying pressure and prevent me from going to sleep. Once they were out of sight, John fell to his knees beside me.
    “Oh, Dan,” he said in practically a whisper, so relieved to find me alive that the devastation failed to register.
    “I’m fucked up, man,” I groaned. “I am so fucked up.”
    “No. No, you’re all right, brother. You’re going to be okay.”
    I was going to be anything but okay. My face was pulp, and with all the blood and grime, John didn’t notice that my eyes weren’t where they were supposed to be. All he saw was that I was breathing. A surreal calm came over him as he did what he could to keep me from going into shock, to keep himself from going into shock. Afraid of bleeding to death, and trained as a Wilderness First Responder, I tried to help him out.
    “John,” I wheezed, “I need more pressure on my head. Not too much. Just keep it steady. God, it hurts. It really fucking hurts.”
    John closed his eyes and leaned back. He called upon his dead great-grandmothers, who he believed watched over him, to pull some strings for me up there.
    Back up top, with all the shouting, car-horn blasts, and cacophony of dogs barking in the campground, people were poking their heads out of their tents and RVs, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. In the front seat of the Blazer, once he was sure the bears were gone, Jaha started climbing toward the busted-out window to get help for whoever had run into that bear.
    “Where are you going ?” Emily demanded.
    “Those folks down there need help.”
    “Are you kidding me? I am not getting out of this car.”
    “Well, I’m going.”
    Sprinting for the Blazer, the one thought in her head had been that