Chapter Text
Craig never even knew.
One second he was there, eyes light as they spoke, campfire glinting on a grin, cup in hand, fingers resting. Then he was gone. He never knew he was hit.
There was a sound like a crack of thunder, like an explosion. Like a gunshot. Something dark, wet and warm, sprayed over her. Then nothing.
He’d dropped something. He slipped. That wasn’t his blood.
Gemma screamed. Marvel said something but another boom silenced it.
Jean didn’t scream. Didn't think, didn't hesitate.
She ran.
Her body took over, feet shoving into the dirt, hands clutching her recon pack before her brain knew she’d grabbed it. She bolted, full tilt, sprinting blind through trees and brush and frost-slick ground.
A voice behind her. A shout, a threat.
Not Craig. Not Marvel.
Wrong .
She ran harder.
The river.
She hit water without meaning to, boots slapping into cold shallows where the Teton river creeped into Driggs. She scrambled up the opposite bank and turned west without thinking, toward the water, the cover of trees that grew in the mud. Something snapped nearby. She veered. Ran harder. Every sound felt close, every shape and shadow like hands. Her breath tore in and out of her lungs in sharp bursts, too fast, too shallow, but she couldn’t stop.
She kept running.
The river twisted south and she followed, feet slipping in wet grass. The sound of it filled her ears; water over stone, steady, endless, like a voice humming through the dark. It was something to anchor to. Something to follow. Rivers know where to go.
She didn't look back. Didn't dare. Every time she slowed, her brain offered up the image again. Craig not falling, just stopping, fire glinting on his teeth as he smiled at her, then on his blood.
Faster .
She didn’t know how long it had been. The cold didn’t register anymore. Her legs didn’t hurt. Her lungs didn’t burn. She kept going. The other town passed in flickers. Faded signs read Victor . Empty homes. A rusted truck with antlers strapped to the hood. She didn’t see it, not really, just the idea of it, the ghost of something she might remember later.
Her feet found the trailhead by accident, maybe instinct. A dirt path edged in splintered wood. A symbol carved into a marker post, weather-worn, unreadable, but she knew it was Targhee Trail, where Craig-
-firelight on teeth, then blood-
-went to hunt. She gripped the sign with shaking hands, stared at it for a moment. Too long.
She climbed.
It was worse than she expected. Not steep, exactly, but her body already knew something was wrong. The incline dragged at her thighs, made her knees fold funny. Her steps skidded on damp mulch, on exposed roots slick as fish skin. The air was heavier up here. It pressed in behind her eyes. She kept her hand on the trees as she walked. Not for balance. Just to remind herself what solid felt like.
She made it to the first rise around midmorning. A hollow of meadow where the sun reached through the thinning canopy, soft light draped in yellow. Her breath came in staccato bursts now. Her skin felt raw. Her heartbeat was wrong. She found a patch of dry earth beneath a leaning tree and dropped there, curled inside the foil and tarp, knife in her hand, just in case. She told herself she’d sleep. Just an hour. She needed it.
She got twenty minutes, maybe.
Every sound brought her back. A snort in the trees. An elk call that echoed too close. The dry rasp of something dragging through underbrush. She jolted awake with the knife in her fist, chest aching from the whiplash between stillness and terror.
There were no voices. That was worse.
She moved on.
She forgot to eat. Forgot to drink.
It wasn’t until the forest tilted sideways and her knees buckled that she remembered food existed. She collapsed at the edge of the trail, nearly tumbling into a rocky ditch, and fumbled at her pack like it was something she'd never opened before. Fingers slipped on zippers. She bit into the granola bar so fast she didn’t taste it, just chewed, swallowed, tore open another.
The water felt like fire in her stomach when it hit, and her stomach hit back, expelling her urgent meal into the grass with a broken gasp. She sipped the rest of the bottle carefully, head swimming, world flickered.
“Get up,” she whispered. “Get up, get up, get—”
She got up.
The trail narrowed as she followed it north, away from the road.
The road, the road, the road. Raiders used the road. Road was for people. Get away.
She fled north. Less open. Less seen. Trees leaned in like they knew something she didn’t. Moss clung to rocks like old hands, lined a creek river like an old spine. Rivers know where to go.
It had been hours. Brain and eyes bleary, every shadow moved. The wind breathed on the back of her neck and her ankle rolled. She gasped, bit the inside of her cheek to keep silent.
She froze first, then she saw it.
At the bend in the trail, half-buried in leaves and flies; the grizzly. Torn open like paper. Ribcage split. Stomach emptied. Something had been eating it.
Something still might be.
She staggered backward. Almost fell. Just ran. Didn’t think about the harder route she was running toward, south.
Her legs gave out sometime after noon. Not in a cinematic collapse. There was no drama left in her. She just... bent, and didn’t unbend. Face in cold moss and pine needles, arms scraped, chest heaving, shivering so hard her teeth ached. The trees here were thicker, the wind less cruel. She found a pocket of space beside a half-fallen log, pulled her foil blanket and tarp over her like a child playing tent, and curled onto her side. She scraped together what kindling she could find. Twigs, bark, a shredded bird’s nest. Fed it slow with shaking hands. It caught, burned, low and orange. Gave her fingers back for a while. She pressed her palms close, felt the ache of warmth returning.
You're safe. You're safe. Relax.
She didn’t feel safe.
The wolves started just after dusk.
Distant. Long notes on the wind. One voice, then two. Then more. She knew they were far off. Knew they wouldn’t come close if she didn’t smell like blood, and that wasn't blood on her hoodie, her face-
glistening on blood then teeth
-her skinned palms. She wasn’t bleeding. She was fine.
Still, she gripped the knife. Pulled the foil tighter. Curled tighter. Listened harder. Waited for the silence that comes before the end.
She didn’t remember sleeping. Just waking to a scream.
She was upright before her body was even awake, blanket askew, tarp flailing, lungs gasping for air. The knife dropped somewhere. She scrabbled after it. Found it. Sat frozen.
Nothing came.
Just the wind, and the creek, and the forest pretending it hadn’t heard her fear.
Her legs wouldn’t work at first. Her feet burned with cold, then nothing. Her hands felt like mitts. Wrong fingers. Numb wrists.
She rubbed them. Bit her lip. Cursed softly. It helped. A little.
Something crashed in the brush to her left.
She froze.
Listened.
Nothing .
Then again. To the right this time.
She turned her head too fast and the world swam. Trees bent. The ground rocked. Something groaned. Maybe her.
She wasn’t crying.
The trees looked different now.
Too tall. Too thin. They leaned like they were watching.
The moon was too low. The stars too still. Her shelter felt like a child’s drawing of safety.
She whispered, “Just rest.” Maybe she thought it.
It didn’t sound like her voice.
She closed her eyes again anyway.
She woke to grey light and stiff fingers.
Her hands wouldn’t close around the knife. She tried twice before giving up. Pulled the tarp off, slow, sluggish.
The trail waited. So she walked.
Every step hurt. Like her body had started forgetting how to move and every time she tried she broke bones to do it. Her left ankle rolled again. She grunted, caught herself on a tree. Didn’t stop.
Mud gave way to rocks. Moss made the stone slick. Her shoes were soaked, socks clinging to the underside of her toes. She walked anyway.
Something big crashed through brush somewhere.
She blinked. Kept walking.
A branch snapped behind her.
She turned slowly. Nothing. Just trees.
A whistle of wind between trunks said her name, but this time she didn't ask who was there.
The ground tilted.
She didn’t fall, but she felt like she had. The sun was in the wrong place.
She stopped and turned twice, then forgot why she’d stopped.
She kept walking.
There was blood on her hands. She tripped, winced, fell, looked over the gashes, out of order in her head. It didn't hurt.
She wasn't crying, but the cold kissed her tear tracks and made them sting.
The bear came in silence.
She turned a corner on the trail and there it was. Broad shoulders, fur damp and dark, eyes like marbles. It huffed. Took a step. Lifted one paw and dropped it like a warning.
Jean didn’t move. Maybe her brain told her to, but it was too far away now. The message didn’t reach her legs. Her breath stayed locked in her chest, her eyes on the creature.
It charged. Not at her. Toward her. Massive. Thundering. The ground shook and wobbled her to her knees, and she let herself fold. Waited without knowing.
It passed so close she felt the warmth of it, the weight of air displaced. It didn’t touch her. Didn’t stay.
By the time she thought to breathe again, it was gone.
She didn’t remember getting up. Didn’t remember the next mile.
Craig-
glistening
-would’ve known what to do.
She wasn't even sure she'd stopped to sleep. She just stopped.
Everything hurt. Everything blurred. Her fingers didn’t feel like fingers anymore. Her heartbeat felt wrong.
She wrapped the foil blanket around her shoulders. Pulled her knees up. Curled smaller.
She didn’t know if she’d wake up. Didn’t know if she wanted to.
She stared at the ground. At the leaves. At the blood on her-
It's not blood. It's just dirt. Hush. Probably. Maybe. Be quiet.
She wasn't crying.
She was safe. She was safe.
She blinked at the stars. They didn’t move.
She didn’t ask them to.
She heard something. Maybe. Nothing.
She stared at a tree so long it stopped being a tree.
She whispered something. It might’ve been Craig’s name. It might’ve been hers.
Silence answered.
She didn’t say she was dying.
She didn’t think the word.
But her bones knew.
The sun was wrong when it rose.
It came up too fast. Or too late. Or maybe it never set.
She was too cold, too slow. Too hollow.
She climbed like it was a punishment. Knees locking. Hands on rock. Crawling sometimes. Sliding. Swearing at nothing. Breathing through gritted teeth and still coming up short.
She threw up once, nothing but a burning slug catching near her lungs.
She kept going. Crested the ridge.
And there it was.
Straight and grey and wrong. Cut across the trees like a scar.
The road.
Her knees gave out.
A scream tore out of her like the last thing she had.
Let them hear it.
Let them come.
Please. Let someone fucking come.
When she stood, it wasn’t a decision.
It was gravity.
It was breath.
She left the pack behind. Didn’t notice.
Didn’t need it anymore.
She walked.