The fog thickened among the trees. That night, Raton Creek seemed to hold its breath, hiding secrets behind every whisper of the wind.
My steps were heavy, the old rifle hanging on my shoulder, the cold seeping through the worn layers of my dark brown leather jacket. The jacket was old, torn at the elbows, but still warm enough to resist the bite of the night air.
Each time the wind blew, the cracked leather creaked softly, blending with the rhythm of my boots against the damp soil.
The blood on the piece of cloth I had found earlier was starting to dry—a sign that its owner had passed through not long ago. I followed the faint tracks on the moist ground. There were footprints, small ones, leading north—perhaps belonging to a teenager. Yet something else lingered in the air. The scent of iron, rot, and... decay.
I stopped. The sound of a branch snapping on my right made me turn sharply. The flashlight in my hand trembled slightly.
Then I saw it—a brown bear of medium size, its snout stained with blood and mud. Maybe it was hungry, or maybe my presence had simply provoked it.
The bear stared at me for a long time before growling softly, a deep and vibrating sound. I slowly raised my old rifle and held my breath. The distance between us was only a few meters.
I pulled the trigger.
The gunshot shattered the silence of the night.
The first bullet hit its shoulder, but it only made the beast angrier. It stood up, roaring fiercely, and charged toward me with thunderous steps that shook the ground.
I rolled to the ground, the rifle slipping from my grasp and landing several feet away. Its claws slashed through the air—just inches from my face—the wind of it alone stung my cheek. Then one of those claws tore through my jacket and shirt; fabric ripped, and my shoulder burned. I crawled quickly toward the rifle lying on the ground, my fingers slick with blood and mud as I finally reached it.
The bear lunged again. I twisted my body and struck its snout with the rifle's stock as hard as I could. It staggered, roaring in fury, then leapt again—I drew the knife from my belt and drove it into the side of its neck.
Once, twice, three times.
Warm blood splattered across my face and arms; my jacket and shirt were torn, the blood mixing with mud until my arms were almost completely stained.
Its massive claw struck my left arm—opening a long gash that instantly bled profusely. I stumbled, nearly falling, but the beast still loomed before me, snarling, trying to strike again. I stabbed again and again, relentlessly—until its roars faded into heavy gasps, and finally, its body collapsed.
Amid my ragged breathing, my father's voice suddenly echoed from the past:
> "Hold your weapon tighter. Don't let the barrel tremble.
If you hesitate, sooner or later, you'll be the one dead."
Those words pierced through the fog of despair. My trembling hand gripped the rifle's stock, and I knew—I had to end it now. My voice broke as I leaned closer toward the dying beast.
> "I'm sorry… I didn't want this…"
I raised the rifle slowly, held my breath, and pulled the trigger. The second gunshot rang out, the bullet striking straight into the bear's chest. Its body tensed, then fell motionless.
Amid the rain and my uneven breathing, my father's voice returned—reminding me of the meaning of mercy:
> "Mercy's a good thing, son—it means you're still human.
But if you let it rule you, it'll kill you faster than any bullet."
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting his words sink in, then exhaled deeply. The large body lay still now; blood flowed, mixing with mud as the rain poured heavier. My leather jacket was torn in several places, soaked, heavy, and cold against my back. My shoulder burned, the wound in my left arm throbbed violently each time I moved.
I stood on unsteady feet, knowing my gunshots had surely drawn attention from anyone within the forest.
> "If you're still out there," I muttered quietly, staring into the rolling fog,
"hold on... I'll find you soon."
---
A few hours earlier
The skies above Raton Creek were thick with clouds as Lukas Marden ran through the forest, breath ragged, eyes frantic for direction. Behind him came the barking of dogs and the heavy footsteps of men. He knew they were still hunting him—his uncle's killers, though he didn't know who they were or who led them.
He had just witnessed something he should never have seen: his uncle lying on the floor, blood pooling beneath him, and one of the men turning toward Lukas—a sharp gaze, a thin smile frozen in the boy's memory ever since.
He didn't think. He only ran, through brambles and fog, until he found a small, decaying cabin deep within the forest. He shut the wooden door tight, held his breath, and leaned against the damp wall. Outside, the pursuers' footsteps grew faint, but Lukas couldn't tell from where or who—they were close, that much he knew.
Then came a gunshot from the distance—from Joe's battle with the bear.
> "They're shooting again…" he whispered, voice trembling.
Fear and fragile hope mingled in his tone. From his hiding place, Lukas could only sense danger lurking in the woods, urging him to stay alert.
---
Back to the present
Soon after, I saw the silhouette of an old cabin emerging faintly through the rolling mist. I lowered my head, pressing my bleeding arm to stop the flow, and walked cautiously toward it. The fragile wooden door stood before me like a warning—instinct guided my steps closer.
I stepped onto the porch and knocked softly. As I pulled the door open, the creak of its hinges shattered the silence.
Inside, someone backed away quickly, raising a rusty iron rod with trembling hands. His face was dirty, eyes wild with fear.
> "Don't come closer!" he shouted.
I slowly raised my hands, lowering the rifle in my grasp.
> "Easy. I'm not here to hurt you."
He kept staring, suspicious.
> "You're… one of them, aren't you?"
> "One of who?" I asked.
Lukas hesitated, his voice cracking.
> "The men who killed my uncle… They said no witnesses were to be left alive."
I studied the boy for a moment. The cut on his cheek was fresh, dried blood on his shirt showed how far he'd run.
> "What's your name?"
> "Lukas… Lukas Marden."
> "I'm Joe Bondurant."
"I don't know what's happening to you, kid. But someone sent me into this forest to find a missing child. Now I'm starting to realize… maybe the story isn't that simple."
Before we could continue, heavy footsteps echoed from outside. Flashlights cut through the fog.
> "We have to go. Now," I said sharply.
We ran to the back of the cabin, but the steps grew louder. Three figures appeared among the trees, each armed. Bullets ripped through the air, splintering the wood near our heads.
I raised my rifle. The wound in my arm threw off my aim slightly, but it was enough to buy us a few seconds.
> "Lukas! Head for the cliffs!"
We ran through the wet undergrowth, bullets striking trees and foliage around us. Lukas glanced back now and then, throwing stones to distract them.
Then a bullet tore through my shoulder. I stumbled, but Lukas grabbed my arm, pulling with what strength he had left.
> "Come on! Keep going!"
But then, his steps faltered. His body weakened. I turned and saw blood soaking his shirt—he'd been hit in the chest. I caught him before he fell completely, lowering him gently to the ground, making sure he wouldn't roll into the path of fire.
> "I… I can't run anymore… get out of here…" his voice barely a whisper over the rain.
I looked at him, heart breaking. I placed a hand on his shoulder, as if trying to lend him strength. Then I lifted him onto my back, pushing forward through fog and thorns, each step heavier than the last. The pain in my own body was dull compared to the weight growing in my chest—something unnamed but heavy.
A few steps later, one of the pursuers appeared ahead, raising his gun toward me. I held my breath, waiting for the right moment. When the distance closed enough, I set Lukas down gently, aimed, and fired—
a single bullet straight through the man's head.
The shot cracked the night. The man's body crumpled.
And under the faint glow of a clouded moon, Lukas exhaled his last breath. I knelt beside him, staring down, feeling the burn of grief spreading through me. His final words, his struggle to help me—it was enough.
I looked toward the rolling fog, breath ragged, and began to move again—
leaving Lukas behind, hidden in the brush, in the only safe place I could give him.