Raft of Stars by Andrew Graff (good books for high schoolers .txt) 📕

He tried to open the cylinder to see if he had a round ready, but the latch proved too heavy for his wet and trembling hands. He pulled the hammer back with both thumbs. Fish’s hands shook as he tried to get a better grip on the revolver. His whole body shook, and as it did, he inadvertently squeezed the trigger. The muzzle blast erupted at his feet, and Fish heard the buzzing zip of the bullet ricochet into the night. The bruin bayed and its body shook as it spun toward him. Without hesitation the bear lumbered toward Fish, who was trapped with his back to the rock ledge several yards behind him. The bruin licked its nose as it walked. It towered over Fish.

Fish took a step back. The bear swayed on its paws. Fish fumbled with the hot cylinder. He didn’t know if he had another round. He thought about leaping into the river, but he was too weak to leap. His hands shook so badly that he couldn’t cock the hammer. He tightened his grip on the gun and tried again. But then he stopped trying. The revolver seemed so small, so impotent. And Fish did too. But what surprised him most, staring into the wide, black and brown face of wildness itself, was the knowledge that he wouldn’t shoot the bear even if he could. He didn’t want to shoot it. The bear was close enough to smell now, its powerful odor of mud and musk, honey and heat. The bear alone was justified in being out here. There were spirits in this world, and the bruin was among their chiefs. Fish had no ability to change its course.

“Leave me alone!” Fish said, his voice rattling.

The bear licked its nose. Moaned a little.

“I said, leave me alone!”

The bear took a step forward.

Fish’s fear allowed him to cock the hammer, and so Fish aimed the revolver at the bear’s giant eye. But as he straightened his grip, he saw something about to erupt from that eye, and from the rest of that massive body. It came from its mouth, through its teeth, and across its piebald gums. The bear bellowed. Fish felt heat on his face.

The revolver clattered at Fish’s feet.

The bear stared at him. Fish stared back. The bear huffed, blew rain from its nose. Fish felt his lungs filling and emptying. The bear came face-to-face with him, and Fish could see the grain of hairs on its nose, the stippled texture of its black nostrils, the river gleaming in its marbled eyes. Fish had fought one too many times, and he couldn’t anymore. His body was numb with fear and exhaustion. He’d been wet and cold for far too long. He had no food in his stomach. He felt dizzy. The world could have its way now. Tears came to Fish’s eyes, staring at that bear, the musk coming out of its nostrils. And Fish suddenly felt as if he was outside of himself, watching himself stare at the bear. Lightning flashed. The bear’s eyes flashed. Fish saw a boy weeping silently in the rain, his hands at his sides. Very hungry and alone. And tired too, he thought, so tired. It was okay that this was the end of things, because then he’d finally get to sleep. And after a long sleep, if it was true, the boy would wake in a field of light, and his dad would be there, smiling at his handsome son, scooping him up in his big arms. And for eternity, the boy would be six years old, and his dad would hug him to his shoulder, and carry him around, and show him beautiful things.

“Dad,” whispered Fish to the lonely darkness, to the face of the bear. “Dad.”

The bruin came so close that Fish could hear the rumble of its lungs. The sound wasn’t menacing. It rolled around like distant thunder, the sound of so massive a force moving and living, breathing. The bear dipped its head down and gave Fish a push in the belly with its massive snout. The bear’s head, from forehead to lower lip, was larger than Fish’s torso.

Fish stumbled back a step. He wept out of fear and acquiescence, and thought to lift his hands in defense, but then thought better of it. The bear came at him again, and there was no fighting it. It stepped forward and nosed him again. Fish stepped back again. Fish felt as if this back-and-forth went on for a very long time, the bear nosing him backward, but then Fish bumped his head on something hard. He turned to see that he’d run into the overhang of one of the hollows carved in the cliff face. The bear stood guard, lungs thumping. Fish had nowhere to go but in. The bear huffed, stepped closer. Fish backed up against the interior wall, crouched, and looked out from an opening not much larger than his body.

The bear stared at him a moment, then looked up at the rain and grumbled. It turned a half circle in front of the entrance, like a giant dog about to bed down, and then it lowered its generous body onto its haunches and foreleg, slumping across the entrance to the cave.

Fish crouched in absolute darkness. The sound of splattering rain and thunder became muffled. The air in the small space filled with the musk of bear and river rock. Fish listened. He could hear the sound of the bruin’s lungs. He remained perfectly still for what must have been minutes. When the bear grumbled, Fish sank to his knees, inches away from the bear’s wide back.

The ground beneath him sloped outward. It was dry. The stone was cold, but the bear gave off incredible warmth. Fish raised his hands tentatively to the bear’s back, touched the tips of the wet spikes of hair. The hide twitched, and Fish withdrew his fingers. He kneeled in silence, listening to his breath and the