Grizzly Fury

Fargo couldn’t get the first hobble off. It was a makeshift affair, a short piece of rope with more knots than he had knuckles. He hiked his pant leg and palmed the Arkansas toothpick.

“Vill du skjuta forst?”

“Nej du gar forst.”

“Detta var din ide. Det ar ratt att du skjuter forst.”

It looked to Fargo as if they were arguing over who should shoot first. He slashed at the hobble but the rope was new and stiff and resisted his blade.

“Behaga. Jag insisterar du gora det.”

“Hur omkring om vi skjuter tillsammans sedan?”

A few strands parted but nowhere near enough. Fargo glanced at the grizzly, wondering how long it would continue to just stand there.

Not another second. Brain Eater roared and was on the Swedes with incredible speed. The one on the right bleated, “God Gud!” and tried to take aim. A paw crushed his face.

The other Swede cried, “Han hor dodat dig!” and fired.

Whether he hit the bear or not was irrelevant; it had no effect whatsoever.

Brain Eater roared as her claws sheared into the second man’s crotch. He shrieked and dropped his rifle and cried out.

“Vad du gor du, din dumma bar?”

With a powerful surge, the grizzly ripped him open from manhood to sternum.

Fargo was only partway through the first hobble. Darting around the horses, he plunged into the woods. He went about ten feet and sprawled flat.

Brain Eater was chomping on the second Swede’s innards. His guts had spilled out and the bear had part of an intestine in her mouth and was shaking the ropy coils.

The other man was whimpering and convulsing.

There was nothing Fargo could do. He stayed flat and drew the Colt. It wouldn’t do much good but he wasn’t going to be ripped apart without a fight.

Brain Eater wolfed a hunk of flesh. Straddling the dead man, she nuzzled his neck and head and sank her fangs into his forehead. As easily as if she was peeling the crust of a pie, she peeled the scalp from the cranium and spat it out. She licked the blood that welled, then spread her jaws wide and closed them on the man’s head. It burst like a melon and she lapped at the oozing brains as if she couldn’t get enough of them.

Hampered by the hobbles, the horses were trying to flee and whinnying in panic.

Fargo wished he had the elephant gun. He had a perfect shot.

Brain Eater went to the other Swede. He had stopped moving. She pawed at his body and when there was no reaction, she ripped off an ear and a swatch of hair. Underneath gleamed the skull.

Fargo told himself to look away but didn’t.

Brain Eater’s teeth were so many razors, slicing through flesh and crunching bone. Once again she indulged in her favorite food and when she was done, she licked the brain pan clean.

The horses had gone about ten yards. One was bucking and struggling to break free of the hobble.

Brain Eater raised her dripping maw. She broke into motion and swiped at the first horse. A leg cracked and the horse squealed and went down. The bucking horse tried to kick Brain Eater but the grizzly dodged and raked her claws from tail to ribs.

Fargo figured she would be busy for a while eating. He crabbed backward and stood. The grizzly was tearing at the second horse’s belly. Turning to the south, he stealthily made his way through the woods to the creek.

More running. His feet were sore and his leg muscles protested but he ate up the distance. He wondered how many more hunters or gold seekers he would encounter. Three men had died and he was indirectly to blame. With the bear after him, he invited death on everyone he met.

No sooner did the thought cross his mind than two women came flying up the creek toward him. Both had cornstalk hair and wore plain homespun dresses and bonnets. At the sight of him they stopped and one called out, “Vem ar du? Var ar vara man?”

“God in heaven,” Fargo blurted. They were the Swedes’ wives. He ran to them and they stepped back and thrust out their hands as if in fear of being attacked. “It’s not me,” he said. “It’s Brain Eater.”

“Vad han talar om?” the other woman said.

Fargo pointed to the north. “Bear. Do you understand that word?” To get them to understand, he raised both hands and curled his fingers into claws and growled deep in his chest.

“Han ar en galning,” the first woman said.

The other one mumbled and then said in atrociously accented English, “Are you crazy man?”

“At last,” Fargo said. “Brain Eater is after me. You have to run—”

“Where our husbands?” the woman anxiously asked. “Where Sven? Where Olaf?”

“Dead. Brain Eater killed them and—”

The woman turned to her friend. “Han sagar vara man ar doda.”

“Vi maste se till ourselves.”