ZIMA - Chapter One: Meyka

Out here it's so cold, if you're not wearing a thermal suit you'll be frozen solid in less than four seconds. The wind rushes at a constant 30mph, and the snow is up to our knees. We're running low on food, and Kelly needs rest and proper medical attention. John has been awfully patient with her. She isn't used to depending on someone to carry her, and it's driving her nuts not to be the one that does our hunting. We're ten miles out from Croton. Unless the weather takes an unprecedented plunge overnight (and it has often) we should make it fine.

Sometimes I start to feel bad for John, carrying a grumpy, broken-leg Kelly for miles. But then I remember that I'm carrying Kelly's pack and her twenty-three pound 50cal rifle to boot, and Garret has all of John's gear, so we're all about even. Kelly doesn't weigh much anyway.

We'll camp in those rocks overnight and should reach Croton well before nightfall tomorrow. The only thing I'm worried about at this point is meyka. I keep seeing their tracks, and yesterday we ran across a fresh kill. They're out there, and they'll be getting hungry again soon. Game is scarce. Even for Kelly. If you've never seen a meyka, picture a  white bear with arms and legs like a wildcat only thicker and big buffalo horns. But not a cute and cuddly polar bear; these bears are all muscle, and they've got those horns, and they charge in packs. We're vulnerable enough without having to carry Kelly, and with her laid up, and John carrying her, we're practically free lunch.

We've reached the rocks and Garret smacks the back of my mask to get my attention. I swear, every time he does that, I could...

Our coms went out for some reason during the last blizzard, and shouting is useless with this wind. I suppose he has to get my attention somehow, but I sure wish he would just tap my shoulder or something. I turn around to see what he wants. He makes a "Y" sign between us with his hand and takes a tactical stance with his rifle, motioning towards the rocks. He wants to know if we're going to scout it out before taking Kelly in. I have to admit, I'm a little chagrined that he jumped the gun on my lead, but he's right. It's always been one of my mandates to check out a camp site before going in, even a familiar one. Call me over cautious.

The rocks end up being as empty as I expected they would be, and I start setting up the tent while Garret goes to fetch Kelly and John.

The tent is designed to insulate, and inside it's warm, especially once we get the little heater going. We get Kelly settled comfortably with her leg propped up, and John sits close to her. I can't help but feel a little envious of Kelly. Kelly and Garret are siblings and my cousins. The three of us grew up together. Kelly and I had always been inseparable, and we made a good team.  We used to team up on Garret and it made him so mad... somehow Garret and I had always had this friction between us, and been best friends at the same time. And then the whole Kelly and John thing got going and our little trio turned into a foursome. It's different. And I have to admit I miss Kelly. I mean, I'm around her all the time, but she's just not there like she used to be. Don't get me wrong. John is a great guy. He's tall, blonde, strong, patient, and caring. Solid. Just the kind of guy Kelly needs. I've known him for a while now, and it feels right having him as part of the team. He's sort of become our anchor.

But sometimes I miss the old days.

After eating a bite, we bed down. Everyone is too exhausted to say much of anything, except Kelly who keeps grumbling as she tries to get comfortable with her braced up leg.

*              *              *

In the morning the wind is stronger and the temperature has dropped several degrees. There were meyka tracks all around our tent and we left the rocks in a hurry. After a few of hours trekking I can see Croton through the wind and snow. We're only about a hundred yards from the big iron gate when Garret hits the back of my mask again, this time really hard. I start to turn around and yell at him, then I see why he hit me so hard. A pack of five meyka is on our trail and they're gaining fast. John throws Kelly up over his shoulder and starts running for the gate as fast as he can manage, and Garret and I are right behind him. I unstrap Kelly's hunting rifle from my back and start loading as I run, my heart pounding. I sure hope they see us coming and open the gates. 50 yards from the gate I turn around, drop to one knee, and scope down at the oncoming meyka. The report of Kelly's rifle can be heard even over the wind. My shot finds it's mark, and there's one less meyka on our tail. Only Kelly's rifle is powerful enough to bring down a meyka with one shot. As quickly as I can, I pull the bolt and chamber another round. Again the rifle bellows, and another bear drops. But now the remaining three are too close for comfort. I get to my feet and run after the others, letting out a sigh of relief when I see the gates opening.

30 yards... John and Kelly are crossing the threshold and a medic team comes out with a stretcher to take Kelly inside.

20 yards... Garret turns around to check on my progress and suddenly starts shouting (or at least it looks like he's shouting) and pointing behind me. I steal a glance over my shoulder just in time to see the meyka leap.

I could swear time slowed down at that moment. The meyka is bellowing as he leaps toward me, claws outstretched. Without thinking I dive to the side, pulling my foot long Trek Knife from its sheath on my leg. As soon as I hit the ground time speeds back up, and I hear the welcome crack of Garret's rifle, one, two, three, putting the beast down for good. I scramble to my feet just in time to face the second meyka. He tackles me back to the ground, taking a snap at my shoulder, his hot breath fogging my mask. I manage to bring my arm up and ram my blade up through the bottom of his jaw. The meyka goes limp and I'm trapped beneath him. For a moment, I think I'm done; I can see the last meyka bearing down on me. Suddenly, a volley of rifle fire fills the air. The meyka is riddled with bullets and plows into the snow, two feet away, dead.


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zima - polish word meaning winter
meyka - adapted from bulgarian мечка meaning bear