Surviving Bear Island by Paul Greci

than RF, so he kept me warmer.
    RF was a steady burner, mostly thanks to me acting as a wind block. I usually turned to RF in the morning. He always had hot coals, unless the wind had switched.
    â€œI’d have hot coals too,” LF said. “If you’d give me my fair share of wood.”
    â€œFair share?” I said. “Dude, you burn everything like it’s been doused in gas.”
    Yeah, they talked to me and I talked to them. I mean, who else was I going to talk to? I fed them wood and they fed me warmth. I’d do my best to make sure they didn’t die, and whether they knew it or not, they were doing the same for me. I knew a bear could tear through the front wall of my shelter, but the fires might make a bear hesitate, or stay away. And being able to see when it was dark made things less scary. I could feel the nights getting longer and longer, and I couldn’t afford to just sleep when it got dark ’cause I needed the time to work.
    The part of my thumb facing my index finger blistered from gripping the knife, but I just kept whittling until the last eight inches or so of the branch tapered to a point.
    I felt the point with my finger. “It should puncture.”
    â€œNot bad,” RF said, “for your first time.”
    â€œPuncture?” LF said. “Looks kind of dull.”

    â€œWhat do you two know?” I said. “Sharpness is one thing. Force is another.” Like me and Billy—with our arrows back in fifth grade. They weren’t that sharp, but when we put our weight behind them they stuck. Billy used to come over after school to shoot at the target my dad had set up in the backyard. Then my mom died and that was the end of that.
    Billy was a good shot. Said there was nothing to it—he just imagined the target was his dad. I wondered how Billy would feel if his dad actually died. Would Billy miss him? It’d be hard to miss someone who made a habit of hitting you.
    My dad had never hit me with anything except his silence. The most violent he ever got was breaking all those dishes after Mom died.
    My dad, I thought.
    â€œWhat do you think,” I said to LF, leaning toward him. “Is he around?”
    LF belched a cloud of smoke into my eyes and I drew back. “Okay, so that’s how it’s gonna be.” I turned to RF. “What do you think? Is my dad around here? Is…is he even alive?”
    RF continued to burn steadily, then it popped and an orange flame crawled over the top stick and the fire flared.
    â€œCool,” I said. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
    I set the spear down, held my hands in front of LF and rubbed them together. Wishing hadn’t brought Mom back and I knew that technically it wouldn’t magically bring Dad to me, but still, that raincoat, that had tobe a sign. The life vest, too. And the footprints. And all the times I’d heard his voice.
    Nice spear, Tom. Now, what about that gaff?
    I smiled and then picked up the gaff. Should I put another lure on it? No, I thought. I have to make the gaff better so I don’t lose any more lures.
    In my mind I worked at fixing the gaff, trying to see a better way. A stronger way.
    I put another log on LF, some smaller sticks on RF.
    RF immediately popped and threw sparks.
    â€œOkay, okay,” I said. “I’ll give you a log too.” I put a log on RF. “You happy, now?”
    RF smoked a bit, and then popped.
    I removed lure number three from my survival kit.
    I tied another five independent loops of fishing line through the eyehole, and was reaching for the rope when I heard the noise.

CHAPTER 16
    NEEDLES crunched. I heard a shuffle, then a grunt. My heart beat in my ears, like my head was gonna explode. Something bumped my shelter. I pressed my back against the dirt wall.
    A small branch moved.
    The branch detached itself from my shelter.
    I screamed, “Hey bear! Hey bear! Hey bear!”
    But nothing happened. I