Page 14 of The First Hunt (The Final Hunt)

JOHN

J ohn trudged through the snowy woods next to his dad. A golden eagle soared above the treetops, its wings outstretched as it scoured the woods for prey. John quickened his pace, trekking ahead of his father while imagining he was White Fang running from his abusive owner.

“Not so fast,” his dad said.

Begrudgingly, John slowed his steps, admiring the woods around them. They’d touched down in Fairbanks four days ago, and John was already dreading going home tomorrow. His dad had been right about Alaska. It was magical.

John inhaled a deep breath of cold forest air, relishing in the freedom of being so far from home.

He surveyed the quiet woods, the only sound coming through the trees to their left, the rush of water from the Chena River.

Being strangers in a faraway town where nobody knew them felt like a vacation from everything worrying him.

He hadn’t even thought about Sally since they’d arrived.

John silently vowed to return here one day when he was older. He pictured having a cabin in a remote forest with a cozy fireplace and a bookshelf filled with his favorite stories.

John felt the tug of his father’s grip on his coat and spun. “What?”

His dad lifted a finger to his lips. “Shh.” He stopped and leaned against the trunk of a spruce tree.

John lowered his voice. “What are we doing?”

“We’re waiting.”

John surveyed the white surrounding woods, wishing he’d brought the copy of Ender’s Game that his dad had bought him for the trip.

It wasn’t what he normally read, but John had been surprised how much he was enjoying it, finding himself eager to get back to it in the evenings.

He could see it becoming a movie one day.

John turned toward his dad. “Can I make a snowman?”

His father shook his head. “No. You could scare away the prey. We came here to scout out hunting grounds. We need to stay still, blend in with our own surroundings.” He ran a hand down the rifle strap slung over his chest. “Patience is the key to being a good hunter.”

Even though it wasn’t hunting season, his dad insisted on bringing the gun anyway. For protection.

“The moment your prey becomes aware of you,” his dad continued, “you’ve lost your advantage. That’s why it’s vital to remain concealed until you’re ready to kill.”

A deep growl emitted from somewhere in the forest ahead. John jerked his head toward the sound just as a massive brown bear emerged from the trees. It sauntered through the woods less than one hundred feet away, heading toward the river.

His father slipped his rifle off his shoulder and held it out for John to take, pressing the butt against the front of John’s shoulder before he wrapped John’s hand beneath the base of the barrel.

“Line it up in your sights,” his father whispered in John’s ear.

John closed one eye as his father had taught him. His hand shook as he worked to keep the gun aimed on the moving bear’s back.

“Now, shoot.”

“What?” John lowered the gun to see his dad’s hard-set gaze.

“Shoot,” he repeated.

John’s brows knitted together. “But it’s not hunting season. You said—”

A guttural growl cut through the silent woods. John’s lungs seemed to harden as the bear cocked his head toward them. It snarled, exposing large, yellowed fangs.

His dad snatched the weapon from John’s hands and aimed it at the beast. The bear turned away and ran toward the river as the rifle’s deafening blast echoed through the silent forest. John’s ears rang as the huge animal dropped to the ground in a massive heap.

He turned to his dad, watching him lower the gun, then looked back at the lifeless brown mound of fur.

“It wasn’t going to hurt us,” John said. “It was running away.”

“The second key to hunting is never to hesitate. When you have the opportunity to kill, you take it.”

John studied the animal’s corpse.

“Let’s go. It’ll be dark soon.”

John tore his gaze from the bear and followed his dad, and for the first time on their trip, his thoughts returned to Sally.