and spun around in time to see the momma and two cubs in full retreat up the slope. Greg appreciated that Marco came back to save him, but thought they had agreed on no guns. A second bullet ricocheted off the boulder right beside him before he could think it through. This definitely wasn’t friendly fire. Greg could still hear the piercing ring as he scrambled into the trees.
The ground was covered in pine needles and dappled in sunlight. Thick branches up above brought the temperature down a few crucial degrees. Greg crept from trunk to trunk, keeping his head low and bracing himself for the next shot. The green field on the other side of the trees quickly came into focus.
Greg backed up against an outcropping of boulders, catching his breath before wriggling out of his straps. He unhooked the canteen from the side of his pack. His gaze wandered out across a sea of marijuana plants as he chugged the water.
The third shot split the bark in the tree right behind his head. He tripped over the pack as he turned to flee, heading straight out into the field. He’d taken only a few steps when his foot caught hold of a trip wire. His palms were inches from the ground as a flash of light consumed him. He flew through the air a few feet and hit the ground hard. The Minutemen were half way through “Corona” in his headphones when everything went black.
Somebody grunted loudly nearby. Greg tried to open his eyes but the blinding sun was right overhead. His lips were fried, and his tongue felt thick and swollen in his mouth. He might have simply passed out again if it weren’t for the putrid smell suffocating him.
Greg tried to roll onto his side, but the rope caught his left wrist. The result was the same for his other arm and both legs. His shirt rode up as he squirmed and tried to wriggle free. Plastic trash bags seared the skin on his lower back, causing his eyes to shoot open. It took a few minutes for him to figure out that he was staked down on a pile of garbage in the middle of a campground. But that still didn’t explain the grunting.
He lifted his head to make sense of the situation. An enormous black bear tore into a pile of garbage only yards away. A slightly smaller bear was further down the mound, sitting on its haunches and ripping a bag apart. Every muscle in Greg’s body tensed as he craned his neck to look for Marco. What he saw instead was a crowd of silent spectators watching his every move. He almost didn’t recognize his own voice as he screamed for help.
Everything went still before the audience gave a collective gasp. They must be seeing what Greg only heard—both bears were making their way toward him to inspect the sudden commotion. The musky smell of filthy fur filled his nostrils as the bears approached. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, trying to go somewhere safe in his mind. It wasn’t long before he bobbed on the ocean in South Bay, waiting to catch a wave.
The crowd laughed as he thrashed and bucked. That’s when the sirens started shrieking. The bear that was gnawing on his shoe froze before darting from the mountain of trash. The second bear followed right behind. Greg gulped for air and tried not to move. He imagined the Virgil Heights Police Chief coming to rescue him once again. But the voice that came crackling through the bullhorn wasn’t familiar at all.
“We really don’t appreciate trespassers up here.”
A murmur started to swell in the crowd. Greg was overwhelmed with exhaustion. He let his head drop and waited for whatever came next.
“Don’t pass out on us, now. I want to pick your brain about a few things.”
Greg brought his head up again. That’s when he spotted the man, perched on a branch, high up in a tree. He wore stiff blue jeans held up by black suspenders. His plaid shirt was tight across his barrel chest, with sleeves straining against bulging arms. The thick stubble on his round face was on the verge of becoming a beard. He was every bit the mountain man, except he spoke like a drunken manager on a corporate team-building retreat.
“I hate to sound like a broken record here, but those bears look pretty hungry.”
“I was out for a hike.” Greg’s voice was gravelly, but thin. The altitude and dehydration were taking their toll. “Where’s my friend?”
“You were by yourself when we found you out in our field. What’s this friend of yours look like?”
It was a relief to know that Marco had gotten away, even if it meant that Greg was on his own. His only hope was that Marco made it back to a phone to call for help. That meant he had to buy some time. The man with the bullhorn started speaking again before Greg could formulate his next lie.
“I suggest you answer before the bears come back.”
“Okay, okay. He’s about six feet tall, heavy-set, with spiky black hair. You couldn’t miss him out here.”
“Liar!”
The word blared through the bullhorn and the crowd started chanting it. They stomped, clapped, and shouted. It went on for several minutes before the siren on the bullhorn began wailing again. Greg heard footsteps thundering toward him across the hard-packed ground. The mob clawed their way up the mound of trash.
They were a filthy group, like farmhands fresh from the fields. The women wore no makeup and kept their hair pulled into long braids that hung down their backs. The men had choppy haircuts and wispy beards, like college-aged camp counselors. Greg guessed that most of them were younger than him by several years, if not decades—all except for the men who hacked the ropes from his hands and feet. They looked more like career criminals enjoying a brief vacation between prison sentences.
The crowd tore his sweat-soaked clothes off and pulled him to the ground. They lifted his naked body overhead, parading him around the garbage heap and out of the makeshift stadium. The man with the bullhorn was waiting when they finally put him down. He was shorter than Greg originally thought, but in better shape than any grandpa pot farmer should be. He swiped the flies away from his face, squinting at Greg as he spoke.
“Care to change your story?”
Greg tried to force a smile. His lips split and bled.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear, as long as I get my clothes back.”
“Funny. Let’s see who’s laughing when we toss you down into the pit.”
The man stepped aside to reveal a large hole in the ground. Huge paw prints covered the dirt ramp leading down into the darkness. Greg could just make out a tall stake erected in the center of the subterranean space. He decided to be a little more polite now that he understood what they had in mind. Anything would be better than getting mauled to death, or freezing in the chilly desert night.
He decided to play his last card.
“This is all a misunderstanding. I’m actually a police officer, out on a weekend hike.”
Now it was the other man’s turn to smile.
“We know exactly who you are. We’ve had our eye on you and your sidekick for a while now. Isn’t that right?”
Greg heard a chain rattle. He looked down into the pit where Marco stepped out into a sliver of sunlight. His naked skin glistened as he looked up with an annoyed scowl on his face.
“What the hell’s going on, Marco?”
“Ask that psycho standing next to you.”
Greg
