Hunting the Bear, Part Ii

...The bear returned to his great feast, and the trigger squeezed on back. The gun barked, led striking deep, the bear roared at the attack. It raced off into the woods, dashing for a creekside, but the bullet had rent it’s heart, it stumbled, fell, and died. Conner walked up to the bear, reloading quickly as he went, ever ready to let loose again if the bruin was not spent. But the bear was truly down and dead, it would pass no more this way. Then Conner glanced in horror at the grizzly’s final prey… He saw a spot of blue amidst a horrid, scarlet smear, then a touch of orange and green, he knew it was no deer. Pacing close he saw the ruin of what was a human face torn by claws and awesome force, he gagged and turned away. Despite the damage he knew the man, he’d seem him the day before, twas the young hippie who’d led the fools, who’d led the protestors. Conner fought the urge to vomit, to just take off and sprint, fool or not, no man could deserve what had been done to him. He knew he had to find a place, where he’d get cell reception. the police needed to see all this and take the proper actions. He asked himself how this had come, but knew the answer clear, the problem bear had walked right in, devoid of fright or fear. He figured that it had found their camp, maybe drawn by food smells. it had come at night, found this young man and dragged him into Hell. Conner shook his head and sighed, Then said to the empty air: “Damnit kid, why couldn’t you let me hunt this stinking bear…”