Survival Instincts

“Bang!”

I’m jolted awake by the loud, unfamiliar sound. My body tenses. I look around for my mother, but all I see are the same white aspen trees I’ve seen all week standing tall around my little pocket of brush. I hear some sort of commotion far from the undergrowth where I lie. I shift my gaze a touch higher. Looking into the distance, I see a flock of grouse ascending to the sky, leaving behind a trail of loose feathers. They continue beating their wings frantically until they are no longer in sight. I can still hear them dimly until at last the flapping fades completely. It’s quiet again. A moment passes, then two, then three.

I wait for my body to calm back down. I wish my mother were here. This is the second time she’s left me alone since daybreak, but she always comes back to the same spot. My heart rate lowers. My muscles ease up. Still quiet.

I unfold my legs from under my body, first lifting the front two, then pushing back the hind ones against the tall grass. I take three slow steps forward then stop to stretch. I move my front legs farther up then arch my back down towards the moist soil while raising my head to the soft morning sky. I stand motionless except for my ears, which are constantly scanning for impending threats. First the left one folds back—I hear the whistle of a sparrow. Then the right draws forward a hint—the woodpecker has begun its quest for its next meal. My spine lengthens. My chest opens. I push my rear end closer to the center of my body and feel the pull on my underdeveloped hamstrings.

I return my back to its natural position and advance my hind legs. I bring my head down until I’m eye-level with the lowest branch of the nearby shrub. I see its small, vibrant leaves swaying gently back and forth in the wind. I straighten all four of my legs, then I curve my spine upwards while reaching for the ground with my shoulders and my behind. My lower back extends. I hold the position until I feel the tension release.

I wobble a few more steps, then I circle back to my patch of flattened grass between two larger bushes. I lie back down and feel my eyes shut.

“Bang!”

It’s even louder this time. I freeze entirely. My breathing grows faster as I try to listen for anything out of the ordinary. A hushed swish of branches brushing against each other in the wind. The squawks of nearby songbirds disturbed from their peace. And then: a voice. A low register. It’s not very close. I keep waiting. He keeps talking. I stop blinking. Then, a second voice. One that’s discernably different. The first one was gruff and coarse. This one is sharp and penetrating. It cuts through the thick forest air in a tight hiss, then all of a sudden, silence.

“Bang!”

Just as thunderous as the second one. They haven’t moved. I want to leave and find my mom, but I’m too afraid to even move my head to look. The wind shifts. I catch a whiff of something foreign, something unnatural—something’s off. A steady shuffling begins to sound then comes to a halt. The first voice interjects audibly, then breaks into laughter.

But throughout all of this there’s another noise from the same direction. One that’s only growing in volume. A fast rhythm blurred by the sound of rustling branches. Suddenly the wind brings a familiar scent, and a doe emerges from the clearing trotting along without looking back. It must be Mom—there’s no mistaking it. She dashes across the tall grass until she comes so close I can distinguish her eyes from her body. They’re unblinking, unmoving, fixed on a point in the distance. But she doesn’t stop. She sprints past me, deeper into the forest. And then, quiet once again.

I feel a rush of relief at seeing her. She knows what’s best, and she chose to keep me hidden here. I burrow deeper into the brush and crouch down, keeping my head high enough to look for movement. My ears point toward the origin of the clatter. Still nothing. I will stay here until my mother returns and signals that the danger has passed.

But the silence doesn’t last very long. The strange odor from before intensifies. I hear the crunch of twigs snapping in half, and the stomp of bodies marching along. It’s heavier this time, and the steps are slower. There’s also a distinct drag against the forest floor. The first voice from before starts up again. It sounds lighter now, cheerful. The second chimes in. They go back and forth and I can hear them getting closer. It’s hard to make out the sound past the rushed, heavy beat of my heart.

All of a sudden, they stop. The chatter dies down and is replaced by the soft thuds of objects falling to the ground. I glance to my left without daring to move my head, and in my periphery I see two tall figures standing still. One turns his head to the other and raises his arm slowly, as if to motion something. They face me directly.

The second figure reaches behind his body to adjust something, then his posture changes. He bends down and gets on his knee, breaking a branch in the process. The sharp crack is enough to push me over the edge. I can’t sit still any longer. I must run. I spring to my feet and begin to scurry over to the area where my mom went to hide.

“Bang!!”

This one was deafening. I don’t stop. I keep racing, past the tall grass, past the brush, craving shelter and my mom along with it. I smell her nearby. All of a sudden, my thin legs give way. I find myself facedown against the ground.

“Bang!!”

I stumble back up as fast as I can and I keep going. Finally, we lock eyes. She’s squatting behind a grove of birch trees. I follow her lead. I find a small thicket and curl up in it.

For a moment, we hear almost nothing. Only the occasional pattering of a woodpecker, or the batting of heavy wings far away. Then, a few short steps. Another quick trudge against the fallen leaves.

“Bang!!”