The Carpenter family had never owned a motor home or camper. The family budget was tight enough with seven kids, and anyway, neither Michael nor Charity were the sort of people who went for extravagant consumption when something simpler and cheaper would do. They got by just fine with two four-man tents. Initially these had been the parents' tent and kids' tent; later, as the kids got older, it became the girls' tent and the boys' tent, and Michael and Charity shared with the kids.
Sleeping on a thin air mattress and hard ground was no longer easy for Michael, even with his night's dose of painkillers. So he was half awake, drifting in a weary fog between sleep and consciousness, when the noise came from outside the tent.
Michael sat up carefully, leaning on his arm. It was not completely dark; between the full moon and the floodlight at the campground office, he could dimly make out the boys sleeping deeply on either side of him. The noise came again -- something messing around with the cooler, from the sound of things. It was probably nothing, just a dog that had wandered over from one of the motor homes parked in the RV section of the campground. But the sign outside the campground had warned them to keep their garbage picked up -- it was Wisconsin, after all, and black bears were not unknown in these woods. Michael knew firsthand, though, that bears were not the worst things that could lurk in the dark.
Sometimes he did miss the sword.
Michael laid a hand on his cane and slid himself towards the door of the tent. They'd zipped down the mosquito netting, but had left the tent flap tied up, as it was a warm night with no sign of rain. At first glance, he saw nothing amiss under the brilliant moon. The two tents and the van formed a semicircle enclosing the campsite's few amenities -- a firepit, some logs and lawn chairs to sit on, and a little pile of split firewood. Charity had insisted on leaving the main cooler next to the van rather than inside it; she reasoned that the night air would be chillier than the air in the van, so the ice in the cooler wouldn't melt as fast. Michael had doubted it would make a difference, but with the cooler's plastic lid on tight and its handle locked down, he didn't think an animal could get into it.
But something had tried. It was definitely tipped over, its white side facing up, the red lid looking black in the moonlight. Michael squinted at what he'd at first taken for dirt on the side of the cooler, and then realized that it was a series of parallel slashes, as though someone had dragged a machete along the side. Or a set of claws.
Then something rustled from the far side of the girls' tent, and the tent wall rippled.
Fury overwhelmed him -- at that moment he didn't care what was out there, or how big it was, or how much magic it had. It had decided to mess with his kids and Charity, and that meant it'd picked the wrong campsite tonight. Michael unzipped the mosquito netting, and Daniel stirred, rolling over with a mumbled, "Wha?"
"Stay here with your brothers," Michael told him, hearing the tension in his own voice. Daniel responded to the tone more than the words, sitting up in his sleeping bag, his face a white blur in the moonlight. He nodded and reached to lay a hand on little Harry's shoulder.
Michael slid out of the tent and levered himself to his feet, leaning on the cane. He'd stiffened up badly lying on the ground, and he had just enough of the painkillers still in his system to put a fuzzy edge on his thinking, but not enough to make it easier to move. The dim, uncertain light from the moon and the campground office was just exactly the wrong lighting conditions for his newly impaired vision to cope with -- he was still adjusting to the lack of peripheral vision and impaired depth perception, and felt most confident in bright light.
But none of that mattered, because he heard something grunt behind the girls' tent, a deep gruff cough. Whatever it was, it sounded big.
Dresden had suggested that he get a cane with a sword in it -- "Not a holy sword, just a regular garden-variety sword cane," he'd said. Michael had laughed, as he was fairly sure Dresden had meant him to, but now the thought crossed his mind that, first of all, Harry might have been serious, and second, it might be worth thinking about.
He covered the distance between the tents faster than he'd believed himself capable of, rounding the end of the girls' tent with the cane shifting automatically into a combat grip. Whatever was waiting for him -- a ghoul, a demon, some kind of nightmare out of the Nevernever -- if it wanted his family, it was going to have to go through him to get to them.
He glimpsed a mass of dark fur beside the tent, and lashed out with the cane, catching it a sharp blow across the shoulders. It turned and looked up at him, surprisingly slowly in Michael's opinion; he was already poised to dodge before he realized that he was looking at a perfectly ordinary non-magical black bear.
Compared to most of the things he'd fought, it was tiny. It couldn't have weighed more than a few hundred pounds, and hardly came to his waist. The claws were no longer than his fingers, nothing to compare to a ghoul, say, or the more aggressive kinds of werewolf.
Michael laughed in spite of himself. The relief was huge. Only a bear, and a little one at that. "Scram," he said, and whacked it in the face with the cane.
He could see that the bear was having some trouble processing this. It was clearly used to foraging for scraps around the campground, and seemed to have no idea what to make of a human that wasn't afraid of it. Michael sighed and struck it in the face again; it flinched. "Come on, don't make me get tough. I have no quarrel with you as long as you leave my family alone. Just go away."
The bear gave up in obvious dismay. It made a sound that was suspiciously close to a whimper, turned tail and fled into the woods. He could hear it crashing as it ran, and from the sound of things, it kept running for a long time.
Michael shook his head and checked the cane to be sure it wasn't damaged. It wasn't. He rested the business end on the ground and limped back around the end of the tent just as Alicia stuck her head out blearily. "Dad, what's going on?"
"Nothing. Just a bear. Go back to sleep; it's all right."
Alicia blinked at him thoughtfully. But Daddy had said it was all right, and Daddy clearly had the situation in hand, so she smiled sleepily, said "Okay," and began to withdraw into the tent again.
As the shaky relief began to wear off -- only a bear, thank you, God -- Michael realized that probably he ought to take a few elemental safety measures. Compared to what the kids had faced in the past, there wasn't much to worry about and he doubted they'd panic, but still ... "Alicia, make sure your sisters and mom know that there's a bear around. Go to the rest rooms in pairs if you need to go. Okay?"
"Okay, Dad." Alicia yawned and vanished into the tent.
Michael limped over to the campground office. The office was closed for the night, so he scribbled a quick note about the bear on one of the pile of Xeroxed campground maps weighted with a stone on the porch, and stuck it into the crack in the door. There. He hoped that the bear was long gone; certainly such a creature might be dangerous if cornered, but he had no desire to see it killed.
Just a bear. And here he'd thought it was something to worry about.
Fill: Dresden Files, Michael & family, no warnings aside from implied Small Favor spoilers (G)
Sleeping on a thin air mattress and hard ground was no longer easy for Michael, even with his night's dose of painkillers. So he was half awake, drifting in a weary fog between sleep and consciousness, when the noise came from outside the tent.
Michael sat up carefully, leaning on his arm. It was not completely dark; between the full moon and the floodlight at the campground office, he could dimly make out the boys sleeping deeply on either side of him. The noise came again -- something messing around with the cooler, from the sound of things. It was probably nothing, just a dog that had wandered over from one of the motor homes parked in the RV section of the campground. But the sign outside the campground had warned them to keep their garbage picked up -- it was Wisconsin, after all, and black bears were not unknown in these woods. Michael knew firsthand, though, that bears were not the worst things that could lurk in the dark.
Sometimes he did miss the sword.
Michael laid a hand on his cane and slid himself towards the door of the tent. They'd zipped down the mosquito netting, but had left the tent flap tied up, as it was a warm night with no sign of rain. At first glance, he saw nothing amiss under the brilliant moon. The two tents and the van formed a semicircle enclosing the campsite's few amenities -- a firepit, some logs and lawn chairs to sit on, and a little pile of split firewood. Charity had insisted on leaving the main cooler next to the van rather than inside it; she reasoned that the night air would be chillier than the air in the van, so the ice in the cooler wouldn't melt as fast. Michael had doubted it would make a difference, but with the cooler's plastic lid on tight and its handle locked down, he didn't think an animal could get into it.
But something had tried. It was definitely tipped over, its white side facing up, the red lid looking black in the moonlight. Michael squinted at what he'd at first taken for dirt on the side of the cooler, and then realized that it was a series of parallel slashes, as though someone had dragged a machete along the side. Or a set of claws.
Then something rustled from the far side of the girls' tent, and the tent wall rippled.
Fury overwhelmed him -- at that moment he didn't care what was out there, or how big it was, or how much magic it had. It had decided to mess with his kids and Charity, and that meant it'd picked the wrong campsite tonight. Michael unzipped the mosquito netting, and Daniel stirred, rolling over with a mumbled, "Wha?"
"Stay here with your brothers," Michael told him, hearing the tension in his own voice. Daniel responded to the tone more than the words, sitting up in his sleeping bag, his face a white blur in the moonlight. He nodded and reached to lay a hand on little Harry's shoulder.
Michael slid out of the tent and levered himself to his feet, leaning on the cane. He'd stiffened up badly lying on the ground, and he had just enough of the painkillers still in his system to put a fuzzy edge on his thinking, but not enough to make it easier to move. The dim, uncertain light from the moon and the campground office was just exactly the wrong lighting conditions for his newly impaired vision to cope with -- he was still adjusting to the lack of peripheral vision and impaired depth perception, and felt most confident in bright light.
But none of that mattered, because he heard something grunt behind the girls' tent, a deep gruff cough. Whatever it was, it sounded big.
Dresden had suggested that he get a cane with a sword in it -- "Not a holy sword, just a regular garden-variety sword cane," he'd said. Michael had laughed, as he was fairly sure Dresden had meant him to, but now the thought crossed his mind that, first of all, Harry might have been serious, and second, it might be worth thinking about.
He covered the distance between the tents faster than he'd believed himself capable of, rounding the end of the girls' tent with the cane shifting automatically into a combat grip. Whatever was waiting for him -- a ghoul, a demon, some kind of nightmare out of the Nevernever -- if it wanted his family, it was going to have to go through him to get to them.
He glimpsed a mass of dark fur beside the tent, and lashed out with the cane, catching it a sharp blow across the shoulders. It turned and looked up at him, surprisingly slowly in Michael's opinion; he was already poised to dodge before he realized that he was looking at a perfectly ordinary non-magical black bear.
Compared to most of the things he'd fought, it was tiny. It couldn't have weighed more than a few hundred pounds, and hardly came to his waist. The claws were no longer than his fingers, nothing to compare to a ghoul, say, or the more aggressive kinds of werewolf.
Michael laughed in spite of himself. The relief was huge. Only a bear, and a little one at that. "Scram," he said, and whacked it in the face with the cane.
He could see that the bear was having some trouble processing this. It was clearly used to foraging for scraps around the campground, and seemed to have no idea what to make of a human that wasn't afraid of it. Michael sighed and struck it in the face again; it flinched. "Come on, don't make me get tough. I have no quarrel with you as long as you leave my family alone. Just go away."
The bear gave up in obvious dismay. It made a sound that was suspiciously close to a whimper, turned tail and fled into the woods. He could hear it crashing as it ran, and from the sound of things, it kept running for a long time.
Michael shook his head and checked the cane to be sure it wasn't damaged. It wasn't. He rested the business end on the ground and limped back around the end of the tent just as Alicia stuck her head out blearily. "Dad, what's going on?"
"Nothing. Just a bear. Go back to sleep; it's all right."
Alicia blinked at him thoughtfully. But Daddy had said it was all right, and Daddy clearly had the situation in hand, so she smiled sleepily, said "Okay," and began to withdraw into the tent again.
As the shaky relief began to wear off -- only a bear, thank you, God -- Michael realized that probably he ought to take a few elemental safety measures. Compared to what the kids had faced in the past, there wasn't much to worry about and he doubted they'd panic, but still ... "Alicia, make sure your sisters and mom know that there's a bear around. Go to the rest rooms in pairs if you need to go. Okay?"
"Okay, Dad." Alicia yawned and vanished into the tent.
Michael limped over to the campground office. The office was closed for the night, so he scribbled a quick note about the bear on one of the pile of Xeroxed campground maps weighted with a stone on the porch, and stuck it into the crack in the door. There. He hoped that the bear was long gone; certainly such a creature might be dangerous if cornered, but he had no desire to see it killed.
Just a bear. And here he'd thought it was something to worry about.