John walked to the other side of the trailer and retrieved his foldable Buck knife. Then he bent down and stuck the blade deep into the fleshy tire. He relished how it sunk into the rubber, how the air gushed out. He slashed the other tires and the bears looked around skittishly as the trailer lowered. Then John searched the trailer for the spare, finding it at the head. He jabbed the knife into it, twisting so the air gushed out faster. Then he sliced off the lighting wiring, wrapped the wires around the blade and sawed through.

The bears huddled on their mother, looking up at him with sorrow as he searched the head of the trailer. He opened a blood-stained cooler, finding a bag of charcoal and lighter fluid.

They aren’t going to leave momma, he thought, so I’m going to have to make them. If he left momma, the bears would stick to her side. Then they’d be an easy recapture for the poachers.

Lighter fluid in hand, he approached the cubs. They stared at him, big eyes wild, snouts sniffing, paws shuffling.

I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, he said. But I have to. We are your enemy. Always remember that.

Then he screamed at the top of his lungs.

GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE NOW!

The bears cowered, pressing hard against their mother, covering her like the Secret Service would cover a president.

John feared his yelling would alert the poachers, but he needed to get the cubs out of here, now.

John kicked at the first cub and it bit his boot. Then he kicked at the other one, connecting with its ribs. The kicks were not hard, but they were enough to send a message. The quarrelsome bear swiped at his right leg, teeth bared. John kicked him in the rump with his left leg.

Go on, Get! Get the HELL out of here now!

John raised his hands in the air, making himself as big as possible. Then he jumped up and down on the trailer, rocking it back and forth. He kicked at the bears again, catching another in the rump. It yipped.

Go on GET!

John let out a fake growl, raised his arms high in the air, and stomped on the trailer. The cages and gear rattled.

The bears cautiously backed off the platform, not moving their eyes off him. They growled and clicked and snarled. John stood in front of their dead mother, blocking their path to her. He felt horrible, but not as bad as if he let the slobs get the cubs again.

The retreating cubs glared at him from the forest floor, not sure whether to attack or run. They wanted their momma, they missed her so. She was all they had known.