Symbol of freedom my ass, he thought. He wanted to run after the bird and grab on for a ride. The eagle was smart to avoid humans; it didn’t get to be a healthy adult by flying towards them, that’s for sure.

He turned to the den, wondering if he should crawl back in and hide. Maybe that was his the way out of this, just waiting the Being out.

You could, you could, the little voice said. You may be on to something.

But with his matches lost to the bog, he had no means to keep warm should the temperatures dip even further. All he carried was his headlamp, a water jug, and a knife—not the best set of survival tools for freezing nights. Also, he wasn’t sure how long the bear would tolerate him. One wrong move and the bear could be on him, possibly making enough noise to attract the Being.

Matt blinked up at the sun. The warm light was a relief from the gloomy skies that had dominated his trip. He basked in it, the rays lifting his spirits. Thirty yards to the east a ruffed grouse drummed, starting slow and building to a crescendo.

Matt paced the island perimeter, scoping a route through the bog. To the west, narrow islands spiked with dead trees led across the water. About a hundred yards out stood clumps of living trees, their dark green needles contrasting with the dead silver snags all around him. Gibbons Road was due west, so he proceeded in that direction. With the sun at his back, he left the sheltered island that had protected him through the night.

One good jump, then another. A huge log made up most of the new island, and ripples pinged out into the water with each step. He could hear his footfalls reverberate underwater, as if someone was down there with a stick banging away. Not good.

Matt jumped two more sections of water and worked his way across more grass humps, the healthy row of trees beckoning him. If he could reach them, he should have an easier time.