M.A. Kleen

Twenty-five years ago, I self-published The River of Rain, a philosophical exploration of freedom, human nature, and the modern world. To mark its anniversary, I’m releasing a fully revised edition, one chapter every Wednesday. This is the novel as it was meant to be.

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Wednesday, November 12th

Victor awoke later than usual, well rested after a deep, untroubled sleep. As he often did, he stretched and made his way down the shelf in front of the cave, half walking, half sliding. He felt especially refreshed that morning and chose, for once, to ignore his hunger so he could wander deeper into the forest.

Before leaving the shelter of the enclave, he paused and looked across the river, a place he had never set foot in. The current was too swift and the water too deep to swim, and though he had considered building a raft, he lacked both the materials and the desire. Whatever lay on the far bank was free to stay there. He had his side, and that was enough. Shaking the thought away, he turned and followed the river for a time before climbing the gentle rock-and-dirt slope that led into the thicker woods beyond.

The day was especially cold, and he was glad he had remembered the cloak he stitched together from animal hides. The forest looked stripped and barren in the fall, but Victor preferred it that way. It was far better than summer, when underbrush choked every path and mosquitoes attacked without mercy.

A rustling sound ahead made his ears prick. His eyes locked onto the source at once: a shaggy black bear rooting through the leaves in search of grubs. Victor froze. He knew bears rarely attacked unless you wandered into their territory, but where that line lay was anyone’s guess. This one was unfamiliar, a newcomer, likely wandering in sometime during the year.

His mouth nearly watered at the thought of it. A bear like that meant a blanket thick enough to last through winter, a trophy worthy of pride, and meat that could feed him for months—if he could bring it down.

Victor had been watching the bear for some time, studying its patterns. He had tried to come up with a way to trap it or lure it in, but bears were smart, and he doubted any trick would work. He was grateful it hadn’t caught his scent yet. That would have meant real trouble.

His bow worked well enough on rabbits and squirrels, but on a creature larger than a man? The knife might do some good, but claws and teeth wouldn’t let him get close without paying for it. He could have waited until the bear settled in for winter, tracking it to its den, but where was the sport in that?

The bear rooted through leaves and rotting logs. Victor picked up a rock and threw it. The stone struck the animal squarely, a dull, solid thump. It reared up, nearly six feet tall, and roared.

Victor ran.

The bear dropped to all fours and charged, but Victor zigzagged through the trees, changing direction every few yards. Each shift forced the sinewy body to slow just enough. In those brief openings, Victor loosed an arrow and drove it into the black bear’s shoulder. The roar that followed was thick with rage, not pain.

He reached for another arrow and went down hard, his foot catching on a hidden branch. Idiot.

The bear was on him instantly. Victor drew his knife and slashed at the animal’s nose and face, aiming for the softest flesh he could find. Heavy paws crashed into him, claws tearing across his arms and chest. He felt the warmth of blood before the pain registered. Then his blade cut across the bear’s nose. The animal howled, staggered back, and limped away, batting at its face with a massive foreleg.

Victor lay there for a moment, staring up at the gray sky through the branches, his chest heaving. His ears rang. Every breath burned. The forest felt suddenly too quiet, as if it were holding its breath along with him.

He forced himself to sit up. His arms trembled, slick with blood, the wounds shallow but angry. They stung fiercely now, a sharp, insistent pain that demanded attention. He knew better than to ignore it. Untreated cuts festered quickly out here. Infection was as deadly as any animal.

“Damn it,” he muttered, more to himself than the retreating bear. It had gotten away.

He stayed where he was longer than he meant to, listening for movement, expecting the forest to explode again at any moment. Only when the shaking in his hands finally eased did he stand.

Victor made his way back to the enclave as quickly as he could, stripping off his clothes and plunging into the pool beneath the small waterfall. The first thing he did was wash his wounds. The ice-cold water stung, then soothed, dulling the pain and slowing the bleeding. He felt light-headed and knew he had probably lost more blood than he should have, a realization he shoved aside.

Soon, he told himself, he would have to track the bear down. Hopefully it was bleeding out even now. The bear was probably wishing the same fate on him. Victor almost smiled at that.

He glanced over to where Ingram perched on the dead log. “Where were you?” he hissed. The raven only ruffled its feathers and began preening, entirely unconcerned.

Victor rinsed his scraggly hair and dried himself with a leather cloth he had painstakingly fashioned from deerskin. He wrapped strips of cloth from the cave tightly around his torso, leaving his arms bare, the deep cuts exposed and angry against his skin. In this state he looked frightening, even to himself, his thoughts thick with blood and violence.

He told himself he wouldn’t waste any time. If this was going to end, it would end soon. But even as the thought hardened in his mind, his body betrayed him. Weakness flooded in. He slid down against the stone wall of the enclave, and despite fighting it, sleep claimed him.

Next time, he’d be ready.

Saturday, November 22nd

5 a.m.

Ariana woke that morning with panic and confusion already crowding her thoughts. The alarm blared, and for a moment she lay there, unwilling to move, though she knew she had to if she wanted to be on time. Her friends were picking her up a little after seven. She needed to shower, do her makeup, get dressed. It would all take longer than she wanted.

She rushed through everything, her hands moving on autopilot while her mind stayed fixed on the party waiting for her that night. She felt stretched thin, caught somewhere between the edge of a breakdown and a rush of unrestrained excitement.

She finished just as her friends arrived. They would ride together to the school, where the bus was already waiting to take them upstate. Her mother hovered and fussed until Ariana whined enough to finally shake her off. She wore her school’s red-and-white cheerleading uniform and carried an oversized bag stuffed with everything else she might need. It was far too heavy, and she struggled with it all the way outside.

Her friends laid on the horn until she managed to wedge herself into the back seat with three other girls. Smiles spread across their faces as they sped away, chasing what felt like their first real taste of independence.

9:45 a.m.

The deluxe bus was packed nearly to its limit with kids. They yelled and screamed, creating constant commotion while the driver struggled to keep his attention on the road. Nothing the adults said seemed capable of calming anyone down. The football players, still in their uniforms, clustered toward the front with their coach, while the cheerleaders filled the back. They caused their own brand of trouble, some of them flashing the cars trailing the blue-and-silver bus. Laughter erupted at full volume, as if it were a contest.

Ariana sat by the window, trying to fix her makeup in the small mirror she had brought along, while the girl beside her bounced relentlessly in her seat. “Will you stop it?” Ariana snapped. The girl only stuck out her tongue and kept bouncing.

Outside the window, the bus rolled through a wide, beautiful forest blanketed in fallen leaves, but no one noticed. Inside, kids shoved and shouted, all fighting for attention. The louder the adults yelled, the louder the students became. It was a nightmare for the bus driver, already worn thin by long hours and too little rest. He nervously sipped his coffee despite the late morning, knowing the day ahead would be a long one. No one seemed to notice the strain he was under, or that his doctor had warned him too much stress could be deadly. But bills had to be paid. What choice did he really have?

12:00 p.m.

The deluxe bus finally screeched to a halt after four hours on the road. The driver wiped sweat from his brow as the kids filed past him, most of them ignoring him entirely, save for a few cheerleaders who offered polite thanks.

Ariana buzzed with excitement, her bag slung over her shoulder as she stared up at the hotel. It wasn’t fancy, but it wasn’t one of those cheap places either. They were going to have so much fun, she thought, chattering with her friends. Boyfriends kissed their girlfriends as the group split off toward their assigned rooms. They would have about an hour to settle in before heading out to lunch, and then on to the game.

The girls marched single file up the stairs. Once inside their room, they dropped their luggage in a heap and collapsed onto the beds. The long drive had drained them, and they knew they would need to conserve what energy they had left for the game, where they were expected to cheer with everything they had. It wasn’t often their school made it to state, and it was even rarer for the cheerleaders to travel for away games.

They were exhausted, though none of them wanted to admit it. This much excitement felt new, almost overwhelming, and there was still so much ahead of them. This party, they told themselves, would be the biggest and best they had ever known. It was their senior year, and they wanted the memories to last. They believed this was the moment when childhood ended and adulthood began. That was what they had been told. What they didn’t yet realize was how quickly that belief would fade.

1:30 p.m.

Ariana took a bite of the salad from its plastic container, the only thing she had eaten since yesterday afternoon, while the same cafeteria chaos swirled around her. This time it was playing out in a fast-food restaurant, the managers begging the group to settle down, their pleas ignored. The kids didn’t care. They were here to have fun.

The football players demolished cheeseburgers in a few bites and lobbed fries at one another. The adult chaperones watched nervously, wondering what the night would bring, especially if their team won.

“Where’s the keg going to come from?” Julie whispered.

“I don’t know,” Ariana replied around a mouthful of lettuce. “One of the guys is getting it.”

A napkin ball landed between them. Ariana glanced up to see where it had come from and immediately caught the eye of one of the football players. She blushed and looked away. It was Jimmy, number fifty-four, one of the best players on the team and easily one of the coolest. There was no way he could like her, she told herself, though she hoped he did.

Julie noticed the exchange and leaned in, urging Ariana to talk to him later at the party. Before Ariana could respond, the adults announced it was time to go. Apologies were offered to the restaurant staff, along with a few extra bills slipped across the counter for the trouble they had caused.

Afternoon

Victor emerged from his slumber slowly, everything still groggy and indistinct. What time was it? He judged it to be late afternoon by the position of the sun, dulled behind a thin haze. A shiver ran through him as he stood and pulled on his warm skins. His upper body ached.

The bear surged back into his thoughts as his eyes lifted to Ingram, still perched on the log. “Come on, friend,” Victor said quietly. “We have to find that bear.” The raven screeched and flapped its wings in reply. Victor smiled and climbed back to the cave to retrieve his spear. He had fashioned it over the previous week from a sturdy branch and deer bone, chipped and worn down to a sharp point with stone. Hopefully, it would serve its purpose well.

Man and bird returned to the place where he had first encountered the animal and began following the broken tree limbs and trampled underbrush. Hours seemed to pass. Then Ingram grew alert and perched atop a small rise that proved to be the roof of a hollow. Inside lay the bear, sleeping, still recovering from its wounds.

Victor carefully climbed the mound and stood over the beast, spear in hand. Even asleep, it was imposing. It would make a fine prize. He chose a spot along its neck just beneath the jawline and tried to steady his hands.

“Easy now,” he said aloud, then drove the spear down. The bear convulsed for a few moments, stilled, and drew its final breath.

The silence that followed was heavy. Now there was only one problem left: how to move such a large body back to camp. Victor sat down beside it, gripping his spear, staring at the black shape as he weighed his options.

To be Continued…