Eli couldn't do it. He lowered the oar, refusing to send the helpless beast to the bottom of the channel. Then, a sharp air horn blasted in the distance. Eli turned toward the bow. In his panic, he hadn't noticed where the boat was heading. The Salt-Run was speeding straight toward the rocky shoal near the jagged point of the bay—a wall of razor-sharp granite reef less than two hundred yards away.
He had to turn the boat or kill the engine. Eli crept carefully toward the helm, but as he reached within three feet of the console, the bear stirred. A low, warning growl rumbled deep in the animal's chest. Its dark eyes cracked open, dull and groggy, but locked squarely onto Eli.
The bear was too weak to stand, but its front paws twitched defensively, razor claws exposed. Eli backed away slowly. He couldn't get close enough to reach the ignition key without getting mauled.