21

It's not long before you reach the back of the cave. As usual, there's no sign of Shambala—but there is a sign of something. For a start, there's the smell, sour and rank and animal. Then there's the bed of leaves and grasses, assembled before the heavy snowfall. Then there's the half-eaten carcass of a wild yak, the rear end devoured down to the bones, the front end staring helplessly and lifelessly up at you.

"A den," says Zhu. "We should leave. Now."

And then the cave is filled with sounds. First, Stevo screaming "Fuck me!" Then a bestial, demonic roar, then another roar and a scream of pain from Stevo, and then the sound of glass shattering and an animal bellowing.

You and Zhu exchange a glance, and then you heft your shotgun and spring toward the entrance.

Stevo is on his feet, staring down a colossal mountain bear—a Tibetan Blue, one of the rarest bear species in the world, mighty, majestic, and sleek. The bear has taken a swipe at him and ripped open his left shoulder, its razor claws slicing right through the multiple layers of clothing and laying his flesh open to the bone. In turn, Stevo has smashed his whiskey bottle over the bear's head; his right hand is still clutching the shattered, jagged glass neck. Now Stevo and the bear glower at each other warily in the cave entrance.