by Rebecca Rode
In three seconds flat, Ross’s face turned from I’m-your-best-buddy-so-tell-me-your-secrets to I’m-going-to-murder-you-and-hide-your-body. It was rather gratifying to watch. He opened his mouth, but I turned from him and eased the door open a crack, grasping it firmly so the wind wouldn’t yank it from me.
“Are you crazy?” Ross said. “Shut th—”
I slipped through the crack and out into the wind. It was a bad idea. I knew it from the minute I stepped into the swirling dust. I could no longer see more than a foot in front of my face. How could I tell if another tree or something equally big was coming toward me?
No, I’d be fine. The quarantine was just a short distance away, and I had to know if Betsy was all right. If her enclosure had been penetrated when the tree hit the quarantine, as I suspected, she and her babies would be in serious danger. I’d already delayed long enough.
Launching myself blindly in the direction of the quarantine, I fervently began to hope I didn’t get turned around, or maybe I’d end up with Bob after all. Thankfully, I was able to catch sight of the building’s edge before I’d completely passed it. When I opened the door, the wind ripped it off its hinges, the corner slamming on the ground and splintering before the entire door cartwheeled out of sight.
Oops.
Gritting my teeth, I went inside. Dust and dirt swirled around the interior of the quarantine, but with the flashlight from my pocket, the visibility was considerably better than directly in the storm. As I’d suspected, the tree trunk had sailed partially into Betsy’s cage and was now wedged firmly in the wire.
My heart fell to my stomach, where it sat like a lump of undigested food. “No,” I murmured. I almost didn’t want to look, but I had to know if Betsy was hurt and if there was anything I could do to help her.
Chapter 3
I FORCED MY FEET TO continue forward, gripping the flashlight far too tightly. I was tempted to call out, but the wind made hearing impossible. Easing around the tree trunk, I was encouraged when I didn’t see the raccoon flattened on the bottom of the cage. In fact, I didn’t see her in the cage at all. That was odd.
Further inspection showed a gap in the wire to one side of the tree trunk that might be large enough to have let the pregnant raccoon through. Great. That meant Betsy could be almost anywhere by now. I hoped her sense of preservation meant that she hadn’t gone outside, or we might never find her again. Even if she survived the storm, her babies most likely wouldn’t.
I started at one end of the corridor, working slowly, searching every possible cubbyhole. Dirty tears stung my eyes. I probably should have moved her into the breakroom when the storm hit, but how was I to know it would be so bad?
Wait. Were those raccoon eyes? I crawled past the tree, edging closer to a barrel in the corner that contained metal scraps and pieces of wood destined for the garbage. The eyes had disappeared, but under my flashlight, I could see Betsy’s fur. Relief shuddered through me. She was okay. Now what to do with her?
I was still several feet away when she attacked, launching herself at me as if I’d come hunting her. Razor-sharp teeth bit into my left wrist, piercing me again and again until I snatched my arm away. Pain clouded my vision.
She hurtled past me, but not until I saw that she was bleeding from a fresh wound. No. That wasn’t blood from a wound, she was giving birth—or starting to. Immediately, I forgave Betsy for the bite, though my wrist throbbed horribly.
Betsy didn’t dart out the open door as I’d expected, but into one of the other enclosures. I crawled back under the tree, one-handed, my hair whipping around in the wind. The entire building shook, as if threatening to blow apart. I slammed the cage shut and looked around for something I could use to protect her better.
My eyes felt full of grit and sand, and something wet dripped down my hurt hand. No choice but to press on. Betsy’s rabies test results wouldn’t be in for a couple more days, but there was no use worrying about that at the moment.
Past where we’d found the wood, I saw crates and blankets that might be of use, but what to do with them? Maybe I could put one of the crates inside the cage and she could hole up inside it and be okay, even with the wind and no help. How long until the storm passed, and we could get back to her? I’d heard of storms lasting several days, but surely that wasn’t common.
The decision was made for me when I noticed the gaping hole in the roof over the new cage. Too easy for her to get out. “Okay,” I said, wrapping the blanket around my hurt arm until no skin showed. She shouldn’t be able to bite through it now. Opening the cage, I slowly pushed in the crate and another blanket.
Oh, she isn’t going to be happy about this, I thought, as I crawled inside.
Something told me I was crazy for going into the enclosure at all, but I was determined to save her. Quickly, I tossed the blanket over the raccoon, expecting her to go wild. Instead, she held perfectly still. It was a little matter to set the crate over the lump she made, pushing the edges of the blanket inside, so she wouldn’t feel squished.
Then it was back out of the cage for a flat-edge shovel to gently push under the crate and the raccoon, followed by the almost impossible feat of making sure she stayed inside as I carefully and slowly tipped the crate right side up and placed the other blanket over the top. Before I could congratulate myself, I realized that with the pregnant raccoon in the crate, it was too unwieldy for me to get far with my hurt wrist, especially in that wind.
Great, now what?
“Zoey?” came a faint voice. I turned toward the door and there was Declan, looking again like a mythical Norse god. “I thought I’d find you here.” He had to yell at me to make himself heard.
I waved the flashlight. “Help me with this crate.”
He ducked inside the enclosure, his eyes straying to where Betsy had been when we’d left her earlier. “Oh, no.”
“She’s fine.” I pointed at the crate. “But we can’t leave her here.”
“Right.” He peeked inside. “Looks cozy enough.”
“I’m pretty sure she’s in labor.”
He glanced around as the quarantine building shook. “This place looks like it’s going to tear apart at any moment.”
Together we pushed and pulled the crate out of the cage, where Declan was able to heft it. He leaned over and yelled in my ear, “Help me keep the edges of the blanket down, at least until we get to the gift shop door. If she jumps out, we’ll never catch her.”
I nodded, holding back a wince as I pushed down with my sore wrist. Together, we plunged into the storm. Dirt filled my nose and throat, choking me. Pebbles stung my cheeks. Each step seemed to take a lifetime.
I was beginning to think we’d passed by the gift shop altogether when my back slammed into it. Slowly, I slid along the building until we reached the door. I eased it open, catching the door between my knees, struggling to hold it steady.
Declan passed through. “Help her with the door,” he growled at Ross.
The attorney did his first useful thing of the day—or maybe his entire life—and helped me pull the door closed. I sighed with relief.
“You’re bleeding,” Ross said.
Declan looked at me, but I shook my head. “Later. Let’s get her into the breakroom closet.” He nodded and led the way. Ross followed us like a pet dog.
Stephen was waiting for our return and listening to the radio broadcaster talk about the storm. While I’d been gone, someone—probably Declan—had wrapped a cardboard box around his leg and knee, securing it in place with rags.
The closet was the perfect place for the raccoon, the space dark and almost quiet after the wind outside. “Is she going to need help with the delivery?” I asked.
Declan shook his head. “No. At least I hope not. Let’s give her a moment to calm down and we’ll bring her some water and anything else we can find.”
As I came out of the closet, Stephen’s eyes fell on my bloodied hand. “What happened?”
I pulled back my jacket sle
eve a few inches. “I startled Betsy. She was scared.”
“Wait. There is a wild animal in that crate?” Ross asked. “You seriously aren’t keeping it in here with us.” His eyes strayed to a rack of guns displayed in a locked cabinet on the back wall. “You need to put it down. There’s no telling who else it will hurt.”
Everyone ignored him.
“Let’s take a look.” Declan helped me remove my jacket and began pushing up my sleeve, his hands gentle. I reached out to stop him from pushing it too high. I didn’t want him to see what I kept hidden from the world.
“Oh, wow,” he said. “That looks nasty. You’re going to have a few scars.”
If he only knew. Scars were the least of my worries.
My stomach was tied in knots, and I had to force myself to relax as Declan started across the room for the first aid kit. Could I stop him from guessing my secret? It would depend on how far up the bite marks went. I lifted my sleeve and found only one set of teeth marks that went too high. I pushed and held down the material of my long-sleeved tee to stop the flow of blood. I’d bandage that one myself later.
“Sorry about that,” Stephen said from the couch.
I settled at one of the break tables. “Not your fault. She was really scared. I think she’s in labor.”
Stephen made a face. “Lousy time for it. You did good bringing her here. We were worried about you, though, when we realized you’d gone.”
“I should have told you. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You mean, you didn’t want us to stop you,” Declan said, slapping the first aid kit onto the table and sliding into the seat next to me.
I stifled a laugh. “Okay, maybe a little.”
At the other table, Ross gave a loud sigh and mumbled something under his breath.
Declan glanced in his direction. “You got something to say? Because you know where the door is, if you have a problem with us.” Declan held Ross’s stare until finally the attorney shook his head and looked away. The man wasn’t bad, so long as he kept his mouth shut.
Declan began cleaning my cuts, his touch gentle yet surprisingly thorough. Heat suffused me, radiating out from his fingers like some kind of electricity. I couldn’t tear my gaze from his face. He glanced up just then and caught me staring, but he didn’t look away and neither did I. His eyes held mine for a long, silent moment as something passed between us.
I swallowed hard, my throat feeling dry and painful—and yet wonderful at the same time. Was this why I’d felt uncomfortable around him lately? Had I recognized this feeling hovering around us . . . poised for discovery? Discovery—and possible rejection?
I wet my lips, and he followed the motion before finally dropping his gaze to my wrist, his eyes unreadable. “Thirsty?” he asked, the slightest hitch in his voice.
“Yeah,” I managed to say.
“Almost finished.”
But I didn’t want him to stop touching me. Not ever. As he wrapped tape around the gauze, I studied his face: square jaw, tanned cheeks, wideset gray-blue eyes, blond lashes now caked in dust. Lips that compelled me and made me wonder what it would be like to . . .
Before I remembered to stop him, he was pushing up my sleeve, revealing not only the final teeth marks, but also the two-inch scars. The self-inflicted ones, long healed, their patterns precise and unmistakable, numerous thin lines all in a row. I started to pull away, but it was too late. He’d seen them, and even if he might not understand this second, it wouldn’t take him long.
I couldn’t even look at him now. A moment before I was wondering what it would be like to kiss him; now I doubted I would ever have the chance to find out.
Chapter 4
LILY’S SISTER, TESSA, WHO WAS also my therapist, said I’d have moments like this when I would regret my past so entirely it would seem impossible to move on. “But remember that’s a lie,” she’d told me. “Because however much you hate your past, you have overcome it.”
She was right. I’d survived and I’d kept Bianca safe. Whatever else happened in my life, I had that knowledge.
“Little sting,” Declan said as he swabbed the teeth marks with alcohol, acting as if he hadn’t seen the scars at all. “Betsy hasn’t shown any signs of rabies since we brought her in, and the dog who attacked her didn’t have it, but we won’t know for sure—”
“For two more days,” I finished. “I know.”
“Lena may want you to get the shots anyway,” Stephen said, referring to his aunt. “She’s a worrier.”
I made a face. “I hear the shots are awful. I think I can wait out the few days to be sure. They’ll still be effective then.” Rabies could be deadly, but getting treatment was more of a pressing serious matter than a dire emergency.
Declan nodded and placed the final bandage. “That’s what I’d do. Whatever you decide, we can’t do anything about it until the storm stops. There, all finished.”
With relief, I pulled down my sleeve. What did he think of me now? I didn’t dare meet his eyes again to see if there was any hint of his reaction to my scars now that he’d had a little time to think about it. Thankfully, he arose and went to the closet, squatting down and placing his cheek against the door, listening.
I went to the bathroom to see if I could get the grit from my eyes. I looked even worse than I’d thought, my dark hair matted like a character from a horror movie. Leaning over the sink, I rubbed my good hand over my scalp and watched the dirt fall. What I needed was a good shower, and though we had one here, it would be difficult with one hand and nothing to change into. After rinsing the best I could in the sink, I blotted my hair with a towel, flipped my head upside down, and brushed through the wet strands with a brush I found in a drawer. Washing my face one-handed was every bit as much of a challenge, but by the time I’d finished, at least the sandpaper feeling was gone—along with every bit of makeup I’d put on that morning.
When I emerged from the bathroom, feeling only slightly more human, Declan was still crouched by the closet door. He motioned to me. “She climbed out of the crate. I think it’s time to give her water.”
“We’ll have to use the plastic bowls. I have some vegetables left over from lunch. She’ll need the strength.”
“Good idea.”
Declan went for the bowls, while I fished out my veggies from the fridge. The numerous food containers inside reminded me of the other employees. “Any word from the others?” I asked Stephen.
“Yeah, they couldn’t make it back. They’re taking refuge in the shed.”
“That’s good they made it there.” We used the shed to store tools we used more frequently for the big cats. There was a breakroom and water there as well, for those who didn’t want to come all the way into the gift shop, though the place wasn’t nearly as nice as this breakroom. Sometimes Declan and the others would sleep there when they didn’t want to leave a new animal overnight.
Declan pulled on thick gloves before easing the closet door open. Smart move with how upset Betsy had been. Nothing rushed out at us, so he placed the bowl inside, followed by another with my baby carrots and broccoli pieces, plus a few nuts I’d added for protein.
“Got a flashlight?” Declan asked.
I fished it from the pocket of my jacket and handed it to him. He flicked it around the closet. “There she is, behind the boots.”
“Looks like she dragged over one of the blankets. Is that normal?”
“She’s trying to make a nest. Listen.” We both paused, scarcely breathing.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“No babies yet, then.” He rose, changing the position of the flashlight. “Ah, but you’re right about her being in labor. Notice how fast she’s breathing? I’d say we’re going to see a baby in the next few minutes. Hopefully. Otherwise she might need help.”
“We’d have to sedate her.” That would require a return trip the quarantine to get the drugs—provided the building was still standing.
Declan frowned and shut the door
with the barest of clicks. “She’ll be okay.”
I hoped he was right.
The lights flickered twice before plunging us into darkness.
“There’re some emergency lights in the cupboard.” Stephen said, his face partially illuminated by the screen of his cell phone. “And a radio.”
Declan was already moving, so I stayed where I was until the first battery-powered lantern turned on. Then I retrieved the radio, seeing with relief a pile of extra batteries. We’d have to thank Lena, the worrier, later.
Stephen awkwardly adjusted his position on the couch. “Hopefully, the radio will tell us what’s going on if cell service goes down.”
Declan broke out some granola bars, and we ate in a silence only broken by the radio broadcasters arguing whether or not this was the worst storm they’d ever seen. They were talking about rain, and I lifted the edge of the cardboard to look out. Everything was dark, more like midnight than five o’clock, but sure enough, though the sound of the wind hadn’t changed, there were raindrops now on the window.
“They’re right. It’s raining,” I said. “Maybe that means it’ll be over soon.”
“I hope so, or with how violent it is out there, we could have flooding.” This from Declan.
That worried me. “Not here, right?”
“I think we’re high enough to be okay, and so are the animal enclosures, but the roads coming in and out—I’ve seen them covered in several feet of water before.”
I shivered involuntarily, thinking of my sister. “I wonder if the storm’s this bad everywhere.” Had she gotten home or somewhere safe before the worst had hit?
I checked my phone, noting I had five waiting texts but none from my sister. I was dialing her number before I knew I’d decided. “Was there anything about Phoenix on the radio?” I asked Stephen as the phone rang. “Or did you read anything on your phone?”
“Just that they had a storm warning like we did.”
No answer from Bianca.
“I just talked to my wife,” Ross volunteered. “She’s keeping the kids inside, but she says it isn’t too bad.”
