Page 59 of Our Last Resort

How can I possibly think with all these people around me?

My coyote. I could go check on it. I don’t have snacks, but I could share my water. Maybe.

At the very least, I won’t have to listen to this dude tell Ethan how exciting it is that robots will take away his job in a mere few years.

“What are you doing?”

Gabriel’s looking at me. I’m standing, sagebrush up to my ankles, three feet from the rest of the group.

“I just—”

Behind Gabriel, something rustles.

My coyote. It found me before I could even look for it.

From its hideout, it peeks at us.

“I just need a break,” I tell Gabriel.

“I’ll wait with you.”

As if on cue, the coyote stills, ears raised. Gabriel hasn’t seen it. I don’t want to point it out.

“Go ahead,” I tell Gabriel. “I’ll catch up.”

He sighs.

“Don’t get lost,” he says.

“I won’t.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

Really, I do know. People die hiking. It happens all the time.

Finally, Gabriel steps away.

The coyote darts from the hiking trail, toward the den. I follow it. When I look back toward the footpath, I can’t see the group.

Good.

The coyote stops at the short hill under which the den is located. I stay about ten feet away. It sniffs the base of a small dry bush, huffs, and lets out a bark.

There’s a second of tension. Wordless communication, but clear: The coyote wants something from me.

Oh.

My little friend knows I have access to water and snacks. It saw me on the hiking trail but didn’t wait for me to deliver the goods over there. Instead, it led me here, back to the den.

Suddenly, I’d bet money that my coyote’s a mom and there are pups inside. Babies she hasn’t been able to feed as much as she needs to due to her injury—which is why she led me here.

“Oh. Um—”

I pat the sides of my running shorts, as if a snack is going to materialize by magic.

“I’ll come back,” I tell the coyote, because that’s something I do now. Talk to animals. “I’ll…figure something out.”

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