Page 30 of The Last Sanctuary
Raven cringed back against the wall, cursing silently. Panic bit at her. They were between her and the fence. As soon as they reached the shed, they’d discover her.
Still crouching, she crept along the rear of the shed and peeked around the opposite corner. She faced the park now. On her left stood the lodge, the restaurant, the souvenir shop, and the entrance. Bikers bumbled around inside the restaurant. Two shapes appeared through the windows of the lodge—herhome.
To the right, the flagstone path led past the food storage buildings to the east exhibits: the reptile house, the bonobos, the otters, eagle, and porcupines, the ostriches, then the bears and wolves at the rear.
She had only a moment to decide. The goons behind her would discover her position within sixty seconds at most. She inched out from behind the maintenance shed and moved to the path.
Waist-high bushes lined the path, with slim birch trees interspersed every thirty feet. Other than the bushes, there wasn’t much cover until she reached the reptile house, another fifty yards away.
Raven ducked behind the bushes along the path and crawled on her hands and knees. Twigs and burrs jabbed into her palms. The woodsy scent of fresh mulch filled her nostrils.
Voices rang out behind her. Harsh, braying laughter echoed. Flashlight beams swept across the darkened sky.
She crawled faster. Despite the cold, sweat beaded her forehead. Icy shock trembled her limbs. Her pulse roared in her ears. Get out of sight. Get to the rear gate.Get out. Get out. Get out.
After what she guessed was fifty yards, she risked a peek above the hedge. Splinters of mulch needled her kneecaps. Ahead of her, the shadowy bulk of the reptile house reared out of the night.
Dropping back down, she kept crawling. When she checked again, she’d reached the eagle house. She could just make out the shape of Hera, the American bald eagle, who was napping on a high branch within the mesh walls.
Everything felt slow and jerky simultaneously. Every movement loud as a gunshot. Her breath sounded ragged in her ears. She kept going.
After what felt like an hour, she reached the bears. The perimeter fence stood only a few yards behind the bear and wolf exhibits. She forced herself to wait in the stillness, straining her ears for strange noises over the trill of insects. A peacock squawked. Across the park, the squealing of the bonobos echoed.
Voices. Not too near yet, but closing in. A flashlight beam bobbed behind her. Danger was headed her way. Time to move.
Heart in her throat, she rose to her feet.
The bear enclosure was large. To circle to the back, she had to walk along a section of path directly in front of the enclosure, about twenty yards long. It was devoid of topiary bushes or trees, leaving her completely exposed.
Her boots scuffed the flagstone. She softened her footfalls. She craned her neck as she checked in all directions, listening hard, peering through the dim moonlight, constantly scanning, searching for danger, for anything out of place?—
A shadow that didn’t belong.
Directly ahead of her, maybe ten feet at most, a large shape bent over the railing of the bear habitat. It stood completely still and unmoving in the darkness.
Alarmed, she blinked. The shape was still there. Her eyes adjusted enough to determine that the shape was distinctly human.
Adrenaline crackled through her. She couldn’t retreat the way she’d come. Several bikers approached from behind her. Raven did the only thing she could think of. She took off running.
She raced past the bear enclosure. The shadow moved. It jerked back, startled.
“Hey!” the figure cried. “Hey! Stop!”
His footfalls slapped the flagstone behind her. He cursed, fumbling with something, probably attempting to activate his flashlight. Or perhaps a gun.
Her pursuer was larger than she was. Stronger. Likely faster. She couldn’t outrun him. Her only chance was to hide—somewhere he was least likely to look.
There weren’t many options.
It was a risk. It was dangerous. Between human predators who killed for pleasure and animal predators who rarely killed humans in the wild… it wasn’t a choice.
Raven wheeled sharply to the right. She fled between the enclosures. Her pursuer was somewhere behind her. She had a few precious seconds. Maybe.
The timber wolf paddock was surrounded by a double fence, with several feet of no man’s land between. She pressed her righthand to the bioscanner. She was shaking so hard she had to do it twice.
Finally, the outside gate opened. She slipped inside and relocked it, then sprinted to the inside gate, opened it, and entered. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she willed herself to calm the hell down.
She couldn’t show fear. Couldn’t allow herself to feel it, either. Wolves could smell fear. They knew if your heart rate increased, could scent every molecule of your sour, panicked sweat.
