Page 42 of The Last Sanctuary
She needed her snares for catching small game, the lures and wire for fishing, the water filtration kit to keep her drinking water free of contaminants, the flint to make fire, her compass for direction, the tarp and rope, and a sleeping bag for warmth and shelter.
Without the contents of her pack, she wouldn’t last long in the harsh elements, exposed to the cold, the rain, cut off from shelter, heat, and running water.
Her father had drilled the facts of survival into her long ago. Without survival supplies, she would succumb quickly to exposure.
Tonight, under the cover of darkness, she would creep back to the lodge and retrieve the pack from her bedroom. Much as she loathed the thought of going anywhere near the bikers, she had to risk it. There wasn’t another option.
She couldn’t remain inside the zoo any longer. She had to run for her life.
In the distance, the bonobos screeched grumpily. The bears growled at each other. The foxes and coyotes yipped and howled their discontent.
The animals were hungry. They were upset, anxious. Maybe they just wanted to be fed. Maybe their keen primal senses recognized the threat infiltrating their sanctuary.
Raven turned her head. Luna’s piercing, judgmental eyes stared straight into hers, as if the wolf knew what she was thinking. That she planned to leave, to flee, abandoning the animals to their fates.
Guilt speared her ribs. A sickening sensation in her stomach made her nauseous.
She dropped her gaze from the wolf’s. What could she possibly do? She was one teenage girl against an army. She hated the idea of running away with every fiber of her being, but she was out of options. Wasn’t she?
“It’s only for a little while,” she whispered. “I’ll be back. I promise. It’ll be okay. It has to be okay.”
Once the bikers left, she would come back. The next thought came unbidden: what if it was too late for the animals? They couldn’t survive without her, not in their cages, not without a steady supply of food. They needed her.
She told herself this was the right move. The animals would be fine. The dangerous thugs would leave. She would come back. They could live off the food in the storage sheds for a month, and then make a plan from there. It was going to be okay.
But no matter how many times she repeated it like a mantra, she couldn’t make it true.
Chapter Eighteen
Raven hid in the wolf pen for the rest of the day.
Hours passed in agonizing slowness. Eventually, morning gave way to afternoon and afternoon to evening. Eventually, she dared to rise into a sitting position and huddled beneath an aspen tree, her spine scraping the bark, her arms wrapped around her shins, her chin resting on her knees.
At one point, she gave in and found a spot to squat and pee. At first, she feared the wolves would think it an act of aggression, of marking territory, but they recognized that hers was merely human and ignored it completely.
She spent the hours thinking and planning, playing out the various options, potential strategies and pitfalls, and the most plausible method of escape.
Every plan led straight to disaster. But she had no choice. If she stayed, she’d certainly be found and killed. If she fled to the woods, she’d probably be found and killed.
She’d take her chances.
She ignored the cold, ignored her fuzzy teeth, ignored the hunger gnawing at her belly, her aching back, her thirst. Thesun descended second by endless second, until finally the sky darkened to night.
The trill of crickets and cicadas filled the air. Stars spattered the glossy black of the sky. Fog drifted over the trees like ribbons of tulle. Only when darkness had well and truly fallen did Raven risk standing up.
Every muscle ached and squealed in protest. She ignored the pain and squinted, barely able to make out the shapes of the wolves resting near the den. Tensing, she waited.
Nothing lunged out of the fog at her. No menacing growls echoed through the trees.
Cautiously, she moved back through the trees toward the fence line. Her thigh muscles cramped, and her sore back ached. She kept walking. Each step felt like a mile.
Shadow and Luna remained close to the den. They watched her go in silence.
Reaching the fence, she paused to listen for footsteps. The fog thickened, making it harder to see. After checking to make sure the coast was clear, she opened and then shut each gate of the double fence, using her prints to lock them.
She pulled out her whittling knife and gripped it in one hand as she crept along the path, passing several enclosures. She passed the porcupine pen. Duke and Duchess waddled out of their night house, quills bristling. They hissed at her in outrage for daring to interrupt their nocturnal habits—whatever those might be.
Hera ruffled her feathers from the aptly named eagle’s nest, a two-story wire-mesh enclosure with a tree in the center. The raptor sat serenely on her perch, talons gripping the wooden pole. Her beady eyes tracked Raven’s movements as she crept past.
