jog down the path, Goldie on my heels, keeping the stream on my left, a field full of ragweed higher than my head on the right. Cecil says there’s no point tilling the back acre, that the soil is shit and that the ragweed keeps pussies with allergies away. I climb a little fence that goes across the path, getting a decent shock at the top that makes me fall to the ground.
“Shit!” I yell, and Goldie goes nuts on the other side of the fence. She’s pacing, panicked, trying to reach me and barking her head off.
“Tress?” Cecil’s voice comes from the field, and he rises from the green rows, pruning shears in his hand. “What the hell you doing back here?”
“There’s someone up at the house,” I tell him, inspecting the burn across my ankle from the electrified wire. I glance up at the fence I fell from to see yellow clips running across the top wire, attached to an electrical box, a trail camera strung up in the tree beside it.
Nice. I’m sure Cecil got a great shot of my face as I fell.
He grabs me by my upper arm, pulling me to my feet. “I told you—”
“You weren’t coming,” I say. “And the guy’s got a cage and . . .” I think of the shriek I heard, unable to place it. “And there’s something in it.”
Cecil lets go of my arm. “All right, hang on.” He goes over to the electrical box, unplugs the wiring and climbs over the fence. My gaze slides off him and over to the green rows. These are shorter. It’s not ragweed, and the skunk smell is stronger down here. Way stronger.
“C’mon, girl,” Cecil yells at me. “Get moving.”
I scale the fence, following in Cecil’s footsteps as we head back to the house, Goldie constantly shoving her nose into my hand, looking for reassurance that I’m okay . . . or maybe that she’ll be okay, that I’ll protect her.
“What is it?” I ask, breathless. “What’s in the truck?”
“Surprise,” Cecil says. “Little something some guy needed to get rid of.”
More like it wants rid of him, I think as we come up into the yard, and the truck shakes on its wheels as whatever’s in the cage makes a lunge at the guy, standing off to the side.
The men shake hands, and Cecil slips him a sandwich bag full of something, then they’re backing up to the new enclosure, the one opposite Rue’s. She starts yelling at them, and throwing some of her stored fruit. An overripe peach bounces off the passenger-side window, splatting all over.
“Shut her up!” Cecil yells at me, but there’s not much I can do. Rue’s got a whiff of what’s in the cage, and she doesn’t like it. She’s all the way at the top of her tree, yelling and letting everyone know she’s not happy about the new development. In the paddock, Zee and Dee have already fled to the far corner, nuzzling together for comfort.
Cecil pulls the gate to the new enclosure open, and the guy backs the truck up as close as he can, the edge of the cage just inside. He cuts the engine, gets into the back of the truck—bringing a high yowl of complaint from inside the cage. Then he climbs on top of it, reaching through the fence of the enclosure to open the cage’s latch.
There’s a clang of metal on metal, a dark streak, and then a puff of dirt as the animal—a panther—slides to a halt, changing directions fast when he sees the man’s hand is still inside the cage. The cat lunges, but he pulls back just in time, laughing a little to cover his fear.
“Bastard almost got me,” he tells Cecil, sweat rolling off his forehead.
The cat retreats to a corner, growling low in its chest as the truck pulls away. Cecil swings the door shut quickly, snapping a lock down on it. I didn’t realize I was backed up all the way against Rue’s cage until her arm snakes out. In a second, I’m smashed against the fence, wire cutting into my cheek, Rue’s iron grip not letting me pull away. The men don’t notice. They’re headed toward the house, Cecil cracking open a beer.
Shit, shit, shit. Cecil was right, she’s going to tear my face off. Her smell is strong, like body odor and a wet dog, all in one. Goldie is going nuts, barking and yelping. She jumps, biting at Rue’s