Chapter 9 Cara
NINE
CARA
Deer me! Love you, deer! Oh my deer!
—@thedeerestwildlife
The shadows had grown longer, the temperature was dropping, and the sweat on Cara’s neck was drying more quickly.
She needed to get to a lower altitude before nightfall.
She also desperately needed water. There had to be something drinkable somewhere—half the bottled water she’d ever bought was named High Sierra, Sierra Blue, or Sierra something-or-other.
She weaved her way downhill in the waning light, keeping close to trees and shrubbery for cover and longing for the convenience of, well, a convenience store.
As she stopped and crouched to retie her shoe, a trio of deer ambled into the small clearing in front of her.
They stopped so close that she could nearly touch the coarse brown fur on the flank of the largest one, a doe.
A white-spotted yearling and a spindly-legged fawn stood beside her, nibbling shoots growing at the base of a nearby tree.
For an exhilarating moment, Cara didn’t move a muscle and just watched while the large doe foraged and crunched contentedly.
The magic of being in such close proximity to such beautiful wild creatures was broken when the yearling twitched her ears and grunted, and the doe responded with a loud snort.
Cara had barely allowed herself to breathe, but the yearling must have smelled her and sent a warning to her mother, probably, Don’t look behind you . . .
In an instant, they loped away uphill.
I’m nice. I swear, she almost called after them.
She sensed movement across the clearing. Almost before she understood what she was seeing, a mountain lion—tawny brown with a whitish belly and a long, whipping tail—catapulted past her in the direction of the deer.
She covered her ears in a futile attempt to block out the growling, snorts, and high-pitched squeals that accompanied the thrashing in the brush just above her.
And then, as quickly as it had started, the forest quieted, resuming its eerily peaceful hum.
Cara forced her trembling legs downhill.
No matter where she went, death was following.