Black Hills

stood and listened to the diminishing sound of the truck as it curved toward the main road.
    It occurred to her that for the first time since she and Coop had camped she was fully alone in the compound. For another two hours—give or take—she had it all to herself.
    “Just you and me, guys,” she murmured.
    She listened to the carol of her old lion, who often called out to the night before dawn struck. In those acres of sanctuary, the wild was awake and alive.
    And hers, she thought, as much as they could be.
    She looked up, happy to see the night sky brilliant with stars. The air was apple-crisp, the stars like jewels, and Boris’s roar joined Sheba’s.
    In that moment, Lil, realized, she couldn’t have been more content.
    A sane woman would go back to bed for an hour—or at least go inside in the warmth and have another cup of coffee, maybe a leisurely breakfast. But she didn’t want bed, or indoors. No, she wanted the night, the stars, her animals, and this small slice of solitude.
    She went in to fill a go-cup with coffee, grabbed a flashlight, shoved her cell phone in her pocket out of habit.
    She’d walk her land, she decided, her place. Wander the habitat trails before the sun rose, before it wasn’t all hers again.
    As she stepped outside, a sudden, high beep-beep-beep stopped her in her tracks. Cage door alarm, she thought, as her pulse jumped. The coffee splattered when she dropped it to streak down the steps, to race to the other cabin.
    “Which one, which one?” She booted up Lucius’s computer on the run, grabbed a drug gun and darts from Medical. Afraid of what she might find—or not find—she stuffed extra tranquilizers into her pocket.
    She hit the switch for the path lights, the emergency lights, then rushed to the computer to call up a camera scan.
    “Could be a blip, could be nothing. Could be . . . Oh, God.”
    The tiger’s cage stood wide open. In the yellow glare of the emergency lights she saw a blood trail across the path and into the brush. And there the shadow of the cat, the glint of his eyes against the dark.
    Go now, go fast, she ordered herself. If she waited she might lose him. Even at his age, he could travel fast, travel far. Across the valley, into the hills, into the forest, where there were people, hikers, farmers, campers.
    Go now.
    She sucked in her breath like a diver about to take the plunge, then stepped outside.
    The alone, so appealing only moments before, now pulsed with fear. The air beat with it, matching the pounding of her heart, and stabbed at her throat like tiny, vicious needles with each breath. The steady beep of the cage alarm stirred the other animals, so roars, howls, screams broke across the compound and echoed toward the sky. That would help, she told herself, help mask the sound of her approach.
    The cat knew her, but that made no difference. He was a wild and dangerous thing, more so out of containment and on a blood trail. More, the blood trail meant the cat wasn’t the only predator who could spring. She knew she might be stalked even as she stalked the cat.
    She had to shut down the fear and ordered herself to ignore the rush of blood in her ears, the knock of her own heart, the snake of sweat slithering down her back. Her job—her responsibility—was to immobilize the cat. Quickly, cleanly.
    She called on every instinct, every hour of training and experience. She knew the ground—better, in fact, than her quarry did. She forced herself to move slowly, to use caution, to listen.
    She shifted direction. The route would take longer but would bring her upwind. If, as she believed, her tiger was busy with the bait that had drawn him from his cage, the route, the noise would be to her advantage.
    She moved through the backwash of the lights, into shadows and back again. Gauging her ground, the distance, shutting her mind to everything but reaching the cat, immobilizing him.
    She heard, under the calls from the habitats, a sound she knew well. Fang and claw rending flesh, the crunch of bone, and the low rumble of the cat as it tore through the meat.
    Sweat slid down her temples, wormed down her sides as she angled again. The cat lay low, feasting. For a clear shot, one that injected the dart into large muscle, she’d have to step out into the open, stand in his line of sight.
    Lil gripped the drug gun, moved sideways, and came out of the trees a bare six feet from him.
    The cat lifted its head, and he growled. Blood from the nearly