She’s a bobcat.
Ablindwild bobcat.
Reality hits like a blade between my ribs.
I can’t open her gate.
If I open it, she’ll run.
If she runs, not only could she hurt herself, but she’ll hurt someone. She already has in the past. The only reason she wasn’t killed was because the person she hurt begged for her to be saved.
I grip the gate with both hands, the metal not yet hot from the fire.
“Billie,” I sob.
She snarls, then coughs.
The sound breaks something in me.
I think about the playground a few blocks away that’s always busy with families.
“I’m sorry.” I fall to my knees in front of the enclosure. “I’m so sorry.”
The heat grows behind me.
Smoke drifts thicker.
Billie paces once, then crouches again, ears pinned flat.
“I can’t let you out,” I whisper. “I can’t. I don’t know what to do.”
My burned hand throbs. My lungs rattle. My knees sink into the dirt.
I press my forehead to the metal fencing.
“I won’t leave you,” I promise her. “Okay? I won’t leave you alone.”
The words come apart.
I can’t save her.
I saved the horses.
I saved the goats.
I can’t save Billie.
“Please,” I pray, voice shredded. “Please let the smoke take her first. Please don’t let her feel the fire. Please.”
Billie blinks slowly.
My tears fall into the dirt.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
Maverick pops into my head.
He has guns.
