Page 22 of Born to be Wilder

We all spun toward Alice, and Marge spit back what we were all thinking. “You were the one complaining the smoke was blowing on you and you wanted to use the RV to block it. This is your fault.”

“Hey, it was blowing on me, and I didn’t want the smoke in my lungs because… well, the cancer.”

Marge scoffed. “Nice try. The cancer card doesn’t work on me.”

Alice shrugged. “Well, I had to try.”

“We’re trapped!” Doris wailed.

“Doris, calm down.” I reached over and rubbed her back. “There is no way raccoons are getting inside Bertha. We’re safe in here.”

Doris’s breathing quickened. “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”

“You’re literally breathing right now.” Marge pointed at her rising and falling chest.

Doris kept muttering I can’t breathe on repeat as the rest of us stared at each other, then peeked out the window at the little party crashers.

Alice moved aside one of the plaid curtains, peering out. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Here come more.”

“More?” Doris’s voice shot up several octaves.

“Okay, okay.” Marge cracked her knuckles. “Maybe we need to get out of here. If we’re calling in this many raccoons, a bear may come next.”

“A bear?” Doris screamed, her hands flying to her face to cover her eyes. “Is it here?”

“No bear here, Doris. You’re fine.” I rubbed her back harder, though even I started to worry.

“Okay, if we’re talking bears, then I’m with Doris. We need to get the hell out of here,” Alice said.

“But how? Marge said the picnic table is blocking us in.”

Marge looked at the door, then at the awning crank in her hand. “I’ll go out and move it.”

“Marge, no! It’s a suicide mission!” Doris cried.

“You can’t go out there, Marge,” I agreed. “It’s too dangerous. There are over a dozen of them.”

Her lips tightened into a sinister smile. “Don’t worry. The most dangerous thing in these woods is me. I’ve got this.”

“But do you?” Alice tipped her head. “This feels like that time you thought you could commune with a kangaroo, and we all know how that turned out.”

“Oh, I’m not going to commune with them. I’m going to show them who’s boss.” She clapped the pole into her hand several times.

“Marge, seriously. We’ve all been drinking wine. None of us know how to drive this thing. If you get hurt out there, who knows how long it could be before help arrives, and we can’t drive you out of here.”

“Fine. I’ll use the horn first.” Marge straightened up, tactical mode fully engaged. “Scare the little bastards into the next county. Then I go out and move the table, we grab what’s left of the food and my cooler, of course, and off we go.”

I tipped my head. “Actually, the horn isn’t a bad idea.”

Marge tapped the side of her temple. “See? I’ve always got you girls. I’ll get us out of this mess.”

She walked through the RV to the driver’s seat, then slammed her hand onto the horn.

The little melody played out into the dark woods surrounding us, cheerful and ridiculous.

The raccoons went silent.

Marge smirked. “See? Alpha predator here. They know they don’t want to mess with me.”