Scaredy Cat

Chapter 12: Courage

It was getting dark when Everly awoke. She had already missed the shuttle bus into town, so she would have to walk the two miles to the highway tonight, and then hitchhike from there -- an act of courage (or stupidity) she still felt capable of. And she would have to leave immediately, before it grew too dark. The dirt road from the camp to the highway was unlit, and the tall trees on either side would quickly smother any last rays of the sun. Everly pulled off her sandals. Stupid shoes. What could possibly be courageous about clopping around with no arch support, slipping on rocks, and turning your ankle in tacky footwear? But she supposed she was making excuses again. By now she was unable to determine what was bold and what was reckless; whether she was walking away in disgust, or running away out of pure cowardice. She put on her hiking boots and stuffed the sandals, along with the rest of her clothes, into her suitcase.

Leaving camp unnoticed was surprisingly easy. The rest of the campers were in the mess hall, partying and energizing their psyches for tomorrow's big event. Everly could hear them from across the compound, talking excitedly and laughing. If there was anyone else disillusioned, or afraid, they were keeping it well hidden. She turned toward the entrance, and swung open the gate. Dare to be great. Dare to open the gate. Dare to put your tail between your legs and run like a rabbit. It closed behind her and squawked a reproachful farewell.

The road was clearly visible, even in the dim light. Its hard, dusty surface caught the twilight and reflected it in a silver ribbon that slipped away underfoot, pulling Everly away from the camp. Her footfall was quiet, and she breathed deeply, feeling her soul lighten with every step she took. The air was fresh through the woods, with a rich fragrance of pine needles and moss and warm rocks and something else -- a sweet, musky scent. A low tone like a pipe organ made Everly skip a step -- an owl, she supposed, or a grouse, or a moose -- she had no idea what any of them sounded like. She cleared her throat and began to hum, to avoid catching an animal by surprise. Then stopped, listening. All quiet again.

Trees took shape beside her as she walked, and now a rock bluff, and farther along the ribbon, a shimmery blue bead, which became a car, Simon's car, empty, with front doors open and the headlights on. Everly slowed as she approached it, and stopped, confused.

"Simon?," she called. "Lana?" No answer.

The forest seemed to be holding its breath, as she was, listening for clues. She leaned into the car and looked nervously into the back seat. Nothing but an unfolded map and Simon's tartan umbrella. Everly blinked, and looked through the windshield, trying to find the ribbon of road, but it bled off into blackness now, as it left her feet.

And then a scream. Very loud, very close. Everly's thighs sprang even before she had identified the sound and hot adrenaline seared her insides. She was running, tripping, off the ribbon into the dark toward the second scream and the third. The air was thick now with the energy of fear and with the sweet and musky smell that Everly thought for a moment must be Lana's perfume but was even more wild and frightening than that. She found the fourth scream, crashed into it in fact, and grabbed the screamer, Lana, by the shoulders, wildly looking around for Simon, the attacker, the perpetrator. And saw instead the cat. The grizzled browny grey cat with the small fearsome head and the tail like a python, the black slashes on the muzzle and the lips snarled back from terrifying teeth. The yellow-eyed cat that was as big as she was. The mountain lion.

***

Felis concolor, a.k.a. the Eastern cougar or puma, is in fact quite rare in Southern Ontario, having been hunted almost to extinction over the years by homesteaders avenging their slaughtered or missing livestock. This one was a solitary male, brought a little closer than usual to populated areas by a long and severe winter, and kept there for the duration of the spring by a toothsome flock of sheep. Recently, the sheep farmer had engaged two young border collies, and as a result the cat was hungry and ill-tempered -- not the mood in which one hopes to encounter such a creature. Nor was this the ideal place to meet, from a potential meal's point of view: the rough terrain was full of obstacles, while dense trees made for poor visibility and slow running. Not that running would save any but the most agile and fleet-footed prey, and Dr. Lana Morris, in her skin-tight pants and high heel mules, was certainly not that.