Where is a park ranger when you need one?

The wolf got the first volley—technically his second, making it his unlucky day. With a low howl—that surely meant, I’ll be back to get you, bitch—he broke off from the tussle and ran. The bear seemed intent on chasing it, but just in case, Tammy decided additional incentive was called for, and given the large target before her—AKA its fat, hairy ass—she fired. And hit!

The bear roared, and it was uncanny how that sound made her think of Reid when she clobbered him with a frying pan. His grandma was right. He does sound like an ornery bear.

Before she could go looking for him, because the newest round of gunfire didn’t bring him running, another giant wolf came bolting from around the side of the house, its shaggy head turning for a moment to peer at her. Its vivid eyes caught her gaze with an intelligence surely imagined. This second canine beast loped after the injured wolf and bear. Well, after the wolf at any rate. The bear had another idea. It seemed her attempt to send it on its way had backfired.

Uh-oh.

Yeah, it was dark, the sliver of moon barely lighting the yard, but there was no mistaking the way the bear halted in its tracks. Turned. Faced her. Snarled. Stood, and oh yes, began walking in her direction.

“Oh fuck me to hell and back,” Tammy cursed as she reeled back into the false safety of the house. Her fingers fumbled for the ammo in her pockets, the simple act of reloading betrayed by the shaking of her hands.

It didn’t help that the upright bear roared. Not a happy roar. As if such a thing existed.

Where was a picnic basket or a park ranger when you needed one?