Chapter Eighteen

Barry slammed the brakes on the truck.

Already braced against the door panels, Owen and Claire's nephews lurched forward, their belts catching across their waists. Owen didn't care, because Barry hadn't been able to stop soon enough for him. Before the truck had stopped skidding in the mud he was out the door, barrelling for the observation paddock, where a group of workers had already formed with lights. The rain was pelting still, and his heart was hammering as hard as it could, as if it were an artillery cannon pounding off shots. The two boys and Barry followed him, the truck now abandoned.

He was laced with adrenaline as he gripped the cage encircling the area, whipping himself around the corner, listening to his boys and the workers slosh around and whisper and call out to him. His skin was cold, but he wasn't. Every nerve was on fire. His feet slid in the muck, and he went to his knees; but he didn't care, just pushed himself forward. He was halfway through the gate when he froze, eyes latched onto the scene. He swallowed.

He saw three workers – one holding a light, the other gently holding Delta's front arms, knee-high in mud. Delta was hardly moving, making whimpering noises, hissing softly. He could see her eyes were barely responsive, and she was hardly alert. It puzzled him – she'd been fine that morning, or so he had thought –

- No, she hadn't been at breakfast that morning. She'd been missing when he'd dropped food off, he knew that – he had decided to go in and run over her physical for some new medication. Delta had always been the sickly girl of the pack, but it had never really shown in her behaviours, he'd just known it from her gene sequences and what Wu had told him when she'd been hatched.

Owen felt as if he were seizing he was shaking so hard. He watched the workers from the corner of his eye, but his vision was clamped down at the woman at Delta's head, who was cooing to her gently, hands shaking, as she took a pen light and checked the animal's eyes.

Marianne.

The other worker was scribbling notes hard and fast on a soggy clipboard with soaked paper, doing his best to keep it dry under an umbrella cradled in his arm awkwardly. Owen's hair dripped into his face as the felt the cage rattle – he looked left.

Zach and Grey, Claire's nephews, were staring at the animal – frozen in place. The eldest one was blanched, his hands trembling. Owen knew it wasn't from the cold. The other, younger boy was staring wide – eyed at the scene, a look of wonder and amazement on his face. Owen could see the boyishness in him rise to an ultimate, and he knew the boy was captivated. Stone cold and staring, no one even noticed them, until Owen was staring and another whipped a look to the boys.

"Hey, you two!" It was Silas, his accent rushing over the wind and pounding rain. He turned and stalked around the corner, Owen rising from his mucky knees to lunge for Silas. He grabbed the man's wrist and locked eyes with him.

"It's okay – they're with me," he pulled a thumb into his chest and burst into the observation cage. Dropping to his knees beside Delta's head, Marianne whipped a look at him – her hair had fallen out of its bun and hung in strands around her face. She had a streak of mud running along her eye, and she stared at him hard – her eyes were icy, cold, and hurting. He wanted to make them change, change to something warmer, happier.

"What happened?" He was purely business, not willing to drag their personal problems into the situation. His hands dipped beneath Delta's head, and he dipped to whisper to her, telling her it was okay. He kissed her rough skin and looked up to Marianne. The animal's body relaxed instantly, "It's okay, sweetheart. I'm here," his eyes were locked with Marianne's, who was staring at him with a mixture of compassion, forgiveness, confusion, and rage.

The rain was pouring in sheets, the wind chilling him down to his core. He didn't care. The workers around him waited for Marianne's response, obvious baited by his questions. He watched her swallow and look away, her hands still shivering. She was entirely covered in muck again, but he swore he'd never seen anything so…attractive. When he didn't get an answer for her, she turned away; and he quickly reached out and grabbed her wrist hard. She froze.

"Marianne."

. . .

He said her name it sounded like bourbon, poured over her freezing body and soothing her core. She was staring into his eyes again and she was gone from the world – lost in him and trying to find out who this man was that was playing with her heart.

She'd been out here forever – cursed him for not being the first on scene. She'd had no idea what to do, but had done the basics. She understood basic first aid, and she had checked Delta's breathing and for any signs of infection and bleeding – it was hard in the rain, as it kept everything wet. Delta's breathing had been labored and rough and she'd been sluggish in her eyes and movement. It had pitched Marianne's heart and made her eyes pool with tears – thank God for the rain, or everyone would've seen she was crying.

Delta had calmed slightly once the other three raptors had left. It had been eerily quiet, and Marianne had taken to talking to the animal during her assessment. With everyone watching her, she knew they probably though she was insane, but she hadn't cared. Delta had locked gazes with her for a few times, Marianne assuring her she would be okay that Owen would be there soon. At his name the animal had seemed to relax – apparently he had the same affect on all women in general?

Marianne knew her heart was breaking. She could feel it in her chest – it had to have been, otherwise her chest wouldn't be burning with fire and simmering with sorrow. She couldn't let this animal – this beautiful, astounding animal – lie here by herself, despite Briggs' and Silas' warnings. She hadn't heeded their warnings, and had paid for it – Delta had sliced her with her talon across the leg, but she hadn't cared – it wasn't enough to worry about.

She looked at Delta – her eyes cried out for help. They were scared, alone, and sickly – she was dying of something and they didn't know what. It killed Marianne inside. She couldn't let her die – she didn't know her, hadn't gotten to know her! She hadn't gotten to study her or document her patterns or know her habits; she hadn't gotten to interact with her and see how she responded to a female presence. She hadn't documented bone structure, movement fluidity, hunting and preying patterns. She'd done nothing with this raptor, and she desperately wanted to. It cried out within her soul. Marianne wanted so badly what Owen had with these animals – to have them respect her and understand her, to communicate with her.

Marianne clicked the pen light and stuffed it into the pocket of his vest, "I don't know what happened," she shook her head, voice slightly shaky, "B-Barry came to get me. Said she was h-hurt," she was freezing, but she didn't show it, and she reached for the stethoscope around the charting worker's neck. She pressed it to the animal's chest, "I'm not a doctor, but her breathing isn't good, Owen."

He nodded, "Okay," he whipped around and pointed at Briggs, "Go get the truck," To Silas and the others, "We've got to get her out of the rain or she's gunna get pneumonia." They all nodded and filed into the area, taking positions around the animal. Briggs came roaring out of the garage with the truck a few moments later, and backed up the truck to the gate. They lifted on three and loaded the animal carefully. Owen stepped up into the bed of the truck, sitting against the back and placing Delta's sluggish head in his lap.

The workers began to disband, cleaning up the observation deck, tending to other jobs. Marianne slammed the tailgate, hustled around to the driver's side, not noticing two figures climb into the cab. She pulled herself into the warm cab and froze when she saw two figures buckling up – on in the crew cab, the other in the passenger's. Her brow furrowed.

"Aren't you –"

" - Claire's nephews, yeah; I'm Zach, he's Grey – what's going on?" It was so fast and unorganized that it tossed her brain like a mixed salad. She shook her head slightly to try and make it settle, but it didn't. Instead, she yanked the truck into drive, slammed the accelerator, and tore off for the resort, spraying mud as she did so. Whipping a look over her shoulder, she saw Owen glancing at her, yelling at her and pounding the glass to go, go, go.

"The raptor is sick," Marianne pieced together for the two boys, who were turned in their seats watching Owen, "And we're going to get her some help," She pounded the gas, fighting the rain, wipers whipping as hard as they could. Her heart was pounding so fast it was making it hard to think and breathe, "How did you two get out here?"

"Owen brought us," the little boy, Grey, responded, "He was supposed to take us back to Aunt Claire. Who're you?" His gazed was fixed on her now, and it was slightly unnerving. Marianne tucked some hair behind her ear and gripped the wheel with both hands.

"Uh," she backpedalled, "Marianne. I work with Owen."

He quipped, "You his girlfriend?"

She hit a pothole, which she couldn't see through the sheets of rain. Her teeth chattered together and she slowed down a bit, glancing over her shoulder. Blood was pumping heavily so heavily through her ears she thought they had turned into aqueducts. Owen glanced at her through the back window, waving her on. She whipped a quick look to the little boy before turning back towards the road.

"No, I'm not." She retorted bitingly. Setting her jaw, she clamped her top teeth on her bottom lip and drove on, hands like a steel vice on the wheel. She felt them staring at her but she didn't care - they were kids. There was silence, save their breathing, until they arrived at the veterinarian building back in the resort. The windows were fogged in the car, and it was turning into a greenhouse.

Marianne slammed the brakes, the tires skidding in the dirt and water, whipping to a stop outside the building. She unclicked her belt and turned to the boys, both her hands pointing a finger at them. She quickly glanced between the two boys.

"Alright. Stay here, I'll be right back."

They said nothing and she slipped out of the truck, her boots landing hard on the dirt, sloshing in a puddle and sending cool, muddy water up her ankles and deep into her boots. She didn't care, instead came around to the bed of the truck and hoisted herself up the side, using the tire for support to lean over the edge. She locked eyes with Owen, blinking furiously to dispel raindrops off her eyelashes.

Owen, thoroughly soaked, held up a hand – it was soaked with oozing blood and her heart pitched. She almost fell off the side of the truck. "She's bleeding out of her mouth," he called over the rain, "something's wrong in her abdomen!"

Marianne nodded, "What do you think it is?" She whipped her soaking hair out of the way. Rain was pooling in the back of the truck, but Owen didn't seem to care. He moved away from Delta, and came over to her side of the truck, kneeling before her. She slipped of the side of the bed and stared up at him, her hands cold and her stomach doing flips. They shared a stare for a moment.

He didn't answer her initial question. "I'm sorry about what happened," he darted his gaze away, only to shake his hands out, water flicking off them in all direction. He looked back to her instantly, his eyes filling with sorrow and regret. Her mouth parched despite the vast amounts of rain, "I-I didn't mean to give you the cold shoulder." His voice dropped to that low, smooth tone again and he glanced at her, "Are you up to forgiving me or do you want to hate me forever?"

She stepped back from the truck, trying to suppress a giggle. She stared at him for a long moment, the world around her forgotten. He was apologizing? Asking forgiveness – her forgiveness? That had never happened to her before, and hope flared within her, starting from her toes and running heat all throughout her body. He was actually sorry. He knew he'd done something wrong and was actually apologizing for it. And, to top that – he was asking forgiveness! Marianne couldn't believe it. How could she mad at him when he was so humbly asking for her pardon? She nodded at him, sloshed towards the tailgate, and glanced up at him again. "Far be it from me to hold a grudge. I suppose I can forgive you." The corner of her lips upturned in a cocky, half smile, and she dropped the tailgate. "Just don't make it a habit."

He gave her a light, half smile, and positioned himself next to Delta again, sitting on the wheel-well of the truck's bed. She backed up from the tailgate and pulled her thumb towards the area of the door. "I'll go get Neela and Peter," she called over her shoulder, already taking the stairs two at a time.

She burst through the doors after scanning her badge the place quiet and shut down for the evening. She checked her watch – it was already after seven. "Hello! Anybody! Please, I need help!" Her voice echoed off the stillness of the building, and she called louder, "Dr. Bartlett!" She moved past the front desk, down the hallway to the examination room for the smaller animals. "Hello! Dr. Bartlett? Anyone!?"

A light flicked on in the back room, and a shadow bobbed against the wall. She moved faster down the hallway, jogging now, her body squishing and heavy with water. "Dr. Bartlett –"

Sure enough, he came around the corner, looking dishevelled and exhausted. He was fixing his lab-coat and his stethoscope was hanging around his neck, the bell clapping against his collar bone. He stopped, gave her a confused look, and reached out for her arm, "Miss Randal – are you ok? What's the problem?"

She hadn't realized she was panting and crying all at once, but he had, and it drew her attention to her emotional state. She swallowed and grabbed his hand with her own wet, dirty one and yanked him down the hallway, walking briskly, "Come, please – hurry!"

They bolted into the rain, Bartlett stopping at the tailgate. Marianne gasped, covering her mouth with her hands at the sight. Her heart stopped beating for a moment and she staggered, having to grasp the side of the truck to stabilize herself.

Owen, now thoroughly soaked in not only mud and water, was wiping oozing blood onto his vest. He looked pale, exhausted, and cold, but he bent to his knees and waved Marianne up, "She's bleeding bad, Annie. Something's wrong. We have to get her inside,"

"Let me go get the lift truck and we'll take her inside. I think it's a GI bleed," Bartlett said quickly. He turned and hustled back up the steps. Marianne pulled herself up into the truck and lowered herself down next to Delta, who whined and hissed exhaustedly. Her eyes, still sluggish, were focused on Marianne.

"It's okay, Delta sweetie. We're gunna get you fixed up," Marianne sniffled now, water running off her nose and the ends of her hair on the animal's body. She stroked Delta's nose, the animal's mouth parting slightly to call out in a gargle. A stream of blood exited between glistening teeth and Marianne wiped her hand along her jaw to clean it up. The animal whined again, this time in almost a childlike whimper. Marianne raised her eyes to Owen's and swallowed. He looked just as concerned and terrified as she felt. She continually stroked Delta's nose, cooing the animal. "Shh, honey. It's okay. Shh. We're coming."

Within moments Bartlett returned, and after much heaving and pushing, they managed to get Delta onto the lift truck. Bartlett looked between them, now wet and cold and dripping with a blood-stained jacket. He pulled a penlight between Delta's eyes and checked her reflexes, "She's slow. How long she been like this?"

"I was with her about half an hour and I don't know how long before then," Marianne responded, her voice shaking. Whether it was from the cold or from her fear she didn't know. Thunder cracked overhead and lightning brightened the sky, the wind whipping more debri around their feet and across the resort square. Bartlett nodded his head as he weighed out his options.

"Let's take her back. I'll have to work her up if she's gunna need surgery." He motioned between them, then to the truck. "Looks like you two have company?" He questioned. Both of them looked to the truck to find Grey and Zach had smeared the foggy windows to watch them. Marianne nodded to Owen, who was panting, wiping at his moustache to dispel water from it.

"You go," Owen nodded, "I'll get the boys and get the truck." He hustled towards the driver's side, and waved them off before Marianne could insist he go with Delta. But, he was up and tearing away before she could even form words. Turning to Bartlett, she found him already pulling himself up into the truck and motioning for her to come.

. . .

Her eyes were cold and calculating as they watched above the tops of the enclosure wall. It moved slowly, mechanically inward towards the shrubs and foliage, which were slick and dripping water. Her eyes narrowed at the meal coming forward, her stomach moving in hungry, her claws twitching in anticipation.

The arm lurched downward uncharacteristically, and she followed it until she realized it was no longer able to be visualized on the other side of the barrier. Tipping her head to the side only slightly, she took a step forward towards the meal, shaking the earth. How had it gotten inside so easily? If it could, couldn't she move over the wall as well? And why wasn't it alive?

She smelled the arm, instantly recoiling – she liked the old way better, the smaller things coming into the enclosure and dropping her meals off. She liked them better because they moved quickly and were always scared – she could smell it and feel it inside of her. She liked watching their movements, planning her mode of attack on her prey. Just when she'd figured out how she would do it, they'd stopped sending in the little things and had started with this arm. She looked towards the wall again, moving towards it slowly. She tipped her head to the side.

Maybe she could climb it, if this arm could.

In an instantly, she slashed her arm out and her claws slid against the rough, hard substance. No, it was too slick to move. She looked around to see if anything was watching her. Maybe if she tried climbing out, those little things would return? Maybe.

Just maybe.