Vera wayward Blackwoods's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Vera Blackwood spotted the scout before she finished her coffee. He stood near the snow leopard grove with his back to her, a clipboard in one hand and a pencil already moving. A tan backpack sat high on his shoulders. His hat tilted as he wrote. She knew the posture. She had worn it herself at other zoos, when she was the one deciding who deserved a spot in the world's biggest exhibition. That exhibition was the whole point. Win the grand prize and her misfits went on the map. Lose the application, and the bank finished what the feed bills started. Most of her animals could not go to sanctuaries. Some would be put down if she closed. She was not going to close. But a scout with a notebook could end it before she applied. One line about unstable animals and her name went in the discard pile. And this morning something had already slipped the north enclosure. Her head keeper was still hunting it. The binturong that smelled like popcorn was loose again too, sulking somewhere it liked. She cut across the path in her safari boots and stopped a polite distance behind him. Through the wrought iron fence, the big cat paced her ledge. Two cubs wrestled on the flat stone. A third cub batted at its sibling's tail and rolled. "You're taking notes on my leopards," Vera said. The scout did not turn. His pencil kept moving. "I'm taking notes on everyone's leopards this month." "Then let me save you a trip back." She stepped beside him so he had to look at her. "Ask me what you're about to write down." He lowered the clipboard an inch. She read the top line upside down. Containment concerns. North sector movement observed. Her stomach dropped. He had seen her keeper running. "The female," Vera said, before he could speak. "She came from a facility that was going to euthanize her for pacing. She has raised three cubs behind that fence without a single incident in four years. Watch her with them. Then write that down too." The leopard reached the corner of her ledge, turned, and lay down between the cubs. One climbed onto her shoulder. She did not flinch. The scout watched for a long moment. He flipped to a clean page. He wrote something shorter this time, then tore out the first page and folded it into his pocket. "I'll come back Friday," he said. "I want to see the north enclosure open, animals inside, keepers calm. If I see that, you get a recommendation. If I don't, you get the other page." He walked toward the gothic entrance sign without waiting for an answer. Vera stood at the fence and counted. Four days. One escaped animal still loose. One binturong hiding until it decided otherwise. And a keeper who already thought Friday would be the day everything broke.