It's All About Survival: living in the desert
Published by Cynthia E. Bagley at Smashwords
Copyright © 2012 by Cynthia E. Bagley
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Image for the book cover is public domain from Public-Domain-Image.com titled Mountain Lion by Larry Moats, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service
Dedication
To my husband Otto. You are my star, my hero
It's All About Survival
In the high-mountainous desert of eastern Utah, the early-morning air seeped through her clothing. Chrissie shivered. Even, the borrowed gloves, too big for her hands, barely kept them warm. The weather here was temperamental. Some years, it would snow from October to June: others, it would be warm enough to play baseball year-round.
Breath steamed. No doubt, this year's snow would bring elk and deer, unable to forage in the high-meadows, down from the mountain. They would devour the ranchers' haystacks, stealing what profit ranchers gained by growing alfalfa.
The cold air tickled her throat. Cupping her hands over her mouth, her breath warmed her cheeks. A quick glance at the horizon confirmed that the storm was settled on the not-to-distant hills. Chrissie hunched into her denim-jacket.
She shouldn't be out here, doing Randy's chores if Randy hadn't decided to be stupid. He'd broken his leg, falling off a horse. She snorted. How many times has he fallen off horses? One time too many. Hero-villain-she didn't know what he was. She measured the oats for the horses.
Pa had told him not to touch the mustang. Pa wasn't even sure if he could tame him. He called that horse a force of nature. But, Randy was at that age where he wouldn't listen to nobody.
Chrissie sighed. And then school. She would almost rather do all the chores and work side-by-side by Pa than have to deal with those townies. The girls seemed self-assured with their short skirts, their make-up, and their boyfriends. Perfume. She would give anything to smell like a girl instead of a farm hand. She smelled of chickens, cows, and horses. Crap. Crap. Crap. And more crap.
And, Randy. He wanted to be on the football team. He wanted to date. He wanted to be one of them. Riding the mustang was his way to look like a hero to those fluff-girls.
Damn she said in her head. "Darn," she said aloud. Pa would switch her and Ma would wash her mouth out if they knew the kind of language she spoke at school. But, darn school. And darn Randy.
The sky rumbled from one end to another. It was a reminder to work faster. Chrissie noted the clouds piling above the hills. She didn't have much time to finish the chores.
Chrissie grabbed the pan filled will chicken mash and headed for the henhouse.
"Grrrrrr."
That was not the sound of the approaching storm. Chrissie came round the corner of the barn and she saw it. The cougar. It was not young. Tufts of hair dropped from his coat and his ribs were sharply outlined under its skin.
She froze, the chicken mash tightly gripped in her hand. A loud clap of thunder shook her world. The cougar's eyes gleamed red as it dropped to its belly. Hungry. Creeping towards her. A devil with black lips and yellow broken teeth.
Step-by-step, Chrissie backed up until the chain-link fence that protected the hen house pressed against her back. There was no escape.
The cougar's tail waved side-to-side. Cougars were not too different from the small cats, Pa had said. Chrissie had watched the barn cats wave their tails the same way when they were ready to pounce on their prey. A cat's prey could escape, but only by acting quickly.
Chrissie reached behind her for the latch, while her other hand kept the mash aimed at the cougar. Turning her back on the cougar would make her vulnerable, but . . .
Clank. She dropped the mash in front of the cougar. He jumped and hissed at the pan. Like a cat. In one movement, she turned around, opened the latch, and slipped into the pen.
The cougar sniffed the mash. He screamed. I'm hungry, she heard. I'm lonely, she heard. I'm not ready to die. Chrissie trembled. She was tied to this being-an intimate duel to the death. She had only won the first skirmish.
The cougar looked at her through the fence. She could almost see his mind work, coming to a solution on how to extract her. He salivated. Stretching, he reached towards the fence, shook it-his claws extending and retracting-lovingly.
The sky darkened. Small hailstones peppered the ground. Time slowed.
Claws, those claws could easily rip through clothing and flesh. Chrissie wanted to live, to be, and to have children. She wanted life.
The cougar prowled, shook, and pushed the fence, searching for an opening. A meal. She could give up. This cougar was a force of nature. Who could challenge it? Hypnotized by his eyes. She could lie down, leave her jugular vein open to him, and give her life for him.
A hailstone hit her. For the first time since she had seen the cougar, she looked away. Her connection with the cat broke. No, she was not prey. No, she could not give in. Not now. Not ever. Time to think of a solution.