Total pages in book: 196
Estimated words: 186555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 933(@200wpm)___ 746(@250wpm)___ 622(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 933(@200wpm)___ 746(@250wpm)___ 622(@300wpm)
“He should’ve by now…,” Am whispered.
“We have to help him,” I said. “We should call your dad, but my service doesn’t work down here.”
“Mine neither.”
I wanted to ask him what to do, but I was the adult. I had to figure it out. I’d watched a show about game wardens before. What would they do?
Put it in a crate.
“By any chance do you have a crate in your house?”
He thought about it. “I think so.”
“Can you go get it?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to put him in it.”
“How?”
“I have to grab him, I guess.”
“Ora! He’ll rip your face off!” he hissed, but I was too busy being focused on him worrying about my safety to focus on anything else.
We were becoming friends. “Well, I’d rather have a few stitches than he get hit by a car if he goes off by himself,” I said.
He seemed to think about it. “Let’s call Dad and have him come and get it. He’ll know what to do.”
“I know he will, but who knows how far he is, or if he’ll even be able to answer the phone anytime soon. Go get the crate, and then we can call and ask, deal?”
“This is stupid, Ora.”
“Probably, but I won’t be able to sleep tonight if he gets hurt. Please, Am, go grab it.”
The teenager cursed under his breath and slowly walked way around the bird–who still didn’t move—before taking off running into his house. I kept on watching the majestic bird as he just waited around, crazy sharp eyes looking from side to side with those insane neck movements of his kind.
Getting a good look at him… he was huge. Like literally massive. Was that normal? Was he on steroids?
“Hey, friend,” I said. “Wait here a second, okay? We’ll get you some help.”
He didn’t respond, obviously.
Why my heart started beating faster though, I really didn’t get. Never mind, I guess I did. I was going to have to grab this big son of a bitch. If my memory served me correctly—from all the episodes I’d seen of zoo shows and the one game warden show—you just kind of had to... grab them.
Could they smell fear? Like dogs? I eyed my new friend and hoped like hell he couldn’t.
Two seconds later, the door to the house burst open and Amos was out, setting a big crate down on the deck before running back inside. He was back out another second later, shoving something into his pockets and then picking up the crate again. He slowed down as he got closer to the garage and walked way around where the bird was still standing. He was breathing hard as he slowly set it down between us, then pulled out some leather gloves from his pockets and handed those over too.
“This is the best I could find,” he said, eyes wide and face flushed. “You sure about this?”
I slipped the gloves on and let out a shaky exhale before giving him a nervous smile. “No.” I kind of laughed from the nerves. “If I die—”
That got him to roll his eyes. “You’re not doing to die.”
“Make up some story about how I saved your life, okay?”
He looked at me. “Maybe we should wait for my dad.”
“Should we? Yeah, but are we? No, we have to get him. He should have flown off by now, and we both know it.”
Amos cursed again under his breath, and I gulped. Might as well get it over with. Five minutes from now wasn’t going to change anything.
My mom would’ve done it.
“Okay, I can do this,” I tried to hype myself up. “Just like a chicken, right?”
“You’ve picked up a chicken before?”
I eyed Am. “No, but I’ve seen my friend do it. It can’t be that hard.” I hoped.
I could do this.
Just like a chicken. Just like a chicken.
Opening and closing my hands with the big gloves on, I bounced my shoulders and moved my neck from side to side. “Okay.” I inched closer to the bird, willing my heart to slow down. Please don’t let him smell fear. Please don’t let him smell fear. “All right, love, pal, pretty boy. Be nice, okay? Be nice. Please be nice. You’re beautiful. I love you. I just want to take care of you. Please be nice—” I swooped down. Then I shouted, “Ahh! I got him! Open the crate! Open the crate! Am, open it! Shit, he’s heavy!”
Out of the corner of my eye, Amos rushed over with the crate, door open, and set it on the ground. “Hurry, Ora!”
I held my breath as I waddled, holding what I was pretty sure was a steroid-taking bird—who wasn’t struggling at all, honestly—and as fast as possible, set him inside, facing away from me, and Amos slammed it shut just as I got my arms out of there without getting murdered.