6

Adelaide leaves the front door open as she descends the steps. The screaming has stopped. But just beyond the garden perimeter, other noises: snorting, grunting, shuffling.

The branches lie across the ground, and Adelaide steps carefully over them—don’t fall, don’t fall.

She holds the cleaver out before her like a battle-ax and approaches the spot where she laid the trap. The rod of the trap is still locked in the earth, the chain pulled taut across the garden and disappearing into shadow. Fractured boughs of willow litter the ground.

The beast bellows and kicks at the wattle fence. The thicker wood splinters, the lesser wood explodes. Fragments of pine and willow pepper Adelaide’s face, and she shields her eyes with the blade.

Adelaide hears a whine like an abridged yawn. Hushed whispers like the passing of breath through gritted teeth.

She steps carefully over the branches—don’t fall, don’t fall.

She must be cautious. No accidents. No noise.

She grips the cleaver tighter. She knows what must be done and can delay no longer. She is better than this. She’s hunted before. Skinned, processed. This is no different. No different.

Something shuffles through the leaves, and Adelaide hears a noise like a raspy cough in the back of the throat. And then another sound—higher, lighter—answers the first.

There’s more than one.

She must do it.

Now.

Before she loses her nerve.

Whether she dies tomorrow in the river eddy, or right here by claw and by tooth, she is ready.

Adelaide spins around, raises the blade and charges through the shadows. Tears spill from her eyes. Her bun unravels, strands of silver rope twisting behind her. The trees stretch in her periphery—they, too, eager to see what has sprung the mighty steel jaws.

Adelaide’s breath catches in her throat, choking and wheezing, much like a beast herself, when she comes upon it. She skids to a stop, landing on her tailbone, as the cleaver spins from her grasp and disappears into the trees.

She cannot believe what she is seeing. And she cannot look away.

Before her, covered in mud, skin thick as a coconut husk, is a woman.

She faces away from Adelaide, snarling over her shoulder, kicking at the dirt as if in tantrum. The woman whips her head and spits, hisses through orange teeth, her face half hidden beneath a wedge of matted hair. The woman is wild, nude, her spine protruding like a staircase. The steel teeth of the trap impale her ankle, and she sits in a pool of her own blood.

Adelaide steps forward. “Are you o—”

The woman howls, spits. Strands of hair tangle in her mouth and between her teeth, though she takes little notice. Adelaide takes a step back, and the woman turns away, silent, as if Adelaide were not there at all. She curls around an object in her arms, but Adelaide cannot see past the broad hulk of her shoulders.

Adelaide advances slowly, skirting the trees for cover. The woman, as though sensing the threat with her very skin, emits a low guttural drone that causes the air in the clearing to throb.

“Hello?” Adelaide calls out, though it issues as a whisper from her lips.

The growl intensifies, and Adelaide regrets losing her grip on the cleaver.

“I can help you,” she says.

The woman ignores this, staring intently at the thing in her lap.

“Let me remove the trap for you. Please. I’m so sorry.”

The woman swings her head toward Adelaide. Her brows, thick and unkempt, grow to a crescendo between her black eyes. Her soiled teeth protrude from parched lips.

Adelaide holds her breath, and in her head, she hears the words spoken mere days ago, like a prophecy: ain’t no cat.

No cat indeed.

The woman locks her eyes on Adelaide.

“What have you got there?”

The sun emerges from behind the clouds, painting the woman with light. Her body is embroidered with dozens of fresh scratches and old scars. One could trace constellations across her skin.

Tucked within her arms is a swatch of fur. An animal?

The wild woman pulls herself closer to the fence, and from beneath the woman’s elbow, Adelaide spots a small foot, dirt caked between wriggling pink toes.

Dear god.

Adelaide rushes toward the woman, no longer hesitant, no longer fearful, and shoves her shoulder aside. The wild woman shuffles backward, wailing, shackled by her injured ankle.

Folded within the woman’s arms are two naked children, their small black eyes peering up at Adelaide.

Before Adelaide can determine her next move, the woman lunges forward. The children leap from her arms to scamper for cover as their mother sinks her foul, stained teeth into Adelaide’s leg.