Chapter Text
Trego County, KS
July 13, 1994
The tigers were pacing in their cage as C.J. approached, the rosy dawnlight behind them dappling their powerful flanks, and she stopped for a moment, as she did most mornings, and watched them pace.
They were always beautiful, the tigers—even after all these years at the park, even when they were old, or sick, she could look deep into their eyes and be struck by that beauty as violent as lightning, just like the first time—but C.J. liked them best at dawn, because she had them all to herself. She hoarded that beauty, the tigers at sunrise, all through the rest of the day: the backbreaking chores, her shithead boss Randall, the drive home to Lori knowing one of these days soon she wouldn’t be there. Before the meds, she’d dream of tigers, too; now her sleep was dreamless, but she never needed an alarm to wake up on time, an hour before the sun.
Today, though, something was different. It took her a while to catch it; the tigers had scented her wheelbarrow full of meat and were swirling round and round each other in agitated delight, pawing at the fence and snuffling, but she eventually she realized it—there were eight tigers in the cage, not seven. There’d been seven the night before, and had been since Randall bought Lily a year ago, but this morning there were eight. As soon as it clicked in her head, she could have sworn the new tiger knew it, because it paused mid-step and turned its massive head to look her straight in the eye.
There was only cold malevolence in those eyes.
Before she quite knew she was doing it, C.J. had dropped the handles of the wheelbarrow and was running in the other direction, which was ridiculous, because the cage was locked, and even if this was some kind of, what, psychic tiger demon? it was locked in, and she was safe, and the others needed breakfast—but her heart was in her throat and pounding in her ears, she couldn’t make herself slow down until she stumbled, skidded, fell headlong, skinning her palms on the gritty path.
And then whatever it was, it was on top of her, all three hundred pounds and flesh-ripping claws of it, and while it killed her she almost laughed—because how ridiculous, too, to assume it would have gotten in without being able to get out.