Zoo

good-bye to a frosty-haired Princeton microbiologist. My hand was pink and hot from handshakes.

“Yep,” I said. “Ladies and gentlemen, Jackson Oz, rock-and-roll biologist. No autographs, and easy on the flash photography.”

After the meeting broke up in the early evening, Chloe and I went upstairs to her hotel suite to prepare for the Senate hearing. Sharing a pot of coffee, we cranked out a five-minute statement to the committee that emphasized the dire nature of the problem. I gave several specific policy suggestions, such as broadcasting warnings to every local department of animal care and control to be on alert for increased aggression. But the most important request was for funding to research the problem. We needed to get the best people we could, as fast as possible.

After rereading it, Chloe collapsed in a chair and nodded her head.

“This is good, Oz. With the tape, it should cause quite a stir. We’ve already grabbed the attention of scientists. Now we’re going to tell the world.”

We called room service and had the coffee exchanged for a late dinner. Skate wing with capers and cauliflower farro and a bottle of Vouvray (Chloe’s suggestion). It was delicious.

She was oddly quiet as we ate. She swirled her wine and gazed distractedly through the window. Outside in the bluish, luminous dark, the Frederick Douglass Bridge, lit up like a birthday cake, spanned the Anacostia River.

When Chloe finally looked at me, her brown eyes were glistening with moisture.

“Back in Africa,” she began, her voice quiet, “when night fell, I had resigned myself to my death. I started praying to my grandfather, saying that if I had to die, that maybe he could help somehow. That it would be quick. The next day, I was about to give up hope. Then I looked up, and you were there.”

“And now we’re here,” I said, raising my glass.

“Exactly,” she said. “I never believed in fate before, but now I don’t know. One moment, I’m about to die in Africa, and the next, I’m in America. And in the middle of a storm. Something that might be one of the biggest events in history. This doesn’t often happen to a girl from Auvergne. It doesn’t seem real.”

“It is real,” I said. “You want me to pinch you to prove it?”

That’s when she leaned across the tiny table and touched my face.

“No,” she said. “I want you to kiss me.”

I leaned toward her from across the table and we kissed for the first time. It was soft and right. Then the image of Natalie floated across my eyelids, and though it was the last thing on earth I wanted to do, I broke it off.

“No?” Chloe said surprised. “I thought—”

“I should have told you. I’m sort of, uh—”

“You’re married.”

“God, no.”

“Petite amie? Une amante?”

“No, no. I mean, it’s, uh…it’s hard to say. I think I just broke up with someone,” I said, avoiding her eyes.

Chloe harrumphed. “You think?”

“Yeah.”

Chloe lifted her glass, took a sip of wine. “Well, I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Truth and Justice,” she said.

“I guess I should go back to my room,” I said. I wadded my napkin on my plate and stood. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

“Are you completely crazy? You are here now,” she said. Then she sipped more wine and added: “Besides, I’ve already seen your underwear.”

I gave her a look.

“No, I’m serious, Oz. I don’t want to be alone tonight. Please stay?”

“I’ll sleep on the chair.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Sleep in the bed, with me,” she said over the rim of her glass. “Don’t worry. Just sleep.”

It turned out she wasn’t kidding about the just sleeping part. She was sawing logs by the time I came out from my shower.

I watched her in the dim light from the window—her dark eyelashes, her pale face, her thin, delicate arms. Lying there, she looked lovely, so girlish and birdlike. I was already kicking myself. What were you thinking? Natalie broke up with you. It’s done. You’re a free agent now. Go for it.

Chloe had come all this way for me, I realized. She trusted me and believed in me, which Natalie never really did.

After I tucked her under the covers, I lay beside her and looked at the ceiling.

“Good night, you dumbass,” I said to myself, and shut my eyes.

Chapter 39

MY EYES OPENED I don’t know how many hours later. The room was so dark I almost couldn’t tell whether or not I’d opened my eyes. Not even an orange glow from the city outside. It was as if someone had put blackout curtains on the windows, which I hadn’t remembered doing.

Then: shaking. Some sort of clicking, metallic rattle. My eyes flitted around the dark room. It took me a moment to realize it was the doorknob.

The rattling became louder—and more violent—as if someone were trying to wrench the doorknob out of the door. A grinding, scratching sound soon accompanied it. Then came a tentative whump against the door.

My first thought was that it was one of the other scientists playing a joke. After the meeting, the beer had been flowing like water.

There was a second whump. Harder now. Something big and heavy behind it.

I sat up. I didn’t think it was a joke. It wasn’t funny enough.

The blow that followed made the top of the door crack. I heard wood splintering.

What the hell?

I threw back the sheet and was on my feet as the groaning hinges ripped free from the door frame. The door exploded inward, smashing against the floor.

An enormous shape filled the doorway. Then it didn’t. There was movement in the room. Then another huge shape darkened the door for an instant and was gone, inside the black room.

“Oz? Are you there?”

Behind me, Chloe sat up in the bed, reached over to the bedside lamp, switched it on, and screamed.

They were bears. Two bears—two massive fucking grizzly bears—filled the room, maybe five feet from the bed. The two bears moved forward on stout, powerful legs, their fur rippling over their bodies in waves. Drool swung from their open mouths, and their beady little black eyes stared outward, as blank and indifferent as death.

I could not move. It was as if my feet had been nailed down. There was no thinking. No fight-or-flight. Even my lizard brain had checked out.

Bear One reared back on his hind legs and swiped at me with his paw. I tumbled backward and felt bright hot wetness I knew was blood on my cheek and neck. My hand flew to my face: blood poured between my fingers, covered my face, stung my eyes.

Then I woke up on my back in the bed, screaming. My hands were flailing at the empty air above me. I reached for my neck. No blood. No pain.

It took me a moment to realize Chloe was screaming, too, beside me in the bed.

“Recevez les de moi!” she yelled in the dark.

I grabbed her shoulders.