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inhaled sharply, gripping my doorknob tighter. Should I go look? Or was that the first thing that a murderer would expect? How could I get my parents’ attention without alerting whoever, or whatever , was inside?! In movies the first person to get axed is the idiot girl who goes out and asks who’s there.
    I didn’t have time to decide.
    â€œAna!” A sharp voice cut through the darkness. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Mom appeared out of nowhere in the hallway, buttoning up the top button on her khaki work shirt.
    â€œMom!” I clutched my chest, checking that I still had a pulse. “What’s going on? I heard noises…”
    â€œEverything’s okay,” she said in a rough voice. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Tufts of hair stuck out above her ears like whiskers. “I got a call from a friend. I need to go in the zoo for a bit.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” I asked. Mom never went into the zoo at night unless there was trouble. Usually big trouble, like if one of her animals is sick or hurt.
    She shook her head. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” she said. I could tell by the way she avoided my eyes that she was trying not to worry me, but that deep eleven wrinkled between her eyes gave her away. “An animal has been brought in. Hit by a car.”
    â€œOh no! Why are they calling you? Is it going to be okay?” I couldn’t stop the string of questions from pouring out. Mom usually worked with the lions at the zoo, so unless it was an actual lion that had been hit by a car, why would they need her? And that didn’t seem likely, seeing how we don’t exactly live in Africa.
    â€œI can catch you up later, hon.” She checked her watch anxiously. “I need to get there quickly. Where did I put my jacket?” She started down the hallway, rubbing her temples as she searched.
    I bolted back into my bedroom and pulled on some jeans and a sweater. “Hang on,” I yipped. “I can come with you! Maybe I can help!” I hated the idea of some poor animal—whatever it was—lying there hurt. Already my throat felt tight, like someone was strangling me with sharp fingers.
    Mom had found her jacket and was zipping it up. “It’s very late, Ana,” she said. “You should go back to bed—you’ve got school tomorrow.” She picked up her keys and headed for the door.
    â€œI’m already dressed! And you know there’s no way I’ll be able to get back to sleep. I can help!” I tried to look as mature as possible, channeling teenagery assertiveness into my voice.
    It must have worked because Mom’s shoulders slumped. “Fine,” she conceded. “Go tell your father you’re coming with me and meet me in the car in exactly thirty seconds,” she said. “Dress warm and bring a scarf. It’s freezing out there.”
    A few minutes later, Mom and I were zipping away in her truck.
    â€œSo you don’t know what it is? What got hit, I mean?” I asked, watching the trees fly by us in the white light of our headlights.
    Mom was chewing her lip, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “I want you to make sure you stay back, well out of the way, okay? Wild animals can be unpredictable, especially when they’re hurt,” she said, clearly distracted by her own thoughts. Her eyes swept back and forth, watching the road carefully as we drove. The highway looked eerily creepy this late at night. Like the start of practically every horror film Liv and I would sneakily watch on the Scream Channel when her parents weren’t listening.
    â€œI promise,” I said, squishing my chin deeper into my scarf. “But what is it?”
    She glanced down quickly at the speedometer, drumming her fingers impatiently on the wheel. “A fox,” she said. “Someone hit a fox.”

Chapter 8
    Mallard ducks are known as