Animals

By Grace Nichols

Moira turned the knob on the dashboard, silencing the radio. She sat quiet for a minute, listening. Funny. She could’ve sworn she’d heard something. She shrugged and leaned back in the passenger seat, singing a little under her breath. Dad was taking forever. How long did it take to pay for the gas and grab a soda?

A car pulled into one of the parking spots just outside the gas station. A tall, dark-haired boy got out of it and hurried inside. Moira pursed her lips, picking at a peeling bit of leather on her seat and lamenting her momentary boredom.

Moira’s phone rang in the front pocket of her camouflage overalls. She pulled it out, glancing into the rearview mirror as she did. She looked a bit… billowy. But the early mornings in November were chilly and you had to dress for it, even if that meant sacrificing fashion. Moira grinned and hit the green button on her phone screen.

“Hey, did you want something?” Dad’s voice crackled over the phone.

“Nah.” Moira shrugged to herself. “I’m good.”

“Okay, kiddo. I’m picking up a thing of salt. Mom just texted and said she doesn’t have one. Need it for the turkey tails.”

“Uh-huh.” Moira glanced out of the window toward the gas station. “One thing should be enough for both turkeys.”

“Oh, for sure.” There was a scraping noise like Dad was grabbing something off a shelf. “But I do have to–”

Bang!

Moira jumped and dropped the phone. The bang she’d heard blasted from inside the gas station at the same time as she heard it through the phone. It sounded like it could’ve been a firework or a tire popping, but Moira knew that sound all too well to mistake it. “Dad?” Moira grabbed the phone again, pressing it to her ear. “Dad!”

The phone made a fizzing noise and then there were indistinct shouts over it. Another bang and a window in the storefront shattered. Moira bit down on her tongue to hold in a scream. She dropped from the passenger seat, ducking down beneath the windows of the truck.

“Dad!” she hissed into the phone. “Dad?” No answer but more shouting. It spiked and then there was another bang and a scream. Moira pressed her hand to her mouth. What should she do?

Moira’s hands shook as she hung up and dialed a new number. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“Someone’s shooting.” Moira gasped. “Dad’s in there and they keep shooting and—” Another bang erupted from the gas station and Moira pressed her hand to her mouth again.

“All right, honey. I need you to tell me where you are. Are you with the shooter?”

“No.” Moira lifted her head a little. “I’m… We’re just off of Highway 47. Exit, uh… 5.”

“Okay. Now just stay with me, okay? I have people headed towards you. Is the shooter still there?”

“Yes.” Moira swallowed, her chest tight. “I think so. My dad’s in there, too. I don’t know what to do!”

“Hon, I need you to calm down and listen to me, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I need you to stay hidden. What’s your name?”

“Moira.”

“All right, Moira, are you near the shooter?”

“I’m in the parking lot,” Moira muttered. “In the car.”

“Okay, don’t move. Whatever you do, do not move. Can you do that?”

Moira nodded, remembering a second later that the woman on the other end of the phone couldn’t see her. There was silence inside the gas station. That guy had walked in seconds before this. Couldn’t remember his face. Her heart pounded faster and then another bang and Moira screamed. They knew. The shooter would know she was here now.

“Honey, what’s happening?”

“He shot—he shot!” Moira looked around wildly. What did she—bang. The car window above her exploded, raining shards of glass down on her.

Moira dropped the phone, trying to cover her head. “Moira! Moira, what’s happening?” The operator’s voice rang through the wild drumming of blood in Moira’s ears.

Another shot and Moira ducked her head lower. She looked sideways and saw her rifle on the back seat of the truck. Moira blinked and the ringing in her head seemed to go silent. She’d forgotten to unload it. Rookie mistake. Horrible mistake. But when seconds counted it worked in her favor.

Moira flung herself across the passenger seat, stretching out her arm to grab the gun. Her hand closed around it as shouts began behind her, muted in her ears. She swung around, flicked the safety off, and raised the gun.

For a split second, time seemed to stop. This wasn’t a turkey. Or a deer. This was a person. Moira caught a glimpse of a black hoodie, a mask and two dark, angry eyes. A person.

But could it be so different from a deer?

Moira’s finger jerked. The rifle barked and the recoil made it slam into her shoulder. Thunder rolled in her ears. Deafening.

Moira’s cheek was bleeding where pieces of glass had hit her. The man in the hoodie was on the ground, his gun a foot away. And Moira was right. It had been no different from a deer. She slumped forward against the dashboard as she dissolved into tears.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Grace Nichols is a speculative fiction and slice-of-life author. She was born in Lynchburg, Virginia and raised overseas in China, an experience that shaped her fascination with different styles and cultures of storytelling. She loves writing books full of historical tidbits, opposing perspectives, deep family connections, and a bit of laughter. When she’s not writing she enjoys art, crafting, and spending time with family and friends.

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