Page 53 of The Nanny and the Hothead
“It’s a spotted skunk, Charlotte,” Oscar chimed with a wide grin. “I should take a picture of it,” the boy finished, raising his camera.
Mitch assessed the situation, then patted Oscar’s shoulder. “Hold off on taking a picture for now,” he said as he took a few cautious steps forward. The hum of the Polaroid’s printer might be enough to spook the animal.
“Are spotted skunks dangerous? Do they spray people?” Charlotte asked, her words coming out in an anxious tumble of sound. And even in the dim light of dust, he could see that she’d turned completely white.
“They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them,” he assured her. He needed to keep her calm.
“Unless it’s a rabid skunk,” Oscar added.
“What?” Charlotte croaked.
Oscar nodded. “Yeah, a ranger came to talk to my class, and he said rabid skunks sometimes go crazy and like to chase people and even bite them.”
Mitch blew out a tight breath. That mouthful of factoids wasn’t going to help.
“How can you tell if it’s a rabid skunk? Is this one rabid?” she replied, her voice rising to an uneasy octave.
He took another step forward. “Rabid or not, the plan remains the same. Stay calm and move slowly.”
Charlotte’s head whipped from side to side. “I feel like I should run.”
“Don’t make any sudden moves. That would scare the animal,” he cautioned.
“Don’t run, Charlotte! The ranger also said that he saw a rabid skunk chase a guy back to his car. And then the skunk started clawing on the door like a bloodthirsty zombie skunk,” Oscar added.
Shit!
“This thing is going to follow me back to the RV?” Charlotte exclaimed.
Mitch met his son’s eye. “Let’s cool the rabid zombie skunk talk,” he said, lowering his voice.
“Sure thing, Dad,” the boy agreed.
“Charlotte,” he said, keeping his tone calm and even.
“Yes?” she answered, looking ready to bolt.
“It’s not rabid,” he lied. Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie. Honestly, he had no idea. The damned thing hadn’t gone after her yet, so he was eighty percent sure it was your run-of-the-mill skunk out foraging in the woods at dusk.
“How can you tell it’s not rabid?” she pressed.
Double shit!
“It would have come after you by now if it was,” he said, leveling with her. What else could he do?
She held his gaze across the clearing, and it was as if she could see every part of him. A shiver ricocheted down his spine. He couldn’t keep entertaining these thoughts. He broke their connection and focused his attention on the docile spotted skunk when a quick burst of movement caught his eye.
And it wasn’t Charlotte.
“It’s a great horned owl!” Oscar exclaimed, holding up his camera as the giant bird of prey swooped in out of nowhere and snatched the skunk right off the ground. “He’s picking up his dinner!” the boy cried in a bout of excitement.
And holy skunk snatcher, the scene unfolded like a slow-motion car crash.
Charlotte belted out another frantic scream, then took off like a shot. Forget the slow and steady plan. He wasn’t sticking around either.
“Come on, Oscar!” he called as the mechanical hum of the Polaroid printing the image cut through the screech of the owl and the high-pitched shrieks of its prey as a real-life episode ofNational Geographic the Predator Editionplayed out in front of them.
“That was awesome!” the kid called, holding up the photo as they ran toward camp.
