Page 117 of Trigger Happy

I spent hours doomscrolling wilderness survival tactics in preparation for this exact situation. Don’t run, make yourself big, maintain eye contact.

“I’m not afraid of you!” I roar.

“You should be,” Bobbi says.

“Not you. I’m talking to the giant fucking mountain lion that’s about to tear you apart.”

Bobbi jerks around, dropping the pepper spray in the pine needles.

Excellent.

“Do. Not. Move,” I hiss.

“It’s okay, kitty,” she murmurs, hands up.

“Don’t insult it.”

“It’s an animal.” She mutters a curse but copies my stance—arms up, feet wide, voice so deep it could reach the ocean’s hadopelagic zone.

“Yell whatever you want,” I say, starfishing my hands in the air. “Just keep it loud and low. Remember, we are the apex predator, the top of the food chain, the crème de la crème.”

The mountain lion stalks closer, shoulder blades rolling against golden fur. My stomach acid curdles. Getting eaten alive would really be the worst way to go. Right up there with being burned at the stake. I could always shoot it, but I’m not in the business of taxidermying animals. We’ll call that plan Z.

The cat paws at the dirt.

“Yell something!” I say.

Bobbi sucks in a gigantic breath. “I HATE THAT MY DEAD BOYFRIEND WAS A SERIAL KILLER!”

Finally.

I rub my ears. I’m sure that was therapeutic, I’ll give her that.

“It’s pretty shitty!” I yell back, keeping my eyes locked on the cougar.

The mountain lion pauses.

“Keep going,” I say.

“AND I HATE THAT I CAN TELL YOU’RE NOT LYING!” she screams.

My shoulders loosen despite the oversized house cat creeping toward us. “Yeah, that’d be a weird thing to make up!”

We sound less like two women trying to avoid a savage mutilation and more like drunk dudes arguing outside a bar, but it’s working.

The cat pauses.

I make a noise caught between a roar and a growl, and the mountain lion takes a step away, then another, then it turns its back on us and walks through the forest, leaving us gasping through the adrenaline rush.

It’s gone.

“What was that dying screech that came out of you?” Bobbi pants, hands on knees. “My ears are still ringing from it.”

“I don’t know.” I put my hands on my head. “A rowel, I guess?”

“A… rowel?”

“A roar-growl.” I shrug. “It worked.”