She regrettably tracked the herd’s departure by ear and considered her options. For a moment, she had forgotten that was dinner, running off. “Wow.” Lynn took a deep, steadying breath. But when the last of them disappeared into the shrubbery, he retreated, tail between his hind legs. Skeever barked and ran after the unexpected newcomers. This was glorious and frightening, and Lynn could only watch the procession pass. Lynn spent her life being quiet, among people who spent their lives being quiet.

Their hooves hitting asphalt and their bleating cries caused such a cacophony that she froze from the sheer unfamiliarity of it. Just as she reached down to pet him, a group of the striped animals broke through the vegetation onto the road and streamed around the car wrecks. “Dammit.” She let her momentum fall away. It rushed off, bleating in panic.Īt the very last moment, Lynn stopped her axe from leaving her hand. Instantly, the zebra’s eyes widened, and it threw its head back. She would have to get closer for a clean throw or risk only injuring it and tracking it until it succumbed to blood loss. She reached for her weapon as quickly as she dared. Keen animal intelligence underlay its gaze, sizing her up.ĭon’t you go anywhere, now. A single blade of grass dangled forgotten from between its lips. A shudder ran through its compact body as it spotted her. Its head shot up and swung toward the source of the sound. Lynn hurried to reach down and muzzle him, but it was too late. His ears had turned back, and he bared his teeth. She quietly reached down to her belt and undid the leather strap that held her tomahawk in place. Lynn realized she should probably have felt awed by the experience, but her only thought was dinner. The striped horses had been kept in carefully constructed habitats in the hearts of cities. If this animal was what she thought it was, she was staring at an Old-World relic. Lynn blinked consciously, wondering if the animal would go away if she did. It plucked at a tuft of grass with nimble lips. Its hooves clicked on the cracked asphalt as it weaved its way leisurely through the thick throng of rusted car skeletons.Īt least for now, the zebra didn’t notice them. It pushed through the shrubbery and onto the sun-flooded interstate no more than thirty feet from Lynn. THE FIRST SIGN THAT New York City would be special was the zebra. Dedicated to whoever has both the good sense and governmental power to prevent this work of fiction from becoming reality in the future.

Survival Instincts by May Dawney