I’m three blocks east when I hear it—no, feel it: a whoomph, like all the air has gotten sucked away. I freeze, heart pounding. I let my gaze dart around, not sure what I’m looking for.

Whoomph.

It’s such a ghostly thing, happening just below the level of my senses and yet powerful enough to leave an echoing hollow in my chest, like I’ve been standing next to thumping concert speakers.

My legs buzz with the need to flee, but curiosity keeps me frozen in place. Because as otherworldly as it seems, it’s something, the first something I’ve found since I woke up.

I brace myself to hear—feel—it again, straining with all my senses. Instead comes a soft clatter, like high heels on concrete. Very close.

I dart between two cars and duck down.

The clatter approaches, unhurried, echoing in the night. I dare to peer around the fender. Dark shapes move toward me. I hold my breath.

The shapes are only two houses away when they manifest in the moonlight into something recognizable. Deer. Three of them. Walking down the middle of the street.

They veer toward the sidewalk opposite my hiding spot and lower their necks to nibble a hedge. Their ears and tails twitch constantly, alert for the slightest hint of danger. I’m as quiet and still as I can possibly be. They’re so beautiful and lithe and graceful and alive, and I don’t ever want them to leave.

All at once they raise their necks and look eastward, ears pricked forward. The world pauses for the space of a breath, then they dart off in the opposite direction, tails lifted high.

Another shape slinks after them, its body low to the ground, skimming it like a ghost.

I lurch up. “No!” I yell after the shape. It’s a coyote, maybe. A large coyote.

It stops and turns to face me, ears pressed back, eyes glowing golden in the moonlight.

A very large coyote. No, a German shepherd. Or a husky? Whatever it is, it drops its head below its shoulders and studies me.

It circles my position at a slow trot, keeping about twenty feet between us. It has a long-legged, wolfy gait, a straight bushy tail. Never once does it take its eyes off of me.

Surely it hears my heart pounding? Smells the fear clogging my throat?

Slowly, I reach into my pocket for the pepper spray.

There’s no sound, no warning, just a huge black shape plunging toward me as it charges.

I sprint away, pumping legs and arms as fast as I can, expecting to feel hot breath at my back, fangs tearing into my calves. I don’t dare look back, but claws scrape concrete behind me. Already I’m dizzy, my lungs burning. I can’t last. I need to find an enclosed porch or climb a tree.