“Back the crowd up!” a guard shouted. “Call in emergency response!” A siren blared to life, sharp and urgent, slicing through the quiet like a blade. Zookeepers sprinted to the scene, walkie-talkies crackling, their faces tight with alarm. Visitors shrieked and stumbled back from the railing. Inside the enclosure, Meera’s head jerked upward.
She bolted to her feet. Her ears flattened. Her tail lashed once, twice, her breathing rapid. The sirens were echoing through the metal and glass around her, amplified into something harsh and unfamiliar. She spun toward the noise—and toward the crowd.
Then she growled. It wasn’t a warning growl. It was guttural. Deep. Raw. Her body tensed, muscles coiled. The visitors near the glass flinched as she took two quick strides forward, teeth bared, gaze fixed on the humans pressing close.
Jamie tried to push forward but someone held him back. “That’s my dog!” he cried. “Please! That’s Nibbles!” But no one would let him closer. Inside the enclosure, Nibbles stood frozen. His tail dipped. He yelped once, a confused, high-pitched sound—and darted away from Meera’s feet.