Page 4 of Beasts of Mine

I glanced between her and the window.

“How bad was it?” I asked Mara, already imagining the answer.

“Seven monkeys,” Mara replied, holding up seven fingers for emphasis.

I winced.

“Okay, that's pretty bad,” I admitted to Mara as an image of seven capuchins loose in the kitchen immediately formed in my head.

“One of them stole his glasses,” Mara continued, unable to hide her amusement now.

“Did he get them back?” I asked Mara, laughing as I followed her toward the next room.

“Eventually,” Mara answered, pushing open another door before looking back at me. “He doesn't leave bananas out anymore.”

“Then everyone learned something,” I told Mara, following her through the doorway.

The rest of the station was equally practical. Mara showed me the radio room, equipment storage, water filtration system, battery banks, a modest medical area, and finally the aging generator housed beneath a covered structure behind the main building.

“If this thing dies, don't panic immediately,” Mara warned, tapping her knuckles against the dented metal casing while the generator hummed steadily beside us.

“That is not the kind of sentence that inspires confidence,” I told Mara, giving the machine a doubtful examination.

“Kick the lower left panel,” Mara instructed, pointing toward a dent near the bottom with the toe of her boot.

I turned toward her.

“Are you serious?” I asked Mara, searching her face for any hint that this was some form of new-arrival hazing.

“Completely,” Mara answered, giving me a small shrug before patting the generator almost affectionately.

I noticed DOLORES written across the side in fading black marker.

“Does Dolores have any other preferences I should know about?” I asked Mara, studying the battered casing with new respect.

“Don't kick the right side,” Mara replied, starting back toward the path with a straight face. “She takes it personally.”

“I'll remember that,” I told Mara, following after her while trying not to laugh. “I'd hate to offend the power supply on my first day.”

By the time we reached the sleeping quarters, some of the tension from traveling had finally eased.

My room was small but clean, with a narrow bed beneath mosquito netting, a battered dresser near the foot of it, and a simple wooden desk beneath the only window. Scratches and old pen marks covered the desktop, along with a set of initials carved deeply into one corner.

The window faced directly into the forest.

I dropped my large backpack beside the bed and rolled my shoulders, enjoying the immediate relief.

Mara had just started explaining where the spare bedding was kept when a flash of red moved beyond the screen.

My attention snapped toward it. A small bird had landed on a branch less than ten feet from the window.

I was already opening the camera bag.

“You've been here for maybe fifteen minutes,” Mara pointed out from behind me, amusement creeping into her voice as she watched me carefully lift one of the cameras from its case.

“There's a tanager outside my window,” I whispered to Mara, choosing a lens while keeping one eye on the bird.

“I know,” Mara replied, stepping closer to look outside. “They're pretty common around the station.”