Firefighter Tanner Hall is used to running into burning buildings and risking his life to save others. It's just another day of work for the father of two. But when he gets a call from the San Diego zoo about an animal attack, he has no idea what he...
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Tanner
"You know,"—Brooks jumps off the engine—"I've never really understood the point of zoos. None of these animals belong here. They're literally making people pay to see stolen animals."
I chuckle, jogging next to him as we make our way to the front of the zoo. It's a beautiful day, and the park is crowded with locals and tourists alike. As we maneuver through the crowd, the evacuated families and people waiting to get inside watch us like we're part of the zoo ourselves. I'm used to that by now, though.
People like action. People are nosy. People like drama. It's just like when there is a car accident on the 405, and drivers crawl by, necks craned, trying to get a clear view of the destruction. It's why spectators line the streets when there's a fire, watching as we put out the flames. Whenever emergency crews are involved, you can bet all the looky-loos come out of the woodwork—might as well lug out their armchairs and popcorn.
As much as I want to, I can't blame them. That compulsive need to look is actually based on science and has something to do with our brains. Morgan explained it to me once when I complained about how they only got in our way, but I don't remember specifics. Not that I care anyway. When someone needs help, isn't it common sense to get out of the damn way? Doesn't their emergency outweigh your snooping?
"And hardly any of them actually belong in this climate. You think a polar bear wants to be here in the dead of summer? I don't even want to be here most of the time," Arnold echoes Brooks' concerns as we get to the front gate.
"Actually, there are several mechanisms in place to help polar bears get used to the warm temperatures here in San Diego." A tall, thin man appears in front of us. He's dressed in pressed slacks and a polo with a logo that reads Curator. "Ice pools, snow machines, special diets. And if all of that fails, our bears each have their own rooms that are kept at about thirty-two degrees they can get to at any time."
All three of us stare at the man, speechless.
"I'm Michael Hiller, curator of the zoo." He sticks his hand out to me awkwardly. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
"No problem." I shake his hand. "I'm Captain Hall. We got a call about an animal attack, but there were no specifics. What exactly are we dealing with?"
Michael grimaces. "Well, there hasn't exactly been an attack yet. But the problem is developing. Follow me, and I'll show you what I mean."
It's much less crowded inside the park as he leads us quickly down a pathway. I haven't been here in years, but I vaguely remember it from when the boys were young. I have a fleeting thought of bringing them here this weekend when I'm off, but it quickly fades. At fifteen, James is way too cool to hang out with his family at the zoo, and at ten, Lucas is too cool for anything his older brother doesn't want to do.
And lately, that's nearly everything.
I can't say that I blame James, though. I was fifteen once, and I know how mortifying the idea of spending time with your family can be. Most of the time, Lucas and I just let him do his own thing. He's generally a good kid, and I try not to smother him like my parents did to me when I was his age. They had the best of intentions, but their strict rules and hovering only made me rebel more, and that was exactly how Gwen ended up pregnant when we were sixteen.
