Part 2
The slowing heartbeat ruled out the quickest option.
Pulling on the exposed leg might free a cub that was already dead. With a live cub folded sideways, it could tear the birth canal, break the small body, or cause bleeding Tansy did not have the strength to survive.
“We’re doing a C-section,” Laurel said.
Nora glanced toward the service lane. “At the clinic?”
“If Cal has a road.”
The radio at her shoulder crackled. Cal’s answer arrived beneath engine noise.
“Main culvert is open underneath. Looks solid from this side, but there’s nothing holding the middle. East firebreak is soft, not flooded. The track loader can make it.”
“How long?”
“Eight minutes to bring it around. Maybe twelve back with weight.”
Laurel looked at Tansy’s monitor. Her pulse was weak but present, and the cub’s heartbeat had not disappeared. “Bring the low pallet and the transport shell. No shortcuts across the wash.”
The refuge had bought the compact track loader after a wildfire forced the evacuation of three cats over ground too rough for trucks. Nora had insisted it remain at the north pump shed during monsoon season, even though Cal complained that desert mice treated the wiring like a buffet.
That morning, the engine started on the first attempt.
While Cal drove around the perimeter, Laurel placed an intravenous line and began warmed fluids. Nora held the oxygen mask over Tansy’s muzzle, keeping the tubing clear of mud. The protruding paw twitched once when a contraction tightened the lioness’s body.
“She’s not fully under,” Nora said.
“Spinal reflex. Her jaw is relaxed.”
“You’re certain?”
Laurel almost answered with the sharpness fear always put into her voice. Instead, she checked the anesthetic depth again before nodding. “Yes. Keep watching her eyes and breathing. Tell me if either changes.”
Rook followed them from the other side of the mesh. He could move the full length of the holding yard, but he stayed beside Tansy’s head. Each time the oxygen mask shifted, a rumble passed through his chest.
The track loader appeared beyond the rise carrying a steel pallet suspended inches above the ground. Attached to it was a reinforced transport shell with removable sides, designed to protect an anesthetized cat while allowing medical access.
Cal stopped outside the lockout zone. “Machine stays off until she’s secured. I don’t want vibration near that gate.”
Nora looked at Laurel. “He listened to somebody.”
Cal pretended not to hear.
They rolled Tansy onto a heavy canvas litter, keeping her abdomen supported and the cub’s exposed leg protected. Six people lifted on Laurel’s count. Even depleted, the lioness weighed more than three hundred pounds, and the wet ground shifted under every boot.
Rook’s pacing stopped when Tansy left the grass.
He watched the litter enter the steel shell. His body lowered, and for a moment Laurel thought he might throw his weight against the dividing fence. Instead, he pressed his muzzle into one square of mesh and released a short, rough call.
Tansy’s ear moved beneath Nora’s hand.
It was the first voluntary motion she had made.
They secured the shell to the pallet and cleared the lockout area before Cal restarted the loader. The machine took the east firebreak at walking speed, its rubber tracks distributing the weight over rain-softened ground. Laurel rode on the rear medical step with one hand through an access port, fingers against Tansy’s pulse.
Nora walked beside the pallet until the holding yard ended.
Rook followed as far as the fence allowed. At the corner, he stopped and called again.
Nora stumbled once before catching herself. Laurel could not tell whether mud or the sound had caused it. She signaled Cal to stop.
When the loader had braked and the pallet rested level, Laurel reached down from the medical step. “Get on.”
“There isn’t room.”
“We’ll make room.”
Nora took her hand and climbed onto the narrow platform. Cal waited for both women to brace themselves before moving again.
For the rest of the ride, they stood shoulder to shoulder against the shell while the loader tilted over ruts and climbed the firebreak toward the veterinary building.
The clinic had been built less than a quarter mile from the north habitat as the hawk flew, but the wash forced vehicles through a looping service road. From the operating room’s west windows, Laurel could see the cottonwoods where Rook remained behind.
Dr. Samuel Kline met them at the loading bay in surgical scrubs, his gray hair still flattened on one side from sleep. He had driven through the storm from Las Cruces after Laurel’s first call.
“What do we know?” he asked as the pallet touched concrete.
“One cub lodged, single-limb presentation. At least two more viable on field ultrasound, possibly three. Maternal shock, prolonged labor, pressure trending down.”
“When did labor start?”
“Nora saw first-stage behavior yesterday afternoon. We lost the habitat cameras around eleven.”
Sam looked from Laurel to Nora. “Why wasn’t she in maternity?”
Laurel could have given him the whole reasonable argument: Tansy’s panic in confinement, the risk of separating her from Rook, the open night house, the chance that forced movement would disrupt early labor. All of it was true.
“I made the call to leave her outside,” she said. “Nora recommended shifting.”
Sam held her gaze for a second, then turned to the waiting team. “We can decide what yesterday meant after everybody survives today.”
Inside surgery, the work became smaller and more exact. Mud disappeared beneath clipped fur and sterile drapes. The wash, the damaged road, and Rook’s unanswered calls narrowed to monitor tones, warmed fluids, counted sponges, and the measured movements of gloved hands.
Tansy’s uterus was exhausted and stretched thin. Sam found the obstruction quickly, but its position made haste dangerous. The cub lay backward with one leg trapped beneath its body and its torso twisted against the pelvis.
“Pressure?” he asked.
“Low, holding,” the anesthetist answered.
“Laurel, be ready.”
Sam freed the folded leg first. He eased the hips clear without pulling against the neck, then supported the small body as it emerged into the surgical light.
The cub was gray-gold, wet, and perfectly still…
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