It was dark when Seagn finally got to Maine, so she had to pick her way to the road leading to the Ranch. Landmarks weren’t clear in the headlights of the truck, and she found herself going down a couple of dirt tracks that ended in a house or a decrepit barn.
She went down one of the dirt roads and finally came upon the canopy of forest that preceded the Ranch. She saw the cooking fire in the distance and let out a sigh of relief. The truck bounced its way out of the forest and turned left to park at the trailer.
The goats were beside themselves, running over to the fence and bleating at her to feed them.
They weren’t the only ones. Moose showed up with a flashlight just as she parked the truck. “Where have you been?”
“Salem. With a side stop at Laconia.”
“How’d that happen?”
She smiled. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Need help feeding them?”
“Could you hold the flashlight?” She didn’t want to waste fuel on the generator and string up lights.
After feeding the animals Seagn told Moose what had happened. Moose smoked another cigarette and pondered the adventure. “Lesbian biker gang, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess you could call them that.”
“Sounds like a porno flick in the making.”
Seagn hit him playfully. “They were very respectful. Not what you think.”
Moose rubbed his arm. “I’m just kidding. Though if it were me, I would have stayed.”
“I have responsibilities. Tomorrow they’re all getting their shots.”
“Rabies?”
“And distemper. And a few others. Shet is the most expensive.” She looked around the trailer. “Have you seen Maisey?”
“Which one’s that?”
“The cat.”
“I haven’t seen it around here.”
“I haven’t seen her since Warwick.”
“Think she ran off?”
“God, I hope not. She’s chipped, though, so whoever brings her to the vet will find out she’s mine.”
“That is, if someone brings her to the vet.”
Seagn frowned deeply. “Yeah. There is that. I’ll look for her tomorrow morning.”
“After shooting up the goats?”
She chuckled. “After that.”
The next morning, she lined up the vials on the trailer’s edge and filled syringes with the required amount as shown on a special veterinarian’s Internet page she had access to. She went down the line, giving each animal a shot behind its neck. No one complained.
It took her about an hour, and then she had breakfast: Pop Tarts and Sunny D. In the back of her mind was Maisey. What if she did run off in Warwick? How was she going to find her?
She started making calls, to the Rhode Island SPCA, to the Warwick animal shelter. Maybe someone would show up with her and give her up to the shelter. Or, God forbid, she went feral and joined a colony.
For funsies, she looked through the trailer. With the exception of animal crap, no Maisey. No traces of mice, either. She’d done her job and moved on, Seagn thought, though that didn’t make her feel any better.

***

Although it was a highway, it was strange to see old historic farms along the side of the roads on the way to Narragansett. According to Seagn’s GPS, Narragansett was on the water. When they pulled into the spot, which was a field, it was just across the street from a beach. A pair of stone towers that seemed to have no meaning bridged the main road.
Webby pulled out all the stops here, bringing every single ride and all the members of the crew. Everything from the carousel to the ferris wheel was brought in. The trucks had to park down the road, so Seagn found herself loading feed for the weekend into a small section of the tent. She was also far away from the beach and the Midway, the section where the rides were showcased. She’d learned the term from Moose on the way in.
They were packed in tight, with barely enough room to move around. If the SPCA was going to inspect her this weekend, she was going to be in big trouble.
She set up the animals with the maximum space she could fit. She got dirty looks from the guys setting up the Swinger, because her tent barely cleared the arc of the swing. Webby let it stand because it was more unnerving to the people on the swings.
After setting up, Seagn made the decision to go sleep in the trailer. Although the trailers were at least a good long walk away, they weren’t as far as they had been in Warwick. She called the shelters again. No tuxedo cat had been recently found.