Mason

It made a small clicking sound like something tapping bone against bone.

I whispered nope and turned around.

The second I turned my back it moved, not like an injured animal scrambling up.

It rose smoothly, too fast and too quiet.

I heard its claws scrape the pavement once, and then I was running.

I do not remember choosing to run.

I was just suddenly moving, arms loose, boots slapping the road, heart going crazy in my chest.

My car was right there, door open, engine running, hazards blinking against the black desert.

I got inside and slammed the door.

I locked it so hard my thumb hurt.

Then I looked up.

The coyote was standing in the road about ten feet in front of my car.

Standing is not even the right word.

It was on all fours, but its front legs were too straight and its head was lifted too high.

It looked taller than it had looked on the ground.

Its back had a strange arch to it, and its shoulders seemed uneven, like something inside was holding itself wrong.

Both eyes were open now, glowing yellow in my headlights.

I threw the car into drive and swerved around it.

I expected it to jump at the hood or run away.

It did neither.