CHAPTER SIX
The next thing I knew, Bo and I were running up a steep hill with the pig on our heels. The animal honked and squealed at us, its feral noises mixing in with the screaming souls.
Every few yards, a tourist pointed and yelled.
The stroller handles were hard in my hands, and my hands were sweating.
Malcolm lay sleeping. He didn’t even notice.
At the top of the hill, we came to a fork. Bright orange road cones and construction tape stopped us from going to the left, which would have taken us closer to the zoo entrance. Fire exploded in my feet as we took a hill deeper into the zoo.
Construction greeted us at every turn. I had never seen so much construction in my life.
And then the realization hit me harder than the warty pig ever could.
“Damn, more cones?” Bo asked as we
