An hour passed before the frantic energy in the ER began to settle. A heavy, olive-drab truck with “Wildlife Rescue & Transport” emblazoned on the side pulled into the clinic’s loading bay, its engine idling loudly in the cold. Two men in tactical cold-weather gear jumped out, carrying a specialized, reinforced transport unit. Shortly after, Dr. Aris emerged from the double doors, wiping sweat from his forehead with a trembling hand.
“They’re stable,” he said, and the relief hit Fiona so hard she nearly fell. “We have them on pure oxygen and we’ve lowered their core temperatures as much as we can. They’re fighters.” He watched as the rescue team carefully transferred the kittens into the specialized unit. The kittens were still weak, but their eyes were open, watching the movements around them with that same haunting, ancient intensity. The rescue team didn’t speak much; they worked with the grim efficiency of soldiers. As the back of the transport truck was sealed, John realized their time with the kittens was over. They were being taken away to a place the humans couldn’t follow.