The near-capture deepened hysteria. Some residents left town altogether, convinced disaster was inevitable. Others flocked closer, determined to witness the unfolding drama. Crowds gathered at barricades, smartphones ready. Sahara became Oakridge’s reluctant star, her every step broadcast, analyzed, sensationalized. Humanity’s theater tightened around her.
On the appointed day of the attempted capture, Oakridge hushed. Floodlights framed the narrow route, police radios hissed, and cameras bristled at the barricades. Tom stepped into the open, heart pounding, carrying the cloth that carried Nyla’s scent. He called softly, a sound barely audible. Sahara appeared after what seemed like an age, ribs showing, eyes fixed.