Parking at Cal Lu, like other college campuses, is scarce in the wee hours. It is not uncommon to park a half-mile away from your intended destination and cover the remaining distance on foot; no big deal, really, except for the off-possibility of being attacked and eaten by wild animals. In my case, specifically, coyotes.
I had just pulled into the chapel parking lot when I heard the sounds. Crumple. Crumple. Swoosh. Swoosh. It was 1:30 in the morning, Tuesday, and I'd barely returned from my weekly pilgrimage to Del Taco. At first I thought the noises were coming from inside the car. I was overdue for an oil change, my tail-light was out, my tires needed rotating, and I hadn't washed any of my windows since...ever. I imagined my engine was getting ready to explode in defiance of my ill-maintanence, or something, because that's the sort of thing that would happen to me. A minute passed and the noises gradually disappeared. Satisfied that I had escaped a fiery (glorious!) end, I stepped out into the mist, leftovers in hand, and attempted to navigate my way towards West.
I hardly took three steps before I heard the noises again. I realized they were coming from the creek, behind the trees and foliage where light never seems to touch, even during the day. I've always found the creek to be a little creepy, The Creepy Creek, especially at night. On occasions when I'm forced to pass it by, I always think to myself, "Maybe theres a dead body in there, slowly having its flesh rent by starving, disenfranchised mountain lions..." and that makes me walk just a little bit faster. On this night, however, I was stricken by a particularly odd, disturbing thought: the rustling in the creek could be a mountain lion, but couldn't it also be...a zombie?
"Zombies..." I whispered, "zombies will fuck you up." I picked up the pace. Midway to my building, I began to hear leaves crunching along the embankment. Things were running, shadowing me. I also started to hear sporadic yips and yelps coming from different directions--coordinating calls.
I thought they were dogs at first: grayish fur, narrow faces, bodies the size of collies. I suppose the pointy ears should have tipped me off, but I'm usually slow on the uptake. They emerged one at a time, "out of the woodwork" as the idiom goes, and before I knew it they were trotting alongside me. This is strange behavior for coyotes, apparently, but I didn't think anything of it at the time. I figured the dogs wanted to have a taste of what I had in the bag, so I tossed them a piece of burrito and went on my merry way. This is when things got crazy.
The coyotes started to get aggravated. Their ears perked up, eyes widened; they began to circle around me. I got a little nervous but maintained pace, determined not to set them off. I could see the lights from my room in the distance, but it was too far of a run for me to make a successful escape. And then the yipping started. First one, then another, until finally all I could hear was coyote chatter. "God, they're planning to kill me," I thought. "They're trying to decide who gets to eat which part." I felt my keycard in my front pocket. I increased my pace. "OK," I whispered, "OK. Fuck you cunts." I dropped my bag and ran.
I could hear them close behind me, huffing. Down the road, over the gnoll, past the oak tree and into the parking lot. I got to the emergency phone and looked back. They'd broken off the chase right at the point where the grass meets the cement. I could see them mulling it over in their little heads, considering whether to cross the threshold or not. I gave them the finger and hurried inside.