Hooves.
Breathing.
The occasional deep bellow.
Children moved closer to parents.
A man folded a chair quickly.
Karen laughed.
It sounded forced.
“They’re still behind the fence.”
I looked at her.
“They’re entering the connected pasture.”
Her smile disappeared.
“What?”
“They graze here.”
“You knew we were having an event.”
“I knew you were trespassing.”
Someone shouted.
“Karen, you said he was okay with this.”
“I said it was handled.”
“It clearly isn’t handled.”
People began grabbing bags.
Another balloon popped.
One bull trotted several steps.
That was enough.
The crowd panicked.
Not because the animals attacked.
They did not.
Because dozens of city residents suddenly understood they were standing where large livestock legitimately moved.
Someone screamed.
Then another.
People ran toward the gate.
Tables tipped.
A cooler rolled.
A picnic blanket tangled around somebody’s ankle.
A man fell into a fruit tray.
The bounce house sagged as two adults collided with it.
Karen dropped the megaphone.
“OPEN THE GATE!”
“The gate is open.”
“It’s chained!”
“The pedestrian side is open.”
People were so panicked they were pushing toward the wider vehicle entrance instead of the smaller exit twenty yards away.
I shouted.
“STOP RUNNING!”
Nobody listened.
“Walk toward the south opening!”
A mother grabbed two children.
Another man lifted a toddler.
Most of the bulls stopped when the chaos began.
Some moved laterally.
One named Diesel came farther forward.
He was enormous.
Black Angus.
Nearly a ton.
Normally calm.
But now his head was high.
Ears forward.
Alert.
I stepped between the herd’s direction and the retreating crowd at a safe distance.
“Easy.”
Diesel slowed.
Karen was screaming.
“You’re trying to kill us!”
“No.”
“GET THEM AWAY!”
“Stop screaming.”
“You psycho!”
“Hank is on his way.”
That made her freeze.
“What?”
“The sheriff.”
