Free Blindsided by Priscilla Cummings

their house and a bright red back door. Odd, that a back door was red like that, but that’s what made it so great, because it was easy to see. It was her peripheral vision that was disappearing, not the ability to see long-distance, but Natalie somehow figured as long as she could see over the fence to that red back door she was doing okay.
    Natalie parted the yellow curtains and looked out. For months, it had been impossible for her to actually see anybody in the Stanleys’ backyard when she heard voices, or the occasional basketball hitting the rim. About a year ago, she had lost sight of the dog, even though she could still hear it barking. But now Natalie could not even see the fence that separated the yards. Nor could she see the red door.
    Had they had painted it?
    Not likely, Natalie thought, realizing that the house itself had become a vague, dark block framed with an eerie gray haze.
    Suddenly, a harsh cry pierced the air. Natalie put a hand to her heart and let the curtains fall back. When the sound repeated, there was no question: it was Winston, their “guard dog” llama, issuing his shrill warning. Natalie rushed downstairs. Winston’s call meant that something threatened the pasture.
    “Natalie, stay inside!” her father called out as he burst through the back door and rushed past her.
    “What is it, Dad? A coyote?”
    “Don’t know!” he called back breathlessly.
    Natalie stayed out of the way. “A bear?”
    Her father didn’t answer. But maybe he didn’t hear in his rush to the gun safe. Natalie knew every move her father was making in the office. He was finding the key, hidden in an old library book about goat farming, far right, bottom shelf, behind his desk. After unlocking the safe, he’d see the guns arranged with the rifles to the left—the .270 caliber deer rifle next to the .22, which her father used for varmints like groundhogs. To the right were the 12- and 20-gauge shotguns. Bullets and shells were in packages neatly stacked on a shelf above them. Natalie had learned years ago how to load and fire each of those guns.
    As he came back through the room, her father carried two weapons. Natalie didn’t need to ask why. If he thought he could get a good aim, he’d use the rifle. If not, he’d fire the shotgun.
    “Get down, Nat!” he told her before he rushed back out the door.
    Natalie sank to the floor, hugging her knees. She heard and felt her father’s feet pound across the yard. Winston called out again, and the goats bleated excitedly from inside the barn.
    A few minutes later, a gunshot echoed. A second shot followed. Natalie waited on the kitchen floor until her father returned.
    “Nothing but a coyote prowling around,” her father said, not sounding too concerned. “I think I scared him off. But it reminds me. Nat, I want to show you something out in the barn.”
    Natalie stood and slid her hands down the kitchen counter, looking for her baseball cap, which she put on while her father locked up the guns.
    “Coyotes are gettin’ to be a problem around here,” her father said, coming back through the kitchen. Natalie heard the screen door open and assumed he was holding the door open for her even though she couldn’t quite get it in her circle of vision.
    “Come on, let’s go,” he urged. Natalie moved quickly toward his voice. Down the steps and out in the yard, however, she hesitated, not knowing what lay ahead. A wheelbarrow, a bucket, a rake, any number of things could be in the yard. Her father touched her elbow to guide her, but then walked so fast Natalie practically had to jog to keep up. It wasn’t exactly “sighted guide,” and Natalie was nervous not knowing what was directly in front of her. Her father didn’t seem to notice her anxiety.
    “I’ve had black bears sniffin’ around the past month, too,” he complained. “What I’m thinkin’ is that I want to keep a shotgun tucked away in the barn somewhere. Takes too much time running back to the