The camper lurches violently, and I grab the back of the bench to keep from falling. My stomach drops like I'm on some demented carnival ride—one where the operator's trying to kill you and your frying pan is your only defense.
So basically, a ride that doesn't (and shouldn't) exist.
But we're on it anyway.
Sadie's barking shifts from alert to something more feral. The white cat materializes out of fucking nowhere, back arched impossibly high, fur standing on end like it's been electrified, entering the fray with yowling growl-adjacent noise haunted houses might use to terrify children.
The combined noise level reaches fuck this shit awful quick, but we're all too busy bracing for the second impact to tell them to shut their fucking muzzles.
But time keeps marching, and nothing happens.
Just a whole lot of squalling from the animals.
"What's going on?" Sara asks, her voice shaking.
