Beatrice was not at Lake Blackshear. A presentiment deep in her brain directed her to leave the Flint River at a small tributary called Sheep Rock Hollow and head west, following a trail originally used by the Creek Indians.

Her new destination, Lake Delanor, deep within the 9000+ acres of Georgia's FD Roosevelt state park. From there she would continue south and west to the Chattahoochee River.

At least, that was her plan.

Following remnants of the trail, Beatrice left the forest and passed the old Alford Cemetery. She had to cross a large open pasture along Dripping Rock Road before she could get to the next stand of trees. The barking dogs did not bother her, but she was constantly on the alert for humans.

The rain began as she passed through The Cove, a 25 mile wide crater from an earlier interaction with an asteroid. She no longer enjoyed the rain as much as when she was a hatchling. Now it tasted bitter and sooty.

Without consulting Doppler radar or a weather alert radio, she knew the oncoming storm would be intense. She could feel it. That didn't worry her. It would provide cover when she had to cross the populated area known as Warm Springs.

Beatrice plodded on.

Lake Delanor was a disappointment. A campground now cluttered the north shore and even with the storm raging there were lights and laughter ringing the lake. Beatrice sighed and continued past the dam and down the hill. As she crossed Mountain Creek she decided to follow it for a bit and turned south. It wasn't long before she came to a flat, marshy area. She approached cautiously, following a plaintive bleating which drew her to a hillock in the swamp.

Through the rain, she could see a calf trembling and bleating, surrounded by high water. It's mama paced along the bank about twenty yards away. When the cow sensed Beatrice approaching her baby, she bawled a challenge and would have charged but the sucking mud at the edge of the swamp kept her at bay.

Beatrice was hungry. It had been several days since she had last eaten. But veal was not on her diet these days. She carefully picked up the trembling yearling in her mouth and carried it to higher ground. Mama extricated herself from the red Georgia mud and, still bawling, lumbered to her baby's side.

Beatrice turned away and wandered further into the swamp. Dawn was fast approaching and  though she sensed that the storm would continue to hide her for a while, she decided to bed down in the relative seclusion of the wetlands.

This greatly disturbed a colony of beavers. They had been industriously working to stem the overflow from the rising waters until Beatrice arrived on the scene. Not knowing if fresh beaver was on her diet, they elected to stay deep in their lodge until the monster had passed, sullenly suffering the vexation of water flowing unchecked over their dam.

Beatrice did not hear the military helicopters. They were still too far to the south and she was sleeping soundly. Even if she had heard them, she would not have been too alarmed. Such machines had flown over her before but she felt safe under the tree canopy. That they were equipped with FLIR cameras would mean nothing to her but the forward looking infrared cameras, when deployed, would show her shape clearly, no matter how deep the tree cover. Beatrice was smack dab in the middle of the northwest quadrant of their search grid. They would reach her by mid-morning.