Hospitals usually buzzed with orderly urgency, but St. Celeste Memorial felt almost sleepy during Hana Lopez’s late shift. The twenty-seven-year-old nurse reviewed charts by the admit desk, savoring a lukewarm coffee and texting her wildlife-photographer brother Peter, camping nearby. She teased him about black bears he’d photographed that week.
When the automatic doors rattled, Hana looked up, expecting an ambulance. Instead, a hulking cinnamon bear lumbered inside, shards of glass showering the linoleum. Pandemonium erupted, patients screamed, orderly carts toppled, and a guard fumbled for his radio. Hana’s cup fell, coffee splattering like mud. Then she noticed the bundle dangling gently from the bear’s jaws.