Chapter 9 #4
“No,” I told the amber-eyed leopard, staring at the branch he'd dropped beside my cot while late-afternoon light faded around the platform.
Why not? the amber-eyed leopard asked me, lowering his head toward the offering with genuine confusion before looking back up.
“Because it's a stick,” I told the amber-eyed leopard, pointing toward it as though the problem should have been self-evident.
Good stick, the amber-eyed leopard insisted, nudging the branch with one paw.
“I have access to many sticks,” I replied to the amber-eyed leopard, sweeping one hand toward the entire rainforest surrounding us.
He slowly surveyed the trees. Then he looked back at his offering.
This one is straight, the amber-eyed leopard told me, sounding as though he'd finally identified the important quality I had somehow overlooked. I pressed my lips together and turned toward Cat, who was lying near the bottom of the steps with his eyes closed.
His shoulders were moving.
“You're laughing,” I accused Cat, pointing at him while the amber-eyed leopard continued guarding his rejected gift.
I am resting, Cat told me, opening one golden-brown eye while another silent shake through his chest immediately betrayed him.
“You are absolutely laughing,” I replied to Cat, narrowing my eyes as his whiskers twitched.
The darker leopard appeared while I was still deciding whether refusing a stick had somehow become rude.
He walked directly past it without slowing, earning such an offended look from the amber-eyed leopard that I eventually leaned the branch against one of the platform supports.
That seemed to satisfy him.
Mostly.
Dinner consisted of rice, dried vegetables, tuna, and hot sauce warmed over the small camp stove. The smell attracted approximately half the insects in the rainforest and one amber-eyed leopard who sat close enough that I could feel him watching every forkful.
“You brought me fruit. That doesn't mean we're sharing tuna,” I told the amber-eyed leopard, raising one eyebrow as I guarded my bowl with my free hand.
Why? the amber-eyed leopard asked me, inching his front paws closer to the platform while his eyes remained fixed on dinner.
“Because this is my dinner,” I told the amber-eyed leopard, shifting the bowl farther out of his reach.
I brought dinner, the amber-eyed leopard reminded me, glancing pointedly toward the fruit still tucked inside my bag.
“You brought a snack,” I corrected the amber-eyed leopard, fighting a smile as his ears tipped backward in disagreement.
You feed me, Cat told me, lifting his head from beside the steps and apparently deciding the argument required his involvement.
“You were injured,” I told Cat, pointing my fork toward him while he remained maddeningly calm.
Not anymore, Cat replied, his whiskers shifting slightly as he regarded the bowl with entirely too much interest.
“That sounds like an argument I don't want to encourage,” I told Cat, lowering the fork before any of them got ideas.
She is learning, the darker leopard told Cat, lying several feet away with his paws crossed neatly in front of him while the faintest amusement entered his voice.
“You're supposed to be the nice one,” I informed the darker leopard, staring as one of his ears flicked without the rest of him moving.
Night arrived quickly beneath the canopy. One moment there was enough light to make out the edges of leaves beyond the platform; twenty minutes later the forest had become overlapping layers of darkness broken by insect calls, occasional movement, and the narrow beam of my headlamp.
I lowered the canvas on two sides of the shelter but left the front partly open for airflow, secured the mosquito net around the cot, and locked away most of my cameras except for one body I kept near me in case something interesting wandered past during the night.
The radio crackled at six.
“Field camp, this is base. You alive out there?” Mara asked through the radio, her voice slightly distorted by static while I reached for the handset beside my cot.
“Alive, hydrated, unbitten, and currently surrounded by judgmental wildlife,” I told Mara, leaning against the edge of the cot while Cat sat just beyond the platform and two more pairs of eyes reflected the dim light farther back.
“That's a normal day for you,” Mara replied through the radio after a brief pause, amusement carrying easily through the static.
“Fair. Camp's good. Route's good. Got squirrel monkeys, peccaries, toucans, and some really nice agouti shots,” I told Mara, glancing toward the leopards before settling more comfortably against the cot.
“Excellent. Weather still looks stable overnight. Check in at seven-thirty,” Mara told me through the speaker, papers rustling faintly at her end.
“Will do. Good night,” I told Mara, releasing the transmit button as I reached to clip the radio beside the cot.
“Night, Halden,” Mara replied through the radio before the channel went quiet.
I switched the headlamp to its dimmer setting and finally noticed that none of the leopards appeared interested in leaving.
Cat had settled at the bottom of the steps, the darker leopard rested near the rear corner of the platform, and the amber-eyed one was sprawled near the front as though he'd personally accepted responsibility for the entire entrance.
“You're staying?” I asked the three leopards, sitting on the edge of my cot while the loose mosquito net brushed against my shoulder.
Yes, Cat told me, lifting his head toward the dark forest beyond the shelter while his ears tracked something in the distance.
“For how long?” I asked Cat, watching him listen to whatever moved beyond the reach of my light.
Night, Cat replied, lowering his chin onto his paws again as though the answer should have been obvious. I looked toward the amber-eyed leopard, who responded with an enormous yawn, then toward the darker one, who had already closed his eyes.
“Apparently I've hired security,” I muttered to the three leopards, shaking my head as I pulled my legs onto the cot.
You did not hire us, the amber-eyed leopard told me, opening one eye from his position near the entrance while his tail stretched across the boards.
“You're right. Hired security usually expects payment. You're volunteer feline security,” I told the amber-eyed leopard, lying back and pulling the mosquito net into place around me.
Feline? the amber-eyed leopard asked me, raising his head as his ears immediately angled backward.
“Cat family,” I explained to the amber-eyed leopard, tucking one arm beneath my head while a smile spread across my face.
His ears went farther back.
Interesting.
“Oh, does that bother you?” I asked the amber-eyed leopard, rolling onto my side to see his reaction more clearly through the net.
Sleep, Cat told me, cutting across whatever the other leopard had been preparing to say while his deeper voice carried easily through the insects and distant animal calls.
“You're very bossy for unpaid security,” I informed Cat, settling deeper against the thin pillow as my eyes began to grow heavy.
Sleep, Evie, Cat repeated, meeting my gaze briefly before returning his attention to the darkness outside camp.
Something in my body felt lighter. There wasn't anything strange or complicated about it.
They were still leopards, and that fact wasn't remotely confusing to me. I simply felt safer with them nearby.
I'd spent enough nights in tents, blinds, and field shelters that the sounds of the rainforest usually didn't keep me awake, but part of me always listened anyway. A snapping branch, a sudden silence among insects, the change in an animal call—some piece of my brain stayed awake enough to notice.
Tonight, it didn't seem necessary.
Cat was listening. So were the other two.
Their scents had collected around the small camp during the hours they'd spent there, and even through my blockers I could distinguish them when the breeze moved through the shelter.
Cat's familiar cedar and rain-damp earth lingered closest to the steps.
The amber-eyed leopard carried warmer notes of wood, crushed citrus leaves, and spice, while the darker leopard's scent was calmer, sandalwood softened by fresh herbs.
My Omega instincts settled around those scents with surprising ease. Apparently three enormous cats had become something my body associated with safety.
Wonderful.
Somewhere beyond the mosquito net, three sets of ears continued tracking every sound in the rainforest while I drifted off without bothering to listen for any of them myself.
Apparently, I had three feline security guards now.
There were worse problems to have.