Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Each droplet of blood was perfectly shaped. Not a smudge or a smear. Like beads of water, only thick and crimson.
More bloody droplets formed a grisly trail behind the bush and kept going.
Raven stared at the blood. Her breath caught in her throat. Her brain screamed at her to run. She didn’t run.
When she was ten years old, Zachariah had told her that it took less than a hundred pounds of pressure to crush a man’s windpipe. It took five pounds of pressure to block the carotid artery. A tiger’s jaws exerted a thousand pounds of pressure per square inch.
Humans were soft-skinned and thin-boned, as easy to break as snapping a twig.
She’d never forgotten it.
The trail of blood led to a spot a few yards beyond an aspen tree. On high alert, the rifle gripped in her hands, Raven crept closer, stepping softly among the ferns.
The stench of blood and death grew stronger. Gradually, the gruesome scene revealed itself.
Long red streaks in the trampled ferns and churned-up dirt. An empty shoe, turned on its side. A set of keys, glinting between two tree roots. A bloodied piece of khaki fabric that may have once been a shirt or pair of pants.
Her gaze followed the blood-soaked drag marks. Thirty yards into the clearing lay a wide circle of horror. A single arm, without a hand or shoulder attached. Bones, gnawed white. Blood drenched the ground in a ten-foot radius. So much blood.
Her belly heaved. Her guts churned. She felt sick, flushed and dizzy. Horror, shock, and revulsion flooded her senses.
Aghast, she turned abruptly and retched into the bushes. Retreating a step, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She was shaking, trembling all over.
Something else caught her eye. A semi-automatic rifle lay in the center of the bloodied circle. Blood stained the stock, the pistol grip, the barrel. It hadn’t helped the Headhunter.
Instinctively, she tightened her grip on her rifle. As if that could save her.
A floppy brown fishing hat lay less than a yard from the semi-automatic. She stared at the hat until her eyes blurred. Acid burned the back of her throat. It was the only recognizable thing left of Gomez.
He hadn’t returned to the lodge with the rest. He’d stayed out in the woods, unaware that he was being hunted until it was too late.
Perhaps some part of him wanted to die quickly. He was doomed, the Hydra Virus already ravaging his body. His death might have been quick, but it certainly hadn’t been painless, or free of terror.
Gomez was a Headhunter. Still, he’d shown mercy to Suki. She couldn’t help the rush of pity at his fate.
Raven took a step back, and then another. Urgency thrummed through her.
In the wild, tigers would stay with their kill or bury it to return and dine over a period of several days.
The tiger was likely very close.
She needed to get out of here as quickly as possible.
A twig cracked behind her.
Raven spun, rifle up, and flicked off the safety. Her heart raced. Panic clawed at her throat. Alarm bells screamed in her head, warning of imminent danger. Her primitive brain went haywire, begging her to run.
Her primitive brain was going to get her killed.
Fleeing a tiger was all but inviting death. Inciting a chase would provoke an uncertain tiger into attacking.
Back away, step by step. Move slowly and calmly. Don’t show fear. Her father had taught her how to act around predators to minimize the chance of attack. No sudden movements.
Even in her terror, she recalled her father’s instructions. Stay upright. Stand tall. Look like a human. A brave, fearless, bland and tasteless human.
She forced herself to straighten to her full height, resisting the urge to cringe and cower. It made her look stronger, bigger, and less like a helpless prey animal. Crouched down, a person appeared weak and small, which increased the chances of an attack.
Turning, she sighted more trees, more empty shadows. The forest was impossibly still. She heard no birds. Even the crows had fallen silent.
Her frantic gaze flicked from tree to tree, scanning bushes, shadows, scrubby underbrush. She saw nothing. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t there, prowling silent as a held breath, waiting to pounce.
Most likely, she wouldn’t see it coming.
Tigers surprised victims from the side or from behind, either approaching upwind or lying in wait downwind. They rarely pressed an attack if they were seen before they’d mounted their ambush. Of course, a captive tiger might attack anyway.
How many shots could she fire in the second or two it took for the tiger to cross thirty yards? How many rounds would it take to bring him down? Could she even aim accurately with a monstrous beast hurtling toward her at speed?
Abruptly, Shadow appeared to her right. He bounded past her in a blur of teeth and black fur. He halted, stiff-legged, and stared past the cluster of bushes at something in the shadows she couldn’t see.
His hackles bristled. Agitated, he growled low in his throat, his tail curled beneath him.
Luna appeared from the woods to Raven’s right and loped to Shadow’s side. The two wolves stood several feet in front of Raven. They alternately growled and whined, tails curled beneath them, backs arched, jowls pulled back from their teeth.
They smelled death. They smelled danger.
And then she smelled it, too. Faint, and then stronger.
The strangely disconcerting smell of buttered popcorn.
Raven froze.
The wolves howled. They whirled and lunged at phantoms. The palpable, sickly-sweet stench of the tiger’s spray was nearly unbearable. They snarled frantically at tiger musk thick in their nostrils.
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. He was close. He must be close. They needed to get out of here, right now—
A thunderous roar split the air. It seemed to come from everywhere at once.
The deafening sound slammed into her. Paralyzing her muscles. Constricting her heart in utter terror.
The tiger erupted out of nowhere, as though out of the earth itself. Thirty yards away. He sprang from the wooded shadows. A blur of yellow eyes, orange fur, and gleaming fangs.
Raven screamed.