Chapter 12 #3
Crack.
Owen flinched, his heart kick-starting. Was it his imagination, or was the big cat closer?
Training his ears on the fields, he scanned for a stick.
Rock. Anything was better than bare hands.
He was no Samson or David. Had no experience killing lions.
No donkey jawbones. As he surreptitiously scouted for a makeshift weapon, he spotted the multi-level stone sign/monument-style thing.
“You’re quiet,” Leighton huffed as they moved. “What’s wrong?”
Another rustle came from the left.
Definitely closer.
They were too open, too vulnerable out here. Afraid to alarm her and exacerbate the threat by sending fear pheromones into the warm, sticky air, he caught her hand. “We have to get off the road.” With that, he diverted toward the monument.
“What are you—”
“Quiet,” he rasped, then jutted his jaw toward the multi-tiered monument signs. “Put your spine to that structure.”
“What?”
“Do it,” he hissed, gaze roving the shadows. Seeing a predator in every blinking shadow and flicker of grass. “Nice and slow.” He edged from the last spot he’d heard the lion, maneuvering in front of her. “Hold on to my shirt as you move to guide me.”
“You’re scaring me,” she said as her fingers coiled in his shirt. “W-what is it?”
Owen lifted his arms wide, recalling a long-ago lesson about making oneself look as large as possible to wild cats and to never put your back to them.
“Our visitors from earlier.” Even as he said it, reflective eyes blinked back at him from the tall grass.
His muscles contracted involuntarily, that all-too-powerful fight-or-flight instinct demanding flight.
“The lions?” Her grip tightened on his shirt.
“Keep your back to the stone and your head down. Slowly but surely climb to the second-highest level,” he said in a low voice.
Then, as if their change in behavior drew the big cat, its head slid forward, parting the tall grass. Both relief and alarm speared him—it was the lioness.
But he knew better than to underestimate this predator. The females might be smaller, but they were more agile. Hunters. The lioness stalked into the open, paused and looked down the road, toward camp. Large cats liked to play the nonchalant predator while simultaneously side-eyeing prey.
“First level is right behind you,” Leighton muttered, her knee jarring his back. “Sorry.”
He shifted onto it. Felt a big rock beneath his hand and closed his fingers around it.
Took it with him as he navigated the next two.
Having a crude weapon did nothing for the knot in his gut, especially when Mufasa stalked up next to the lioness.
Behind those two, the grass was shifting again. He bit back a curse.
“There’s another,” Leighton whimpered.
“Two more.” His words birthed a pair without manes.
“Lionesses.”
“Or a young lion,” he thought aloud, realizing it was a possibility. “Maybe. I’m not a lionologist.”
“That’s not a word.”
“I doubt they’ll be offended.” Or maybe they would be and would make him dinner. But that’d mean Leighton might be dessert…
God, I think we need a miracle or some type of Elijah action here. Feel free to transport us…anywhere else.
“The lion!” Leighton rasped from behind, hands on his shoulders. “He’s coming!”
Owen blinked, only then seeing the lion stalking forward, straight at them.
Oh no. Not good.
“Guess I offended him.” Gut tightening, he gripped the rock he held tighter as the lion lowered its snout. A squall of nerves told Owen he was going to die. Leighton was going to die.
Nope. Not happening. He waved his hands—and the rock—like a maniac, shouting. Then with his best pitcher arm that had gotten him scouted in high school, he threw the rock and nailed the lion.
Who did not even falter—in fact, it seemed to incite him. He came, unyielding. With a roar, he leapt.
God, help me!
In that terrible, terrifying moment as Mufasa sailed across the distance, Owen had the sudden realization that Leighton’s gasp had come from over his head. That meant she was in plain view. Targetable.
Even as Mufasa went airborne again, Owen thrust upward, straight into its path.
With a powerful swipe of its paw, the lion clawed him. Nails scored Owen’s chest, searing, slicing fire across his chest. “Augh!!” The lion’s momentum sent them careening over the side of the multi-tiered monument.
Twisting to the side, Owen vaulted with everything he had in him away from the lion’s forbidding weight and claws. The last thing he wanted was to get trapped beneath the mighty beast. Large cats were known for pinning their prey and using hind claws to disembowel their victims.
He dived into a roll, feeling a razored burn across his left pectoral.
Came up and launched himself aside, too late seeing another feral swipe of the paw that was bigger than his head.
The claws caught his jaw and neck. Terror seized him, knowing one wrong angle and his carotid would water this safari.
Distantly, he grew aware of Leighton’s screams. Panic stabbed—was she being attacked by the rest of the pride?
Her cries and shouts forced him to look, but even as he did, the lion roared again.
Rocks pelted the big cat, who shook his thick amber mane and gave a roar of objection to Leighton. But then, more annoyed than angered with her puny attempt to thwart his kill, the lion again lowered his head and stalked Owen.
I’m going to die. No way he’d survive. The royals were about to get their wish—him and Leighton gone.
God, please! Do something!
A great vibration rattled the ground, the sound drowned by a thunderous trumpeting noise. Before he could sort it out, Owen noticed Mufasa hesitate, swivel his head aside to look behind himself.
The ground shook as if the rocks themselves were going to split in two. Earthquake? Was God answering his desperate prayer by having the ground swallow him or the lion up?
A massive blur stampeded past him.
With a strangled cry, Owen scrambled back as a hind flank the size of a small house barreled past him. An elephant thundered into the fight, coming between Owen and Mufasa.
What…? Body and mind drenched in adrenaline, he watched, shocked and confused as Mufasa challenged the elephant with a more mighty roar, then a smaller one, as if having the last word before deciding the effort wasn’t worth it.
That’s right—I’d be a terrible last meal. Too chewy.
Mufasa turned and lumbered away, bored.
Wincing at the wounds he’d sustained, Owen dragged himself to his feet, stunned at mama elephant who, along with two other elephants—bulls it seemed—trumpeted their outrage, tusks swinging at the big cats.
The lioness turned back with a hissing growl and took a belligerent swat at the elephant, who hustled four pounding steps, warning the cats to yield and slink off, chastised and food-less, into the night.
They saved me… Disbelief drowned Owen as he stared at the enormous beasts that had just saved his life.
Correction: God saved him through those amazing elephants.
The conviction of that truth dug deep even as the sting of his injuries dug past his adrenaline-soaked muscles and mind, the open wounds screaming.
Groaning as strength leeched from his limbs, he stumbled, went to a knee to steady himself, hand going over his abdomen, which had taken the worst of the damage.
“Owen!” Distraught, Leighton rushed and knelt beside him, cautiously touching him. “Are you okay? I thought they were going to kill you!”
“Me too.”
Her gaze traced his injuries. “What do I do?”
Only then did he notice the elephants behind them.
In total, a herd of six surrounded them.
Tails twitching and giant wedge-shaped feet stamping, they stood sentry, facing the threat, warning the cats with flashing movement of their large ears not to return.
“Holy…” Shock held him fast. Had that really happened?
He shook his head in awe. Knew he would’ve been Mufasa’s late-night snack if not for these amazing, gentle giants. “Un-freaking-believable.”
After considering the pachyderms, Leighton smiled at him. “It’s a circle of protection.”
He shook his head in awe. “Well, I prayed for a miracle…”
Her eyes brightened in the moonlight as she smiled. “So did I.” She nodded to the bleeding slices across his chest. “What do I do?”
“Nothing. I need to be stitched and bandaged, and unless you have those supplies on you…”
Cool fingers touched his jaw as she angled her head for a better view. “These don’t look as bad.”
“I was further away,” he said, then looked down. “They sting like crazy, but I don’t think they’re too deep.” At least, he hoped not. “The bigger problem is the blood. The wildlife in the reserve will smell it and come hunting the walking meat-stick.”
Concern lanced her pretty features. “We have to get back to camp.”
“Yeah. Help me up.” He braced as she threaded her arm under his, then looped it around his waist. With her help, he rose then hesitated. Looked at the bull, not two feet away.
A wide, blinking eye, glossy beneath the moon, took him in.
Owen reached out his hand and waited in respect.
The great bull flapped his ears, then tossed its trunk to him.
Touching it, Owen couldn’t deny the connection he suddenly felt to these amazing beasts and smiled. “Thank you. You saved my life.”
Somehow, he believed the bull understood, both that he was thanking them and the great kindness they had done by chasing off the pride. Mama lumbered in, insistent on getting some gratitude as well. Amused, Owen repeated the gesture. To all six.
When he turned to head out, Leighton stood there, hand over her mouth, sniffling.
Alarm speared him. “You okay? Did you get hurt?” He cursed himself for not checking sooner.
“No, I’m fine.” She waved him off, wiping her nose. “It’s just…beautiful. You—this big, handsome warrior, fierce in your own right—thanking elephants. I didn’t think I could like you any more…”
Heady warmth spilled through his gut, pulling Owen to her side. “Is that right?”
Her eyes widened. “I…I meant…”
When she tried to ease away, he set his hand on her waist. Drew her back to him. “No retreating now, Princess.”
A rather forceful thrust to his back—by the bull—shoved Owen into her. He grimaced at the daggers of pain that seared his chest, yet couldn’t help but laugh.
Leighton laughed and slipped free. “I think they’re telling us to get going.”
“Really?” he teased as he started walking, bracing his midsection. “I was pretty sure the bull was telling me to kiss you.”
Leighton laughed, but it was a nervous, shy one that had her ducking her head.
It was dark, so he couldn’t tell, but Owen thought there was some new color in her cheeks. He let it carry him back up to the road.
She glanced at him. “You’re okay to walk…?”
“I’m good.” Even as he said that, he heard the steady thump behind them. A check over his shoulder confirmed his suspicions—the herd was following. “Chaperones?”
“Protectors,” Leighton corrected as she hooked an arm under his and wrapped it around his waist for support. “Like you.”
Surprised at her words, the conviction in them, her sudden belief in him, Owen looked at her, really wanting that kiss now. “I’m pretty sure all these cuts earned me a kiss.”
Just then, baby elephant shuffled up between them, making Leighton laugh even more, especially when the calf stayed there the entire twenty-minute grueling hike. Owen’s chest bled and ached, sucking away his strength.
Relief was thick and heavy when he heard the laughter and firelight of the camp.
Leighton slowed. “Look at them,” she whispered with tight words.
On one edge of camp, a large bonfire lit the night with the royals gathered around it.
“Just sitting there, laughing, not caring that we were missing and in danger!”
Indeed, that laughter lent credence to his earlier suspicion that being abandoned was intentional. That someone wanted them gone. “Hey, Leighton. Listen—”
The first shouts came from the guards, who rushed forward with their rifles ready to challenge the elephants, who trumpeted against their rude welcome, then swung away to head back out to the valley.
“No, don’t shoot!” Leighton hollered, holding a hand out to stop the guards. “They protected us.”
Owen’s legs tangled, weakness sapping him from the blood loss.
“Help us,” Leighton shouted, her voice trilling. “He’s bleeding—badly!”
An older man rushed to Owen, calling to another, who joined them.
Dizziness made Owen’s head swim as he stumbled and dropped to his knees. Felt himself fall out of Leighton’s grip. He reached for her but was intercepted by the men. Vision blurring, Owen noticed the blur of shapes coming from the campfire. Worry choked him—if he died, she’d be alone. “Leigh—”
“Here. Lift him.” Mugo, the safari manager, swam into view and nodded to the side. “Come, come. He needs a doctor.”
The world upended, Owen grappling for a grip on reality as the stars swung into view. But that blanket of black morphed into a suffocating void that pulled him into its dark embrace.