His sniping position was close to the burning rear of the shop, taking advantage of the smoke billowing out a neighboring window.
Gray reached Fiona again. He waved her to stay low. It would be their deaths to attempt to haul Fiona up. Both would be exposed too long.
That left only one choice.
Gripping the gutter with one hand, Gray lunged and swung down. He dropped to the landing with a ring of steel, then ducked low.
A brick above his head shattered.
Rifle shot.
Gray reached to his ankle sheath and pulled his dagger free.
Fiona eyed it. “What are we—?”
“ You are going to stay here,” he ordered.
Gray reached a hand to the railing above. All he had was the element of surprise. No body armor, no weapon except his dagger.
“Run when I tell you,” he said. “Straight down the stairs and over your neighbor’s fence. Find the first policeman or firefighter. Can you do that?”
Fiona met his eyes. It looked as if she were about to argue, but her lips tightened and she nodded.
Good girl.
Gray balanced the dagger in his hand. One chance again. Taking a deep breath, Gray leaped up, pinioned off the railing, and vaulted over it. As he fell toward the flagstones, he did two things at the same time.
“Run!” he hollered and tossed the dagger toward the sniper’s hiding place. He didn’t hope for a kill, just a distraction long enough to close quarters with the man. A rifle was ungainly in tight situations.
As he landed, he noted two things.
One good, one bad.
He heard Fiona’s ringing footsteps down the metal staircase.
She was fleeing.
Good.
At the same time, Gray watched his dagger wing through the smoky air, bang the trash bin, and bounce off. His toss hadn’t even been close.
That was bad.
The sniper rose from his spot unfazed, rifle ready, aimed straight at Gray’s chest.
“No!” Fiona screamed as she reached the bottom of the stairs.
The rifleman didn’t even smile as he pulled the trigger.
11:05 A.M .
HLUHLUWE-UMFOLOZI GAME PRESERVE
ZULULAND, SOUTH AFRICA
“Run!” Khamisi repeated.
Dr. Fairfield needed no further prodding. They fled in the direction of their waiting Jeep. Reaching the watering hole, Khamisi waved Dr. Fairfield ahead of him. She shouldered through the tall reeds—but not before silently meeting his gaze. Horror shone in her eyes, mirroring his own.
Whatever creatures had screamed in the forest had sounded large, massive, and whetted from the recent kill. Khamisi glanced back at the rhino’s macerated carcass. Monsters or not, he needed no other information about what might be hidden in the maze of heavy forest, trickling streams, and shadowed gullies.
Twisting back around, Khamisi followed the biologist. He checked over his shoulder frequently, ears straining for any sound of pursuit. Something splashed into the neighboring pond. Khamisi ignored it. It was a small splash. Too small. His brain teased out extraneous details, sifting through the buzz of insects and crunch of reeds. He concentrated upon real danger signals. Khamisi’s father had taught him how to hunt when he was only six years old, drilling into him the signs to watch when stalking prey.
Only now, he was the hunted.
The panicked whir of wings drew his ear and eye.
A flick of movement.
Off to the left.
In the sky.
A single shrike took wing.
Something had frightened it.
Something on the move.
Khamisi closed the distance with Dr. Fairfield as they cleared the reeds. “Hurry,” he whispered, senses straining.
Dr. Fairfield craned her neck, her rifle swiveling. She was breathing hard, face ashen. Khamisi followed her gaze. Their Jeep stood at the ridgeline above, parked in the shade of the baobab tree at the edge of the deep hollow. The slope seemed steeper and longer than it had coming down.
“Keep moving,” he urged.
Glancing back, Khamisi spotted a tawny klipspringer doe leap from the forest edge and skip-hop its way up the far slope, kicking up dirt.
Then it was gone.
They
Gray reached Fiona again. He waved her to stay low. It would be their deaths to attempt to haul Fiona up. Both would be exposed too long.
That left only one choice.
Gripping the gutter with one hand, Gray lunged and swung down. He dropped to the landing with a ring of steel, then ducked low.
A brick above his head shattered.
Rifle shot.
Gray reached to his ankle sheath and pulled his dagger free.
Fiona eyed it. “What are we—?”
“ You are going to stay here,” he ordered.
Gray reached a hand to the railing above. All he had was the element of surprise. No body armor, no weapon except his dagger.
“Run when I tell you,” he said. “Straight down the stairs and over your neighbor’s fence. Find the first policeman or firefighter. Can you do that?”
Fiona met his eyes. It looked as if she were about to argue, but her lips tightened and she nodded.
Good girl.
Gray balanced the dagger in his hand. One chance again. Taking a deep breath, Gray leaped up, pinioned off the railing, and vaulted over it. As he fell toward the flagstones, he did two things at the same time.
“Run!” he hollered and tossed the dagger toward the sniper’s hiding place. He didn’t hope for a kill, just a distraction long enough to close quarters with the man. A rifle was ungainly in tight situations.
As he landed, he noted two things.
One good, one bad.
He heard Fiona’s ringing footsteps down the metal staircase.
She was fleeing.
Good.
At the same time, Gray watched his dagger wing through the smoky air, bang the trash bin, and bounce off. His toss hadn’t even been close.
That was bad.
The sniper rose from his spot unfazed, rifle ready, aimed straight at Gray’s chest.
“No!” Fiona screamed as she reached the bottom of the stairs.
The rifleman didn’t even smile as he pulled the trigger.
11:05 A.M .
HLUHLUWE-UMFOLOZI GAME PRESERVE
ZULULAND, SOUTH AFRICA
“Run!” Khamisi repeated.
Dr. Fairfield needed no further prodding. They fled in the direction of their waiting Jeep. Reaching the watering hole, Khamisi waved Dr. Fairfield ahead of him. She shouldered through the tall reeds—but not before silently meeting his gaze. Horror shone in her eyes, mirroring his own.
Whatever creatures had screamed in the forest had sounded large, massive, and whetted from the recent kill. Khamisi glanced back at the rhino’s macerated carcass. Monsters or not, he needed no other information about what might be hidden in the maze of heavy forest, trickling streams, and shadowed gullies.
Twisting back around, Khamisi followed the biologist. He checked over his shoulder frequently, ears straining for any sound of pursuit. Something splashed into the neighboring pond. Khamisi ignored it. It was a small splash. Too small. His brain teased out extraneous details, sifting through the buzz of insects and crunch of reeds. He concentrated upon real danger signals. Khamisi’s father had taught him how to hunt when he was only six years old, drilling into him the signs to watch when stalking prey.
Only now, he was the hunted.
The panicked whir of wings drew his ear and eye.
A flick of movement.
Off to the left.
In the sky.
A single shrike took wing.
Something had frightened it.
Something on the move.
Khamisi closed the distance with Dr. Fairfield as they cleared the reeds. “Hurry,” he whispered, senses straining.
Dr. Fairfield craned her neck, her rifle swiveling. She was breathing hard, face ashen. Khamisi followed her gaze. Their Jeep stood at the ridgeline above, parked in the shade of the baobab tree at the edge of the deep hollow. The slope seemed steeper and longer than it had coming down.
“Keep moving,” he urged.
Glancing back, Khamisi spotted a tawny klipspringer doe leap from the forest edge and skip-hop its way up the far slope, kicking up dirt.
Then it was gone.
They
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