The Extinct by Victor Methos Page A

took a deep breath and closed his eyes, sadness washing over him and weighing him down as surely as any weight. “The cop said it was a tiger attack.”
“Maybe. But I don’t think so.”
“What do you think it was?”
“Hyenas.”
“Why do you think that?”
“There’s some evidence for it.”
“What evidence?”
“Markings on the body. Hyenas are very different from other animals, Mr. Berksted.”
“I didn’t know there were hyenas out here.”
“Oh yes, they are found everywhere except North and South America. There is a lot of legends of them here and in Nepal.”
Berksted was silent a moment and then said, “By the way, that’s my wife, not some body. I’d appreciate you respecting that.”
    “I apologize. In my work, it helps if I don’t think of them in that way.” Namdi took a sip of bottled water and continued. “It is not difficult to detect one. But I’ve never seen markings like this. They are far larger than normal hyenas. That is why I said perhaps it could be a tiger, or there are even Asiatic lions. Perhaps a lion with teeth deformity or some trauma to the teeth that caused it to have such specific bite patterns.”
    Berksted looked away. There was a large tree just off to their right and a panther sat on one of the branches, cautiously eyeing the passerby. “I used to fuck around on her all the time. Blonds, brunettes, Asians . . . didn’t matter. She didn’t know, at least, I don’t think she knew. She deserved better than what she got.”
    “We all do.”
    They drove in silence for the rest of the morning. They circled an area of a dozen miles, going off-road through the grass a number of times and stopping midday to refuel. Namdi got out and took a plastic jug of gasoline, inserting a funnel into the gas tank and pouring the fuel in. Berksted sat in the jeep, staring off into space. He was still drunk and every once in awhile would doze off.
    “We can rest if you like,” Namdi said.
    “No, I want to keep looking.”
    They drove for over an hour until they reached the base of a large hill far north of the house. Vultures had gathered in a circle around a kill and were fighting and nipping at each other for position.
    “Wait here,” Namdi said.
    He stepped out of the jeep and took a rifle from the backseat. Aiming in the air, he shot off a round and the vultures scattered as he approached. One remained, picking at whatever they had found. Namdi fired another shot and it took flight, landing on a tree a dozen yards away and watching his movements.
    Namdi walked close. He lowered the rifle and put on his glasses. In front of him was a mass of rancid meat on white bones. Blood had dried into the earth and there were horns. It was the carcass of a juvenile black buck. He breathed a sigh of relief and was about to return to the jeep when he heard a growl coming from a field of grass to his right.
    He turned his head and saw the gold and black fur of a tiger ducked low in the tall vegetation. Tigers had very distinctive growls, bassed and heavy. But they hunted by stealth. If she had growled, it meant she wanted him to know she was there. He could not see her head but had no doubt she was watching him carefully.
    Sweat rolled down his forehead into his eyes. Slowly, he began walking back to the jeep, keeping a firm grip on the rifle. The jeep was more than a dozen yards away and Berksted looked half asleep.
    The tiger moved. It was so subtle Namdi wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking directly at her. It was just a slight adjustment in her position; going from a crouch to a tense crouch position. She was getting ready to sprint.
    Namdi darted for the jeep, hearing only a roar as the animal leaped out of the grass and chased him. He kept an eye on his feet to make sure he wouldn’t trip but could hear the heavy breathing of the great cat just behind him.
    He turned to look. She wasn’t more than a few feet away. Her legs flexed and she pounced. As she became airborne