her front claws dug into Namdi’s back. It was searing pain that caused him to scream as he toppled over. Berksted heard the scream and was out of the jeep and trying to steady his hand as he fired.
Namdi kept his arms over his face as the animal bit down, piercing the flesh of his forearm and scraping bone. She tugged at him, tossing him to the side as if he were a rag. The predator circled her prey, mouth oozing drool as she prepared for the killing bite to the neck, suffocating Namdi to death before beginning to feast.
Shots crackled through the air, kicking up dirt wherever they landed. The tiger yelped as she was struck in the shoulder. She dashed for the safety of the grass as Berksted continued firing until the dry click of the empty gun made him stop.
Namdi had the breath knocked out of him and his back burned from the wounds of the creature’s claws. His chest felt heavy, as if the weight was still on him and his arm was pouring blood. He ripped part of his shirt and wrapped it around the wound.
“Let’s go” Berksted said, helping him up.
“I am certain she broke my ribs. Can you drive?”
A colossal force and a gust of air and Berksted was ripped from Namdi’s arms. The speed at which he’d been pulled away left Namdi off balance and he fell to his side. Namdi thought Berksted had fallen. He saw him near the tall grass on his stomach, his face pale, a thick soup of saliva and black blood flowing from his mouth. Berksted screamed a wet, gurgled scream as he was dragged into the grass.
Namdi jumped to his feet and tried to run after him. He could see something moving through the grass at a quick pace, splitting apart the field like a speedboat through water. He lost sight of Berksted who was clawing at the ground to stop himself.
Berksted screamed, and then there was silence.
Namdi froze in place, listening. There was the wind rustling through the brush but nothing more. It was as if the plains held its tongue. Namdi’s breathing was labored and each inhalation shot pain through his ribs. As he wondered how he was going to go after Berksted he saw something moving toward him though the grass.
It was a gray hide, spotted black. It moved with purposefulness, trying to remain quiet. A chill went down Namdi’s back. He turned and hobbled toward the jeep. The hide followed. It turned in an arch, going up away from the jeep and then coming down toward it.
Namdi started the jeep and drove, watching in his rearview. The hide was motionless awhile, then ducked low and disappeared.
Namdi was not a religious man. There wasn’t much room for such a luxury in his work. But for a reason he didn’t understand, the sight of that hide had frightened him down to his core and he said a prayer. It didn’t move like the tiger; it seemed to move with awareness. As if it fully understood what Namdi was thinking at that moment and tried to adjust its movements because of it. It seemed almost . . . human.
CHAPTER
19
Bangkok is tightly packed on the east bank of the Chao Phraya River, its brown-green waters winding past the tenements and buildings and temples like a guardian watching his charge. It has the feeling of a modern city built over an ancient one, centuries-old Buddhist temples with crimson colored roofs and golden spirals pointing skyward nestled in between twenty-first century office buildings and hotels. The traffic was frequently congested to the point of immobility; cars, three-wheeled rickshaws with motorcycle engines, bicycles and brightly colored buses all vying for space on the narrow roads.
Being so close to the river, the city was also a green landscape of palm trees bursting forth from the ground in between the office buildings and residential tenements with finely manicured shrubs in front of the contemporary hotels and auditoriums that were found everywhere. The people were not unfriendly but were so hurried that tourists occasionally thought so. Many of them had the
Namdi kept his arms over his face as the animal bit down, piercing the flesh of his forearm and scraping bone. She tugged at him, tossing him to the side as if he were a rag. The predator circled her prey, mouth oozing drool as she prepared for the killing bite to the neck, suffocating Namdi to death before beginning to feast.
Shots crackled through the air, kicking up dirt wherever they landed. The tiger yelped as she was struck in the shoulder. She dashed for the safety of the grass as Berksted continued firing until the dry click of the empty gun made him stop.
Namdi had the breath knocked out of him and his back burned from the wounds of the creature’s claws. His chest felt heavy, as if the weight was still on him and his arm was pouring blood. He ripped part of his shirt and wrapped it around the wound.
“Let’s go” Berksted said, helping him up.
“I am certain she broke my ribs. Can you drive?”
A colossal force and a gust of air and Berksted was ripped from Namdi’s arms. The speed at which he’d been pulled away left Namdi off balance and he fell to his side. Namdi thought Berksted had fallen. He saw him near the tall grass on his stomach, his face pale, a thick soup of saliva and black blood flowing from his mouth. Berksted screamed a wet, gurgled scream as he was dragged into the grass.
Namdi jumped to his feet and tried to run after him. He could see something moving through the grass at a quick pace, splitting apart the field like a speedboat through water. He lost sight of Berksted who was clawing at the ground to stop himself.
Berksted screamed, and then there was silence.
Namdi froze in place, listening. There was the wind rustling through the brush but nothing more. It was as if the plains held its tongue. Namdi’s breathing was labored and each inhalation shot pain through his ribs. As he wondered how he was going to go after Berksted he saw something moving toward him though the grass.
It was a gray hide, spotted black. It moved with purposefulness, trying to remain quiet. A chill went down Namdi’s back. He turned and hobbled toward the jeep. The hide followed. It turned in an arch, going up away from the jeep and then coming down toward it.
Namdi started the jeep and drove, watching in his rearview. The hide was motionless awhile, then ducked low and disappeared.
Namdi was not a religious man. There wasn’t much room for such a luxury in his work. But for a reason he didn’t understand, the sight of that hide had frightened him down to his core and he said a prayer. It didn’t move like the tiger; it seemed to move with awareness. As if it fully understood what Namdi was thinking at that moment and tried to adjust its movements because of it. It seemed almost . . . human.
CHAPTER
19
Bangkok is tightly packed on the east bank of the Chao Phraya River, its brown-green waters winding past the tenements and buildings and temples like a guardian watching his charge. It has the feeling of a modern city built over an ancient one, centuries-old Buddhist temples with crimson colored roofs and golden spirals pointing skyward nestled in between twenty-first century office buildings and hotels. The traffic was frequently congested to the point of immobility; cars, three-wheeled rickshaws with motorcycle engines, bicycles and brightly colored buses all vying for space on the narrow roads.
Being so close to the river, the city was also a green landscape of palm trees bursting forth from the ground in between the office buildings and residential tenements with finely manicured shrubs in front of the contemporary hotels and auditoriums that were found everywhere. The people were not unfriendly but were so hurried that tourists occasionally thought so. Many of them had the
Similar Books
