James Rollins - Altar Of Eden

She froze.

A deep growl flowed from Burt.

Then in a blink, the eyes vanished.

She backed in a hurried stumble.

“What’s wrong?” Childress asked.

“Run!”

Lorna clambered from the Zodiac up into the boat. She was winded. Her heart pounded in her throat. Reaching the open deck, she gazed back toward shore.

Why hadn’t the big cat given chase?

Overhead, the helicopter hovered. Its rotors pounded down at them, shaking the leaves and branches of the tree line.

Though they had reached the boat with their precious cargo, she knew they were all far from safe. The tree line was only ten yards off. The cat could easily leap that distance from a dead standstill.

Garcia and Childress recognized this danger, too. As soon as their boots hit the deck, they spun with their rifles up and pointed toward the shore.

Burt hopped up from the Zodiac and sniffed at the blanket-wrapped parcel in Lorna’s arms.

Scott Nester joined them. He had to yell to be heard. “You found the kitten?”

“Cub,” Lorna corrected. “And its mother.”

Scott stared at the dark bank. Nothing moved. “Garcia? Do you see anything?”

“Nothing but friggin’ fireflies.” The man kept alert, but the taut tension in his shoulders loosened. “ Maybe Dr. Polk only saw some reflection off the water. Childress and I didn’t see anything out there.”

“She’s out there,” Lorna insisted. It hadn’t been refracted starlight off water. Those glowing eyes still burned in her memory, bright with a cunning intelligence.

“If you’re right,” Scott said, “then she’ll stick close, knowing we have her cub. That should keep her away from the men out there.”

Lorna read the unspoken caveat in the man’s worried expression.

If any of them are still alive.

Lorna hiked the cub higher in her arms. It had settled, the warmth and darkness lulling it into submission. She stared out at the dark woods.

Why hadn’t the cat come after them? Lorna sensed it wasn’t the noise and blaze of the hovering helicopter that held her back. She’d had no fear of attacking the airboat and its pilot.

The cub squirmed, seeking a more comfortable spot. While this cub wasn’t as sickly as the one they’d recovered from the shipwrecked trawler, it was still in poor shape. Had the mother known that and given up on the cub? Was that why she hadn’t given chase?

Lorna refused to believe that. The mother had gone to great lengths to protect her child thus far. She would not give up so readily.

So then where was she? What was her plan?

Another five minutes passed. Still, there remained no sign of her. The helicopter made a sweeping pass, its searchlight spearing the dark forest below.

Scott retreated to the far side of the boat, talking and coordinating with the Coast Guard on his satellite phone. The rescue force would arrive on site in another ten minutes.

Burt curled on the deck, his nose tucked under his tail. The dog seemed little concerned-and that worried her. The wind blew out of the east. If the cat’s scent was in the air, Burt should still be wired, pacing the deck, whining.

“She’s gone,” Lorna mumbled.

Behind her, Scott’s voice grew agitated. She turned as he lowered his radio and hurried over to Lorna.

“Jack radioed in. The cat’s been spotted over at the farm. Why isn’t it here? I thought you said she’d stay by her cub.”

Lorna turned and stared toward the burning cabin, digesting the new information. The helicopter swept past, stirring hot smoke over the channel, yet careful not to fan the flames toward them. Still, fiery ash rained over the boat and sizzled into the water.

“I’m sending the chopper Jack’s way,” Scott said. “See if it can’t chase that monster away from the children.”

Despite the heat, Lorna went cold. Children. Slowly she sensed an inkling of the cat’s intent. She thrust out an arm.

“Give me the radio. I need to speak to Jack now!”

JACK INSPECTED THE circle of fires. They completely surrounded the campsite. Randy kept in step beside him. They both carried their rifles. Jack had everyone retreat into the center of the camp’s tents, as far from the edge of the bayou as possible. Only those with weapons kept guard near the flames.

Still, they only had seven men.

Not enough to keep a perfect vigil on the forest.

With the fires blazing high, Jack’s night-vision goggles were useless. The surrounding old-growth forest remained a dark, impenetrable wall. The cat had been spotted briefly by one of Jack’s men. But it was gone before he could even shift his rifle into position.

“Fucking ghost” were the words used to describe it.

Randy spoke at his side. “She’s playing with us. Like a cat with a bunch of mice.”

Jack knew what his brother meant. The jaguar had proven to be a skilled hunter. She wouldn’t have allowed herself to be spotted so easily. It was as if she were testing them.

Something felt wrong about this.

His teeth ached with tension of it all.

“Over here!” a man shouted on the far side of the encampment. It was one of the scoutmasters. His rifle blasted.

Other men scrambled toward his position.

Some fired blindly.

Randy made a move to follow, but Jack grabbed his arm. “No!”

Maybe it was his years of hunting the bayou, or his two tours playing cat and mouse with insurgents in Iraq, but Jack recognized that they were being set up.

He scanned the forests to either side. Randy understood, mirroring his action, his rifle poised and ready at his shoulder. But there was too much ground to cover for just the two of them.

Jack spotted the danger too late.

On the far side of a tent to the left.

A boy had been carrying firewood-a camp chair broken into kindling-toward the stockpile near one edge of the tents. He had stopped, half turned toward the sound of the gunshots. Behind him, a large shape burst out of the forest. In one bound, the cat hurdled the fires and landed within their secured area.

The attack was so fast, the boy didn’t even have a chance to scream.

The cat grabbed him by the back of the shirt, spun off one paw, and leaped back over the fire and into the woods with the child.

Jack had his rifle up and pointed, but he had hesitated for a fraction of a heartbeart, afraid he’d hit the child, an instinctual reaction. And the wrong one. The boy was dead either way.

At his waist, his radio kicked in. “Jack! Come in!”

He would’ve ignored the call, but the voice was Lorna’s, and she sounded panicked. He snatched the radio and lifted it to his lips.

“What is it?” he barked, unable to hold back his frustration and anger.

“The cat! I think she’s going for the children.”

Jack let out a shuddering breath. “You’re too late. She already attacked and killed a boy.”

“Killed? No, Jack, that’s not what-”

From the forest, a sharp cry echoed out. Jack lowered the radio. It had to be the boy. His wails continued to echo out of the darkness, rising and falling in raw terror.

But at least he was still alive!

Relief fired through Jack, but also worry.

Why was the boy still alive?

Jack remembered Randy’s description of the cat and the mouse, which suggested one grim answer.

Cats played with their food before killing it.

As Jack listened, the screaming went on and on.

LORNA HEARD THE cries through the radio’s open channel. That was enough. She turned and shoved the radio at Scott. “Call the chopper back.”

The helicopter had begun to sweep toward the farm.

“What for?”

“I need to get over there! With the cub!”

Scott frowned but he didn’t argue and lifted the radio. He shouted into it. Seconds later, the helicopter retreated back toward the boat. He lowered the radio.