James Rollins - Altar Of Eden

Was he dead?

Then the boy’s arm lifted weakly.

Still alive… thank God… but plainly in shock…

Jack swung around. He raised his rifle, but hesitated. Tyler still lived, but a shot that failed to drop the big cat immediately would likely result in the boy being mauled to death.

“Don’t,” Lorna warned.

She stepped ahead of Jack. She parted the blanket to reveal the cub, hiking the little fellow higher.

C’mon, you know what you really want…

Still staring at her, the jaguar lowered the boy to the planks, but kept one paw on his chest, pinning Tyler down.

“Lorna…”

She kept her gaze fixed forward, recognizing the preternatural intelligence in those eyes. “I know what I’m doing,” she whispered back to Jack.

At least, she hoped she did.

Gar lay flat on his stomach, trying his best not to be seen. His shotgun was trapped under him, but he feared shifting to free it.

Ten seconds ago, he’d been trotting back toward the safety of the radio shack. He and his buddies had stashed a case of Budweiser in there and had been taking turns during the day to slip inside and wet their whistles. What could it hurt? Gar had never really believed the story of a monster cat loose in the bayou. Christ, how many tall tales had he heard about the swamps over the years, many coming from his own mouth?

Figuring it was easy money, Gar had been more than happy to lounge around the farm, drink a few beers. He even emptied a couple of the campers’ wallets, pilfered from unsupervised backpacks.

All in a day’s work.

But now everything had changed.

While fleeing across the farm, he’d spotted a flash of white out in the forest, flowing straight at him. Reacting instinctively, he had turned and hopped over the boardwalk gate and onto the plank on the far side. The timber stuck out like a diving board over a pond. He had dropped flat to the board-and just in time.

The huge cat had bounded over the border fence and landed on the boardwalk twenty yards from him.

He continued to hold his breath, stifling a cry of terror. Under his bulging gut, he felt every nail head and knot in the wood. His bladder quivered, threatening to let loose. But he didn’t move.

It would be death to be seen.

Voices drew his attention to the other side of the boardwalk. He watched the woman from the helicopter cautiously ease toward the cat. She held a bundle of blankets up in her arms. Behind her, he recognized the Menard brothers-Jack and Randy. Even through his terror, a twinge of hatred burned in his chest. Jack had once broken his nose, knocked out his two front teeth. Gar had wanted him dead at the time. But instead his daddy got the bastard shipped off to Iraq.

Now Jack was back.

At the moment Gar was plenty happy about that. Jack had an assault rifle pinned at his shoulder, aimed toward the cat.

Kill the fucker, Gar silently cursed at him.

But Jack didn’t shoot.

And Gar could guess why. He’d also spotted the boy. The cat crouched lower over the little snot-eater.

Shoot already, damn it!

The blond woman stopped a few paces past Gar’s hiding spot. She dropped to one knee and placed the blanketed bundle on the planks. With her back to him, he couldn’t make out what she was doing.

Something with the blanket… and under the blanket.

Why didn’t the monster attack her?

She finally straightened and retreated back toward Jack and his brother. “Go on,” she mumbled under her breath as she passed Gar’s hiding spot again. “Come get your baby.”

On the other side of the boardwalk, a low growl flowed from the cat-felt more in the gut than heard with the ears. It took one pace forward, then another, abandoning the unconscious boy. It slinked forward, low to the ground. Its tail swished in clear agitation, whipping side to side. Muscles bunched and trembled. Its lips pulled back into a silent snarl, baring huge-ass fangs.

As it came closer Gar tried to press harder against the planks. His bowels churned with a slippery queasiness. Cold sweat soaked his clothes.

Why wasn’t the bastard shooting?

LORNA HELD A hand up, urging Jack to hold his fire. Jaguar skulls were the thickest of all large cats, necessary to support the strength of their powerful jaw muscles. Even at close range, a shot to the head might only glance away, and a nonfatal shot would turn their standoff into a bloodbath. She had to trust that the cat wanted to protect her last child, to make this trade.

Her cub in exchange for the boy.

Lorna gambled all her hopes-and their lives-on the fact that the cat hadn’t slain the child.

The jaguar crept forward. Its eyes shone a tawny gold. Most felines had slitted pupils, but not jaguars. She watched the cat’s pupils stretch wider, thrumming with adrenaline.

Lorna shifted from foot to foot, keeping the cat focused on her. Steps away, the jaguar reached the blanket, close enough for Lorna to catch a whiff of the muskiness of its wet pelt. It massed before her, a wall of savage intent, beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Large eyes shone with that preternatural intelligence again, studying her. The cat shifted closer, muscles bunching and rolling under the fur like a tidal prehistoric force.

If Lorna reached out a hand now, she could almost touch it.

A part of her wanted to-to prove it existed, to commune even for a moment with something that did not belong in this world. In the shine of those eyes, she sensed a bottomless depth, something more than cat staring out at her.

Then the moment broke.

Until now, the cub at her feet had been silent, but it caught a whiff of its mother. The cub scrabbled in the snarl of blankets, trying to wrestle itself free.

The mother glanced down.

Not good.

Lorna needed the mother’s attention focused on her. She stamped her foot. The jaguar hissed and crouched lower, eyes darting back up to Lorna.

That’s right. Keep looking at me.

The cat swatted out a huge splayed paw. Yellow nails caught the edge of the blanket. Then just as quickly the cat jerked her paw back. A black dart flew from the paw’s pad and spun away into the night.

A moment ago, while setting down the cub, Lorna had jammed two tranquilizing darts between the planks of the boardwalk, the needles pointed up. She had hoped that the big cat might step on one of them, stabbing and injecting herself. Without being accompanied by a gunshot or a stinging impact, the needle prick might be ignored.

Or so she prayed.

The cat growled low and harsh. Before Lorna could even step back, the jaguar lunged forward. Panicked, shocked at its speed, Lorna tripped backward and fell hard onto her backside. But the cat ignored her. The mother grabbed both the blanket and her cub in her teeth, then spun around in a blur of fur and muscle and bounded back toward the cover of the forest.

Lorna knew that in another ten minutes the tranquilizer would melt away the cat’s consciousness, sending her into a catatonic state. After that, it would be safe to track the jaguar and collect her unconscious body.

Lorna allowed herself a moment of relief, letting out a long-held breath. They’d done it-

– then the crack of a gun made her jump and flinch. Ahead, a flash of crimson exploded from the jaguar’s left haunch. The impact caught the cat in mid-leap. Knocked around, the jaguar landed on her side and slid right next to the boy’s slack body.

Lorna swung to Jack and his brother, but they looked just as startled.

“Take that, you motherfucker!” a harsh call shouted in triumph.

She twisted around to see a figure rise from beyond the boardwalk, seeming to hover in midair over the neighboring pond. It was that bastard Garland Chase. He had his shotgun up. He fired again and again.