The Curse of the Tiger

by Bebe Balocca

  However, it meant that she had a lot more in common with those whitetails right now than she’d like. “This is ridiculous,” Faline muttered, “and I am an idiot. I’ll never find Hunter on my own.” Looking carefully to the right and left and behind her, she saw that the coast was clear. Faline stopped the dirt bike and pulled her cellphone from her pocket. “Damnation,” she groaned. No reception. “I am such a dumbass,” she grumbled. “Why didn’t I take ten seconds to call Mick back at the house?”

  Of course, Faline knew perfectly well why she hadn’t waited to charge after Hunter. The tantalising taste of him in her mouth and the promise of a much needed fuck had addled her senses. Hunter, in all his hot, crazy, glory, was clearly going to be the death of them both.

  Faline restarted the bike and glanced over her shoulder. What she saw made her blood run cold. There was a male tiger, crouched and advancing towards her in the waving grass. Khan. She turned to the front and willed herself to breathe slowly. The tiger hadn’t charged, which meant that it didn’t know she’d seen it.

  She reached into her holster and extracted the tranquiliser gun. “I’ve got one shot at this, ” she thought. Faline turned smoothly, pointed at the huge, striped animal and pulled the trigger. A brief flash on the tiger’s shoulder confirmed that the dart had penetrated his hide, but she knew that it would be several minutes before he was fully incapacitated.

  Twisting the throttle, Faline sped away as fast as the dirt bike could carry her. She heard Khan’s furious roar behind her and changed gears. Khan wasn’t up to his full speed, thanks to the effects of the tranquiliser, but he was fast enough to catch her if she didn’t hurry. The hard ground flew beneath her tyres and she bounced painfully on the seat of the bike. She thought that the pain under her ass was nothing compared to the pain of a tiger’s claws in her back.

  Ahead, she saw the dark outline of Hawkbill Point. She headed for it, knowing that Khan could as easily dispatch her in a rocky cove as he could on the open grasslands, but no other option was forthcoming.

  Faline heard Khan’s irritated growl behind her. She wondered if the prick of the dart had reminded him of his prior mistreatment and angered him further, but figured that worrying about the gradations of a tiger’s fury was pointless. Khan was pissed off, he was chasing her and she had to get away if she wanted to live. Faline gunned the engine and tried to squeeze some more speed out of the 250cc engine. It whined between her legs and complied, sending a spray of dust and gravel into Khan’s broad face.

  With Hawkbill looming before her, a jolt sent Faline flying from the seat of the bike. She landed in a heap and felt sharp pain in her ribs and ankle. With its wheels spinning crazily, the bike rested on its side behind a housecat-sized rock. Behind it was an even more distressing sight—Khan, tail lashing, approaching with the deadly inevitability of an oncoming train.

  Faline fumbled for her pistol and reloaded as quickly as her fingers could fly. The five hundred pound cat seemed a bit sluggish but still enraged. He flattened his ears and roared. Faline fired off another shot at him and saw the flash of contact on his broad white chest. Lips pulled back, Khan squatted mere feet from her, preparing to spring.

  Faline scampered backwards on her hands and feet, but she knew it was useless. She shook her head in terror, whimpering like a trapped rabbit. Khan launched himself at her, a quarter-ton of massive cat flesh flying at her with claws extended. Faline screamed.

  A blur erupted from the scrub and grass at her feet. It was another tiger—a male, even bigger than Khan, and the thing was grappling with Khan as though its life depended on it. Khan fought back, but the effects of the drug were taking their toll. Khan swatted at the other tiger, scoring a stripe of blood on its shoulder, before bounding away into the darkness.

  Faline, panting in shock, rose to a sitting position. The other tiger walked slowly towards her with its head down. It was a rogue, she was sure of it. That tiger didn’t belong at Kat’s Crest. How in the hell had it got in here? Stray tigers didn’t just show up out of nowhere like hungry kittens. Faline wanted to scream and kick, but held herself still. If the tiger wanted to tear her limb from limb, there was nothing she could do to stop it. The tiger lowered its head to her shoulder and nudged her upper arm. Its moist breath was hot on her neck.

  “Wha-at?” Faline stuttered. The tiger chuffed and shoved her again with its broad face. Wincing, Faline rose to her feet. The tiger stood at her side, as stoic and patient as a seeing-eye dog. Faline placed one hesitant hand on the animal’s back. Its muscles twitched beneath her palm, but it held still. Faline leaned on it and took one hesitant step.

  Purring, the tiger matched her stride. Faline’s eyes widened in disbelief, but she decided that using a tiger as a crutch was far superior to being mauled by one. If the tiger was game, so was she. “Let’s go to that rocky crest, okay?” she indicated. “Right up there.”

  The great cat bobbed its immense head in response. Faline gripped its fur with one splayed hand. The tiger’s steady movement provided a living bolster for her right side.

  At last, after countless shuffling step-hops, they arrived at the base of Hawkbill Point. Faline eased into a concave section of the rock face and plopped onto the ground. The tiger sat a few yards from her and watched her. She pulled off her boot and cried out in pain. Her ankle was red and swollen. A quick check of her pockets revealed that her cellphone was missing, presumably lost during her fall off the bike. Lovely.

  She took a bottle of water from her pack and placed the bag beneath her injured leg for a pillow. The tiger, purring, padded her way. Faline’s heart lurched as the big cat drew nearer. It paused only when it was so close that she could hear it breathing, then lay down on its side with its broad back to her. Hesitantly, Faline stroked its fur. It felt thicker and rougher than a cat’s coat, but was warmer than both the cool stone beneath her and the night air all around. The tiger lay still and the cage of its ribs moved up and down.

  Faline bit her lip and scooted closer to it. Her tranquiliser gun poked into her hip, so she unbuckled the holster and put it behind her. She pressed her stomach against the tiger’s back and eased one arm over its chest. The animal exhaled loudly, but didn’t move. She was reminded of those enormous body pillows that some people liked to cuddle in their beds, except, of course, for the claws and teeth.

  Faline rested, trying to keep her hurt ankle still, and marvelled at her bizarre and precarious situation. Stranded at Hawkbill Point with an injury, no cellphone and, somewhere, a very pissed-off Khan.

  And spooning a tiger.

  Chapter Four

  Faline woke with her face nestled into the back of a sleeping tiger and her bladder stretched to the bursting point. “Damn,” she murmured, “I gotta pee.”

  At that, the tiger lifted its head and stared at her. It was full daylight and felt like late morning, but the depression in the rock had kept both her and the tiger in the shade as they’d slept. “Sorry, dude,” she said, “I hate to disturb your snooze, but nature’s calling.” Faline rose to standing and found, to her great relief, that her ankle could bear some weight. Her ribs were tender, but also felt much improved from yesterday. Feeling somewhat foolish, she moved out of sight from the tiger to drop her pants and relieve herself. Somehow, she didn’t think she could pee in front of the one who’d come to her rescue, whether that rescuer was an animal or a person.

  As she pulled up her sweatpants, Faline caught the glimmer of metal on the ground. Moving closer to examine it, she came upon a scene that made her want to throw up, scream and faint, in that order precisely.

  It was the buckle on Hunter’s leather backpack, the one that he’d brought to her porch just last evening, positioned a few feet away from a dark patch of blood on the grass. Flies buzzed over the blood, but there was no trace of Hunter’s body. Of course, a hungry tiger would leave little behind after a kill, and scavengers such as vultures would make quick work of the scraps. But could I have slept through all of that commotion? Fa
line wondered. Maybe, just maybe, her mind whirred, Hunter was okay. Perhaps he’d been wounded and had fought his way free, and he was hiding somewhere now, nursing his injuries.

  Yeah, right, she thought. Maybe a completely naked and injured lunatic fought off an adult tiger and got away. Much more likely that a hungry tiger got up while I was sleeping and picked off some easy prey, then came back to cuddle with me.

  Tears stung Faline’s eyes. “That poor man,” she moaned. “Maybe he was crazy, but no one deserves to be killed and eaten.” Her stomach lurched with nausea as a fresh wave of black flies descended on the drying patch of blood.

  She felt a nudge at the back of her thigh and turned to find the tiger, her man-eating Pillow Pet, staring up at her with huge golden eyes. Faline swallowed and realised that she’d left her tranquiliser gun where she’d been sleeping. Just because a tiger wanted to be pals one minute didn’t mean that it wouldn’t crave another human snack the next. Faline held both hands up in a futile back-off gesture and stepped away from the great cat.

  Huffing softly, the tiger eased towards the blood on the ground and sniffed it. Bile burnt the back of Faline’s throat and she willed the contents of her stomach to stay put. Please don’t let it remember how much it enjoyed killing and eating Hunter, she sent a desperate wish out to any nearby guardian angels, and please don’t let it think that I look appetising, too.

  Faline watched, filled with dread, as the animal stretched one wide paw towards the purplish drying blood. Its claws slid from the pads of its foot, and Faline gasped. They had to be five inches long—easily long enough to slice her open with one quick flick of its furry wrist. It scraped the sodden ground, fluffing the blood-soaked grass, then sat back on its haunches to stare at Faline once more. Faline, her heart pounding, looked down at the abraded turf. The claws had left furrows in the ground and stirred up the grass. Faline leaned over, squinted and saw…feathers?

  She squatted to examine the site more closely. Now that she knew it wasn’t the site of Hunter’s death, the feathers were obvious. It was some sort of grouse, or maybe a turkey, that had been killed and eaten, not hot Hunter of the questionable mental stability.

  Still, where was Hunter? And why was his backpack on the ground next to the bloody remains of a dead bird?

  The tiger gave a low growl and turned towards the open grassland in the direction of Faline’s home. She saw her dirt bike, still on its side, and smiled weakly. With a lurching, limping stride, she set out towards the bike. The tiger, as loyal as a dog, strode next to her injured ankle. After a few painful steps, Faline was grateful to lean once more on the tiger.

  She reached the dirt bike and bent to inspect it. “Aw, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she grumbled. The rim of the front wheel had been bent upon impact with the rock and would no longer spin through the forks. A silvery gleam winked at her through the grass. Her phone, its touch screen spider-webbed with cracks, lay near her bike. She picked it up, hopeful that maybe, just maybe, it was still operational. But no—dead as a doornail.

  The tiger prodded her with its head—it felt like a lead suitcase bumping into her leg—and crouched into a low squat beside her. “What, do you want to fix my bike now, buddy?” Faline muttered.

  The cat purred and bumped her thigh again. It tossed its head over its shoulder, looked up at her, shook its back and tossed its head once more.

  “Seriously?” Faline said. She swallowed. Considering her limited options, she decided it was worth a shot. She spread her hands over the animal’s shoulders and lifted her hurt leg. The tiger bobbed its head and waited. “Okay, then,” she whispered. “Here we go.”

  Faline swung onto the tiger’s back and gripped the loose fur around its neck. Her ribs protested the exertion, but once she was settled, she felt surprisingly secure. The tiger rose, its muscles bunching beneath Faline’s thighs, and turned back to Hawkbill. Faline was puzzled until it paused in front of her backpack. “Ah, how considerate of you,” she said, sliding her arms through her pack then giving the big cat a light pat on the shoulder. It stopped once more next to Hunter’s pack. Faline scooped it up and tried to ignore the mass of flies bobbing and weaving over the bloody spot on the ground.

  Then the tiger set out in the direction of Faline’s house. Its gait was liquid and easy, and a mere fraction of the animal’s top speed. Her toes grazed the ground at times, but all in all, it was a very comfortable ride. She remembered, briefly, how Jonas used to let her play horse with him when she was three or four years old. She’d sit, giggling on his back as he capered on the plush carpet of their family room. Riding on an adult male tiger’s back, though, was an entirely different experience.

  Before long, the entrance gate to the sanctuary stood before them. The tiger had brought her straight there with no direction from Faline. Of course, it wasn’t as if she could have convinced it to go anywhere it didn’t want to, she realised. It stopped in front of the gate and Faline slid from its back. Her ankle was tender, but it was clear now that she hadn’t broken it. She took a step backwards and fumbled for her key in her pocket. “Um, thanks, tiger,” she said, “for chasing Khan off and for not eating me and for bringing me home.”

  The tiger tossed its blocky head and chuffed. Faline unlocked the gate and stepped backwards through it. Like a kid shoving his way to the front of a lunch line, the tiger pushed past her and bounded to the back door of her house. It sat and tilted its head at Faline, waiting in silence.

  “Where are my manners?” Faline muttered with a wry smile. “Do come in.” She locked the gate and limped to the tiger’s side. The animal was still and calm, exuding nothing but placid composure, as Faline opened the door and let the big cat enter ahead of her.

  “This day could not possibly be any more surreal,” Faline noted as she tossed the two backpacks on her kitchen table. She filled a pot with fresh tap water, which the tiger downed before picking up Hunter’s pack in its jaws and padding with heavy thumps to her bedroom. Faline, limping, followed it down the hall and laughed out loud at the sight that greeted her. The tiger was curled on her bed—quite considerately, it only took up one half of the space—and yawning. It glanced at her, purring, and then settled its chin on its paws.

  Faline wished for the first time that she had held on to her landline. While cutting costs after Jonas’ death, she’d stopped paying for a house phone and relied solely on her cellphone and computer for communication. It had saved a few bucks, certainly, but she’d give anything to be able to call nine-one-one right now and alert the authorities to the fact that a naked lunatic was in the midst of Kat’s Crest tiger territory. As I should have done before I plunged after him like a fool, she thought irritably. So who’s the real lunatic, Faline?

  She poured a glass of orange juice for herself and limped to her computer to wake it up. Surely I can email emergency services, she figured, or at very least send a message to Mick or Sabrina. The computer screen lit up and showed a blank page with no content. Faline, her brows knitting, typed ‘emergency help’ in the search box and clicked ‘Go’ but was rewarded with nothing but an indicator that no Internet service was available.

  Great. No phone, no Internet, no Jeeps, no bike and a bed full of tiger.

  Faline assessed her options. She could scream out of the back door until someone heard her, but that was clearly ridiculous. Kat’s Crest Refuge was secluded and, with no visits planned, no one would hear her except for the tigers. In theory, she could hobble down the half-mile drive and wait on the highway until a car passed. This plan was slightly less foolish, but it was no accident that the sanctuary was on a lonely stretch of road. It turned out that few people opted to live next to a free-range refuge dedicated to predatory cats, no matter how securely the animals were fenced. Besides, while her ankle was much improved, it still hurt like hell. The prospect of walking all the way to the road was painful to even consider.

  That left two alternatives—ride tiger back to go seek help for Hunter, or wait at home until on
e of her employees popped in. Just a few short hours ago, hitching a ride on a tiger would have seemed delusional, but now it actually seemed to have reasonably good odds of success. Faline downed her juice and limped back to her bedroom. The tiger lay with its head on her pillow and its tail hanging off the foot of the bed.

  “Uh, tiger?” she said. “You awake?” The tiger opened one golden eye, then closed it. “Tiger?” Faline said louder. “I need you to take me into town, okay?” The great cat raised its head, stared at her and licked its chops. Faline coughed and spoke louder. “Look, this guy, Hunter, ran into the sanctuary and I don’t want him to get killed by Khan or any of the others, but I don’t have any way to send for help. My phone’s broken and the Internet’s out.” Purring, the tiger lowered its head once more to Faline’s blue floral pillow. “You can understand me, can’t you?” Faline complained. “You know exactly what I’m saying, somehow. I’d bet a million bucks you do.” The huge cat stretched its paws, extending knifelike claws, then the damned feline began to snore.

  “Lazy thing!” Faline protested. “Help me out here!” She climbed up next to it and tried to shove it off the bed. The five hundred pound animal didn’t shift an inch, but it was now unquestionably awake. The tiger rose up on all fours, snarled in Faline’s face and pinned her shoulders to the bed. Faline yelped in terror and froze. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, please do not eat me, oh my God…” she whimpered. The tiger chuffed and jumped onto the floor heavily. It reached the bedroom door in two steps and batted it closed with one hind foot. Then it turned and bared its teeth at Faline.

  “Okay, fine, yes, door stays shut,” she gulped. The cat climbed up on the bed next to her and the mattress groaned in protest. It turned its back to her and rested its blocky orange-striped head on the pillow once more.