Path of the Tiger

by J M Hemmings

  Jun, who had seen the whole thing, stared up at the newcomer with a look that was neither fear nor awe, but a curious mix of the two.

  ‘Are you going to kill us too?’ the boy asked, strangely calm.

  ‘Get up boy, and run,’ the soldier barked flatly, turning his attention first to the rooftop of the building behind them, which he swept via the sights of his AK-47, and then to the body of the tiger, who was still breathing, shallowly and raggedly, on the flattened car. ‘Run fast, run far, and forget everything you saw here. Go now, all of you!’

  Daekwon scrambled up onto his hands and knees, realising that this man was neither a law enforcement officer nor one of those who had been pursuing them with murderous intent. And as he looked up at the armed colossus, he knew – he did not know how he knew, he just did – that he was no mere man.

  ‘You one a’ th-, th-, them, ain’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, boy,’ the soldier rumbled, ‘but you and your friends need to get out of here right now.’

  ‘You like that t-, tiger there,’ Daekwon insisted. ‘You can … you can d-, do it, can’t you? Turn yourself into an animal. I c-, can’t believe I’m sayin’ this shit, but we s-, seen it, plain as day. We seen that that t-, tiger there, he was a man a couple m-, m-, minutes ago.’

  ‘You’re insane,’ the soldier muttered, sparks of anger glinting in his single functional eye. ‘Listen to yourself! You—’

  ‘It’s on my ph-, phone, man,’ Daekwon said. ‘The whole thing. I g-, got it on video. We ain’t crazy, man, we all s-, saw it, and we all got it on f-, film, and I ain’t going nowhere, not until I g-, get some answers … I wanna know what the f-, f-, fuck you are, and what the fuck’s g-, goin’ on.’

  The man’s deadpan expression did not change, but now he raised his AK-47 and pointed it at Daekwon’s chest.

  ‘Give me your phones, all of you,’ he said icily. ‘Give me your phones now, and then run … and then never think of this day again, and count yourselves lucky to be alive’

  ‘The tiger!’ Chloe shrieked, breaking this deadlock of wills.

  The man peered up – his vision still punctuated by the sights of the AK-47, which pointed everywhere his eyes looked – and he saw one of the soldiers on leaning over the edge of the roof and taking aim at the tiger’s body. Without hesitation the newcomer squeezed the trigger, unleashing a flurry of bullets, one of which clipped the soldier’s head, jerking his body with a grisly snap back onto the roof.

  ‘Shit!’ the man roared, his composure finally cracking. ‘There’s no time! You fools don’t know what you’ve just got yourselves into! Damn it, damn it all! Can any of you drive?!’

  ‘I c-, can,’ Chloe stammered.

  ‘Get in the van!’ the man bellowed, ‘all of you!’ He grabbed Chloe’s wrist and yanked her in the direction of the van. ‘You, in the driver’s seat! You’re driving!’

  ‘Wh-, what?!’ she half-whimpered, half-shrieked.

  ‘Drive or we’re all dead!’ he roared. ‘And you,’ he continued, turning to Daekwon, his thunderous voice brokering no room for disagreement, ‘help me with the tiger!’

  More soldiers popped their heads and rifles over the edge of the roof, but the instant they did the man unleashed another peppering of automatic AK-47 fire, spraying the walls below their faces with high-velocity lead. As the troops scrambled back the man popped one ammo clip out of the rifle and slapped another into place, and then released the firearm, which was secured via a shoulder strap, and dashed over to the tiger, grabbing Daekwon by his collar and dragging him along with him. Paola, hysterical, and Jun, strangely calm, the Yin to her Yang, scrambled into the van, uncertain of just what it was they were getting themselves into, but realising that they had little choice but to do this.

  As the man and Daekwon reached the tiger, the man snapped his AK-47 back up to his shoulder and unleashed another volley of bullets as the enemy soldiers again tried to peek over the top of the roof. When they sprang back, he dropped his rifle back by his side.

  ‘Take his hindquarters!’ the man roared. ‘I’ll carry him this side!’

  Daekwon, completely caught up in the surreality and madness, simply nodded and did what he was told, slipping his arms under the unconscious tiger’s rear legs. The instant they got their hands under the beast a hand grenade, flung from the rooftop, bounced at their feet. Daekwon froze up with panic, his eyes bulging from their sockets, but the man, calm and collected, simply booted the grenade away from them.

  ‘Pick him up, pick him—’ the man growled, his command cut off by a deafening boom as the grenade exploded a few dozen yards away.

  Adrenalin was ripping through Daekwon’s veins in supercharged surges now, and he had no difficulty picking his end of the tiger up. He and the man scuttled as fast as they could over to the back of the van, with the tiger’s body slung between the pair of them. Two more grenades were flung from the rooftop, but they bounced out of range and exploded harmlessly, although the blasts made Daekwon jump with fright, and left a shrill, piercing whine ringing in his ears.

  The man, on the other hand, was utterly cool despite the explosions. He was also bearing the bulk of the tiger’s weight, and seemed to be immensely strong, something that Daekwon was grateful for, as the beast weighed two-hundred-and-sixty kilograms.

  ‘Get him in, get him in!’ the man urged when they reached the back of the van.

  As Daekwon scrambled to help the man to load the unconscious creature into the vehicle, a hailstorm of automatic M-16 fire erupted from the rooftop. Bullets riddled the roof of the van, and the teens screamed out in a chorus of terror, but the man remained undaunted.

  ‘It’s bulletproof!’ he shouted as he swung the tiger into the back. ‘You’re safe, it’s bulletproof!’ He then unleashed a volley of counter-fire from his AK-47.

  As soon as the tiger was in the van, the man grabbed Daekwon’s collar and a fistful of his shirt and hurled him into the back of the van before climbing in himself, with bullets peppering the vehicle and kicking up puffs of dust as they slammed into the ground.

  ‘Go, go, step on it, hurry damn you!’ the man yelled at Chloe.

  ‘Wh-, wh-, where?!’ Chloe shrieked from the front, her violently trembling hands barely able to grip the steering wheel, while bullets rattled the vehicle with their incessant hammering.

  ‘Straight, straight!’ he bellowed. ‘Then left out of the alley! Go!’

  Chloe needed no further encouragement; she screamed wordlessly and stomped on the accelerator pedal. The tyres squealed in protest for a second before grabbing the asphalt and launching the vehicle forward, and the surge of acceleration had the van fishtailing for a few seconds before Chloe established control. She blasted out of the alley and hooked a violent left turn that had the van’s tyres screeching and the rear end lurching.

  ‘Where to now, where do I go?!’ she screamed.

  ‘Shift over, damn it!’ the man growled while he scrambled up to the front and climbed into the passenger seat. ‘I’ll take over! Keep your foot on the gas, they’ll be coming after us!’

  ‘How do we—’ she began, but he simply grabbed a handful of the back of her jacket, picked her up as if she was but a toddler, and then hauled her over to the right and slid under her, snatching the steering wheel as the speeding vehicle swerved out of control for a terrifying second.

  ‘Now sit still and shut up! All of you!’ the man shouted as he took over driving. ‘You young fools have no idea what you’ve just got yourselves into! When we get to safety, all of you are getting out of this van. You will give me those videos you took, and you will never, ever speak of what you saw, not to anyone, not for the rest of your lives, do you understand me?’

  ‘No.’

  The other teens were just as shocked as the man was to hear this bluntly defiant response from Daekwon.

  ‘What?!’ the man growled.

  ‘We ain’t g-, givin’ you none a’ these v-, videos,’ Daek
won said resolutely. ‘Not until you tell us what the f-, fuck is going on. Is you a w-, w-, werewolf, were … animal thing, like this t-, tiger, this weretiger, if that’s what that thing even is? You is, isn’t you?’

  ‘Forget what you saw, idiot,’ the man hissed, grimacing as he cranked the steering wheel and hurtled around another corner with the tyres howling in protest. ‘Can’t you foolish children just be like the rest of your kind and simply look away, pretending that you didn’t see anything?’

  This time it was Chloe who spoke, iron bolstering her voice.

  ‘No, we can’t. We’re Eisenhower High’s Environmental Club,’ she answered, suddenly confident, even though her heart was pounding and her breathing was fluttery. ‘And I’m an activist for animal rights, and an LGBTQ campaigner. We ain’t the kind of people who turn and look away. We ain’t the kind of people who see a problem and stick our heads in the sand. And that tiger,’ she continued, looking over her shoulder at the unconscious beast in the back of the van, ‘is … is a beautiful, amazing animal, and I’d do anything to help him. Except that he’s not, not really an … animal, is he? And you … are you … like him?’

  ‘He is … and he isn’t,’ the man admitted with a resigned sigh. ‘And yes, I am. There’s a lot to explain, and … oh, by the Great Mother, I wish you children hadn’t become involved in this!’ he shouted, his brief spell of resignation rapidly giving way to frustration. ‘You cannot even begin to understand—’

  ‘What’s your name, sir?’ Paola asked meekly, speaking for the first time since this whole episode had started, her voice reedy and thin with fear. ‘I’m Paola Gonzalez. That’s Chloe O’Connor, this dude is Jun Chen, and this guy here, he’s Daekwon Johnson.’

  ‘My name is Zakaria,’ the man. ‘And I wish I hadn’t met any of you. I guarantee you, when you understand the full scope of this situation, that feeling is going to be mutual. I—’

  A sudden peppering of submachine gun fire drummed its vengeful threat against the rear doors, cutting him off and prompting a chorus of screams from the teens.

  ‘Shit!’ Zakaria hissed through clenched teeth as the rear-view mirror revealed two black Husqvarna FS450 motorcycles weaving through traffic at a furious pace: the vanguard of a much larger squadron of Huntsmen vehicles. Fortunately for him, he was not entirely unaided in this flight.

  ‘You!’ he snapped, firing a potently authoritative glance at Chloe. ‘Open the glovebox! Take out the walkie-talkie and hold down the talk button! Do it, now!’

  Chloe, too frightened and overwhelmed to even consider disobeying, hurriedly complied.

  ‘Godzilla, this is Mothra, do you copy?’ the big man rasped as he gunned the accelerator. ‘I repeat, Godzilla, this is Mothra, do you copy?’ He then reached over and swatted Chloe’s trembling thumb off the talk button.

  ‘Let it go as soon as I finish speaking!’

  A sonorous voice crackled through the walkie-talkie speaker in response.

  ‘Mothra, this is Godzilla, reading you loud and clear.’

  ‘I’ve got two Huntsmen bikes on me, and I need you to navigate a route for me, now! I think—’

  Another crackle of submachine gun fire erupted as one of the motorcyclists fired on him, and with a loud popcorn patter a spray of bullets hammered the van. Chloe shrieked, dropping the walkie-talkie, while Paola wailed and Jun curled up into a tight ball, covering his head with his arms. Daekwon lay down flat, also covering his head, his face scrunched into an expression of extreme consternation as he rattled off a string of expletives.

  ‘Bulletproof, it’s bulletproof!’ Zakaria roared as he swerved around a yellow cab, trying to shake off the motorcycles, who were closing in rapidly. ‘Don’t panic, stay calm!’

  The walkie-talkie, meanwhile, crackled again.

  ‘Mothra, hang in there, I’m working on routes.’

  ‘Talk, talk!’ Zakaria shouted, taking his eyes off the road for a second to blast a withering glare at Chloe. ‘Hold the damn talk button when I say that!’

  Chloe, on the verge of tears, whimpered and did as he said.

  ‘These Huntsmen bikers are right on top of me!’ Zakaria growled. ‘I need your eyes! Route, route, now! There has to be an ambush up ahead, stop me from driving into it!’

  Chloe waited a second and then released the button; despite her state of panic, she was starting to get the hang of this.

  ‘I’m on it, my friend,’ the deep voice burbled. ‘Just a few more seconds.’

  Another smattering of submachine gun fire battered the sides of the van.

  ‘Try harder, you Huntsmen bastards! I’m not dead yet!’ Zakaria snarled through tightly gritted teeth as he floored the accelerator and blasted through a red light. The V8 engine thundered and the tyres howled as he pulled the vehicle into a violent handbrake turn, swerving hard and only just avoiding a head-on collision.

  ‘Mothra, you’re in range. I’m flying out the chopper,’ his remote ally announced.

  ‘Talk!’

  Chloe held down the button while Zakaria growled out a hasty jumble of sentences.

  ‘These blasted Huntsmen are gaining on me! I need the chopper on me NOW! Move, move! Bring in the payload, yesterday! I pray that we don’t have to use it, but if we do…’

  ‘I’ve got your back,’ the voice declared, ominous and reassuring at once. ‘I don’t want to use it either, but if it’s the only way…’

  ‘Talk!’

  Chloe complied.

  ‘Then it’s the only way,’ Zakaria grunted, every choked syllable dusted with hoar frost. ‘Now—’

  A wildly accelerating motorcycle burst out of a side alley in front of them. The biker smashed through a pile of discarded packing crates in exploding plume of broken planks, shredded garbage and flying splinters, and Zakaria cursed and swerved. The rider pulled a skidding motocross-style turn, gassing the throttle hard to avoid being steamrolled, and then kicked the front wheel up as it accelerated hard to catch up with the van. The bike, a Ducati Hypermotard 950, was piloted by two elite Huntsmen troops: young women from the assassin facility in China. The pillion, sitting back to back with the rider, was armed with a combat shotgun, which she aimed directly at Zakaria through the windscreen when she sped past.

  Just as Zakaria ducked his head, an ear-splitting boom reverberated through the van, after which two more blasts rocked the vehicle in quick succession. When Zakaria looked up he saw three neat holes punched through the bulletproof glass windscreen and passenger window. Chloe, now hyperventilating, was in a state of terrified catatonia, and had been doused with a glistening shower of glass fragments.

  ‘Lovely … she’s using slugs,’ Zakaria grumbled, his hard-featured face wrung into a tight grimace of both wrath and consternation.

  He swerved to the left, causing a crunching impact as he sideswiped the vehicle travelling next to him. An impotently furious horn blared out shock and rage, but the sound was promptly engulfed by the combat shotgun thundering again, this time punching out four shots in rapid succession. These, however, hit the heavily armoured sides of the van, and despite the force of the projectiles they did not penetrate it.

  Wailing sirens in the distance were closing in from all sides; the police had now joined in the chase. Zakaria shook his head, growled under his breath and then ramped the vehicle up onto the curb, smashing over a fire hydrant, which arced a white, frothing plume of water twenty feet into the air, while panicking pedestrians screamed and dived out of the way as the van careened along the sidewalk at breakneck speed. The shrill chorus of sirens now screamed in surround sound, the layered banshee howls an aural deluge that soaked every street and saturated every alley; Zakaria had just become the most wanted criminal in New York City.

  Glancing in his side mirror, he saw the Ducati tearing through the maelstrom of chaos in his wake, gaining on him with extreme rapidity. The two Husqvarnas were also hot on his heels.

  ‘Mothra, you’re in deep trouble,’ the voice from the walkie-talkie declared
. ‘The police radios are going mad; every unit in the city is after you, and I mean every unit. You need to hit a hard right soon … here, coming up now.’

  Zakaria stomped on the brake pedal and yanked up the handbrake, hurling the van with such near-capsizing violence through the turn that the teens in the back were flung against the wall. Keeping the accelerator floored, he aimed straight for a glass-walled boutique on the corner of the intersection toward which he was hurtling. The van ploughed through a display window, demolishing the carefully arranged fashion display and destroying the mannequins, and barrelled through the store as customers scattered and dived in a blind panic. Inside the van the teenagers screamed, but Zakaria held the steering wheel steady, his jaw set tight. After a second of tempestuous chaos the van erupted from the plate glass on the other side of the store, dry-drenching everything in a twenty-foot radius in a shower of glass shards. Zakaria swung the van hard to his right, grunting as he steamrolled a street sign with a sharp bang.

  Despite Zakaria’s madcap manoeuvring the bikes were still on him, and as another burst of small arms fire ripped with homicidal hunger across the back of the van, he screamed with enough vociferousness at Chloe to yank her out of her state of terror-induced paralysis, and she managed to press the talk button on the walkie talkie.

  ‘Godzilla! Route, damn you, route!’

  ‘Bad news, Mothra. You’re cut off on all exits. The only way out is through.’

  ‘No! That’s the only way?!’

  Before waiting for the answer to this question, Zakaria gunned it and hooked another suicidal turn, cutting across two lanes of oncoming traffic to duck into a narrow side street.

  ‘There’s no other way. I’ve just seen two Huntsmen Humvees pull U-turns, reacting immediately to your last evasive manoeuvre. I don’t know how, but there must be a tracker on your van.’

  ‘Shit! Damn it, shit!

  Grimacing and growling, Zakaria blasted through the narrow street at speed. The three motorcycles were hard on his tail, and now he also had three Humvees ahead with which to contend. Still, this was no time to give in; the big man had a constitution of titanium and was no stranger to keeping his cool under situations of extreme pressure. The rescue mission was not going as smoothly as he’d hoped, but he wasn’t one to whine or complain, not ever. There was only action and reaction, and swift, improvised adjustments to failed plans and changed circumstances; this philosophy had seen him safely through many centuries of battles and combat. Drawing a deep breath of air into his lungs and holding it there, he forced himself to maintain his composure.