The Extinct

by Victor Methos

  CHAPTER

  4

  Blood coated Thomas’s hands.

  He sat near the fire, watching the flames flicker in darkness; whiskey from a flask kept in his breast pocket. This far inland from the coast Andhra Pradesh had little light pollution; the sky blanketed in the sparkle of stars; moon a bright slit in the blackness over lush plains.

  Thomas glanced at the other men around the fire; faces worn and tired, small droplets of black darkening their clothes as if it had rained blood. Robert Mason. Not a hunter. Scared and maybe a little dangerous because of his fear. James Holden sat poking a stick into the fire, watching the crimson embers dance in the flames.

  The hunt had gone well. They’d followed a herd of elephants for more than four days before the bull separated himself from the rest and they could begin taking shots. The Andhra Pradeshn Park Authorities kept close tabs on all hunters, especially those with British and American passports. Not unwarranted considering the history of colonialism and abuse suffered at the hands of the crown. Rape and genocide and slavery. The people here had no trust for white men; even those that paid handsomely.

  If they had killed a cow, or worse, a calf, they would have had to spend the rest of their funds bribing their way out of a prison sentence.

  Mason spit in the fire and said, “I’m going to miss these nights. The grass has a sweet smell to it here I haven’t found anywhere else.”

  “Like cow shit with sugar on it,” James Holden said. He looked out over a herd of Sambar deer, a dark roving mass in the pale light of the moon. “Good hunt though. Thought Thomas’d drop the rifle and run when that bull charged.”

  “That’s the best time to shoot,” Thomas said. “Granted they’re more impervious to pain, but they face you squarely and you can have an excellent target if you know what to look for. Asian elephants here hold their necks at a forty five degree angle so it makes it harder. But an African elephant keeps it horizontal so when they charge, you have a direct shot into the brain. I remember—”

  A noise echoed through the night. It seemed to come from the east and they turned toward it. Nothing they could see except tall grass and weeds.

  Thomas was the expert of the group but also happened to be the drunkest right now and didn’t feel like chasing sounds in the dark. “There are tigers,” Thomas said, a hint of pleasure in his voice as he saw the looks of his companions. “I wouldn’t worry though; I’ve led tours through this region for thirty years and they haven’t killed a tourist in, oh, a good ten.”

  More noises in the dark, closer this time. They seemingly came from the darkness itself as there was little else to hide behind.

  “Sounds like laughing,” James said.

  “There’s no people here,” Thomas said, putting down his flask and gulping coffee out of a tin cup before picking up his rifle. He slung it over his shoulder and began walking toward the noise, leaving his boots behind and opting to go barefoot.

  The dirt and grass was warm under his feet; fire a warm glow in the distance behind him. Their kill lay like a boulder up ahead; the blood congealed in a thick gelatin around the carcass. Thomas kneeled and checked the rifle; chambered. He held it up in front of him, the shoulder rest tucked firmly against the crook between his chest and arm.

  Except for the symphony of crickets that increased in volume as he came away from the fire, there was little noise. No laughing; hooves in the distance. Thomas strained to hear, exploring with his eyes like they could pick up subtle noises that his ears could not. As if his hearing needed to adjust to the darkness as much as his sight, he began to hear something. A slow, rhythmic breathing. Deep; a pant.

  It was an animal.

  From the depth of the breathing, large. Rifle up to firing position and looking down the sight, the barrel firmly aimed at the breathing. Coming from the carcass? Maybe the bull isn’t dead? But the moonlight illuminated the carcass enough that he could see the great belly of the elephant which would have been rising and falling if it were alive.

  Light behind the carcass. Yellow orbs reflecting the moon with confident fierceness bred by constant struggle. Figure behind the orbs takes shape: thick head, robust body and short legs. A tigress.

  Growling, preparing to defend her scavenged meal. Thomas takes aim, the barrel pointed squarely at her face, waiting for her to lunge. Wait until she moved; she might retreat. It’d be better if she retreated.

  The beast turned its head west, toward the camp. Thomas could see the muscles bulge underneath her fur, even with the moon as his only candle. The tigress let out a soft whine and then turned away from the carcass, building to a slow gallop; disappearing into the night.

  Thomas exhaled; he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath but now his lungs ached. Would he have been able to hit his target, a moving target, at night?

  Thomas stood and wiped at the dirt on his knee. Fingers tingled as blood returned to them; wave of calm washed over him as he looked up to the moon, as if the light could warm his face like sunshine.

  A roar.

  Bassed so heavily Thomas felt it in his feet, rising from the ground. It was like the plains themselves had roared; the sound coming from all directions. It filled the air and echoed across the valley.

  As he tried to reign in his thoughts, he realized there was another sound. They were screams.

  Thomas sprinted through the grass toward the fire, the sounds of screams echoing in his head. Then silence. He stopped, panting. Heart pounding in his ears as adrenaline coursed through him like fire. He started running again until he was near the camp; no one there, a spilled flask of whiskey lying in the dirt, blood spattered across it. Their tents were torn to shreds; supplies smashed into the ground. Logs had been knocked out of the fire and the smoldering wood was cooling in the night air.

  Thomas crept past the fire, not breeching the limit of illumination less than a few meters away. Couldn’t see anything aside from the tall grass though his senses were more attuned from fear. The fire dying. Taking a few paces back to stand next to it. Listening to his own breath as sweat rolled down his forehead.

  There were eyes in the darkness. Not the circular yellow of the tigress; pinpoints of red. Small flames hanging above the ground. The eyes were affixed on him and he couldn’t move. His muscles were heavy and tight; a conscious effort to relax them.

  Another roar ripped through the night followed by what sounded like laughter. He could hear the deep pant of the beast’s breathing and the slow thumping of an immense heart. Few paces back and the red eyes grow tighter, small slits nearly invisible in the night; a low growl.

  Thomas knew he had two options: shoot or run. He was too close to get off more than one shot. One shot in the dark at a quick moving animal. He thought about standing still; not giving ground as sometimes worked with the big cats. Although predators could smell the sweat of fear and hear the increased beating of their prey’s heart, nothing triggered their savage instincts more than fleeing prey. They were meant to chase rather than just be fed.

  His mind was blank, no thoughts able to penetrate the cloud of anxiety and fear. A bare instinct of survival bubbled up in his gut, and he ran.

  The wind was against his face as he focused on keeping his balance on the uneven ground. Periphery of his vision blurred until he could only see what was in front him; a vague impression that he didn’t have a clear run ahead. He didn’t need to look behind him; he felt the enormous animal’s paws hitting the ground; sound of heavy breathing closing in on him. Thomas sprinted for the elephant carcass as he felt hot breath against the skin of his neck. He bounded over the bull’s carcass, hoping to lure the predator to the stink of meat and blood and away from him. His foot caught on the rough hide and then a white flash, his jaw absorbing most of the impact as he hit the ground.

  Dazed and on his back, the blood begins to seep out of his mouth. The animal behind him slows.

  A shot crackled through the air and Thomas looked toward the fire. James stood with a rifl
e in one arm, his clothes torn and stained black. His other arm was nearly severed at the shoulder; pouring blood into dry earth. He tossed the rifle to the ground and pulled a .45 caliber Desert Eagle handgun from his waist.

  The animal turned and ran for him. As Thomas lost consciousness the last things that reached his ears were gunshots and screams, and the wet sounds of an animal feeding.

  CHAPTER

  5

  Eric Holden looked over his dorm room and decided it wouldn’t be worth cleaning. Empty pizza boxes, beer cans, clothes, papers, and magazines were piled on the floor. Even if he did clean it his roommate Jason would just dirty it again in a matter of days; he had an uncanny ability to find something organized and mess it up. Eric didn’t even think he did it consciously. But you couldn’t blame Jason; both his parents were psychiatrists. Who knows what they filled his head with when he was a kid.

  Eric ruffled through a pile of clothes, grimaced on finding a pair of used underwear Jason had left, and pulled out two socks that hadn’t started to noticeably smell yet. He slipped them on, grabbed his shoes, and headed out the door.

  Wendy was waiting for him outside in her new car, a fiery red Jetta, the new rims glittering in the sunlight from a recent wash. Her sunglasses were pushed up onto her forehead and she wore a tank-top and shorts, her smooth brown skin freshly lotioned.

  “Hey babe,” she said as Eric climbed in. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and pulled away from the dorms. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much. I called you last night.”

  “I was at some party my mom was throwing for her book club. Let me tell you how fucking boring it was.”

  “Was it at your house?”

  “No, the Plaza in New York. But like, I had to get all dressed up and we took this little shitty plane that I thought was going to crash any second. And then this sleazy guy who was there with his wife kept bringing me drinks and trying to ask me out and then he wanted to dance and I was like no way, I have a man.”

  Eric smiled as she spoke and he looked out the window at the passing shops and gas stations and apartment buildings. He enjoyed the way she spoke; without much reflection. Too many people in college tried to act smarter than they were by making everything into a larger philosophical question. “Pull over here,” Eric said.

  “What? Why?”

  “I want to say hi to Charles.”

  Standing on the corner with a cardboard sign was an older man with gray, dirty hair. He wore a coat though it was warm today and his sneakers were adorned with large holes, revealing his sockless feet.

  “How ya been, Chuck?” Eric said as the car came to a stop.

  “How you doin’ youngblood?” he said, genuinely happy to see him. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Just busy. You makin’ good money over here?”

  “It’s all right, ya know. Now who’s this pretty young thing here?”

  “This is my girlfriend Wendy.”

  “Hi,” she said, forcing a half-smile.

  “Wew boy, you hang on to her youngblood. Not many women can brighten a man’s day just by lookin’ at ‘em.”

  “I will,” Eric said. He took out his wallet and held a twenty dollar bill out the window.

  Charles seemed offended. “I don’t panhandle from friends my man.”

  “Consider it a loan then; pay me back when you can.”

  Charles thought a moment, and then grinned. He took the twenty and put it into his pant pocket. “A loan.”

  “You take care of yourself, Chuck.”

  “You too youngblood, you hit them books hard now cause they don’t hit back,” he said, chuckling.

  Eric watched him as the car pulled away; he actually was glad to see him, more than he thought he would be. Charles would sometimes come down to the campus and smoke pot with Jason in front of the dorms, telling them stories about his days in the military and the differences between the prostitutes in the countries he’d been too. When it was snowing and the shelter was full they’d let him sleep in the hallway, eventually keeping a blanket and pillow in the closet for him.

  Wendy said with a grimace, “Why do you guys have anything to do with him?”

  “Chuck’s all right. There’s a lot of smart people around but they’re not wise. I think wisdom’s something else entirely. I think Chuck might be wise. Or crazy. I can’t tell. Anyway he used to be an officer in the army.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know; he doesn’t really talk about it.”

  The restaurant was packed but a large round table had been reserved on the patio underneath a red and white striped awning. Jason sat with two girls sipping margaritas and picking at some nachos. He was cracking jokes and the girls would fake laughter.

  “Well well,” Jason said as Eric walked up to the table, pulling a chair out for Wendy. “Pele decides to join us finally.” He slapped Eric’s back and then motioned for the waitress to bring two more beers.

  “I don’t want alcohol,” Eric said, “I got a game tomorrow.”

  “Your name’s Pele?” one of the girls said. “That’s cool.”

  Jason stared at her and then pinched her cheek. “Beautiful isn’t she?” he said to Eric. “Does he look Brazilian? He plays soccer on the school’s team.”

  “Oh,” the girl said, still not understanding.

  “Guess who I ran into?” Eric said, taking a sip of someone’s water, “Chuck.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s he up to?”

  “He was begging on the street corner near the Safeway. He looked all right.”

  “Why was he begging?” the other girl said in a high-pitched schoolgirl voice.

  “He’s homeless,” Eric said.

  “WTF, you guys hang out with homeless guys? Why?”

  “That’s what I said,” Wendy chimed in.

  Jason said, “He’s seen more shit than anybody I ever knew. Been all over the world, slept with all sorts of woman. It depends how you measure success I guess but I don’t think he sees his life as a failure.”

  They sat drinking and laughing and eating until well past noon. Eric watched Jason charm the women he was with. It was very subtle but he was seducing them in his own way. He played a game where he’d shower them with affection and praise one second and then pull away and be completely cold the next. Whenever he pulled away, the girls would start showing him affection. He played it masterfully and for a moment, Eric was jealous.

  “So where’d you learn to play soccer?” high voice asked as the waitress cleared away their plates and went to bring their check.

  “My dad,” Eric said. “He taught me everything I guess. Me and my mom weren’t that close and I didn’t really have any other relatives, so, it was just me and my dad.”

  “And he’s cool as shit,” Jason said.

  “He is cool,” Eric agreed. “I’m goin’ to New York to see him soon. After he gets back from India.”

  Wendy had been watching how the girl was drooling over Eric the entire meal and she was beginning to get fed up with it. The girl had even reached over and caressed his hand once to get his attention. Wendy checked her watch. “It’s time to go hon; I got a class at two.”

  “All right,” Eric said as he stood. “Well, it was nice to meet you ladies. Why don’t you guys come with Jason tomorrow to the game?”

  “Sure,” high voice said. “I’ll be there cheering you on.”

  Wendy sent her a scowl and then wrapped her arm around Eric’s, watching the girl to make sure she noticed.

  Eric patted Jason’s head. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Yeah, hey, and don’t forget; you were gonna help me with biology tonight.”

  “Why don’t I just make two copies of everything I do for that class cause you just end up copying me anyway?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Jason said, polishing off the last of a large mug of beer.

  *****

  The sun was at its peak by the time Eric climbed back into the Je
tta. The heat felt nice for a change; this winter had been long and soaked the city in snow almost every day. There’d been a few reported deaths from the cold, one child that got lost on a hiking trail and two homeless men. One of the men had frozen to death behind a grocery store; in the middle of the city. A couple of stock boys who were tossing out empty cardboard boxes found him curled in the fetal position next to a dumpster.

  “That girl’s a fucking bitch,” Wendy said, sitting down and starting the car.

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t know her fucking name. The one that sounded like she was twelve.”

  “Really? She seemed nice,” Eric said, goading her on.

  “Nice! You touch her and I’ll cut your dick off, Eric.”

  Eric leaned over, chuckling, and began tickling her. “I’m just kidding.”

  “Don’t tickle me.”

  He pinned her arm against his chest and then began tickling her until she started to laugh. He loved the way she laughed, throwing her head back, pink lips spreading over perfect teeth. Eric leaned down and put his mouth over hers, her warm tongue with his. She began breathing heavily and hands started roaming over his body and Eric pulled away.

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “I got the game tomorrow, it saps my strength.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “I can’t Wend, sorry.” He kissed her lips. “But tomorrow night,” he whispered.

  She took a deep breath. Though she wanted to be angry, this was something she’d grown accustomed to. He took competition seriously and never hid that fact from her. Wendy just started the car and began driving him back to the dorms, her hand on his lap.

  CHAPTER

  6

  The soccer field was dry and hot, the sun burning the skin on the back of Eric’s neck. He stood in front of the goal, his hands on his knees, breathing quick shallow breaths. The stands were nearly full but he could clearly see where Jason and the two girls from yesterday were sitting, getting drunk from Gatorade bottles filled with booze. They were all wearing the same clothes from the previous day.