The Extinct

CHAPTER

18





The day was boiling and all the plastic and metal in Namdi’s jeep reached near-scalding temperatures. He gripped the bottom of the steering wheel with the edge of his shirt and tried not to let his arm inadvertently touch the metal gear shift.

Berksted hadn’t said anything since they began driving. He stared out into the grass, watching the occasional animal with a cold detachment. Namdi had seen this before. When a person is murdered, the family can blame the murderer. But how do you blame an animal for following its own nature? The family has no outlet for their anger and hatred and it turns inward into depression. Many often turn to drugs and alcohol and even attempt suicide in the weeks and months that follow.

“It was my idea to come here,” Berksted finally said. “I brought them here cause I thought it’d be fun to go on safari and see the animals but without all the bullshit of Africa. My wife wanted to go to Australia, but I brought them here.”

“It is not your fault, Mr. Berksted.”



“Isn’t it?” he said, turning toward him. “How the f*ck would you know?”



Namdi didn’t say anything.



Berksted turned back to the landscape. “Sorry,” he said.



“You do not need to apologize.”



“So you’re a doctor?”



“Yes, surgeon by specialty. But out here there are no specialties.”



“You live here?”



“Sometimes. I have a house in Johannesburg in South Africa as well.”



“What the hell you doin’ here?”



“I spend half the year working for the government and then half the year in Johannesburg working at a free clinic. I would work for free the entire year if I could, but one must earn money somehow.”

Berksted took a deep breath and closed his eyes, sadness washing over him and weighing him down as surely as any weight. “The cop said it was a tiger attack.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think so.”



“What do you think it was?”



“Hyenas.”



“Why do you think that?”



“There’s some evidence for it.”



“What evidence?”



“Markings on the body. Hyenas are very different from other animals, Mr. Berksted.”



“I didn’t know there were hyenas out here.”



“Oh yes, they are found everywhere except North and South America. There is a lot of legends of them here and in Nepal.”



Berksted was silent a moment and then said, “By the way, that’s my wife, not some body. I’d appreciate you respecting that.”



“I apologize. In my work, it helps if I don’t think of them in that way.” Namdi took a sip of bottled water and continued. “It is not difficult to detect one. But I’ve never seen markings like this. They are far larger than normal hyenas. That is why I said perhaps it could be a tiger, or there are even Asiatic lions. Perhaps a lion with teeth deformity or some trauma to the teeth that caused it to have such specific bite patterns.”

Berksted looked away. There was a large tree just off to their right and a panther sat on one of the branches, cautiously eyeing the passerby. “I used to f*ck around on her all the time. Blonds, brunettes, Asians . . . didn’t matter. She didn’t know, at least, I don’t think she knew. She deserved better than what she got.”

“We all do.”

They drove in silence for the rest of the morning. They circled an area of a dozen miles, going off-road through the grass a number of times and stopping midday to refuel. Namdi got out and took a plastic jug of gasoline, inserting a funnel into the gas tank and pouring the fuel in. Berksted sat in the jeep, staring off into space. He was still drunk and every once in awhile would doze off.

“We can rest if you like,” Namdi said.

“No, I want to keep looking.”

They drove for over an hour until they reached the base of a large hill far north of the house. Vultures had gathered in a circle around a kill and were fighting and nipping at each other for position.

“Wait here,” Namdi said.

He stepped out of the jeep and took a rifle from the backseat. Aiming in the air, he shot off a round and the vultures scattered as he approached. One remained, picking at whatever they had found. Namdi fired another shot and it took flight, landing on a tree a dozen yards away and watching his movements.

Namdi walked close. He lowered the rifle and put on his glasses. In front of him was a mass of rancid meat on white bones. Blood had dried into the earth and there were horns. It was the carcass of a juvenile black buck. He breathed a sigh of relief and was about to return to the jeep when he heard a growl coming from a field of grass to his right.

He turned his head and saw the gold and black fur of a tiger ducked low in the tall vegetation. Tigers had very distinctive growls, bassed and heavy. But they hunted by stealth. If she had growled, it meant she wanted him to know she was there. He could not see her head but had no doubt she was watching him carefully.

Sweat rolled down his forehead into his eyes. Slowly, he began walking back to the jeep, keeping a firm grip on the rifle. The jeep was more than a dozen yards away and Berksted looked half asleep.

The tiger moved. It was so subtle Namdi wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking directly at her. It was just a slight adjustment in her position; going from a crouch to a tense crouch position. She was getting ready to sprint.

Namdi darted for the jeep, hearing only a roar as the animal leaped out of the grass and chased him. He kept an eye on his feet to make sure he wouldn’t trip but could hear the heavy breathing of the great cat just behind him.

He turned to look. She wasn’t more than a few feet away. Her legs flexed and she pounced. As she became airborne her front claws dug into Namdi’s back. It was searing pain that caused him to scream as he toppled over. Berksted heard the scream and was out of the jeep and trying to steady his hand as he fired.

Namdi kept his arms over his face as the animal bit down, piercing the flesh of his forearm and scraping bone. She tugged at him, tossing him to the side as if he were a rag. The predator circled her prey, mouth oozing drool as she prepared for the killing bite to the neck, suffocating Namdi to death before beginning to feast.

Shots crackled through the air, kicking up dirt wherever they landed. The tiger yelped as she was struck in the shoulder. She dashed for the safety of the grass as Berksted continued firing until the dry click of the empty gun made him stop.

Namdi had the breath knocked out of him and his back burned from the wounds of the creature’s claws. His chest felt heavy, as if the weight was still on him and his arm was pouring blood. He ripped part of his shirt and wrapped it around the wound.

“Let’s go” Berksted said, helping him up.

“I am certain she broke my ribs. Can you drive?”

A colossal force and a gust of air and Berksted was ripped from Namdi’s arms. The speed at which he’d been pulled away left Namdi off balance and he fell to his side. Namdi thought Berksted had fallen. He saw him near the tall grass on his stomach, his face pale, a thick soup of saliva and black blood flowing from his mouth. Berksted screamed a wet, gurgled scream as he was dragged into the grass.

Namdi jumped to his feet and tried to run after him. He could see something moving through the grass at a quick pace, splitting apart the field like a speedboat through water. He lost sight of Berksted who was clawing at the ground to stop himself.

Berksted screamed, and then there was silence.

Namdi froze in place, listening. There was the wind rustling through the brush but nothing more. It was as if the plains held its tongue. Namdi’s breathing was labored and each inhalation shot pain through his ribs. As he wondered how he was going to go after Berksted he saw something moving toward him though the grass.

It was a gray hide, spotted black. It moved with purposefulness, trying to remain quiet. A chill went down Namdi’s back. He turned and hobbled toward the jeep. The hide followed. It turned in an arch, going up away from the jeep and then coming down toward it.

Namdi started the jeep and drove, watching in his rearview. The hide was motionless awhile, then ducked low and disappeared.

Namdi was not a religious man. There wasn’t much room for such a luxury in his work. But for a reason he didn’t understand, the sight of that hide had frightened him down to his core and he said a prayer. It didn’t move like the tiger; it seemed to move with awareness. As if it fully understood what Namdi was thinking at that moment and tried to adjust its movements because of it. It seemed almost . . . human.