The Extinct

CHAPTER

8





Andhra Pradesh has often been a top destination for thrill seekers and tourists. With its diverse landscapes, masses of animals found in few other places, and breathtaking sunsets, some have found it a prime vacation spot despite it being in a second world country with little stability.

Near the city of Kavali are a string of houses owned by wealthy investors—usually European and American real estate moguls or investment firms—leased to vacationers for periods of one week to one month. The houses are far apart from one another, enough so that vacationers can enjoy their privacy but still have others nearby should they require something.

A family stepped onto the porch of one of the homes. The two boys ran into a nearby patch of jungle, yelling and laughing. Their mother was a slim woman in a white dress, straw hat pulled down to cover her eyes from the scorching sun. Her husband wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a kiss on the neck as they watched the boys run around.

“I can’t believe we actually found someplace they like,” the man said.



“I like it too,” she said. “The locals are a hassle though.”



“They’re all right, just trying to make a buck like anyone else.”



“Are you kidding? They totally crashed our picnic trying to sell us that cheap shit.”



The man shrugged. “What you feel like doing?”



“Let’s go in to town and have a drink.”



“What about the kids?”



“They don’t ID here, no one’s gonna care.”



The man kissed her neck again and nibbled on her ear, causing her to giggle and pull away.



“I’ve got to shower and change,” the man said, opening the door to the living room.



“Don’t take too long.”



“I won’t.”



The woman sat down on a wooden bench and looked out over the vast expanse before her. There was a large patch of grass in front of the house with a path through it that led to the road back to Kavali on one side and into the dense jungle on the other. A tree was near the house, large with twisted, leafless branches. This was a pretty place she decided, but just too damn hot and humid.

It suddenly became apparent to her that she couldn’t hear the boys anymore. Scanning the grass, she couldn’t see any movement. “Friedrich,” she yelled, “Steven, don’t go far. You hear me boys?”

She stood up and walked off the porch onto the soft dirt. “Friedrich, Steven.” There was no reply. Just the hushed whispers of the breeze flowing through grass. She could hear birds up in the tree and there was the distant hum of a passing plane overhead. The woman walked into the grass, worry causing her heart to drop. “Boys if this is a joke you’re grounded, you hear me?”

Worry turned to panic and she began running through the grass and into the canopy of the jungle. The shrubbery and trees grew tightly packed and the sunlight was blocked by foliage. “Friedrich, Steven!” she yelled. The vegetation was thick and somewhat inflexible. It made the skin on her arms itch.

There was motion nearby. As if the shrubbery had been spread apart quickly. A shiver went down her back and the hairs on her neck stood straight but she wasn’t sure why.

There was laughter just to the right of her. She turned toward it. “Boys!”

As she took a step forward she felt a tremendous tug on her arm that threw her forward to the ground. She screamed as she hit the dirt, confusion and fear taking hold. She went to pick herself up and realized she couldn’t.

Her arm had been severed at the bicep and blood cascaded down from the ragged flesh, coloring her white dress a dark red. “Oh God!” she screamed. “Oh my God! God please help me! God!”

Another tug and the world spun; quiet a long while before the hushed breeze blew again.



*****



The husband came out of the house a while later and flipped on a pair of Tommy Hilfiger sunglasses. It was hot and he’d only worn shorts and a cotton button-up. The breeze felt nice against his bare legs and he stood and enjoyed it.

The sun was so bright he had to squint even with sunglasses. It reminded him of the Caribbean. Before he’d met his wife he was there at least four or five times a year. It was easy to pick up women at bars and nightclubs with the promise of a weekend getaway for the two of them. Some of the women genuinely liked him. Most did not. They were the type of women that spent their lives in smoke filled bars, counting down their days one drink at a time. Some of them had children or husbands at home waiting for them. One had even offered to bring her sixteen year old daughter along with her and “teach” her how to please him. Though tempted, he had to turn it down in the end. It seemed like that was a line that if he crossed, the line would disappear and he wouldn’t be the same person anymore.

He stepped off the porch and walked along the path through the grass to the rented jeep he was convinced he’d been overcharged on. His family wasn’t inside. He turned back toward the grass and looked around. “Katherine,” he yelled out. “Boys?” He walked back the way he came and went inside the house. The living room was empty. The kitchen was empty and so were the basement and the upstairs bedroom. They must’ve gone for a walk or something.

The man flopped on the couch in the living room and decided he would wait for them. He would walk outside every few minutes and look around but no one came. Finally he decided he would drive around and look for them.

As he stepped out of the house, he froze. Vultures were flying down into the jungle canopy, their bald heads held stiff in between their slim shoulders as they drifted toward the ground. They were far larger than he thought they would be. He wondered what they would be doing here before his eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat. “Katherine!”

He ran into the jungle as the vultures scattered into the air. One was on the ground near him and he kicked at it and it bit him on the shin before flapping its wings and flying off over the grass. They didn’t leave the kill, just waited nearby; they had grown patience over time and could wait for days.

The man dropped to his knees when he saw what they had been feeding on. A mass of bone and sinew with bits of ragged flesh attached, a white dress torn to pieces on the dirt. Vomit burst out of the man’s mouth and down his shirt and he stumbled back.

He sat weeping on the ground as the vultures, slowly and quietly, began their descent back to the kill.