Chapter 38: Chapter Thirty-Eight--The Night They Came For Me

“What?” She said from well outside the bathroom.

Said hackles had instantly risen. “Would you get back in here please?”

No answer. I grabbed my gun and threw myself out of the stall. I peered into the shadows. She could’ve been standing five feet from the circle of light, and I still wouldn’t have seen her. Why hadn’t I thought of a flashlight?

That peculiar dread clamped around my throat, a tightening noose. Something was out there, watching me. Calling out again would attach unneeded attention.

I waited. Listened. A bush rustled.

Damn it. “Lola, if you can hear me, run back to the truck and lock yourself in, now.”

No answer, except a low, warning growl. Not Lola. Not a bear. Where? In front of me? No. I looked up. Glowing blue eyes seemed to float in the air above my head, the face swallowed by the darkness. Black fur would do that. It growled again, snow white, long, sharp teeth glinting.

Jaguar.

Not Kalvyn. Quinn, Syber? Who had blue eyes, and why couldn’t I remember? Oh yeah, terror would do that to someone. That’s right! Syber had blue eyes.

Had he been waiting for me to leave the campsite? Was he telling me to go back, or had those “basic primal instincts” kicked in? Through the treetops, the full moon peeked out with a yellow tinge. I imagined it laughing at me.

The jaguar paced the building’s overhang. Waiting. For what?

I knew one thing. Syber hadn’t come to save me.

“Hey, Syber,” I said soothingly. “It’s cool, all right? I’m just going to go back to the truck now.”

I stepped back. Another growl came from behind me, much more vicious and bloodthirsty than the other.

I whirled, trying to bring up my shotgun and failed. The stupid thing fell out of my hand, clattering to the ground. Glowing gold eyes peered at me, but it was too dark to see what type of cat it was. The jaguar leapt off the roof to circle me, forcing me away from the direction of the campsite, and the entrance to the bathroom.

Those golden eyes laughed at me. If my blood ran any colder, I’d turn into a popsicle from the inside out. I studied the cats. Too small to be Syber. Definitely both female.

Who the hell was it? All the jaguars I knew were male. The golden eyed one stalked from the side of the building, into the light. Leopard. Definitely leopard. Not Carmen. My mind rejected the obvious answer the moment it popped into my head. My fears made sense, but I didn’t want it to.

They snarled, but didn’t attack. Of course. They wanted me to run. What fun is prey that stood there and just let you kill it? But if I ran, I’d sign a death warrant.

Could I bend down, get the gun and shoot before they got me? Fuck. How many stupid horror movie girl mistakes could I make? Could I be anymore stereotypical? I’d always laughed at those stupid girls, thinking “if I was in their shoes, I’d do better.”

Blew that theory right out water.

The leopard advanced, forcing me away from the weapon. Horrible teeth exposed, ready. God, was that blood soaking her muzzle? Had she killed Lola already? No. I violently shook my head. Lola wasn’t dead. Animal blood. I would’ve heard Lola scream. Rational thought. Needed it. Loved it.

Run away! Take your chances!

I walked backward. Away from Lola. Another step. They countered it. Away from the other campers, and anyone else who would get hurt. This was about me, and these two cats.

I stumbled over a log, then collapsed against a tree. Okay, forward it is. I turned tail and ran for my life. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t outrun them. They’d played me. One second, they’d be on either side of me, herding me, only to fall back, nip at my heels. Soon enough, they’d run me down if they didn’t tired of game before I used up all of my energy.

Climb a tree. Nope. Cat climbed trees. To the cliffs, jump into the water? Nope. Cliffs were in the other direction. Cats could swim, sometimes, I’d thought. I didn’t know. Hit them? With what? I didn’t know.

My legs pumped. My muscles burned. Why had I drunk that beer? My brain swooshed from the activity, Carmen’s magical influence or not. I was weakening. Slowing. I had moments before adrenaline said, screw you, I give up, and this is your shot to live. Don’t waste it.

The bitches knew it. They were no doubt drunk on my fear.

The snarls of triumph were chilling.

They knew.

It was almost over.

They all but walked behind me as I tripped, cried, begged to a God I no longer believed in. I figured, if their vocal cords allowed it, they really would chortle with joy for how pathetic I was in my last moments.

A hill lay ahead. A steep one. I jumped, grabbing a thin, rotting tree trunk. The roots lifted right out the ground, spilling me to the base. My lower back collided with a wide, flat rock. Something cracked. Air whooshed from my lungs.

They were on me.

The jaguar landed on my back, teeth at my spot where my neck met my shoulders, three inches from the incision site. The pain was so intense, I couldn’t comprehend the sensation. For the first time, I screamed. And screamed. No longer would I make an effort to save anyone else by keeping my silence. Blood splattered my face and arms, pooled in the dirt.

A small corner of my mind waited for the leopard to attack. But she never did.

She watched.