Cry Wolf - Smith Wilbur - Страница 33
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sun. The storm waters of the awash had cut down through the softer
upper layers of earth until they exposed the sheet of hard black
ironstone that formed the floor of the ravine.
Vicky stripped off her sweat-damp clothing and stepped down into one of
the shallow pools, sighing with the pleasurable feel of water on her
skin. She sat waist-deep and scooped handfuls of water over her face
and breasts, washing away the dust and salt-sticky sweat of the
desert.
Then she waded to the edge of the pool and selected a bottle of shampoo
from her bag. The water was so soft that she swiftly worked up a thick
coating of white suds that covered her head and ran down her neck on to
her bare shoulders.
She rinsed the soap off and bound the towel around her wet head like a
turban, before kneeling in the shallow pool and soaping her entire
body, delighting at the slipperiness of the suds and their fragrance.
By the time she was finished, the light had strengthened and she knew
that the others would be up and chafing to resume the march.
She stepped out on to the flat black rock that surrounded the pool and
stood for a moment to feel the first gentle movement of the morning
breeze against her naked skin, and suddenly she had a strong sensation
that she was being watched. She, turned swiftly, half crouching, her
hands flying instinctively to cover her bosom and her groin.
The eyes that watched her were of a savage golden colour, and the
pupils were glistening black slits. The stare was steady and
unblinking.
The huge reddish-gold beast crouched on a level ledge of rock,
halfway up the far bank of the ravine. It lay with its forepaws drawn
up under its chin, and there was a sense of deadly stillness about it
that was chilling, although Vicky did not readily recognize what she
was seeing.
Then very slowly the dark ruff of the mane came erect, swelling out
around the head and exaggerating its already impressive bulk. Then the
tail twitched and began to slash back and forth with the steady beat of
a metronome.
Suddenly Vicky knew what it was. She heard again in her imagination
the echoes of that terrible sound in the night and she screamed.
Jake had just completed the adjustments he was making to the ignition
of his car and closed the engine cowling. He picked up the fluted
bottle of Scrubbs Cloudy Ammonia to dissolve the grease from his hands.
At that instant he heard the scream and he began to run without a
conscious thought.
The scream was so high and shrill, an expression of mortal terror,
that Jake's heart raced in sympathy and when the scream came again, if
anything shriller still, he leaped the bank and went sliding and
running down the steep slope of the ravine.
It was only seconds from when he heard the first scream until he came
skidding and sliding down on to the rocky floor of the ravine beside
the pool.
He saw the naked girl crouching at the edge of the pool, both hands
pressed to her mouth. Her body was pale and slim, with the small tight
round buttocks of a lad and long graceful legs.
"Vicky," he shouted. "What is it?" And she turned quickly to him,
her breasts swinging heavily at the movement, round and white with
large pink nipples standing out tightly with cold and shock. Even in
the extremity of the moment, he could not help but glance down at the
smooth velvety plain of her belly and the fluffy dusky triangle at its
base. Then she was running towards him on those long coltish legs, and
her face was deadly white, and the speckled green eyes huge and
swimming with rampant terror.
"Jake," she cried. "Oh God, Jake," and then he saw movement beyond
her, halfway up the bank of the water course.
The wound had stiffened during the night, almost paralysing the lion's
hindquarters, and the torn entrails were leaking poison and infection
into the belly cavity. It had slowed the animal so drastically that
the natural reflexive anger which the sight of a human form had roused
was not strong enough to precipitate the charge.
However, the sound of the human voice immediately invoked memories of
the hunters who had inflicted this terrible aching agony "and the anger
flared higher.
Then suddenly there was another of the hated two-legged figures,
more noise and movement, all of this enough to counter the stiffness
and paralysing lethargy. The lion rose slightly out of his crouch and
he growled.
Jake ran four paces to meet Vicky and she tried to throw her arms about
his neck for protection, but he avoided the embrace and grasped her
upper arm with his left hand, his fingers digging so deeply into her
flesh that the pain steadied her. Using the impetus of her run, he
swung her on towards the path that climbed the slope.
"Run," he shouted. "Keep running." And he turned back to face the
crippled animal as it launched itself from the ledge into the bed of
the river.
It was only then that Jake realized that he still carried a full bottle
of Scrubbs Ammonia in his hand. The lion came bounding swiftly through
the shallow stagnant pool towards him. Despite the wounds, it followed
with lithe and sinuous menace. it was so close that he could see each
stiff white whisker in the curled upper lip and hear the rattle of air
in its throat. He let it come on, for to turn and run was suicide.
At the last moment he reared back like a baseball pitcher and hurled
the bottle. It was an instinctive action, using the only weapon
however puny that was at hand.
The bottle flew straight at the lion's head, catching it in the direct
centre of its broad forehead as it lunged smoothly upwards towards the
ledge where Jake stood.
The bottle exploded in a burst of sparkling glass splinters and a
creamy gush of the pungent liquid. It filled both the lion's eyes,
blinding it instantly, and the stench of concenits open mouth and
flaring nostrils killed trated ammonia in its sense of smell and
shocked its whole system so violently that it missed its footing and
fell, roaring with the agony of scalded eyeballs and burning throat,
into the shallow water where it rolled helplessly on its back.
Jake ran forward, seizing the few seconds of advantage he had gained.
He stooped to pick up a water-worn ironstone boulder the shape and size
of a football, and swung it up above his head with both hands.
As he poised himself on the ledge above the pool, the lion recovered
its balance and came up at him blindly. Jake swung the boulder down
from on high and, like a cannon ball, it smashed into the back of the
animal's neck, where the sodden mane covered the juncture of skull and
vertebrae, crushing both so that the dreadfully mutilated beast
collapsed and rolled on to its side, half in the water and half on the
black rock ledge.
For long seconds Jake stood over it, panting with exertion and
reaction, then he leaned forward and touched with his fingertip the
long pale lashes that fringed the lion's open staring golden eye.
Already the sheen of the eyeball was clouded by the corrosive liquid.
At Jake's touch there was no blinking reflex, and he knew that the
animal was dead.
He turned to find that Vicky had not obeyed his instruction to run. She
stood frozen where he had left her, naked and vulnerable, so that he
felt his heart shift within him and he went to her quickly.
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