The Ridge(111)

She could stay here, secure in her dark hole, hiding and waiting, but whoever had come down the road did not know what those approaching footsteps carried with them. There was a tranquilizer rifle in the trailer, and while you had to be close to use it, it would be better to try than to stay here cowering in the darkness and let him destroy whatever help had arrived, let him take more blood for the ridge.

Audrey had facilitated enough blood for the ridge.

She waited until his footsteps were inaudible, and then she slipped out of the shelter, bits of straw hanging in her hair, and peered into the night. Across from her, in the silent snow, Lily, the blind white tiger, sat on her haunches, staring at nothing.

Only Audrey knew better than to think that. The cat’s other senses more than compensated for the lack of vision; so long as Lily was watching the road, that meant Dustin was in that direction.

The trailer was not far off. She could make it. He would be occupied with the car, which appeared to be stopped in the middle of the road, and even if he heard her or saw her, he would have to make a decision. Whatever choice he made, someone would have a chance to adjust to it. She needed to force him toward that moment of decision.

There was a flourish of motion to her left, and she turned to see Jafar cross the enclosure in rapid bounds, pulling directly up to her. The terror she might have felt just minutes before was gone, though. She had lain with him in the dark and emerged unscathed on the other side, and now her fear had turned to faith. She rose to one knee, took the leopard’s head in both hands, and kissed his nose.

“Thank you, baby. Thank you.”

Then she got to her feet, went to the gate, and stepped through. In the distance, illuminated by the glow of the headlights, she could see one of her tigers stepping hesitantly through a yawning gate and into freedom.

Hurry, Audrey, she told herself as she began to run.

If she’d ever moved faster, she could not remember the occasion. She ran expecting blows or bullets, but none came, and she neither saw Dustin nor heard him. The trailer door was cracked open; he had not bothered to close it behind him as he came out with the flashlight. She hit the door at full speed, slammed it shut, locked it, and turned to the small closet where they had kept the tranquilizer rifle since Wesley’s death.

The door was open, and the closet was empty.

Of course, she thought stupidly. Even Dustin wouldn’t have been setting them loose if he didn’t have some sort of weapon.

She turned to the window, and that was when she saw Kevin Kimble in the road near the gates and, moving just behind him, a silhouette that looked like a man.


Roy said, “He’s going to shoot the lion,” as Kimble walked slowly forward, a shotgun in his hands.

“No, he’s not,” Shipley said. “He just wants to know who the hell we are.”

He picked up his own gun then, a semiautomatic handgun, and reached for the door handle.

“Wait,” Roy said. “He doesn’t trust you. Not yet.”

Shipley stopped, looked back at him, and nodded. “Right. You tell him.”

Roy opened the passenger door and climbed out as a gust of wind blew snow and ice pellets against him.

“Kimble!” he shouted. “I’m with Shipley. He’s safe.”

Kimble hesitated, didn’t answer. The lion had pivoted to face them when Roy yelled, and the wind gusted again, harder this time, and swung the door shut.

Shit, Roy thought as the lion started forward at a trot. Roy fumbled frantically for the door handle, jerked it open, and slammed himself back into the seat. By the time he’d turned around, the big cat was at a stop again, watching them like an uncertain security guard trying to assess their credentials from a distance.

“Drive,” he told Shipley. “I’m not getting out again. Not with the cats loose.”

Shipley proceeded forward, and the lion roared again, the sound so furious that Roy actually lifted his hands as if he might ward it off. Shipley kept his speed steady, though, and as they approached, the lion moved away, distrusting the vehicle. It circled behind them and stepped into the shadows, and then it was just Kimble in the beam of the headlights. Roy looked to his right, saw no sign of any of the cats, and put down the window. He leaned his head out.

“Kimble! Shipley is safe! You don’t need to worry about—”

Beside him, Shipley said, “Son of a bitch, there he is,” and banged open the door. When Dustin Hall rushed out of the trees and into the road, armed with a strange-looking rifle, he was behind Kimble and very close. Kimble spun to meet him, but Shipley had already fired. The sound of the gunshot echoed, and Roy watched as Dustin Hall crumpled at the road’s edge.