The Pharaoh Key

30

GARZA JERKED AWAKE in a cold sweat, the night split by screams. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Surely it hadn’t been more than five minutes since he’d dozed off? But suddenly it seemed as if the entire encampment had exploded into hysteria.

“What the hell—?” Gideon and Imogen came out of their sleeping corners, while Garza rose, threw on his robe, and lifted the flap of the tent to see what was happening. Burning firebrands were being lit, casting a lurid glow over the scene. A tent next to the chief’s had been partially torn open. People in hysterics were running about carrying brands, collecting spears, and shouting. Amid the hubbub he could hear a woman’s terrified screams again, off in the darkness.

Gideon and Imogen joined him in peering out.

“That tent up there has been slashed open by some animal,” said Imogen.

The chief had now appeared in the midst of the crowd. He was panic-stricken as well, waving his arms and crying out, gesturing with his staff toward a ravine above the rear of the encampment, from which the woman’s screams seemed to be coming.

Imogen listened intently to the babble. “It sounds like someone was dragged off by that one-eyed demon leopard they keep talking about.”

Garza stared at the scene. “Why the hell aren’t they pursuing it? Christ, if they don’t get to her right away, she’s dead.”

“They’re terrified of it,” said Imogen. “They won’t follow.”

And Garza could see it was true. The men were making a terrific racket, arming themselves and lighting torches, and the chief was hollering and gesturing at them—but nobody, not even Blackbeard, was actually running toward the ravine.

“Screw this.” Garza threw back the goatskin and grabbed the crossbow and the small bundle of handmade bolts.

“You just made that tonight!” Imogen protested. “You haven’t even tested it yet!”

Ignoring her, Garza sprinted from the tent and headed toward the mouth of the ravine. Along the way he yanked a planted torch from the ground to light his way and, he hoped, drive off the beast. He could hear a lot of unintelligible shouting behind him, but no one followed.

The mouth of the ravine was not far, just a few hundred yards. On the sandy floor of the wash he could see drag marks and blood. The marks were easy to follow, and they led to a big pile of broken boulders a hundred feet inside the ravine. The screaming had ceased and Garza realized the cat, or whatever it was, must have dragged the woman up into the rocks.

“Hah!” he screamed and picked up a rock, flinging it toward the pile. “Come out of there, you bastard!”

He heard an answering growl. Then an immense leopard appeared on the topmost rock, staring down at him with one luminous eye. In place of the other eye was an ugly, puckered scar that ran from ear to snout. It crouched, still growling.

Garza waved the torch. This was the demon cat the whole tribe was scared of. And he’d decided to run after it. Nice one, Manuel.

There were only two choices: either drive it off or get close enough to shoot it with the crossbow. And the cat didn’t seem to be going anywhere. That meant ascending the rock pile, with the beast crouched above. As he circled, trying to find a defensible route up, the leopard made deep coughing sounds, moving to keep Garza in view, tensing its muscles.

Using the crude lever, Garza cocked the crossbow, set a bolt into the groove, and aimed it—but the only exposed target was the animal’s head, and it was too far away to be penetrated by a bolt unless he scored a hit on the eye, which was highly improbable. He’d grabbed for the crossbow instinctually as he ran from the tent, and now he recalled Imogen’s warning: they hadn’t even tested the thing yet. Its aim might be out of whack…or it might not work at all.

He yelled at the creature and waved the torch again, trying to drive it off. It snarled again, baring its teeth.

“Hyah!” He threw another rock, which missed.

The leopard gave an answering roar, shaking its head at him. The sound echoed mightily off the canyon walls before dying away.

At least it’s distracted from eating, Garza thought.

Garza hoisted himself up one boulder. The leopard slid back a bit and growled again. He scrambled up another boulder, waving the torch ahead of him, hoping that fear of fire would drive it off. But the creature stood its ground, growling fiercely.

“Get away, you son of a bitch!” He hoisted himself up onto the next boulder. Now the leopard was less than twenty feet above him: not a good thing. At least it wouldn’t leap on him as long as he held the burning torch—or would it?

From this vantage point he could see, just behind the animal, the tuft of a robe: a girl. The leopard was evidently standing guard over its victim. She was probably already dead, but there was a chance she might still be alive. After all, he hadn’t given the beast much time to begin its meal.

Garza yelled again and waved the torch. The leopard rose up slightly, its one good eye reflecting the flickering orange torchlight, its glossy fur rippling with musculature. Garza took aim, but all he could see was the animal’s head and neck. What he needed was the chest. Why had he brought along an untested weapon, anyway?

He rose further and jabbed the torch at the snarling animal, shouting at the top of his lungs: “Go away! Get lost!”

The animal backed up and Garza had the sudden hope it would turn and flee. He yelled, jabbed again—and then the leopard leapt at him from above, descending with its great claws unsheathed. Garza managed to fire the crossbow just as the animal fell on him.

It was like being hit by a car. He was thrown backward from the boulder, the leopard tumbling with him, issuing a terrifying screech as the two landed on the sand, swiping at him with a massive paw, catching the side of his face and raking the flesh. Blood was suddenly everywhere, a fountain of it, as the animal—now on its back—thrashed and bit at the bolt buried in its chest. Garza tried to scramble backward, but the animal pinned his leg even as it clawed at itself. And then, with one convulsive growl, it shuddered and ceased moving.

Blood pouring down his face, Garza managed to pull his leg from under the dead animal. Abandoning the torch and crossbow, he struggled up the heap of rocks to the top.

In the faint starlight, he could see the young woman was lying on her back. He recognized her immediately as the chief’s young wife. Her shoulder was bloody and marked with punctures—evidently from being dragged. But otherwise she appeared untouched. He scooped her up and carefully picked his way down the rock pile to the sandy wash. Reaching it, he staggered slowly toward the mouth of the ravine, shaking his head to clear the blood from his eyes. His face was on fire and he felt his legs grow weaker by the second. Finally, at the mouth of the canyon, he sank to his knees, unable to carry his burden any farther.

Still on his knees, he was surrounded by a shouting frenzy of people. Someone—Gideon—picked up the girl and she instantly vanished. Garza felt dizzy, unable to maintain his focus. He was being congratulated, it seemed; hands were touching him, grasping him. And there was Imogen, forcing her way to the front, coming to his aid, trying to help him rise, but then the world folded in on itself and he collapsed.