Read Online On the Fifth Day by A. J. Hartley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: A. J. Hartley
Tags: Fiction, thriller, Thrillers, Fiction - Espionage, American Contemporary Fiction - Individual Authors +
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behind his at
tacker, and then he kicked and the muffled face registered first pain, then a wild determination.
Suddenly Thomas was tipping back, over the metal rail and the chain-link fence. His head and upper body teetered in space, and then he was falling backward, turning. He clawed at the fence as he fell, but his fingers scrabbled at nothing, and then he was rolling heavily in the air, bouncing off the concrete lip and tumbling twenty feet down into the dry moat. His mind moved twice as fast as his hands so that he had time to watch them grasping at nothing, powerless to do anything about it, with time enough to sense the coming im
pact with terror and fury. The sky fell away and he dropped like a stone.
CHAPTER 12
He landed in the thin underbrush at the bottom, crashing onto the frozen, compacted earth and a single fallen tree limb. His left leg took the worst of it, absorbing the whole weight of his body so that it buckled unnaturally beneath him. The breath was driven from him, and as he sprawled on his back the pain flashed through him like heat so that he saw whiteness bright as lightning, and then nothing.
When he opened his eyes it took him a second to remember 51
O n t h e F i f t h D a y
where he was. He didn't know how long he had been lying there. The thin remnant of snow hadn't been thick enough to muffle his fall, let alone cushion it. The ribs on the right side of his back and the base of his spine smoldered, and when he tried to move, his left leg from the knee down sang with an agony so intense that he almost blacked out again. Keep still. Wait.
He opened his eyes again. No one was around. No sign of his attacker or other visitors who might have glimpsed his fall. There was only sky, the steep rock of the moat walls, and the dead, twisted tree limb that had been blown into the trench months ago where it had lain ever since, waiting for him to land on it.
"Help!" he managed. It was a thin cry and set him cough
ing. He groaned and closed his eyes again, opening them with relief at the sound of movement above.
Somebody saw me fall in, he thought. Thank God. But when he opened his eyes he saw no one at the rail. Then a pebble skipped down the rock wall of the trench and, realiz
ing it had come from the other side, his eyes moved slowly up to the top. The great tawny head of the lioness looked down at him.
Oh God.
The animal leaned out and put one massive paw on the edge, testing her foothold as she strained to get a better view. She was only about twelve feet above him, almost directly above. He could see the splay of her paws, part of the pads beneath. If she drops on you . . .
She had amber eyes and a great pale muzzle. Her mouth opened, part exercise, part yawn, and Thomas saw that she could probably wrap her jaws around his entire head. Her teeth were great yellow chisels. She flicked one ear, then low
ered her head, her eyes still bright and focused. Keep still.
For a second Thomas remembered the cocktail of pills he had considered taking not so many days ago, how languidly he had decided not to swill them all down. Now he lay here, 52
A. J. Hartley
badly bruised at the very least, maybe broken, with a fourhundred-pound cat staring at him, and the irony of how badly he wanted to live through the next few moments struck him so forcefully that he actually laughed.
The lion's ears pricked and her neck and shoulders flexed. Thomas stifled the chuckle and kept still. It took him a mo
ment to realize that the dull rumble that he heard, a sound like the distant turning of a large engine, was actually coming from the animal's throat. He tried to ignore the pain, keep ab
solutely still, and once more avoid the temptation to laugh. Getting eaten by a lion, he thought, might be absurd, but it's not actually funny.
Not if you're the one being eaten, no.
Well, at least you'll make the news.
Not good enough, I'm afraid. I have to get out of here. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly and with his
tacker, and then he kicked and the muffled face registered first pain, then a wild determination.
Suddenly Thomas was tipping back, over the metal rail and the chain-link fence. His head and upper body teetered in space, and then he was falling backward, turning. He clawed at the fence as he fell, but his fingers scrabbled at nothing, and then he was rolling heavily in the air, bouncing off the concrete lip and tumbling twenty feet down into the dry moat. His mind moved twice as fast as his hands so that he had time to watch them grasping at nothing, powerless to do anything about it, with time enough to sense the coming im
pact with terror and fury. The sky fell away and he dropped like a stone.
CHAPTER 12
He landed in the thin underbrush at the bottom, crashing onto the frozen, compacted earth and a single fallen tree limb. His left leg took the worst of it, absorbing the whole weight of his body so that it buckled unnaturally beneath him. The breath was driven from him, and as he sprawled on his back the pain flashed through him like heat so that he saw whiteness bright as lightning, and then nothing.
When he opened his eyes it took him a second to remember 51
O n t h e F i f t h D a y
where he was. He didn't know how long he had been lying there. The thin remnant of snow hadn't been thick enough to muffle his fall, let alone cushion it. The ribs on the right side of his back and the base of his spine smoldered, and when he tried to move, his left leg from the knee down sang with an agony so intense that he almost blacked out again. Keep still. Wait.
He opened his eyes again. No one was around. No sign of his attacker or other visitors who might have glimpsed his fall. There was only sky, the steep rock of the moat walls, and the dead, twisted tree limb that had been blown into the trench months ago where it had lain ever since, waiting for him to land on it.
"Help!" he managed. It was a thin cry and set him cough
ing. He groaned and closed his eyes again, opening them with relief at the sound of movement above.
Somebody saw me fall in, he thought. Thank God. But when he opened his eyes he saw no one at the rail. Then a pebble skipped down the rock wall of the trench and, realiz
ing it had come from the other side, his eyes moved slowly up to the top. The great tawny head of the lioness looked down at him.
Oh God.
The animal leaned out and put one massive paw on the edge, testing her foothold as she strained to get a better view. She was only about twelve feet above him, almost directly above. He could see the splay of her paws, part of the pads beneath. If she drops on you . . .
She had amber eyes and a great pale muzzle. Her mouth opened, part exercise, part yawn, and Thomas saw that she could probably wrap her jaws around his entire head. Her teeth were great yellow chisels. She flicked one ear, then low
ered her head, her eyes still bright and focused. Keep still.
For a second Thomas remembered the cocktail of pills he had considered taking not so many days ago, how languidly he had decided not to swill them all down. Now he lay here, 52
A. J. Hartley
badly bruised at the very least, maybe broken, with a fourhundred-pound cat staring at him, and the irony of how badly he wanted to live through the next few moments struck him so forcefully that he actually laughed.
The lion's ears pricked and her neck and shoulders flexed. Thomas stifled the chuckle and kept still. It took him a mo
ment to realize that the dull rumble that he heard, a sound like the distant turning of a large engine, was actually coming from the animal's throat. He tried to ignore the pain, keep ab
solutely still, and once more avoid the temptation to laugh. Getting eaten by a lion, he thought, might be absurd, but it's not actually funny.
Not if you're the one being eaten, no.
Well, at least you'll make the news.
Not good enough, I'm afraid. I have to get out of here. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly and with his
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