Read Online On the Fifth Day by A. J. Hartley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: A. J. Hartley
Tags: Fiction, thriller, Thrillers, Fiction - Espionage, American Contemporary Fiction - Individual Authors +
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battered body crying with outrage, Thomas began to roll into a crouch. For a moment this meant taking his eyes off the lion, a terrifying prospect that left him straining with his ears for sounds of the animal's descent. She could be on him in two bounds, he guessed, and would probably not suffer at all from the drop, particularly if she could land on something soft. Something like you, you mean.
Oh, that's helpful, he responded to his own inner voice. Scare yourself stupid.
She might not be able to get back up unassisted, but he doubted lions' minds worked like that, so he just had to hope that the beast felt neither especially threatened by his pres
ence, or hungry. Wincing at the pain, he turned to the far side of the trench and considered the rock wall.
It was definitely climbable, though whether he had the strength to do it was another matter altogether. He couldn't put weight on his left leg for more than a second before the pain became blinding. He checked the lion. She was watching him from the top, her head weaving slowly from side to side, her eyes somehow never leaving him. The truth of the situation hit 53
O n t h e F i f t h D a y
him with the clarity of a lightning bolt. She was gauging the distance to pounce.
Lying where he was, he was no better than meat. She growled and her tail lashed, so that even before the sinews of her forelegs began to stretch, he knew she was coming. Thomas had not doubted that she could get down the rock wall, but the ease with which she did so was still staggering. She leaped down in one easy, almost lazy motion, her massive paws absorbing the impact of her drop so that she barely trou
bled the thin dusting of snow that had escaped the watery sun. She landed ten feet away and paused, her yellow eyes fixed on his, her mouth lolling slightly.
Down here with him she looked bigger than ever. Careful not to take his eyes off hers, Thomas groped behind him for the broken branch he had landed on, fingers splayed wildly as they scoured the icy ground. When he found it, he rose quickly, agonizingly, and took two steps backward the mo
ment he was even close to vertical, shrugging out of his coat as he did so. The lion seemed to be leaning forward, like a man on a slowing bus countering inertia. When it stopped en
tirely, he'd fall forward. For the lion, Thomas knew, the inertia was all in her mind. When she thought the time was right, she'd come.
And if she does, you die. It's that simple. For a second he thought about brandishing the branch as a weapon, but that would be a futile gesture. If she surged for
ward now he could be armed with a rocket launcher and she'd still kill him. It was all about her decision. She gazed unblinking, and he stared back as his hands fid
dled with the branch and his heavy coat. When he was ready, he took a fractional breath, stood as tall as he could, and roared at the top of his lungs, hoisting his jacket on the branch high above his head like a war standard.
It was a desperate, absurd noise, a great whooping yell like some woad-painted berserker hurling himself at the locked shields of a hundred Roman legionnaries. The moment he ran 54
A. J. Hartley
out of air, he sucked in another breath and repeated the same cry, high and long as loud as he could manage. The great cat faltered, and her eyes flashed up to the top of his ludicrous scarecrow staff where his coat flapped. In a sec
ond or two, Thomas had doubled his height, and the lion was--if not actually scared--surprised, even uncertain. He was bigger, and certainly noisier, than she had expected. Ig
noring the shooting pain in his leg, he flailed his arms and re
hearsed his barbaric yawp one more time.
Thomas could see her body contract, her head withdraw a fraction, her eyes flash around as she considered her options, and the fractional hint that he might yet snatch victory from the jaws of defeat--a phrase which had never seemed so delightfully apposite--filled his shouting with a
Oh, that's helpful, he responded to his own inner voice. Scare yourself stupid.
She might not be able to get back up unassisted, but he doubted lions' minds worked like that, so he just had to hope that the beast felt neither especially threatened by his pres
ence, or hungry. Wincing at the pain, he turned to the far side of the trench and considered the rock wall.
It was definitely climbable, though whether he had the strength to do it was another matter altogether. He couldn't put weight on his left leg for more than a second before the pain became blinding. He checked the lion. She was watching him from the top, her head weaving slowly from side to side, her eyes somehow never leaving him. The truth of the situation hit 53
O n t h e F i f t h D a y
him with the clarity of a lightning bolt. She was gauging the distance to pounce.
Lying where he was, he was no better than meat. She growled and her tail lashed, so that even before the sinews of her forelegs began to stretch, he knew she was coming. Thomas had not doubted that she could get down the rock wall, but the ease with which she did so was still staggering. She leaped down in one easy, almost lazy motion, her massive paws absorbing the impact of her drop so that she barely trou
bled the thin dusting of snow that had escaped the watery sun. She landed ten feet away and paused, her yellow eyes fixed on his, her mouth lolling slightly.
Down here with him she looked bigger than ever. Careful not to take his eyes off hers, Thomas groped behind him for the broken branch he had landed on, fingers splayed wildly as they scoured the icy ground. When he found it, he rose quickly, agonizingly, and took two steps backward the mo
ment he was even close to vertical, shrugging out of his coat as he did so. The lion seemed to be leaning forward, like a man on a slowing bus countering inertia. When it stopped en
tirely, he'd fall forward. For the lion, Thomas knew, the inertia was all in her mind. When she thought the time was right, she'd come.
And if she does, you die. It's that simple. For a second he thought about brandishing the branch as a weapon, but that would be a futile gesture. If she surged for
ward now he could be armed with a rocket launcher and she'd still kill him. It was all about her decision. She gazed unblinking, and he stared back as his hands fid
dled with the branch and his heavy coat. When he was ready, he took a fractional breath, stood as tall as he could, and roared at the top of his lungs, hoisting his jacket on the branch high above his head like a war standard.
It was a desperate, absurd noise, a great whooping yell like some woad-painted berserker hurling himself at the locked shields of a hundred Roman legionnaries. The moment he ran 54
A. J. Hartley
out of air, he sucked in another breath and repeated the same cry, high and long as loud as he could manage. The great cat faltered, and her eyes flashed up to the top of his ludicrous scarecrow staff where his coat flapped. In a sec
ond or two, Thomas had doubled his height, and the lion was--if not actually scared--surprised, even uncertain. He was bigger, and certainly noisier, than she had expected. Ig
noring the shooting pain in his leg, he flailed his arms and re
hearsed his barbaric yawp one more time.
Thomas could see her body contract, her head withdraw a fraction, her eyes flash around as she considered her options, and the fractional hint that he might yet snatch victory from the jaws of defeat--a phrase which had never seemed so delightfully apposite--filled his shouting with a
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