Triple Threat - James Patterson Page 0,49

ground, crippled but very much alive.

Now things really start to get weird.

The five humans encircle the animal and all place their hands around its neck. Slowly they tighten their grip, choking the helpless antelope as it wheezes and struggles, finally exhaling its last breath.

In unison, the humans bow their heads. They release a low, guttural moan, almost as if in prayer. I’m reminded of the waiter in Bali, who attributed the island’s lack of animal attacks to the Hindu respect for all life.

Then they bare their teeth and sink them directly into the antelope’s flesh.

They viciously tear through its fur, exposing the crimson muscle tissue and tendons underneath. They rip jagged chunks off with their mouths, like a pride of lions eviscerating a fresh kill. They gulp down the raw meat whole, without chewing. Their mouths and cheeks are covered in blood.

Freitas, Sarah, the scientists, our guides, and I watch this feeding frenzy with a mix of disbelief and revulsion. It’s like something straight out of a horror movie, except it’s happening maybe three hundred feet in front of us.

“Still want to try to capture one of ’em?” I whisper to Freitas.

He just flashes me a grim look. Of course the answer is yes.

But we both know the task just got a whole lot scarier.

Before long, the antelope carcass has been reduced to virtually a skeleton. The feeding is slowing down in speed and intensity. The meal is almost over.

We’re all holding our breath. Waiting to see what these wild humans will do next…

When a digital beeping noise suddenly pierces the jungle air.

Jesus Christ—my satellite phone is ringing!

The humans all turn and look up in our direction. The leader lets out a deep, furious roar.

They’ve spotted us.

Chapter 18

“Don’t shoot!” Freitas desperately implores, but it’s no use. He’s lost all control over our group. It’s every man for himself.

And it’s absolute bedlam.

Many team members have already run off, but a few guides and scared scientists stay behind. They use our elevated position to their advantage and let loose a torrent of gunfire at the feral humans in the valley below as they scatter in all directions.

I watch two of the humans get hit. But the other three don’t—and quickly disappear into the dense foliage, dashing back up the hillside in our direction.

“Come on!” I yell to Sarah and Freitas as I turn around to run back the way we came. I see Sarah is on board, but Freitas is pointing somewhere else.

“I think if we cut across the hill, we can probably make it back—”

“Sorry, doc. You’re on your own.”

I’m already on the run for my life. I’m not about to risk getting lost on top of that.

I start hauling ass back through the jungle. Branches scrape my arms and face as I whip past. All around me I hear gunshots ringing and screams echoing.

Sarah’s sprinting just to my left. But after I pass the bubbling creek I remember crawling past minutes earlier, she’s suddenly disappeared. I’ve lost her.

“Sarah?” I call, slowing down the tiniest bit.

She doesn’t respond. But I do hear another voice.

This one is deep and scratchy. With a South African accent. It comes from close by, but it somehow sounds distant. Haunting.

“We…are…human!”

Holy shit!

I do a quick 360-degree spin, searching for the source. My eyes dart everywhere, but I don’t see a soul.

“Hello?” I shout. “Where are you? Who are you?”

“Do not…be afraid! We…will not…hurt you. Please, listen…to me!”

I turn now toward the direction of the voice and aim my rifle at it—not easy to do with my adrenaline pumping and my hands trembling.

For the briefest moment, I wonder if maybe this feral human is being honest. The way they ate that antelope was savage, but how they killed it was almost reverent. Maybe they do have respect for human life. Maybe they aren’t vicious killers like the rest of the animal kingdom. Maybe we pre-judged them too quickly. Maybe—

“Arrrrrgh!”

One of the males lunges out of the tree line and charges at me, baring his teeth and brandishing a pickaxe.

I squeeze the trigger and pepper his chest with rounds. But he keeps coming, swinging his axe wildly.

At the last possible moment I crouch down and spear my bayonet up and into his chest—piercing him clean through the heart.

He releases his axe and flails. He gurgles blood. Finally he goes limp, and I shove him to the jungle floor.

“You…you sneaky son of a bitch!” I shout at his bloody corpse.

I’m livid. I can’t believe I doubted for even one millisecond