Men shifted nervously in the night, finding little comfort in their campfires and bomas erected in a desperate attempt to keep their demons at bay.
“Quiet,” Lt. Col. Patterson hissed.
The Indian workers eyed the white man with distaste – he had no idea what he was dealing with. Patterson took no notice of the superstitious fools, his sight fixed down his rifle.
There was no warning when they struck. Suddenly silence gave way to screaming, stillness to chaos. A man lay dying, blood pumping out of his savaged shoulder and the ruins of his leg. Unable to believe the beasts had crept past his defences, Patterson wheeled around towards the sound of the commotion, squeezing off a shot on reflex. The bullet brought instant death to the fleeing worker. Patterson cursed and scanned the camp for the targets that kept eluding him. There! In a flash of movement it pounced on its second victim, and Patterson shot again. The bullet thudded into its flank but it did not go down as expected.
The tawny beast turned its gaze of fury on Patterson and roared, baring huge, blood stained fangs. It was like no other lion he’d ever hunted, maneless and with intelligence burning in its eyes. Then came the snarl from behind.
But when Patterson turned it was no lion he saw. A naked man covered in blood and filth growled at him “Leave here!”
Patterson just had time for another shot but the two things slipped away into the darkness, beasts once more. The hunt had only just begun.
