CHAPTER TWO, The Cursed

The tiger hissed, jaws parting to bare long shining fangs. When they didn’t retreat fast enough, it lay back its ears, jerked forward in warning, and roared.

     Quinn felt the sound in his bones. He stumbled back, raising the gun.

    The animal’s muscles tightened under its pelt as it crouched. It lunged for him and Quinn staggered back to avoid the slashing claws.

    He collided with Morgan, knocking her back onto her rear, as the tiger fell short, hindered by its injury. There was a sharp explosive hiss as he managed to shoot and a dart buried itself into the tiger’s shoulder.

    It recoiled from the sting and glared at him with a viciousness that seemed alien to an animal, then rushed again, moving low to the ground like a snake.

    "Fuck!" Quinn leaped to the side, fumbling to reload.

    Morgan had to roll to avoid being trampled. She saw the beast’s paws touch down in front of her where he’d stood and pivot to follow him. Then go still. She looked up and met the tiger’s eyes, blue and hateful and close enough that she could touch it. It bared its fangs again and tensed to lunge again, for her this time, but wobbled as the drug began to take effect.

    "FUCK!" She shoved up from the ground, reeling back as it lurched drunkenly forward. A second hiss, then another dart digging into its neck.

    Once again, it went for Quinn, jerking forward in a lopsided gait and groaning in confusion. It fought, trying to get upright and move properly. After a moment more of fighting, though, it sank to the forest floor. Turning its head side from side in increasingly robotic motions, it growled and groaned in panic for several long tense minutes until it finally went under. Morgan felt pity for it.

    Quinn kept the gun leveled at the creature, though it was now useless for anything but a bludgeon without a third dart to shoot, until the growls finally quieted. Only then did he lower it and take a tense step closer for a better look. He felt shaken, his body tense with the desire to turn and run back to the road. He could only think of those teeth. And of his arm being ripped from his shoulder.

    He shook it away, forcing his eyes off the striped hide, and looked to Morgan. “You alright?"

    She was muddy and shaking, her pale green eyes saucer-wide and fixed on the cat. Her mouth was open and working silently over words she hadn’t quite found yet. “It’s… It’s a tiger,” she finally managed to say. She gestured at it, almost angry, as if she expected him to somehow explain all this. “It’s a fucking tiger! What the hell is a fucking TIGER doing here!?”

    “I don’t know, don’t ask ME!” Quinn didn’t like to yell at her, no matter how they bickered, but he wasn’t too calm at the moment either.

    Morgan looked again at the tiger, balling her hands in her wet hair. “Well…” She shook her head. “What now? What do we do with it?”

    “Absolutely nothing!” Later, he wouldn’t be too proud of the broken shrill in his voice. “We get back in our cars and leave it! I’ll call the guards or something on the road and they can take care of it.”

    “But it’s wounded! It could wake up and hurt itself before anyone gets here.” He recognized the look she was getting as a familiar omen of future regret for whatever idea it was she was cooking up.

    “Pardon me for not giving a damn, Morgan, let’s go!”

    “It could hurt someone else!” she protested, finally getting to her feet. Her tone had him half expecting her to stop her foot like a child. “We can’t leave it!”

    “Sure we can,” he said. “Just walk back to the road and drive away. Like this.” He left, heading back through the trees.

    “I’m not leaving it,” she snapped, going to kneel beside it and pulling out the darts.

    “Fine!” he called back, throwing up a hand.

    Morgan looked after him, disbelieving. “Quinn Moran, don’t you leave me out here!”

    “I’m leaving that thing. If you’re left with it, well that’s just what it takes.” He ignored the stream of curses that followed him as he got back to the road and his truck. He set the gun aside in the passenger seat as he got behind the wheel and yanked the door shut behind him with a heavy thud.

    Home. He wanted to be home right now. Put this whole mess behind him and pretend it didn’t happen. He started the engine, sat back in his seat, and put a hand on the gear shift. He chewed on the silver ring to the side of his lower lip, eying the trees. Morgan was a big girl, she’d be perfectly fine on her own. She’d get over her stupid idea of taking care of that creature in a few minutes and drive home.

    A minute passed. Then another. He scratched a fingernail at a scuff in the side of the steering wheel. With a sigh, he dropped his hands back to his lap.

    “Be careful!”

    “I am being careful!” 

    Morgan rolled her eyes and kept her hands on the tiger’s side to steady it as Quinn cursed at it under his breath.

    Loading the cat into the back of his truck had been a struggle worthy of the Stooges. Quinn had taken the lead driving the rest of the way to the veterinary clinic where he worked while Morgan followed behind, guided by the red glare of his taillights in her shattered window.

    To move it, Quinn had tied together two wheeled trolleys from the clinic for a makeshift gurney. He kept it in place with his foot propped onto the bottom shelf of one as he leaned over the tailgate to try again to pull the massive animal out from the bed of the truck. Even with this 'brake', the rickety things kept wanting to break apart and roll away from the tiger's weight.

    In a stroke of luck that Morgan felt must follow Quinn around like a shadow, his boss, the resident veterinarian, Dr. Nárez, was out of the country for the week. So they had a little time to figure out what the hell they were doing. Eight days, in fact.

    "Let's just take him straight to the barn," said Morgan as they finally got the tiger onto the trolleys. "So we don't have to move him again after you fix him up?"

    “I still can’t believe I came back for you.” Quinn continued to grumble as they wheeled the trolleys through the rain, now a blessedly light drizzle.

    “Yeah yeah yeah, just walk.”

    Once they got it into a stall and struggled it down onto the floor, Quinn ran back to the main building to find the tools he’d need. Morgan stayed with it, sitting in the bedding at its side.

    With her hand on its neck, she felt the warmth of the tiger’s coat, even wet. It was soft. Much softer than she would have expected. Where it had begun to dry in tufts, its base color between the black seemed more yellow than the brilliant orange she had always seen in pictures. Maybe there's more variety than I thought. Or perhaps it was just a mutation. Like the white ones.

    She traced the stripes along its wounds with her hand. There were lacerations behind its shoulders, over the ribs, and over the hip. Quinn had felt for broken bones before they'd dragged it out onto the road and hadn't felt anything too severe to move it.

    "The ribs here give a bit, but it should be alright if we're careful," he'd said. "It'll just be all the worse if it wakes up and shifts them to a lung."

    She felt guilty over the whole thing as she felt bones under its fur. It was lean, thin, and its strangely colored coat was matted and dull. She pat at its neck, unsure if it were more of a comforting or a pitying gesture.

    Under her palm, the tiger’s throat thrummed with a quiet moan and she froze. It moaned again, breathing faster, and flicked an ear. One of its paws flexed and twitched and the tip of its tail curled up from the bedding before going limp again.

    Nowhere near soon enough for her liking, Quinn returned. He knelt beside her, setting a bundle by the tiger’s head.

    “It’s waking up,” said Morgan, watching as the cat’s eyes opened and moved, staring wide around the stall.

    “Figured as much…” Quinn produced a syringe from the bundle. He held it out to her as he grasped the tiger’s scruff with his other hand. After she pulled the cap for him, he stuck the needle into the looser flesh. He handed the empty syringe to her to re-cap as he released his hold and kneaded at the back of its neck, watching it intently until its fidgeting ceased once again.

    Morgan watched as Quinn started at its injuries, cutting the fur around them. His fingers moved fast and sure as he cleaned the wounds and stitched them closed. When he was finished, he ran his hands over its side, feeling again at its bones. “Hm.”

    “What?”

    “I could’ve swore that these two ribs were broken before we loaded him up. Or at least cracked.” He ran two fingers gently along the bone. “Feel solid, now.” He shrugged and taped gauze over the stitching before packing everything back into the bundle.

    “Should we x-ray him?” Morgan felt over its ribs after him, concerned.

    “And explain the missing negative to Doc how exactly?” He raised a brow.

    “Just show her the…” She gestured at the animal between them. Doctor Nárez was a sweet woman, she'd understand. Probably.

    “Maybe…” He shook his head. “For now, let’s just let it be. I don’ much feel like getting it back on the trolley.” He got to his feet, brushing the clinging wood shavings off his jeans.

    "You’re going home?” she asked.

    “You might as well, too,” he said. “We can see how things go tomorrow. Aye?”

    She looked down to the cat in front of her, watching its bandaged side rise and fall slowly with its breathing. She felt like she’d fallen asleep at some point and this was all a dream. Just a dream she was having after having already gotten home and gone to bed. But her mind wouldn’t be able to conjure something so vivid as the smell of dusty sawdust and wet tiger.

    “Could you give me a ride?” she asked, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. “I don’t want to drive my car any further tonight until I’m sure it won’t fall apart on me.”

The gelding was far from happy as he paced around his stall, ears pinned back flat. The scent of the predator down the aisle slowly saturated the usually calm and comforting air of the barn. He whuffed and nickered, kicking out at his door. He didn’t recognize this animal, but it made him think of Cat He didn’t quite understand how Cat could be fearsome. His breed only had experience with the small puffball animals that humans brought to keep the little squeakers out of the hay. He knew by memory and by instinct that Cat was supposed to be small. Harmless. Many of the ones that passed through here would even hop from the stall door to his back to sleep, their little claws barely felt on his thick hide.

Quinn was up early the next day, woken by thunder loud enough to rattle his windows. From his small one in his kitchen, he watched the rain and wondered whether the previous night had actually happened. It could have been a dream. But there was only so much self-delusion he could manage once he found his sweater where he'd tossed it, covered in yellow hairs from moving the animal in and out of his truck. Maybe if I try hard enough, I can convince myself all this was from a golden retriever.

    It was still fairly early as he debated with himself over whether he should call and wake Morgan. He decided that when she was ready to go, she'd call him herself and they could go... do something... What exactly were they supposed to do with the creature in the barn? It wasn't something they could just give a bit of milk and a pat on the head. They weren't either of them cut out for it.

    He acted on his impulse, not letting himself think too long on just how pissed Morgan would be when she found out, and went to his bedroom to find where he’d left his jeans on the floor. He pulled them right-side-out again and dug his phone from his pocket.

    He wasn't sure of any specific department he should be calling for something like this, so he just dialed the basic emergency number and waited. When he got an answer, at first he hesitated. How to explain? He tried just telling the truth. However, while it seemed to work for some people, it didn't work for him.

    “No, I… I’m not pulling your leg, man, it happened…. It did! A bloody big tiger ran out in the middle of the-…. I’m not crazy… Aye, that is a pretty stupid thing to try and prank you with, so why would I do it? It’s the tru- Oi, your job’s to take my call, don’ tell me to fuck off!” It took three minutes for Quinn to get fed up.

    “Oh, bugger off,” he growled as he hung up the phone and ran a hand through his hair. Normally, he might have decided ‘fuck it’ and given up on calling in help. But then ‘for fuck’s sake, a tiger’ crossed his mind again, and he decided his pride could bend a little. He decided to wait a little while to make sure he’d get a different operator, and thus a different chance to convince someone, and in the meanwhile made breakfast from the cobbled together leftovers of various takeout meals in his fridge.

    He was rediscovering the extent of hot-as-all-hell a microwave could get a plate when his phone started ringing. He abandoned his efforts to remove his meal to answer it, sucking petulantly at his burned finger. “I think your timing is getting more and more annoying.”

    The answer was not at all the soft-voiced little sarcastic remark he was expecting. “I’m sorry, were you not the young man who called in regards to a dangerous wild animal?” This voice was female, but more confident on the line and held a matronly chiding note.

    “Shi- Er… Sorry, I was expecting someone else.” He found himself embarrassed. Even blushing. “Yes, that was me.”

    “Of course,” the woman said. “I see here you had trouble with an animal on the road last night, is that correct?”

    “Ay- Yes,” he said.

    “What was the animal you saw? You did see it, yes?”

    “Yes, we saw it, it was… I thought you guys decided I was a prank caller.”

    “I’m with a different department. The call came to my attention.”

    “I don’t understand-“

    “Are you a prank caller?”

    “No.”

    “Then did you see it?”

    “Yes…”

    “What did you see?”

    “Big, feline, and striped. I told everything to the other one.”

    “Was he yellow?”

    Quinn hesitated, mouth open to answer. I never said that to the other guy. “Tigers are supposed to be orange, aren’t they?” he said, feeling in the back of his mind an anxious niggling suspicion. The best he could describe it as would be a mental neon sign blinking ‘It’s a trap!’ He’d felt this before and had always found it to be right.

    “What does it matter what they’re supposed to be? You said you saw it. What did he look like?”

    “Like a tiger. I didn’t pay attention to its preferred shade of fur dye.”

    “There’s no reason to be difficult. You called to get help, and I’m trying to help you. I just need you to answer my questions.”

    “I gave you the answers I have.” He was ready for this phone call to be over.

    “Did he have blue eyes?”

    “I think-“

    “You said ‘we’ earlier. Who was with you that can help corroborate your story?”

    “Er… You know what, I’m just fucking with you guys.” He hung up. And dialed a number, muttering to himself. “Morgan, I don’ care what you say, we’re getting rid of that thing.” 

    “Yes, eyes and pelt,” he said, “it was weird. I’ve got a bad feeling about the whole thing.”

    “So,” she sighed, rubbing the back of her neck, “you think there’s this conspiracy around the tiger?” She grimaced at the pulsing pain in her muscles, sore from the accident. She hurt all over. Her usual morning exercises had ended with her lying flat on her back on the cold floor, moaning pitifully.

    “Don’t do that, don’t talk like I’m going crazy,” Quinn growled the words and glared out at the road rather than at her as he slowed and drove carefully around a maintenance crew cutting up and shifting sections of a fallen tree from the storm.

    “I didn’t say anything about crazy,” she said, watching the workers curiously. “But it wouldn’t be the first time you made up some bull to get out of something you didn’t want to do.”

    “When have I ever lied like that?”

    “Should I go alphabetically or chronologically?”

    “Alright, to you, then? I’ve been a right bastard to a lot of people, sis, but I like think by now I’ve earned the confidence that to you I’d at least be honest and straight forward enough to tell you to fuck off without the excuses.”

    “I guess you have,” she said, smirking. “But I still don’t buy it. Aye yeah, it’s weird, but… I dunno, I just doubt anyone cares enough about a big off-color cat.”

    “It’s a tiger, Morgan, there’s a whole textbook of violence around them. People getting killed by ‘em, people killing ‘em, people killing other people over who gets to kill ‘em first—You’re a journalist, aren’t you? With everything else going on right now, I wouldn’t think you of all people would say that Tiger Conspiracy is too far out of the ring of Stupid to be believable.”

    “Well, you hung up. And your phone's old as dirt, so it doesn't have all the same tracking mess mine would, so there’s nothing else to worry about.” She felt herself start to get tense as they turned the last corner onto the clinic's road, anticipating seeing the tiger again and making sure it was indeed still there. And real. “Let’s just see how he’s doing and we can figure it out later. One thing at a ti—Oh god…”

    As the clinic came into view, the gnarled shape of the old tree that shadowed the barn bent too far and too sharply. It was splintered in half, twisted branches shattered over the roof. Some of them punched through the metal, goring gaping holes into the loft.

    “Fuck,” Quinn swore, accelerating and shooting up the last hundred meters to skid to a stop in front of the barn. They both were quick out of the truck, Morgan forgetting her soreness as she ran to the door, her thoughts on the gelding inside. He wasn’t exactly hers, but she’d bonded quite deeply with the horse. “Hold on!” Quinn caught up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her as she made to unlock the doors. “One of those limbs cut through right over the tiger’s stall!”

    She looked at him, taking a moment to think of what that was supposed to mean to her. She backed away from the building to get a better look at it. “It could be hurt.”

    “It could be loose!”

    “We can’t leave it in there, then! What about Brennan?”

    “Just,” Quinn held a hand up to her as he looked over the barn. “Just, hold on a minute…”

    “What about the gun?” she prompted. “We can put it out and check on the others after… What?”

    Quinn looked sick to his stomach. “I left it in there.”

    Now she felt sick.

    “I left it in the loft, I thought we’d need it again.” He groaned, pressing his hands to his eyes.

    “Well, yeah, we do,” she snapped. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t as if he could have known this would happen. But she was in a mood that needed to blame someone.

    “No shit,” he said. Then dropped his hands and started towards the main building.

    “Where are you going?”

    “There’s plenty of anesthesia inside!” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll just have to find something to get it in him. Just wait a minute, I’ll be right back!”

    She watched him disappear into the clinic, then turned back to the barn. She paced along the wall, following the length of the branches with her eyes to gauge from memory how far inside they would have punctured.

    There was a stomping from within, and an excited nicker.

    “Hey there, Brennan!” she called, relieved. “I’m here! I’ll be right in, good boy!” She came back to the doors, trying to jiggle them open just enough to peek.

    It was dark inside and it took a moment for her eye to adjust enough to see through the sliver of a gap. Dusty beams of light spilled from the torn holes in the roofing, illuminating patches of the aisle floor. A section of the loft was knocked out, leaving broken planks dangling crookedly from the few places their nails still held them and still more strewn over the floor.

    Brennan snorted and pawed in his stall and she shoved at the doors again, slowly sliding them further apart.

    In the back, beyond the light, there was a brief shift of yellow and black. Two blue eyes, pupils dilated and reflecting red, stared at her.

    Meeting those eyes left a shock the likes of missing a step. Morgan slid the doors shut and backed away. He was awake. More importantly, he was out. We need the gun. She chewed her lip as she looked towards the clinic. Had Quinn made any progress on figuring out what to do? He left it in the loft… She'd not seen it on the floor among the debris. It could have still been up there... She walked around the barn again, coming to the tree. The limbs on the far side still looked sturdy. There were beams still holding strong inside, despite the smashed up flooring. I’ve climbed harder trees. She didn’t question the idea, but rather ran up the last short distance between her and the trunk to hop up and catch a low knot.

    Left hand, right hand, left foot, right foot, she clambered up swift and easy, her sneakers scraping on the bark. She reached the split in the trunk and picked her way over the jagged shards of wood until she was close enough to jump onto the sloped barn roof. The thump of her landing brought the sounds of Brennan shying and stamping in his stall. As she climbed up to a larger tear, she heard barking. Two boarders accounted for... As she looked down through the hole, the tiger crouching at the foot of the ladder to the loft, staring up at her, made three. The larger of the limbs had punched through and bent open his stall, knocking the gate off its track and leaving enough of a gap for him to have pulled it wider and squeezed out.

    Morgan looked over her shoulder to the clinic. Still no Quinn. Now that she was up here, the feeling he was taking too long was worse. She turned back into the barn and slid along the branch, sticking a leg down to test its soundness. It shifted and creaked. But it held. Good enough for her to reach the closest beam. She slipped inside.

    It was too dark for a moment beyond her shaft of light, but she soon adjusted. She shifted her weight from the creaking branch and latched onto the nearby crossbeam. She settled onto the sturdier wood and let out a long breath. She looked down, past the broken boards, then quickly back up again when she only met those glaring blue eyes. It’s right under me… She wasn’t too keen on its well-being anymore and honestly wished it was still unconscious. Maybe even with a broken limb to keep it grounded. Oh god, they can’t jump this high, can they? She told herself that if it were well enough for that it would have done so and escaped already and looked over to the remainder of the loft to find the gun.

    Brennan's stamping and the collie's barking filled her ears, echoing harshly off the metal roofing. She registered the absence of clucking and looked around for the hen's cage. It had fallen with part of the flooring and was wedged between a board and the broken door. The bird was absent. But there was an incriminating dusting of feathers and dark stained sawdust inside the tiger's former stall. Morgan winced and looked away.

    By the grace of whatever benevolent gods, she saw the dark shape of the barrel propped onto the little case of darts against the wall. "Thank God..." She scooted to the wall reached up to hook her hand in a tear in the roofing. She stretched a leg out to the next beam. It was just a short hop to the flooring and the gun... 

    “Oh, shut up!” Morgan snapped back at them, trying to focus on finding her footing.

    “Morgan!?” Quinn’s voice called up from outside.

    “I’m in here!” She quickly added; “I’m in the loft! I almost have the gun!”

    “GET OUT OF THERE!!” The tiger hissed to punctuate his response, as if encouraging her to obey.

    “I almost have it!” She leaned further, supported by her toes on the beam and her hand on the tear. Just one good lurch up and she’d be on it.

    There was a clatter beneath her and she looked down to see those vicious blue eyes and snarling fangs propel up the twisted gate, backed by a horrible growl.

    “FUCK!” Morgan yanked herself up, trying to pull herself out of the way. Her hand slipped over the edge of the metal and she felt it slice into the flesh of her palm. Before she could make the better decision not to, she let go.

    The aisle, and the tiger, shot up to meet her. Her heart seized and felt as if it stopped. She hit the cat and they fell.

    Arms, legs, and clawed paws flailed as they rolled down the gate onto the floor, scattering debris. She twisted to try and pull herself up, grasping a fistful of thick fur.

    The tiger rolled and kicked his hind paws into her stomach, claws snagging at her sweater but not meeting her skin, and tossed her away like a pillow.

    She hit the stall gate on the opposite wall, head smacking into the metal. “AUGH!” She curled up in a ball, gasping for the breath. She wheezed and cursed, holding her hands up in front of her. One bled from the deep gash in her palm, dripping red onto the floor. The other had several strands of yellow fur sticking to her sweaty digits.

    The tiger rolled to its feet and scrambled away. It stopped to turn back and glare at her, baring its teeth in a vicious hiss.

    “MORGAN!!” Quinn called from just outside the doors. They shook as he pulled them apart to look in.

    “I fell…” she managed, still thinking only ‘OW’ at the pain radiating from the back of her skull. She could hear it, like a dull ringing in her head.

    The doors clattered as he shook them again, on purpose, and the tiger’s glare snapped from her to them. The fur along its neck and down its spine bristled and it gave a furious roar.

    “Quinn, stop it!” Morgan called out shrilly. “You’re making it worse!”

    Quinn only shook them again and yelled; “The other door’s unlocked!”

    She lurched to her feet as the tiger snarled towards Quinn’s end of the aisle and bolted for the doors on the other side. She glanced back as she grabbed for the handle and it was at her heels.

    She was ripped between I’m gonna die, and Don’t let it out! 

    “No!” She put her back to the door, blocking it, and kicked out at the cat.

    Rather than removing everything below her knee, he slid to a halt, hissing, and smacked her leg out of the way.

    Robbed of her balance, Morgan slipped down against the door and landed hard on her rear.

    The tiger rushed forward, lurching up onto its hind legs and over her as it pawed for the handle.

    “Stop!” she said, kicking up from the ground into its belly. Her foot caught under its ribs and it jerked back with a snarl, paw lashing out again.

    And again, she was merely batted aside. She acted on impulse and shoved back up and into the animal's way. She plastered herself to the door, strangely determined to hold her ground. “NO!”

    It stopped. The tiger stood frozen, standing over her splayed legs. She felt his breath and was greeted to a closer view than she’d ever have wanted of his maw as he hissed very much in her face.

    She didn’t move. He glared, bristling, and lashed his tail. She only glared back. Oh dear god, I’m gonna die.

    He roared, making her jerk, eyes wide, but she dug her nails into the door behind her. I’ve lost my mind… The tiger’s head lowered so his eyes were level with hers. A deep and unsettling notion fluttered through her mind. It disappeared before she could pin it down, but she managed to put word to the look in the animal's eyes. Calculating.

    The dog barked in its stall down the aisle, and Brennan fretted in his. Quinn ran around the outside of the barn to meet Morgan, only to see the door still firmly shut.

    The tiger gave a growling huff, blowing in her face and making her jump. He moved away and turned his back on her as he stalked down the aisle. He paused and looked back at her, growling. Then slunk into the empty stall at the end and out of sight.

    A touch on her shoulder made Morgan jump. “Ah! Fuck!” She scrambled away from the door, twisting around to see Quinn watching her from a hand-width gap in the doors, having grabbed her shoulder to get her attention.

    “Get up, get out of there!” he demanded.

    “I’m fine,” she said numbly, remaining where she was.

    “Where is it?” He looked past her into the barn. “What happened!?”

    She could feel the pain in her hand again and the throbbing at the back of her head. Her ears rang from the tiger’s roars and her neck would be feeling even worse than before soon.