Chapter Two
At first light, Chloe slipped a note under Jim’s door, telling him her plans. She then hoisted her heavy rucksack onto her back, locked up, and followed the small gravel trail heading west from the village.
It was barely trodden as the locals preferred the southerly slopes for their crops. The air was still and sunlight reflected off the snow, making her glad of her shades.
Chloe didn’t usually mind being on her own, but thoughts of the chicken claw and Shaman kept sneaking into her brain. Had she really annoyed some of the village elders? And if so, why not say something to her? No need for mangled animal parts to be left dangling from her doorframe for her to find.
Or rather for Aaron to find.
She stomped onward, navigating past a steep drop, then up a slope with sharp gray rocks jutting from it. She had two miles to go before she reached the first of four cameras. Then it would be another mile to the second. She planned on sleeping in the small sheltered valley she and Jim had used before, then retrieving the other two cameras and heading back to the village. The distances she needed to cover weren’t huge, but with difficult terrain, it could take several hours to travel a mile or two.
She paused and had a sip from her water bottle, took a moment to enjoy the beautiful view. It really was like being on the top of the world. Below her, clouds hovered, and level with her, an eagle soared.
She heard a sound from behind and turned, but there was nothing there, not even a Himalayan rabbit.
“Stop it.” She frowned. The last thing she needed was her imagination going into overdrive. There were no Shaman around.
But what about poachers?
If there were, she was sure they’d stay well out of her way. Or at least that was what she was telling herself.
She carried on, warming as the sun rose, and keeping a watch out for leopard tracks.
There were none.
Several times she checked behind herself. A strange sense of being followed was bugging her.
It’s only what Aaron said that’s put me on edge.
Finally, and with the help of her compass, she came to the first motion sensor camera.
“I hope you’ve come out to play, snow leopards,” she said, dismantling it. There were no tracks around it, but the snow here was deep and fresh and could be covering evidence.
After securing the camera safely in her rucksack and munching a protein bar, she took a northeasterly course.
A shadow slipped over her, engulfing the surrounding rocks. She glanced upward. A large, fluffy white cloud covered the sun.
“Mmm … don’t get any ideas,” she said. Aaron’s words came back to her. Aren’t you worried about the storm? “One cloud does not make a storm.”
Even so, she sped up and made good progress to the next camera.
Here there were large feline tracks in the snow. She couldn’t be sure if they were leopard, as pallas cats also inhabited the area. Though if anything, they were even harder to come across than leopards, so she hoped it would be the creature she was after.
Feeling more positive, Chloe glanced at the sky. The clouds had gathered, but there was no wind. She’d carry out her plan and stay in the mountains overnight. She probably didn’t have enough daylight hours to get back to the village anyway. And she did need those other cameras. Plus, apart from anything else, she was tired.
Half an hour later, she was in the small sheltered valley. It wasn’t exactly hospitable, but with the right equipment, which she had, it would be sufficient for the night.
She set about erecting her orange tent against the side of a huge pyramid-shaped rock clinging to the edge of the mountain.
Once the tent was up, she stepped back and gave it a visual check. A sudden clunking noise to her right caught her attention. It was a small stone running down the side of the rock. She glanced upward, wondering what had disturbed it, but could see nothing.
Again, an uneasy feeling swirled in her belly. She was all alone, miles from anywhere.
She shook her head. It was probably a bird or a rabbit, nothing more sinister.
Needing water, which flowed down the rocks at the far end of the gully, she headed off with her bottle. She’d make herself a cup of tea and a hot meal. The best way to ensure she stayed warm was to heat from the inside.
After collecting icy water, she returned to her tent. But as she approached, the niggling feeling rushed into something more. Fear.
Hanging from her tent, by its feet, was a dead chicken. The whole thing this time, not just a foot, and it appeared freshly killed—it’s throat slit, blood dripping onto the virgin-white snow.
She clasped her hand over mouth, held in a scream. Spinning, she searched the small valley.
There was no one there.
But there had to be someone.
She needed to get back to the village. Aaron had been right. She shouldn’t have come alone. There was much more danger up here than the elements.
Thinking of the weather, she glanced up. The clouds had taken on a dark hue, and as she looked, a gust of wind pressed her jacket to her body.
“Shit,” she muttered, turning back to the tent.
She gasped and a burst of terror shot into her veins. She dropped her water bottle.
Standing at the entrance to her tent was a man. He wore a long black coat with strapping binding it to him, and his boots were the same as the locals wore. His face was partly covered by his fur-lined hood, but what she could see had been painted with vertical red stripes.
He stared at her, and at his side, he held a knife dripping with blood.
Adrenaline pulsed through her. Did he mean to slash her throat the same way he had the chicken? Was she about to meet her maker?
“What do you want?” she shouted, clenching her fists and hoping she sounded braver than she felt.
He began to chant and walk toward her, leaving a trail of bright red droplets in his wake. His eyes were dark and manic, as if he were in some kind of trance.
She turned, stifling a scream. She had to get out of there. Run. Find a way down the mountain however she could.
But I’ll die trying.
She stilled and a fresh wave of panic swarmed over her skin. Pacing toward her, its shoulders shifting and its green gaze fixed on hers, was a huge snow leopard. If she’d been scared before, now she was terrified.
The beast was baring its teeth, the canines enormous. A low purring noise, more like a growl, emanated from it, and its huge paws sank into the snow.
Chloe didn’t know what to do. Nausea twisted her guts and her legs threatened to give way.
The creature grew closer, its eyes flashing.
There was nothing for it. She’d have to take her chances with the Shaman and run back that way. Maybe she could fight him, because she didn’t have a hope against the powerful beast stalking her. It would knock her out with one swipe of its paw.
But just as she’d made her decision, the leopard broke into a run.
She screamed and shut her eyes, waiting for impact and for its teeth to sink into her neck.
But there was nothing more than a rush of air and a flurry of snow against her cheek.
A yelp echoed against the rocky cliff, and she spun to see the Shaman drop his knife and run.
The leopard was after him, its tail rod-straight and a cascade of snow puffing up behind it.
The Shaman made for the narrow gap in the cliff leading from the shelter of the valley. He went out of sight a second before the leopard did.
Chloe rushed to her tent, ignoring the gruesome blood splatters on the snow, dived inside, and zipped it up.
What if the Shaman outsmarted the leopard and came back for her? What if the leopard doubled around, still hungry, and dragged its claws through the flimsy material of the tent, sank its teeth into her, made her its supper?
She drew up her knees and hugged them, barely suppressing a whimper as a loud rumble of thunder bellowed overhead.
Tears flowed down her cheeks. She hated herself for crying. It wasn’t who she was. She was tough, independent. A modern woman making a profession for herself and perfectly capable of surviving the elements.
But leopards and mad men?
The gusting wind pushed the sides of the tent and yanked at the ropes she’d used to secure it.
Her shelter for the night would be no help to her if the leopard came back still hungry. But it gave her some kind of mental protection. It wouldn’t be able to see her, and she wouldn’t be able to see it.
Chloe didn’t know how long she sat there. It became dark. The storm continued. She was cold. She wanted to make food and a drink but was too scared to move. What if the leopard was prowling around outside? What if it was waiting for her to show herself?
And then pounce.
As she stared at the shadowed zipper on the tent, watching the material billow, it suddenly pulled upward. The noise of it seared through her eardrums and she scooted to the farthest corner of the tent, pressing herself against it. Once again terror twisted her guts.
The Shaman was back. He must have outrun the leopard somehow, used his magic and tricks to escape. And now he’d come to kill her, stab her with his rusty knife and bleed her dry
She held in a scream as a face appeared, the features lit by the weak reflection of the snow on the tent.
But it wasn’t the Shaman.
“Aaron?”