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Back Whirlwind Save as PDF
Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. 85
  87. 86
  88. 87
  89. 88
  90. 89
  91. 90
  92. 91
  93. 92
  94. Also by DAVID KLASS
  95. Copyright Page

Gisco, good news. We’re no longer menaced by insects. Now we just have to deal with a tiger.

Spots, not stripes. It’s a jaguar.

In any case, it’s a member of the cat family, and we all know that dogs love to fight cats. So go to it.

Gisco narrows his eyes and studies the jaguar. You’re right, he agrees, the dog was never born who feared a cat, even an overgrown feral feline like this one. I thought they were nocturnal hunters. This one must have insomnia. Or maybe it was stung by an angry wasp as the nest fell.

Or it could be too hungry to sleep. Don’t let that stop you. Take it on, Gisco. Teach it a proper respect for dogs. But watch your jugular.

Jaguars don’t go for the jugular, Gisco informs me, squaring his shoulders like a heavyweight boxer trying to intimidate an opponent. They crush victims’ heads in their jaws with one bite. Hence the Indian name “jaguar”—“kill in one bound.” But this won’t come to a fight. All cats are cowards. Watch what happens when I show this tabby who’s the king of the rain forest.

Gisco steps forward, bares his teeth, and lets loose an impressive growl. It is a truly fearsome sound, which my sophisticated and cultured travel companion has somehow managed to dredge up from a secret reservoir of primitive canine behavior.

The jaguar responds by padding forward a step, opening its toothy mouth, and screeching out the scariest howl I’ve ever heard in my life. It’s a fierce and primordial shriek, halfway between a roar and a bark.

Gisco whirls around and dives off the gondola into the water far below.

The jaguar shifts its hungry gaze to me. Its yellow eyes glint as it takes another step forward.

The boy on my back clutches at me wildly. His arms reach around my head and cover my eyes.

I stumble back, away from the jaguar, trying to pry the kid’s arms off my eyes so that I can see what’s about to crush my skull in one bite. I trip over the wall of the gondola, flail wildly for balance, and then fall over the side with the boy still clinging to me.

Down we drop, toward the swamp below.

35

35

The water is lukewarm and smells slightly stinky, like a giant bowl of egg drop soup. I knife into it headfirst with the added weight of the boy driving me down. He’s clinging to me with such desperation that I’m pretty sure he can’t swim a stroke.

I stop my dive, manage to flip underwater, and then my feet encounter something muddy and I kick off the bottom.