‘Move it!’ the woman screamed, struggling under the weight of the unconscious tiger. ‘Fight through the pain and move, come on!’
‘This would be … a lot easier … if I changed forms,’ Zakaria growled, breathing hard from both exertion and the flame-tongue agony needling his back.
‘As long as you’re fine with ditching your equipment.’
‘I don’t give a shit about the equipment! Aargh!’
‘Well what are you waitin’ for?’
Zakaria’s combat gear exploded in a confetti burst of shredded fabric, with grenades, knives and ammo pouches flying in all directions, bouncing into the water and jumping about with a haphazard clattering on the floor … and from this cloud of ripped cloth and flying ammunition, a huge silverback gorilla emerged, his meaty black hands gripping William’s tiger body exactly where Zakaria’s human hands had just been holding it. Some of the shrapnel shards were squeezed out of his back by the transformation, but others, embedded more deeply in the flesh remained, and the dense, silvery fur of his back was soon tinted crimson with blood.
Zakaria’s physical strength had almost tripled with the transformation, and with a growl he lunged forward, picked the tiger up and slung him over his shoulder, roaring out a howling boom of agony as the heavy body on his back drove some shrapnel shards even deeper into his flesh. Hobbling along on his hind legs and his right fist, with his left hand keeping William’s body in place over his shoulder, he and the woman were able to move along at a quick pace.
They reached the next light, around which the teenagers had congregated. They were all gathered around Daekwon, who was still holding the limp body of Jun in his arms. Jun’s breathing was shallow and ragged, and his face had become deathly pale.
“I don’t think he’s gon’ l-, last much longer,’ Daekwon murmured, his hands and arms shaking and his eyes bright with shock and disbelief. ‘He’s hurt bad, real bad—’
He stopped speaking, flabbergasted, as he saw Zakaria in his gorilla form racing towards them with the tiger slung over his shoulder.
‘Oh my God, Mios Dio, oh hell no, hell no!’ Paola exclaimed, staggering back on jelly-weak legs.
‘Calm the fuck down, all of you!’ the woman roared, her sonorous voice reverberating like a detonating grenade through the sewers. ‘Y’all can shit your damn pants later, I don’t give a fuck! Right now you either do exactly what I say when I say it, or every single one of us is dead … and if I die on any a’ your stupid-ass accounts, when I see y’all in hell I’m gon’ make you fuckin’ regret ever sendin’ me there, are we clear?!’
‘Uh, y-, y-, yeah we good,’ Daekwon managed to stammer.
Now that the woman was in the light, she was no longer a faceless silhouette. Instead, the teens saw in front of them an athletically built African American woman, tall and youthful, with broad shoulders, generous hips and buttocks, and lanky limbs. On an elegant, almost antelope-like neck, was perched an angular, oblong face on a skull that was long and narrow. On her countenance a number of proud features jostled for dominance: a wide machete slash of a mouth paring full lips that were painted ink black and pierced with an array of silver jewellery; large, piercing eyes in shallow sockets nestled beneath bold and dagger-straight eyebrows; and a prominent, hooked nose accessorised with both a thick silver septum ring and a gold nostril ring. The softly kinky, halo-like afro of fluorescent green hair that crowned her head was, in its sphericity, at odds with the geometric nature of her facial features, but its daring colour complemented her copious facial jewellery perfectly. Intricate tattoos crept up both sides of her neck and were splashed across the entirety of her throat, and the designs spilled out from beneath her sleeves onto the back of each of her long-fingered hands.
Like Zakaria, she was attired in black combat gear, and the various weapons and tools that were attached to her person rattled and jingled with every step she took. Slung over her shoulder was an AK-47 assault rifle, and two pistols were holstered on her muscular thighs. Her presence was commanding enough without her foghorn voice, and the mere sight of her was enough to spur the teens into action.
‘Just tell us what to do and we’ll do it,’ Chloe said nervously, her eyes darting frantically between the woman and the two huge wild animals next to her.
‘I’m turning this light off,’ the woman grunted, ‘and after that, you follow mine. If you can’t keep up, you die … it’s that simple. Now go!’
The woman ripped the light off the wall and flung it into the water. It sank into the murky depths, illuminating a blurry bubble of grey-brown water for a few seconds before fizzling out. For a terrifying second or two the sewer tunnel was plunged into cloying and impenetrable darkness, but then the woman turned on an LED light on her belt and took off at a sprint.
The teenagers had no choice but to race along behind her; it was either that or wait for the killers who were pursuing them to catch up. Bringing up the rear was Zakaria, in his gorilla form, trailing blood from his cut-up back but nonetheless carrying William with intrepid determination.
The woman sped through the foul labyrinth, swooping around corners and veering without warning into side tunnels, her pace unrelenting. Behind her the teenagers sprinted, their throats and lungs burning, but their limbs propelled relentlessly on by the biological rocket fuel of adrenalin-infused terror. Nobody spoke, nobody shouted or screamed; the only sounds were the chaotic, arrhythmic jungle-drumming slaps of frantic feet on damp stone, and hard, desperate breathing.
‘Almost there!’ the woman yelled as she swooped off to the side and sprang
