Rays of sunlight crept over the dirt. One of them broached Daniel’s eyelid, pulling him back from sleep. In the night he had curled alongside the bars, trapping slippery warmth between his thighs and chest. Blinking, he rose.
He was still alone in the warehouse. Through the gap in the roof, rays of sunlight preceded their source. Morning dew sat on the cage bars. In a corner of the warehouse, a haphazard pile of wooden crates and pallets. A strange smell loitered, even with the cool air of a new day.
Three Mexicans, one carrying a wooden rake on his shoulders, entered from a door across the room. Two took seats on the metal bleachers, talking, while the one with the rake propped it along the chain-link fence and fumbled for a key. A heavy key ring, and a protruding Glock, sat just below his paunch. In the arena, the man raked the damp, sandy floor. Neat rows all pointed the same direction.
As the rays of light strengthened, more entered. Most spoke in clusters. A few gregarious men would approach Daniel, eye him up, then turn and find seats. The expansive room gradually filled with a buzz of chatter, pierced by the odd guffaw.
When he came in, it was with a larger group. At its head strode the striking man Daniel spoke to last night. His polished boots left neat arrowheads in the red dust. At his belt hung a black leather holster that matched his boots, with intricate gold inlay. In his hands, the man thumped a mahogany switchblade with aggravating carelessness. Arrayed about him were brutes: lean men, some bearded, many scowling, all armed with handguns or rifles. Victor brought up the rear.
Twenty yards back of them came the tiger. Its handlers strained the chains clipped to its neck. Even as far away as he was, Daniel could make out the blistered patches inflicted by the collar.
The party approached Daniel. Terror of what awaited him on the other side of the fence fired Daniel’s limbs beyond possession. It took all four of the men sent to fetch him to keep him in place.
Beside the arena gate, they held him before their leader. He stood a full head taller than Daniel. This was evidently not enough, however, for as Daniel caught a glimpse of the clean-shaven sneer, the leader motioned to his thugs. They kicked out Daniel’s legs, forcing him to kneel.
Iron fingers directed Daniel’s gaze up to the pure, tan jawline. Then the fingers slackened. Red, warm liquid spattered Daniel’s face and chest.
The weight of the handsome corpse pressed Daniel to the dirt. One eye mired, Daniel watched with the other as Victor’s smoking Glock pressed out two more rounds: one to each human heart straining either side of the tiger. The dull ring in Daniel’s ears was displaced as the silent shock of a room full of gunmen converted to animal instinct. Barrels leveled, as uncertainty plagued men’s hearts. Some men screamed and ran. Bullets ripped.
The tiger did not miss a beat. It never stopped roving, striking with claws and teeth indiscriminately. One man grabbed a chain; the tiger yanked him into death’s embrace.
Onlookers scattered, and Daniel lost sight of Victor from his limited view along the floor. A few men seemed attached to Victor. As return fire thickened, this group backed and ran out of the warehouse.
Daniel was forgotten. The armed men about him had sheltered behind makeshift cover. No one cared who he was now. Shouts and angry gestures indicated a fragile order reclaiming the group. Fewer guns pointed amongst the group; more and more of them pointed at the door Victor vanished through. Eventually, Daniel heard the last shot and last shout echo to the upper corners of the warehouse as the gunmen vacated. He was alone.
Shaking from the nearness of death, Daniel pressed his torso up from the mud. He sat on his knees, panting. Victor was alive, working for whoever this corpse was, and had decided to save Daniel? Surely Victor would need help.
The battle raged all over the gang’s base. Daniel changed course four times; every door he went towards resounded with gunfire. Running, stooping, he finally burst through one and took off down the hall.
Empty so far. Hearing voices, Daniel flung himself into a dark room. Hardly bigger than a closet, he swung the door shut, and not a moment too soon. Through the crack by the hinges, Daniel watched four Mexicans with bare, sweaty biceps storm past.
“Forget the tiger—when I catch Ruiz, that bastard will wish I’d never laid eyes on him!”
Waiting until their heavy steps fell silent, Daniel ran on more quickly. Every turn he prayed would show the end. Once he walked through a crossfire; he did not stop to hear if any of the combatants noticed him. Another hall sent him back the way he had come. Perhaps from explosives, perhaps from some intrepid arsonist, a rapid fire spread.
And then, at last, hope! Through a smoky hallway, Daniel glimpsed the red and white letters spelling, “Fire exit.” Holding his breath, he plunged into the smoke, not relenting until his side rammed the steaming metal handle. Out he rolled in a singed heap.
Dispassionate, feline eyes stared at Daniel. He had rolled onto a deserted street of industrial buildings. Half a block away, its lithe form breathed fresh air. Hot smoke bellowed behind them, trying to blacken the indomitable blue. The mid-morning sun, steady in its warmth, blazed irrespective of the inferno.
Daniel rested his hands on his knees and choked. Neither he nor the tiger moved for a couple minutes. Crackling flame, riddled with gunfire, felt quiet now beside his violent coughing. All sound vanished into the cloudless sky.
The tiger turned. It trotted down the street, toward empty warehouses, broken windows, and faded paint. A lone chain still hanging from its neck clinked alongside the beast’s padded steps.
The dented fire exit swung drunkenly on wailing hinges. Smoke poured out and up. The bent door beckoned, belching fire.
Daniel took in the abandoned, empty streets and buildings. The dust never settled long. Each passing wind tossed it about like salt in a salad bowl. Yet all edifice remained dusty and dreary. Daniel longed to be home.
Smoothing his blood-smattered shirt against his ribs, Daniel walked slowly. With each turn of his neck, his steps quickened. Soon he was jogging, despite his limp. He rounded a corner. Surely these roads led to somewhere civilized.