The creature froze.
It began to growl. Jak didn’t hear it as much as he felt it, through the concrete floor, right up through the soles of his feet. The growl climaxed in a roar so loud it rattled Jak’s heart in his chest. He knew those enormous cat eyes didn’t augur well. In the world of adaptation, they indicated hunter, carnivore, killer by instinct
Which meant death was just a matter of time.
Jak accepted his fate with a broad, defiant grin. He saw it as a blessing, not a curse. It was his chance to escape the baron’s animal farm with his head held high, a chance to go out quick, and to go out fighting.
“Come on,” he said, kicking straw at the yellow eyes. “Let’s go.”
Jak had no plan, as such. In order to plan, one had to know what one was up against. He blanked his mind and steeled his body to counter whatever was thrown at it.
He didn’t see the beast make its jump.
When the eyes blinked, he ducked to the right. Soft fur brushed his shoulder, and with it came raging body heat and the scent of musk and urine. Claws clattered against the iron bars, and a shriek of feline frustration ripped the air.
Without thinking, Jak whirled and leaped onto the creature’s back. There really was no place else to go.
The cat was big. Its body was over six feet long, not counting the tail. The great knobs of bone along its spine gouged Jak’s chest and crotch. His hands found and gripped the pointed horns curving out from the sides of its neck, a permanent defense against throat attacks by larger predators. Jak locked his legs around the beast’s narrow waist and held on for dear life.
Bellowing its fury, the mutie mountain lion tried to dislodge the boy by crashing its sides against the bars. Jak wouldn’t be scraped off. The cat twisted its head around as far as the horns would permit and tried to snap a bite out of him. Jak choked on its fetid breath and kept out of range. He couldn’t control the animal’s head; it was too strong. The cat lunged forward, bending almost double as it ducked its head under its chest. It struck upward along its sides with its front claws, missing him by inches. When this failed, it threw itself on the straw and tried to roH him off. Though the full weight of the beast crashed down on top of him, Jak wouldn’t let go of the horns.
The mutie cat wallowed on him for several long moments, then rolled back onto its belly. Jak punched it in the rib cage with everything he had, the jolt of the impact registering all the way to his shoulder joint. It was like hitting a side of beef. He hit it again and again. The cat’s massive ribs absorbed the rain of blows, which had no effect, other than to tire Jak out. There was no way to get at the creature’s vitals, its soft underbelly, without exposing himself to the tearing fangs
and claws. His only hope was to wear out the great beast.
Leaping to its feet, the cat crashed around the cell again, scraping its rider against the walls. It was trying to grind him down, if it couldn’t knock him off.
The standoff continued for what seemed like hours. Both combatants had the same idea: to exhaust the opponent and then take advantage. The contest of wills dragged on and on. Neither fighter would yield. Though both gradually weakened, neither gained the
upper hand.
Finally the mutie cat began to slow down, which was lucky for Jak because his arms were exhausted. Still, the creature wouldn’t quit It moved in tighter and tighter circles, until it collapsed to its stomach on the straw, wheezing for breath.
Jak sensed the beast’s huge tongue lolling out of its mouth. He could hardly hear its panting over the rasp of his own gasping. Against Jak’s chest the cat’s fur was warm and soft. Under him the lion started to purr, a deep, baritone rumbling, a very relaxing sound, hypnotic, even.