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Variants
Variants
Variants
Ebook68 pages55 minutes

Variants

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Tony has the chance to go on a safari in the British Wildlife Park - the UK has become a massive game reserve - but he has to come to terms with the secrets he discovers there.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherTerry Martin
Release dateFeb 10, 2014
ISBN9781906584535
Variants
Author

Terry Martin

Terry Martin is a writer, artist, publisher and musician.

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    Book preview

    Variants - Terry Martin

    Variants

    Terry Martin

    - 2014 -

    Copyright Terry Martin, 2014

    Smashwords Edition

    By The House of Murky Depths

    License Statement

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    ISBN: 978-1-906584-53-5

    www.murkydepths.com

    This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

    Cover design and layout: Martin Deep.

    Table of Contents

    Chapter 1 - Karl and Abigail

    Chapter 2 - The Safari Begins

    Chapter 3 - Disappearing Tigers

    Chapter 4 - The Witch

    Chapter 5 - Messiah

    About Terry Martin

    Further titles from Terry Martin

    Connect with Terry Martin

    Chapter 1

    Karl and Abigail

    There was no chance of avoiding the tiger that bounded towards me through the trees on that first morning of the safari. My hunting rifle was thirty metres away in the camp and the animal would be upon me before I was halfway.

    Its markings, though, told me it was a Mary Quant Mark II, and I was more likely to be smothered to death with a hot slobbering tongue than mauled. A city boy like me couldn't help being apprehensive, but I quickly adopted the kneeling pose that told the beast I wasn't a threat.

    I was no expert with animals, but I had passed the recognition test. This was a particularly big cat though. Based on the Bengali, but with all the aggression gened out, you'd still be surprised to know it wasn't a carnivore, well at least not this version. Most Quants were kept as pets but sometimes their owners chose to release them and the UK was the favoured dumping place.

    A shot rang out that frightened me more than the oncoming tiger which collapsed, skidded and tumbled to a heap in front of me, a trickle of blood seeping from a hole in the centre of its forehead.

    I couldn't contain my fury at seeing such a majestic animal killed and, expecting a trigger-happy Karl, swung round only to find I was hurling abuse at Abigail.

    Whatever did you do that for? I eventually stammered as I hauled myself off my knees. It was only a Mary Quant.

    A variant, she corrected as she turned away. Check out the tail, Tony. Then she stopped, looked back. And the claws and teeth.

    I did both and, while marvelling at the size and beauty of the tiger, decided I not only needed to apologise to Karl's wife but also thank her for saving my life.

    Karl and Abe had been my friends for no more than a year. Right now they were helping to make one of my childhood dreams come true.

    I had lived near the centre of Paris all my life and dreamt of visiting the British Wildlife Park ever since it had featured in an Animal Watch series on the Discovery Channel when I was six. Karl and Abigail were wardens, working as a pair, and, when not on duty, lived in a luxury apartment next to mine. Real party people they were.

    As corny as it seems we'd met when Abigail had knocked to borrow some coffee. I thought my luck had changed because she was a stunning woman. Tall, wild blond hair, wide blue eyes, and a slinky figure that would raise the blood of any heterosexual male. That was before I met Karl, who women probably found equally attractive. He was around six foot four, broad shoulders, lithe rather than bulky with short blond hair and milliperfect stubble. They both wore a tan like it was their natural skin colour. They could have been Scandinavian sex gods. Turn heads? You bet they did.

    As for me. I'm one of those Brits - yes, I still call myself a Brit despite being fourth generation - with the sort of ancestry that throws up some surprises. Somewhere in the past there's a little bit of Jamaican that voodoos me with a mischievous streak and gives me my recklessness, but damns me with the occasional turn of uncertainty. My Indian heritage is

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