“Come,” he repeated, and jumped back into the Range Rover. He must have been lighter than he looked, because the vehicle didn’t sink under his weight at all.
She hesitated for one more second. “Cho. Can you take me to see Auntie—”
“Come,” he repeated, and revved his engine.
She tossed her own luggage in the back before she climbed beside Cho and dialed Auntie’s number. It rang five times before it switched over to voice mail.
Meanwhile, Cho took the first exit off the highway and the signal faded.
Rachel cursed and texted Auntie instead. It slipped through the ether. “Cho picked me up. See U soon.”
Auntie immediately texted back, but before Rachel could open it, the signal died again.
Rachel shoved her useless phone in her shorts pocket. “Do you have a phone?”
Cho lit a cigarette held between his lips while he held the wheel steady using his knees. Just when Rachel felt like lunging for the wheel and driving herself, the tip of the cigarette glowed orange, the smoke curled around his face, and Cho grabbed the wheel in his left hand. He said, “No.”
Man. Who didn’t have a phone in this day and age. “How far is it, anyway?”
Cho shrugged. “Nothing’s far in Harbin.”
Rachel squinted at the road signs, but most of them were in Chinese. All Rachel knew about Harbin was that it was located in the northeast corner of China, it was famous for its ice festival, and Cho’s family had moved there almost ten years ago. Rachel had downloaded a map of the city, but Cho seemed to be taking the back roads and she couldn’t read the calligraphy. She said, “Is this the way to the funeral home?”
Cho smiled around his cigarette. “Trust me.”
After twenty-four hours of traveling, she really wanted to. She rolled down the window and closed her eyes.
The smoke curled in the cab, haloing Rachel’s face, but somehow the tobacco didn’t stink as much as it usually did. Muggy air drifted in from the window. Surprisingly, the weather in Harbin in August didn’t seem all that different from Toronto.
A ghost, she remembered the taxi driver saying, but she pushed the thought away and flickered in and out of a dreamless sleep. At last, she woke up with a dull headache and a dry mouth. The moon rose behind clouds, but the sun still glittered in their rearview mirror. At least it was cooler, but hours must have passed.
This ain’t no funeral home. She cleared her throat. “Cho. Can we stop for something to eat?”
No response. They hit a pothole and Cho steadied the wheel.
She reached for his sleeve, but he moved away before she made contact. She realized they hadn’t touched each other, not even an air kiss. Which was okay—who knew how to greet a cousin you hardly remembered and never visited—but still.
“Cho? Food? Supper? I’m kinda dying here.”
He didn’t even look at her.
She unearthed an airline packet of pretzels in her bag and sipped her water. Soon the bottle would be empty and she’d have to pee. Either he’d let her out or she’d have to fight for the wheel. She laughed a little at the thought.
“Not long now,” he said.
Rachel ran her hands over her arms. She’d waxed them before her trip, but the hair grew back thicker and faster, just like her girlfriends used to warn her before she started shaving her legs. Only, for the first time, her arm hair glinted orange, as if she’d hennaed it. So in the past two months, Rachel had transformed from the typical Chinese girl with minimal hair to a ginger beast who paid regular visits to the esthetician but somehow couldn’t make time to see a doctor to figure out whassup. Just one more sign that her life and her careened out of control.
Rachel said, “I’m going to have to stop soon. Seriously.” But her eyelids sagged again and she stretched out her legs, stifling a yawn.
Cho turned on the radio. Even though it was in Chinese, she understood words here and there. Like something about the full moon and were-tigers.
Cho changed the station to a hard rock station where a guitar wailed almost as loudly as a man yelled about his ex-girlfriend.
“Wait.” Rachel pushed herself upright. Her shoulder ached from resting against the jouncing window. Her brain still rested in the foggy state between sleep and wakening. It felt like the worst hangover of her life. “What was that about were-tigers?”
Cho pushed the cigarette to the other corner of his mouth using only his lips. “Superstitious bullshit.”
“I want to hear it.” She fumbled for the radio buttons.
Cho pushed her hand away. It was the first time he’d touched her. His hands felt so cold, they hurt her skin. Like ice.
Like death.
Rachel rubbed her hand warm again. The guitar shrieked a solo above her pounding heart. She said, “What’s the big deal?”
Cho snorted. “Nothing to know. You Westerners have your werewolves. We have were-tigers. Only old mothers believe in them.” He smirked. He glanced at her. In the darkness, his eyes looked like obsidian.
“That’s kind of cool, though,” said Rachel. “I’ve never heard of them.” She pulled out her iPhone, but it still showed no service. Too bad. She wanted to Google about were-tigers and take her mind off her increasingly creepy cousin.
“Next you’ll be believing that our family is related to the tigers.”
Rachel glanced at him sidelong. “Why would I think that? I think we’re a lot closer to monkeys. Charles Darwin and all that.”
Cho puffed on his cigarette. While Rachel waved away the smoke, he shrugged and said, “No reason. No one believes what the old mothers say, always crying about evil spirits roaming the earth.”
Rachel stared at her phone. The battery showed only one bar power. She must’ve played too many tunes. “Do you mind if I plug it in?”
“Be my guest.”
The converter for her phone charger fit in the Range Rover’s socket, but the energy lines never perked up on her phone. And then Cho killed the music and said, “We’re here.”
Seconds later, Rachel looked up from her phone and smelled cat urine and dust.
Cho accelerated past a faux Chinese temple decorated with a banner sign in Chinese characters. A smaller sign staked into the ground declared this the HARBIN TIGER REFUGE.
“What the—” Rachel said. The hair on her head and yes, her arms prickled with danger. Evening had fallen around them like a shroud.
Cho reached toward a box mounted on his visor and pressed a button. A metal gate clanked open. He gunned his way through it.
Rachel said, “Cho. This isn’t funny.” In the distance, concrete barracks carved black outlines against the sky.
Above the thrum of the engine, an animal snarled.
Not just any animal. A tiger.
Rachel’s heart nearly stopped.
“Get me out of here.” Goosebumps rose on her arms. When she ran her tongue over her teeth, they felt too large and sharp for her mouth.
Cho pressed the gas pedal even harder. “No one wants to be here.”
“Then why are you—”
A tiger answered. The most eerie sound of her life: a moan rose into the night air, sounding almost human yet thoroughly alien.
Rachel fumbled with the door latch, but she knew it was too late. Like the dumbass heroines in horror movies, she had just stumbled into the equivalent of facing down a murderer armed with nothing but cheerleader pom-poms. If she didn’t break her bones jumping out of the car, a tiger would still maul her.
Cho had to be a foot taller and 40 pounds heavier than her. She wished she had a gun.
She heard a snarl, the angry sound of a very large cat, and she had to work hard to control her voice. “Cho. I don’t know if this is a game to you or what. But if you don’t turn this car around, I am going to call Auntie and she will have your head.”