“Are you gonna pass out?” she asked, peering at my face. It probably looked like a stewed tomato.
I shook my head.
“Can you bend your arms? Can you walk?”
I did an awkward macarena and waddled forward a few steps.
“Looking good!” She plopped a motorcycle helmet onto my head and cinched it under my swaddled chin. “Let’s go.”
As I waddled down into the ravine where the tiger paced, I felt like I was wading into the shark-infested water at Smyrna Beach wearing a chum bikini. But, as Tura had explained it, there wasn’t any other way. We had to get the rod down the tiger’s throat or we’d have no way to control it. And tranquilizers didn’t work on zombies, and we didn’t have any tranqs anyway. Nor were either of us good enough with a rope to do the cowgirl thing.
I stepped on a twig, and t
