The American Lion walk into the clearing like he owned it. When he let out that warning roar, the vibrations were so deep I felt them in my marrow. This wasn't the big cat we were used to—this was a biological tank.
An adult Smilodon like Dad is already a nightmare, pushing 550 pounds. But this monster? He was over three meters long and topped 700 pounds. He belongs to the elite club of the biggest cats to ever walk the earth, right up there with the Cave Lions of Europe.
The Cheetah didn't even argue. He's built for speed, not for being a chew toy for a seven-hundred-pound landlord. He turned into a yellow streak and vanished.
"Roar!!"
The Lion didn't care about the Cheetah. He strolled over to the pile of dead hyenas, but he didn't start eating. He was sniffing. His nose twitched as he inhaled the scent of Smilodon. Specifically, he picked up the scent of five of us—and the unmistakable smell of three growing cubs.
A dark, murderous glint flickered in his eyes. In this era, the American Lion and the Sabertooth were bitter rivals. It wasn't just about territory; it was about the future. Killing an enemy's cubs is a strategic move to wipe out next year's competition. To him, we weren't neighbors—we were a loose end he needed to tie off.
Back at our new home, I was blissfully unaware that a terminator was currently sniffing my footprints. I had slept through the night and most of the next day, and while my leg still throbbed, my brain was finally firing on all cylinders again.
The problem was the bill. My System Insurance was tapped out. Eating elk meat gave me some points, but it was like trying to pay off a mortgage with spare change. If I didn't get more Gene Points soon, my leg was going to heal crooked, and a three-legged Sabertooth has a very short shelf life.
"I can't go hunting with Mom and Dad, and I'm not fast enough to catch an elk on my own. Time to use the one muscle that isn't sore."
I stood up, hobbling in a circle. Zack and Zoe stopped their wrestling match to watch me, their heads tilting in sync.
What's Big Brother doing now?
I ignored them and started scouting the perimeter of our spring. I was looking for low-stakes protein. Rabbits, skunks, ground squirrels—anything with a pulse and a lack of situational awareness.
Zack and Zoe trailed behind me like two furry interns. It was actually kind of cute, though I'd never admit it. I've clearly done a great job training my subordinates.
The area around the water was a highway of animal tracks. After a few hours of sniffing and limping, I hit paydirt: fresh rabbit droppings.
Rabbits are creatures of habit. They're paranoid, but they love their old roads. If they find a path that hasn't killed them yet, they'll use it every single day. I followed the trail until I found a hidden burrow tucked under a thicket of dry grass. Fresh dirt, tiny footprints—someone was home.
"Gotcha. Now for the secret sauce."
I headed back to the edge of the spring. Rabbits have noses like radar; they can smell a predator from a mile away. I needed to mask my scent.
The spring had a muddy bank filled with thick, grey river silt. I didn't hesitate. I scooped up a pawful of the cold muck and started smearing it all over my face and chest. I was going full Predator camo mode.
"ROAR!!"
Suddenly, Zoe let out a high-pitched, hysterical shriek and jumped three feet into the air.
I spun around, thinking a snake had grabbed her, but no—she was just staring at her paw in horror. A tiny glob of mud from my makeup session had splashed onto her pristine fur. For a clean-freak like her, this was a national emergency.
I just rolled my eyes and kept smearing. "Sorry, sis. Fashion takes a backseat when we're hunting for survival points."